Friday, April 6, 2018
Hungover in Tokyo should be today’s blog title. That’s what happens when you take shots shitty vodka from the Lawson’s around the corner while pre-partying in your studio apartment Airbnb. Ever the tourists, we still got our asses up and walked to the Harajuku neighborhood for breakfast at “Eggs and things”. I may be in Japan, but I’m still a white girl, and I need eggs with my hangover. I seriously contemplated washing them down with champagne, but I’m not trying to shoot my wad too early on a Friday in Tokyo.
After breakfast we met up with our tour guide (read: drunk bar friend who we harassed into showing us around), Paul, and his friend Alex. They showed up looking like they were ready for a hipster photo shoot at the skate park in Venice beach. My lulu lemons were pathetic in comparison. We walked around Harajuku, which is a neighborhood in Shibuya knowns for it’s bizarre/retro/quirky fashion and the famous Takeshita Dori street, which is the Japanese version of Santee Alley, just sub the fake purses and homeless people for kitten t-shirts and giggling Asian girls in school girl uniforms. Paul showed us a cat café, which charges about $10 per person to sit in a room and drink tea with four cats. I can do that at my Dad’s house with actual booze. We obviously passed. Paul marched us on through the backstreets of Harajuku, by trendy café’s and vintage clothing stores. I waited outside and tried not to puke on the street while the rest of the group wandered in and out of the fashionable boutiques. Shopping is not my strong suit on a good day, and I sure as shit don’t travel halfway around the world to check out clothes. Neil, Carly and I decided that our particular skills were far better suited for the drunken nightlife tour of Tokyo, and so we threw in the towel with plans to meet the boys later that night. I’m sure none of you will be surprised to guess that I spent the afternoon watching homeland in bed, nursing my hangover.
Normally I would feel travel guilt about spending a day in bed, but we have serious temple PTSD from Kyoto. Our mantra in Tokyo is “fuck temples, I just wanna dance!” We checked every tourist attraction off our list in Kyoto, and we are on track to pretty much do nothing on the list while in Tokyo. Sometimes you just have to cross everything off the excel spreadsheet itinerary and replace it with “have fun and get drunk”. Look at me, being all spontaneous and shit.
Around 5 pm, Carly and I managed to drag ourselves out of bed and head to the local conveyor belt sushi restaurant down the street. I don’t eat sushi, so I grabbed a gyro while we waited in line and then drank shochu while Carly played fish roulette. The experience was actually pretty fun, and amazingly inexpensive. You order small plates of sushi off an iPad and within minutes it shoots down the conveyor belt to appear in front of your plate.
Back at our Airbnb, I was ready to party, but Carly and Neil wanted another nap. I gave them a solid hour to sleep until I unleashed all holy peer pressure hell on them. I should probably mention that I took shots of vodka to the face, alone, while they were napping. I didn’t tell them how many I had under my belt when they woke, and I think it’s probably best that I don’t tell you either. Your judgement will get us nowhere. After a more-than-sufficient pre-party, we headed to Mogambo bar in the Roppongi neighborhood of Tokyo. Roppongi is the party place for tourists in Tokyo, so we should fit right in. The bar was fun, but drinks were expensive. Luckily, Japanese men seem to really enjoy buying drinks for white girls such as myself. They don’t even try to hit on you, they just pay your bar tab, thank you for the pleasure of letting them pay your tab, and leave you alone. If you ever find yourself in a bar filled with Japanese businessmen, just smile while ordering and the bill will somehow take care of itself. Paul and Alex met us at Mogambo where we did some dancing before heading over to 1 Oak.
Yes, Tokyo has a 1 Oak, and yes, I actually went to a club. Only because Paul put us on the list so I didn’t have to roll in like a basic bitch. This is where the night gets fuzzy so bear with me. We got a few drink tickets with our cover charge, but only had time for one round before we were ushered into VIP bliss by some rich Mexicans. Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m not being racist. They were actually rich boys from Mexico City. At the very least, their daddies are rich Mexicans. They had the best table right on the dance floor, and even let us bring Neil into VIP with us. Bottle service at the rich Mexican table was going OFF even before the champagne party started. The night reached its shit show climax when a procession of Japanese cocktail waitresses walked out holding no less than twelve bottles of Dom Perignon with sparklers. Imagine my elation when I realized the bottles were destined for our table. I started handing out glasses of champagne to everyone around me, even the peasants on the other side of the ropes. I was like Oprah with a drinking problem. You get champagne and you get champagne and you get champagne!
