1964: The Experience - Reflections/The Journey Home

5/26/14

Tokyo International Airport, Japan (HND)

Ah, the triumphant airport entry, the best part of a successful trip.  I will treat The Journey Home in its entirety either from LAX or en route GCT.  This entry will contain my reflections on Japan.  When I first arrived, I loved Japan.  Now that I am ready to depart, not so much.  There are parts of Japan that I will miss, but others that I will not.  I first thought that, despite the language barrier, this was a place that I could live.  After two days, certain aspects of the culture have started to drive me insane.  I could never live in city where you are not supposed to smoke a cigar while you’re jaywalking.  Although no one stopped me from smoking on the streets, I knew that it was not allowed, and I did not see anyone else doing it.  Likewise with the jaywalking.  I cannot understand, when no cars are coming, not crossing the street.  Traffic lights are for cars, not people.  People cross when it’s safe.  Cars cross when it’s green.  Barriers that prevent you from crossing the street in the middle.  Not my kind of thing.  I don’t like their obsession with order and cleanliness and neatness.  I don’t like the masks that so many people wear.  I don’t.  The anti-smoking culture is pretty bad, some ways worse than New York, others not as bad.  However, it is nothing like Jordan or even Moscow.

When I went through security at the airport, they put a pair of slides in front of me.  Three times the security guard moved the slides in front of my feet, and three times I sidestepped them.  I could tell he would think it rude to tell me to put them on, so he sort of made a sound and pointed at them.  I made a negative sound in response and he moved them away.  Was it really any cleaner to be wearing the same pair of slides that 100s of people wore every day than to walk around in my socks?  In Japan, they want everything to be just so, and, while it fits in well with my previously described definition of aesthetics, and I found their temples to be very beautiful, it does not work well for me in practice.

I like the obsequious service, but I could never so “fake polite” like that.  The people are constantly bowing every chance they have, and I find it demeaning.  The Japanese are no longer servants of the Emperor.  Waiters and all sorts of service stuff still have that mindset.  Japan is the kind of place where, if I’m not watching where I’m going and bump into a waiter, he’ll apologize to me for being in my way.  And bow.

That said, there is a lot of stuff I love about dear Nippon.   The train system, both local and long-distance, is excellent.  No matter how long the trip is, the trains are accurate to the minute.  The subway system is as good as New York, and I did not need to take a single cab today, not even to the airport.  The seats are cushioned in all the trains, and they all have the electronic systems.  The stations are numbered, which we do not do in New York.  It’s almost as if Dagny Taggart ran this rail system, which is ironic, since it is state-owned.  I like that they have plenty of clean, public bathrooms, even in the train stations.  I do not like that there is a last train.  That is pretty much the only way in which our train system beats theirs.

I would also like to discuss the idiosyncrasies unique to this country.  The first are the bathrooms.  They don’t have soap, the public ones at least.  They have places to hang your umbrella at the Uer and by the sink, but they don’t have soap.  At first, I thought that that was very disgusting, but then I remembered.  They have these electronic seats, with a butt washer and a seat warmer, both of which I am averse to using.  I like toilet paper, and I like a cold seat.  If you are using the butt washer, I guess you don’t really need to wash your hands, but it’s still pretty gross.  Every restaurant I went to gave me a wet wipe to start the meal.  I never used it, but it was still interesting.  They also brought the check out with the food, which I loved.  No more waiting forever to get the check in abject boredom after my meal.  If I have exact change, I can leave as soon as I’m done eating.  That leads me to another thing: no tipping.  It is considered an insult to tip anyone here.  I like that the price you see is the price you pay.  I like not having to carry around small banknotes or large coins to tip people, but I don’t like that I cannot leave a bad tip for bad service, though bad service probably does not exist here.

Regarding the coins, the largest coin they have is, I believe, worth more than any coin I have ever used.  It is worth about 20 times our largest coin that we regularly use.  I like the precision with which people use time.  5 minutes means 5 minutes.  Haneda is the most punctual airport in the world.  I like the honesty.  In Kyoto, I saw a line of bikes just parked on the streets, no locks.  That shocked me.  The payment for the trams was on the honor system.  I figured that maybe Kyoto was a smaller town.  The Wikitravel “Stay Safe” section for Tokyo pretty much says that is the safest place in the world, and doesn’t give any warnings.  In Tokyo, I saw the exact same thing.  Unattended bikes with no locks.  That is unthinkable for a New Yorker.  I almost considered taking one for a joy ride.  I, of course, did not.

