The poor guy on the right looks like he is abut to cry. It's a wonder that the men of the city can remember where they're headed.

The style....

It is so much about the legs!

Walking to work with Matthew last week, about 8:30 am.

Notice the emptiness of the streets--things don't get rolling very early in Tokyo. More gets done in the later part of the day than the morning.

That's enough for festival photos. I don't know who the young couple is, they just made me smile.

My friends who are sew-inclined (get it?) would go nuts over the available array of textiles.

As I perused the many stalls the word "oishii" kept coming to mind. This actually means "delicious," but my vocabulary tends to be heavy on the gastronomic side of things.

Of course where there's a festival there's commerce, especially when you have 2 million people milling around the streets over the period of a few days, many of them unencumbered by sobriety.

Festival photos.

The bare bottomed bicyclist was part of the Sanja Matsuri, the biggest and wildest of Tokyo's festivals. Three of these portable shrines holding the remains of the 3 founders of the Buddhist temple are carried around the surrounding district for 14 hours, starting at 6am. They each weigh 2,000 pounds and it takes 40 people at a time to carry one, bouncing and shaking and chanting to bring good luck to the neighborhoods. (Sometimes they collide with shops along the way--not so lucky)

We were there in the morning and it was already a party, so I can imagine what it was like by 8 that evening when the parade finally ended.

...and some photos are better without a story.

Some photos tell their own story.

If there was a dialogue balloon over Matthew's head it would say, "How do I get myself into these things?" Or maybe, "How do I get myself out of this?"

The "this" in question is the once yearly Sayounara Sale held at the US Embassy housing compound. I had had it on my calender for weeks and Matthew came with me so that I wouldn't get lost so early in the morning.

Matthew is not, to put it gently, fond of tag sales of any kind. I myself am an avid fan, largely due to the "I never know what I'll come home with" factor. Precisely one of the factors responsible for Matthew's aversion. Last summer's three-legged birthing stool comes to mind. Well it LOOKED like an old high-backed milking stool.

When we arrived to find the line of buyers stretching farther than the eye could see I thought I would lose my compadre for sure but he hung in there with me to the bitter end.

At one point I glanced up from my browsings to see him see him being buffeted from all sides by frenzied, stroller-wielding bargain-hunters. He had a quiet kind of panic behind his eyes and I thought that if I cared one iota about this man I'd better expedite my acquisitions and get him out of there soon.

I've never had to go through a metal detector to go to a yard sale before!

The newspaper has a very robust "Sayonara Sale" section due to the constant turnover of soon to be ex-expats. The typical method of exchange is not a garage or yard sale, due to the lack of either a garage or a yard. Instead it is: "I will be at the such-and-such station at this time on this date." Or they post to a blog, or craigslist.

Japanese people themselves are horrified at the thought of displaying one's personal effects for sale in this manner. But as we witnessed at the Embassy sale, they are not reluctant to purchase used items.

With the prices in Tokyo being what they are, it's easy to understand why.

Speaking of Miku...

Here are all 3 of the concierges for our building, as displayed on the elevator message board. They are exceedingly polite and helpful, with varying degrees of competence in English. As my competence (the word hardly applies) in Japanese seems to be going in reverse, we often end up engaged in a Pictionary/Charades type of exhange.

Sorry about the poor photo quality, I don't have a tripod and even if I did, setting it up in the elevator would establish me as some kind of kook, a designation I am trying to avoid for the time being.

Speaking of hangers....

The apartment came with a "starter kit" of 2 plates, 2 bowls, 2 knives, forks, etc. All fine and well until it came to the 10 clothes hangers dangling apologetically in the closet. When I asked Miku, our cute and charming concierge, if it was possible to get more hangers she looked at me like I was standing there with a zucchini on my head.

She did manage to rustle up 10 more, after which she sweetly pointed me at the nearest 100 Yen store. Upon cleaning out their stock of "Stylish Hang-ups" I had to seriously question, not for the first time, what was in my head when I was packing. Granted, our 3 months span 3 seasons, kind of. It was cold when we first got here and it will be hot when we leave. But 15 camisoles?? I must have done that in 3 separate sessions, each time forgetting about the priors.

And who needs to own 15 camisoles in the first place?