I’m going to stop the blog here because frankly there isn’t much I remember after that point. I know I made an ass out of myself on the dance floor, but that goes without saying. At one point I realized how drunk I was and tried to flee but couldn’t figure out where to door was so I went back to the rich Mexican’s table and continued partying. I’m honestly shocked I didn’t pass out in a bathroom. Not because I’m a hot mess who can’t handle my booze (I can), but because the toilet seats in Japan are heated. Have you ever peed on a heated toilet seat while shit faced? They might as well read you a fucking bed time story. I can only assume every bar and club has a protocol for extracting drunk people out of bathroom stalls. We somehow managed to take our drunk selves home in cab a little after 3 am. I didn’t lose any of my shit or sprain an ankle. Hallelujah. I love Tokyo.
Saturday, April 7, 2018
Now that we are Tokyo experts, we don’t feel guilty sleeping the days away and saving ourselves for after the sun goes down, the city lights up and the weirdos come out. Carly and I got some hungover ramen and walked around for a bit before heading back to our little studio to nap. Around 4 pm we pulled ourselves out of bed, popped a bottle of champagne and got ready to head out for the evening. It’s robot restaurant show night!
We hopped on the metro for a few stops from the Shibuya station to the Shinjuku station. For those of you who don’t know, we went from the second busiest train station in Japan to the busiest. At rush hour. Despite having to walk about half a mile through the train station to find your train, this is still a better option than driving in Tokyo. Seriously, don’t even try it. We reached Shinjuku and realized it looks exactly the same as Shibuya, perhaps with slightly taller buildings. I’m feeling better about my decision to sleep all day.
We headed to dinner at Kuriya, a yakatori restaurant that Carly picked based on excellent tripadvisor reviews. We entered to find it packed with white people. It was definitely one of our best meals in Japan. Probably because it was Japanese food white washed for tourists. After dinner and drinks we walked over to the famous Golden Gai – a time-warped network of small alleyways filled with hundreds of tiny bars the size of closets. It looks like a Japanese-style shanty town straight out of the 1920s. Golden Gai was my one MUST DO thing in Japan. A tiny town of bars at the top of my list should be a shock to no one. We randomly hopped into one of the little bars that had no cover charge (a rare find in Golden Gai) and had a drink with a nice couple from Brazil. Between the five of us, we filled up the entire bar. We zig zagged through the alleys, checking out all the quirky little bars, some multiple levels, some locals only, and some teeming with the sounds of amazingly awful karaoke.
Overall, the unique bars in Golden Gai are truly awesome, but they are also over-priced. Given that it is our last night in Tokyo, we were running low on cash reserves, so we headed to a bar that takes credit card to have a few drinks before the Robot show. We obviously had no intention of being anywhere near sober for this shit.
Oh, Robot restaurant, where to even begin? From the moment you enter, it is a full blown assault on your senses. We were ushered though sparkling mirrored hallways, down a psychedelic staircase to the main showroom on the ground floor. We had a round of drinks included in our tickets so we headed to the “bar” for one final attempt at getting ourselves drunk enough to fall down the rabbit hole. The drink situation here is dire. All drinks are pre-made out of cans, including the booze. Have you ever had a vodka soda out of a can? Of course not, because you aren’t drinking from a fucking earthquake kit under a pile of rubble. Who on earth would do such a thing? We took our seats with our nasty canned drinks, thankful for our little pre-show bar crawl around Shinjuku. Let the show begin….
The Robot show is basically like watching the rose parade in the Mad Hatter’s living room while on an acid trip. People come out in ridiculous metallic costumes, lip singing their hearts out, gliding along the runway in bizarrely decorated platforms on wheels. These people ride everything from robots to giant pandas to huge dinosaurs. I think there was actually a story line, but it would be impossible to follow without some form of illegal substance. We basically spent an hour and a half pointing at shit saying “what the actual fuck?”. There were two intermissions where you can buy food and swag. Neil spent most of these breaks trying to spit game at the hot Asian girl sitting in the row below us. Normally I would have ran straight to the bar, but the cans of sugar they were passing off as booze kept us on the wagon. I would describe the entirety of the show as burning man on mars after an alien invasion. Yeah, I think that sums it up pretty well. For the record, this is NOT the weirdest show I have ever seen while traveling. Lest we forget the epic Ping Pong show in Patong, Thailand. Sorry Robot Restaurant, it was cool, but there are no points for second place.
We all spilled out onto the street around midnight, contemplating what move to make next. Neil’s girlfriend and her posse were headed to 1 Oak. We seriously contemplated going with them until we realized we were not on the list. Spending an hour sitting in traffic in a cab, plus another hour in line sounded like a great way to put me in a terrible mood. Besides, how on earth would be top last night’s visit? We decided to call it a night and put our Japan trip, and ourselves, to bed.
All we did Sunday is fly home, so I’ll end the Japan series here. The nautical soul mates survived a vacation on land. Until next time, losers!
This Bitch Be Trippin 
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