I did, however, do pretty much everything I set out to do.  There is no rush to go back, though I do look forward to returning eventually.  I will probably make G7 Complete one of my 40 Goals, so that will be a fun trip.  Sitting in this airport, I am now further east than I have ever been, and, until I go to Australia, I will not go further east than this.  If 2012 was the beginning of the silver age of travel, 2013 about exploring the world, 2014 was about expanding my horizons.  This year, I will travel further in all 4 cardinal directions than I have ever been.  Alaska will take my further north of west and my New Year’s trip further south.  In fact, when I set foot in Buenos Aires, it will be the first time I go south of the equator.  Actually, I may have never even been in the air south of the equator.  It has been an amazing year of travel so far, having visited 8 new countries, 24 new WHS, 3 new NP, 3 new Olympic Stadiums (plus seeing another), and a new Canadian territory, and it’s not even half over.  My pipe is almost done, and I want to head to my gate, so I will close.  I guess I will do The Journey Home from LAX.

Los Angeles International Airport, California (LAX)

When 2020 comes to pass, there will be exactly sites places in the world that have hosted two Olympics: Tokyo and Los Angeles.  That was not missed on me as I flew from Tokyo to Los Angeles (HND-LAX).  Yes, London and Paris have hosted multiple Olympics, but they had each stadium at a different location.  After I closed from the bar in Akasaka, I headed outside.  I was sore in every single part of my body, especially the ones required for body, and I seriously considered taking a cab, especially when I realized that it was raining.  I asked how much the fare was?  He had almost no English, so I opened up the calculator on my phone, and he typed it in.  It was about the same as I would have spent on a cab to Kennedy, so I turned him down, especially given that I could use public transportation to get to the airport for just the coins I had left in my pocket with the rail pass.  I had to take three different trains, including the monorail, and I had a little trouble navigating it all, but I figured it out.  Google Maps has to be to the greatest thing ever invented.  Other than my cab fares in Kyoto the tram in Hiroshima, and some nominal charges for the Tokyo Metro, I did not spend a single yen on transportation, my rail pass covering everything else.

Without Google Maps, I would not have been able to use public transportation so efficiently, and I would have had a hefty cab budget both in Hiroshima and Tokyo.  Oh, right, the taxi to and from the cigar bar last night, but that was only because it was so late, and I was so tired.  I say last night, although it was more than 36 hours ago, since it is still technically Monday now in Los Angeles.  When I got to the monorail, I heard an announcement that the train was about to depart, so I made a run for it.  A somewhat cute American was also running for it with me.  We got in just as the doors closed, and she looked at me and laughed.  I then did something I almost never do.  “Good trip?”  She said that it was.  It was only two words, but, other than sarcastic comments or angry retorts, I never talk to strangers.  I don’t even like saying hello to people on my floor at work.

We got to Haneda in no time, and I checked in.  I looked at the board, and something was off.  The 00:05 flight to LAX was a Delta flight.  I ignored it for the moment, but it was worrying me at the back of my head, since I was supposed to be on a NH/UA codeshare, not a DL flight.  I breezed through security and checked out duty free.  I considered getting some sake or whiskey to bring back, but they did not have the security bags, so I would not be able to bring it aboard my LAX-JFK flight.  The only cigars they had were Davidoff, so that was a letdown.  Whether due to tobacco tax or the premium location, the cigars had been twice what I would pay in Spain, so I hadn’t bought a box yet.  It means that I will need to be conservative for the next few months, but I could not justify buying a box of cigars that cost a week’s net pay just to be used as an everyday cigar.  The gate on my ticket said 110, but the gate for the DL flight on the board said 142.

There was a smoking bar right by 110, so I decided I would have a pipe while I wrote the reflective entry and then figure out, since I had plenty of time.  I walked to the back, got myself set up, and grabbed an ashtray.  Someone came over me and told me that I had to place an order at the bar.  That was fine, I wanted to try Japanese whiskey anyway, and I knew that I could use my card.  Whatever the price of the whiskey, it would be worth the admission fee to the smoking lounge, especially since there were two outlets there.  It was pretty much a free drink.  The whiskey was excellent, as good as any scotch I’ve ever had, and I should probably try to convince my father to pick up a bottle for the house, though I suppose that I have already just done that, since I know he will be reading this.

After my pipe, I headed to the departure board.  Once again, the DL flight, 00:05 HND-LAX, was Gate 142, the opposite end of the airport.  I didn’t think I had the energy or strength to make it.  I checked another board along the way.  Then I saw it, “0:05   Los Angeles   NH 1006   110.”  In other words, there were two HND-LAX flights, both departing at 00:05.  That wasn’t confusing at all.  I wondered how often people go to the wrong gate, try to get on the wrong plane, miss their flight.

As I was waiting, I heard my name called.  I was a little nervous, since my name never gets called.  Was something wrong with my flight?  The agent had a bunch of tickets.  Was I being upgraded to business class?  No such luck.  They handed me a card that said the TSA required I submit to additional security screening.  Had I raised some red flag?  Or was this just a random screening?  I hoped it was the latter.  There was no x-ray machine, so I was worried about having to unpack and repack my bags or that I might lose my lighter.  The woman asked if she may touch my bags?  I said that she could.  May she touch me?  I gave permission.  Again, they offered me slides, and, again, I turned them down.  They just swabbed my clothes and bags to test for explosive residue.  Quick and painless.