I have to say, aspects of my California life are being brought under close scrutiny by none other than myself. If I can get by with one pot, one pan, and one paring knife here, surely there are ways I can simplify my "real" life when I get home. What the heck do I even HAVE in all those kitchen drawers, anyway? (probably more camisoles, ha!)

Aside from the isolated incidents when I try to load a plate or bowl into the clothes-washer, I have become very comfortable with our Tokyo closet of a kitchen.

I'm not entirely comfortable with the proximity of the kitchen to the bathroom, however. Fact: a person could get something out of the fridge while perched on the toilet, if necessary. Not that I want to think about what might occasion such a necessity.

I became fast friends with The 100Yen Store soon after moving to the apartment. It's the Japanese counterpart ot the US Dollar Store, but the merchandise tends to be of a higher quality and everything actually IS 100 Yen (105 including tax).

If I had had to pay a regular price for things like a broom, dishpan, hangers, shower squeegee, coffee mugs, waste basket, rubber gloves--you get the idea, the little things you take for granted at home--I would surely feel compelled to try and bring it all back to the States with us when our time here is up.

The apartment is fashionably decorated thanks to the Kojimachi branch of the 100Yen store. Luggage straps which will come in handy later to prevent our suitcases from exploding on the carousel, a hankie for the table and I'm done. Who knew it could be so simple? (The hankie has since been replaced by a coaster, it seemed a little overdone. What is happening to me?)

"Survivor: Tokyo"

An apron made from an old dishtowel and a shoe lace, both of which I packed in case a need arose. (You would have to sit in on one of my packing sessions to understand...)

It's amazing how many things you can live without for 3 months, but for me an apron is not one of them.

It's also amazing how much it can cost to buy the things you DO need for 3 months, so we are re-purposing as much as possible. My innovations with empty yogurt tubs could put the Container Store out of business!

I've gotten some better up close and personal shots since I learned how how to say the magic words.

"Shashin ii desu ka?"

By and large they are happy to pose.

That big fat link was Andrea's response to my question about the odd pod building. Of COURSE she knows it, everyone who has every studied architecture knows it. Silly me. If you have further interest, you can copy the link or just google Nakagin Capsule Tower.

A picture of it shortly after it was built shows it standing all alone on the block.
According to the article, it is slated to be demolished this year unless somebody does something to save it. Since the pods were built separately and then popped together like Legos, I bet they will be auctionined off. I want one! What a great playhouse, office, art studio, dog house, guest pod....

http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://images.pingmag.jp/images/title/nakagin.jpg&imgrefurl=http://pingmag.jp/2008/12/22/nakagin/&usg=__5Z0s_9MdEap6p8FYSckMOkPSNA8=&h=281&w=470&sz=57&hl=en&start=7&sig2=GODRCcIlT2A6rhcGFtwjdQ&um=1&itbs=1&tbnid=TJ4naZFmuMZDVM:&tbnh=77&tbnw=129&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dmodular%2Barchitecture%2Btokyo%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26sa%3DN%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26tbs%3Disch:1&ei=lWzrS5KdNZHeswO28_y8Dw

My first rice balls! Or rice triangles, really. I think I forgot to mention the secret weapon that got us through Eejanaika Day without either fainting from hunger or OD-ing on amusement park junk were the home-made rice balls that Hiroe brought to the party. Ridiculously satisfying, healthy, inexpensive, portable, easy to make...what's not to love?

My seaweed wrapping skills need a little polishing. But I am very happy--thank you Hiroe--to have learned this great alternative to energy bars for on-the-go sustenance, which I require more of than the average bear.

This is a problem. People here don't walk around eating or drinking, it is considered very bad form. The exception is if you buy something from one of the ubiquitous vending machines, it is ok to stand next to the machine and drink it. I have been reduced to furtively chomping off a chunk of Soy Joy while dodging between parked cars. Although really there is nowhere to hide in this city. On the bright side, it turns out that I CAN go for more than half an hour without food. Who knew?

(My brother Roland informed me, by the way, that at the recent Olympics in BC people stood in line for 8 hours to ride a 30-second zip line. Whatttt?! I bet they were wishing they had some rice balls....)

