Kanpai Tokyo

My first day in Nihon was spent mostly with my mouth ajar. There was so much to see. Everything was so different, from the smallest of details to the largest of buildings. My adventure began at the airport when the immigration attendants flocked around my passport because apparently none had seen a Cuban one in the past. They all gave me looks of appreciation for having afforded them such an apparent rare opportunity. They briefly mentioned baseball because they knew our cultures both shared equal interest in the game.

My friend’s parents met us at Narita, Tokyo’s international flight airport, to pick up our bags. We had previous engagements so after some quick formalities we bid them sayonaras and jumped on the subway. Tokyo’s transit system is a phenomenal complex underground web of connections, which puts our NY system to shame. After about forty minuets of jaw dropping commuting we arrived in Azabujyuban.

Tokyo was everything I imagined and more and overflowing with rivers of bodies crisscrossing and bombarding against one another. Alit with neon lights beyond comparison, Tokyo makes Times-Square look like a dimly lit candle. It was a feast for my Western eyes and senses.

We headed to Enyen Café to meet up with friends some of which I previously met in NYC. I was surprised to find pictures of myself on print at the café. I am often admittedly self prideful about such things but not when they take me by surprise. Hence, it was an unexpected and rather embarrassing especially among foreigners whose praises were often lost in translation.

After, some light conversation and coffee we headed out to Akasaka,Tokyo for dinner at Kaf’ Une. I met up with yet more friends primarily those who are members of the nylovesyou.com group who have made it to my restaurant for dinner during previous expeditions. The group was huge there were perhaps twenty people, all very welcoming and comforting as the Japanese so often are. After some brief introductions and several kanpai’s, (cheers) the alcohol started flowing and comfort set in.

Authentic Japanese food happens to be a very-very distant cousin of what we find in the states. There was some platters I loved and one consisting of aged stinky soy beans that I especially hated. Had I not had been under observation by the crowd with hopeful stares of approval I would have perhaps reacted a bit differently. I chased the rather acquired taste with two shots of sake and shook it off. We have a saying in Cuba that goes as follows, what doesn’t kill you, makes you fatter; I would rather die then put on weight eating this rather ethno-centric delicacy.