Worse For Wear

We arrive road (air?)-worn and weary, and immediately catch the train to Shinjuku, the district we are staying in. The train is as spotless as all the guides books attest, the guard bows reverentially to us as he leaves the carriage, this isn't quite like Southern Rail who try and get me into London every morning – perhaps I'll suggest they smarten up a bit?

Dusk is starting to settle over a damp and bustling Tokyo as we are politely spat out of Shinjuku's southern exit. The first thing that always hits me when entering a new country is the smell of the air; every country has its own variation. Tokyo’s is warm and neutral in case you were wondering. The city, compared to London, is quite noiseless (no horns honking, or shouting street shamen preaching the end of the world; it is more ordered and structured, the steady pace of people walking at odds with the ‘elbows out, every man for themselves, God help you if you slow me down’-ness of London’s evening rush hour. We find our hotel, only a short hop from the station at around 6:30, dump our bags and hit the bar… of course.
My theory is, you get comfortable in a city not by wandering around looking at museums and soaking up the culture, but by doing ordinary things like going to a bar and chatting with fellow drinkers – that usually does the trick splendidly well.

Misjudging our sake intake or was it the long dehydrating flight? We rather wobble off to bed, ready for Tokyo in the daylight tomorrow.