When first I examined my new Tokyo City Map, Third Edition, I thought, "Well darn, how did I buy a map that doesn't have the street names?" It took me a while to realize that I had not chosen a dud, the streets just don't have names.

(See accompanying article on the subject)

Apparently it would be too costly to change the system so they are sticking with it. I love that such a major urban center has an almost folksy method of navigating.

Sapporo and Kyoto have different systems altogether. Kyoto is even more rudimentary than Tokyo. They start by naming the intersection of 2 streets (they do have names) and then indicating if the address is north, south, east or west of it. This means the building can have more than one address, depending on which intersection is chosen. Pity the postal service!

A word on Tokyo addresses, lifted from PLANET TOKYO:

The Black Art of Finding A Japanese Address

As if the total strangeness of Tokyo was not enough to confuse and disorient the Western visitor, it turns out that the streets have no names and the buildings are numbered in a random fashion that was possibly invented by a 13th century Buddhist monk. The secret of deciphering the addressing scheme appears to have died with him.

Or maybe not.

While it is almost hopeless, there are some general guidelines that can be helpful in times of lost distress. This is roughly how it works:

The fact that only the most major streets have names is not really so much of a problem when you realize that the addressing scheme is totally different from anything you've ever encountered before. Street names wouldn't help much.

Here's a sample address:

1-22-14 Jinan, Shibuya-Ku

Shibuya-Ku is the Ward (a large section of the City, Tokyo is comprised of 23 Wards). This will give you a general idea of where a given address is. If this destination is a well known attraction you can probably just take the subway to the heart of any given Ward and ask around once you get there (be prepared to do some serious walking).

In the above example, Jinan is the District within the Ward. This will give you an even more refined sense of where a given address is. The whole process is something like zeroing in on a target.

The District is further subdivided into subsections called Chome. The first number of the address is the Chome, or subsection of the District within the Ward. Surprisingly clear cut, really.

Now this is where it gets a bit complicated. The next digit represents the subsection of the Chome (usually a specific city block). The final digit is the actual building number within the Chome subsection. The problem is that the buildings are not numbered sequentially. Actually, they're numbered in the order in which they were constructed. Given the amount of destruction and aggressive development thatTokyo has witnessed over the past 75 years, it's extremely unlikely that any adjoining buildings in the City were built consecutively.

If this weren't difficult enough, the first two digits (Chome and subsection) are usually written in Japanese.

Careful consideration of this addressing scheme makes it apparent that even if you know the system like a native, there is still no way to find an address on the first try. Usually you'll spend a lot of time wandering around an area, looking at maps and wondering which direction is North.

It's all a process of trial and error, and if it's any consolation, the natives don't seem to understand the system either. Ask strangers on the street for help finding an address and there's a good chance that no two people will agree.

A couple of hints that might make things easier during your trip:

1) Maps are commonly printed on advertisements and matchbooks. Remember this important motto, "while in Japan maps are your friends".

2) The Chome often have maps with detailed information posted randomly throughout the neighborhoods. Unfortunately many of these maps are out of date. More commonly the frame that holds these maps is empty, the Chome map having been removed by some unseen force (not stolen remember this is Tokyo). Should you encounter one of these maps they may provide you with further information you need to find your destination, but they are not entirely reliable. Proceed with caution.

3) If you are really lost, do not hesitate to stop at one of the many neighborhood police stations you will see along your travels. The police are more than willing to help and they know their districts very well.

4) Perhaps the most important advice of all -- when in Tokyo wear comfortable walking shoes. You'll need them.

Did we ever find the little Italian place? Why yes, yes we did. With my crumpled magazine page held out in front of me like a talisman I searched for anything remotely resembling some portion of the photo, particularly a red roof with a yellow lantern hanging from it. It was like looking for a real life jigsaw puzzle piece.

Matthew meanwhile continued to doggedly query his iPhone. So there we were, the two of us preoccupied with our respective navigational aids when I looked up to find we had been standing right next to Fette Panisse for quite some time. Ha ha.

It was tucked away in a delightful little alley. For my Mother's Day feast we partook of chickpea fries and beer while all manner of bicyclists whirled by within inches. Ryan and Andrea had each called me at some point during our quest, and I was uber-contented. It was one of those perfect quirky moments that feels like somebody's taken a highlighter pen to it.