Day 10. Lost in Shibuya

Without committing myself to any real actual research, I would say that Shinjuku is the largest train and subway station in the world.

Gabriel and I plan to meet with Eri (our new friend from Kyoto) for an outrageously expensive cocktail atop the Park Hyatt, at the hotel bar featured in “Lost in Translation.” Gabe leaves our hotel 45 minutes before I do and somehow we arrive at our destination simultaneously, both embarrassingly late. The half-mile walk from Shinjuku has taken Gabe nearly an hour. The Park Hyatt staff do not seem thrilled with my appearance, clad as I am in a t-shirt and sweaty from my haste. But the view is breathtaking.









I wish we had some clips I could snap onto Gabe’s black jacket. I want to be Bill Murray so bad it hurts.

Movie from top

Back to Shibuya for a final feast with Gen.

Wagyu and cow tongue.




Japanese steak tartar with raw egg and radish.



Raw squid with chili pepper.





Multiple order meal.


Vegetables.




Beverages. Fermented rice concoction, sake with a crushed plum in the glass, shochu and iced tea (fantastic…my new summer libation of choice).









Crispy pork bellies?



Merriment.


















Seriousness.



We leave the restaurant nicely shochu’ed up and head off to another of Gen’s hotspots, a subterranean lounge and nightclub to bookend our Tokyo stay with another marathon party session. No pics, sorry.

Sayonara, Kyoto

Gabe opts for shopping, I opt for a few more temples.

First is Sho-ren-in, whose head priests were originally from the Imperial Family. Now that Golden Week is over, the crowds have dispersed. It is so tranquil to walk through alone in stockinged feet.







The garden was created by a famous landscape designer (So-ami) and the path naturally leads you in a picturesque route through the grounds.















I toss a coin in the wood box and ring the bell, enjoying the different tones as the sound gradually dies out.



We walk north to the Imperial Gardens.






I cannot physically resist a soccer game. The guy in blue is very good; he explains (humbly) that he plays professionally and just passed a try-out with the J-League team, Kyoto Sanga. I just try not to embarrass myself.









Occasionally Gabe gets distracted with the camera.













Dash back to the hotel, shower, and nip down the street to enjoy a reflexology foot massage. Gabe is told that everything is wrong with him except for his shoulder. I am informed that my brain needs sleep and my liver needs help. The masseuse is no Delphic Sibyl. For God’s sake, look at me.

We do a spot of shopping.













Grammatically interesting t-shirts, including the best t-shirt ever produced, period.







The disheveled state of our hotel room. We arrived yesterday.



Back to Compi, the punk-rock snack shop. Kosuke, the manager, decides to treat his “regulars” (us) to some blow-torched fish. We dangle them above us and eat the fish whole, heads and all. Gabe can’t stomach it this time (I don’t think the fish were gutted, honestly) and heads nonchalantly to the bathroom, where he regurgitates the gift. When Kosuke generously fires up another round, Gabe frantically tugs at my shirt and informs me that we have to leave, NOW.









Everything is closed tonight in Kyoto, even the infamous Club World. We resolve to get some sleep and make a go of it tomorrow in Tokyo, our final full day.