Carpeted floors. Polite people. Hyper-efficient public transportation. Anthill buildings. Endless suburbs turning into endless city. Or so it feels.
It's the strangest feeling, suddenly being effectively illiterate. Absolutely nothing makes sense - you have no idea if the bottle you pick up in the shop is shampoo or cooking oil. The label portrays cartoon children bathing - in a peach. You hope it's not cooking oil, and decide to take the chance.
What..? Coffee Jello?!? And.. Why would anyone want to put caviar on pizza?
In Tokyo everything is small, with three exceptions: dogs, buildings and fruit. Cars, people, clothes, portions, and gardens are tiny. But they seem to love big, fluffy dogs.
You can't see any garbage cans anywhere, and yet there is no garbage on the street. Where does it all go?
A considerable portion of the population are wearing masks on a daily basis, and yet no one seems worried about robbers. Ah. The cold rates are higher than the crime rates in this city.
The metro. Nowhere does that name fit better. Metro. Met-o-ro. The various exits for just one station seems miles apart. It's a labyrinth designed to capture you, but those who know how to navigate it slip past anyone slowing down with ease. The Tokyo metro surely must be the model for Nintendo's classic Donkey Kong games.
Eventually you remember to look up, and discover an entire city on top of the first. Tokyo isn't a ground floor city. Bars, restaurants, shops - upstairs! At the roof of a 56 floor building you finally stop to take a breath. You turn to every direction, but there is no end in sight. The lights from the city reaches the horizon in 360 degrees.
For the first time you have a vague idea how big Tokyo really is.
|City of blinding lights?|