We soon began boarding, and the flight was full, no room to stretch out like last time.  As I was making my way to my seat, I heard a crash, some things fall out of a bag.  I looked up to see a skin color I had not seen since leaving New York.  It would be a lie to say that my mind did not connect those things.  Every Japanese person loaded their bags with extreme precision and efficiency, and I thought to myself that she wasn’t ready for the big leagues.  I sat down and made a playlist of my favorite Avril and Taylor songs, plugged in my headphones, and put on my eyemask, ready to lean back and pass out as soon as we were off the ground.  A stewardess came over and me to turn off my phone (strike one), put on my seatbelt (strike 2), and stow my bag under my seat (strike 3).  I knew that I was doing all three of those things wrong, and I’m sure she knew I knew, too, but she was so polite and apologetic about it.  I just put my phone away, keeping the music playing.

I woke up about 4 hours later to find my tray table ajar.  There was a sandwich and a bottle of water wedged in, how nice.  I had some of the water and went back to sleep.  When I woke up again, I took a much needed U and returned to my seat to find the Japanese next to me had gotten up.  I could only assume that they had waited the 8 or so hours while I was sleeping before they get up because they were too polite to disturb my sleep.

The sandwich was actually three half sandwiches: ham, egg salad, and chopped liver.  I then did something that no Japanese person would do in public.  I read that something about Japanese culture was that people there are constantly concerned about not doing anything that would reflect poorly upon them to other people.  I am the polar opposite.  I don’t give two fucks what strangers give about me.  I don’t even give one fuck.  I used my fingers to pick out the protein in between the bread and eat it.  I then licked my fingers clean.  The second meal service was soon beginning, and I got the beef stew.  The problem with the meal service on these big flights is that I eat quickly, and, once I’m done, I’m a prisoner in my seat until they take away my tray.  I needed to U again, and my fingers reeked of chopped liver, so I didn’t want to go back to sleep, which would make my hair smell like chopped liver.

It was almost an hour before they took away the trays, and I couldn’t use my computer, either.  Then, the line at the bathroom was too long.  I might have gotten a little bit of sleep at that point.  When the line dwindled down, I went to wash my hands and take my much needed U.  Oh, and with all my trips to the bathroom, I did another thing that no Japanese person would ever do.  Not wanting to constantly fumble with me shoes, I forewent them, just wearing my socks.  I didn’t really care, but I’m sure that I was being judged.  When we finally landed, again, all the Japanese people unloaded their bags with complete efficiency, and again another crash from the black woman.  Did she really think that if everything fell out when she was loading it that nothing would fall out when she took it down?  I saw that she had all these small bags, unlike the large shopping bag I had had for all of my acquisitions.  We got off the plane, and I realized that I was in the famous Tom Bradley International Terminal for the first time.

I went through my Global Entry process with no hassle.  When I handed the agent my ticket, he asked to see my passport.  That was new.  “Where in the god-awful State of New York were you born?”  “Right in midtown Manhattan.”  “I’m sorry.”  I laughed.  “I was born in the beautiful state across the river.”  “New Jersey?”  He confirmed that and told me to have a nice day.  I put my headphones back on and made my way to Terminal 7 for my connection.  It was a bit of a walk, but I lit up an Opus for the walk.  Once I got to the terminal, I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will close.  It has been a great trip.  On the way home, I always think about how I’ll answer the question people will inevitably ask, “Did you enjoy yourself?”  Without a moment’s hesitation, I will say that I did.  Other than Kyoto, I pretty much loved every minute of it.  There were plenty of disappointments, but I certainly got my money’s worth in enjoyment and fulfillment value.  Next stop: Boston and Maine with my mother to get the last brown (North Atlantic NPS) stamps.

1964: The Experience - Tokyo

5/26/14

Tokyo, Japan (Asakusa)

“When in Tokyo, do as the…”  Wait, that’s not right.  When I travel, I take great pains to make sure I can experience as much local culture as I can.  From the food to the modes of travel, I like to do what the locals do.  More often than not, it means eating foods I would never dare to taste in New York.  Sometimes, it’s awful.  Othertimes, I discover great new foods.  To me, travel is about more than just sightseeing, even more than just check boxes off my list.  It’s about experiencing new cultures and truly exploring the world.

Certain trips, like the WWI trip, are a series of Munich Runs.  Other trips, like the CA-4 trip, are a “If it’s Tuesday, then this must be Belgium” type of trip.  Then we have the hub and spoke trip.  In order for a trip to be a proper hub and spoke trip, I need to stay in the same hotel each night and base my adventures from the central city.  Mexico City was like that.  When I plan a trip like that, I can include a very special day, one that I call the city day.  While any of the other trip types can implement the Copenhagen or Istanbul protocols, a proper city day is different.  I had one in Moscow, and I had one in Tehran.

Today, here in Tokyo, is the proper city day.  It is the first proper city day that I have done entirely on my own, without a tour guide.  The great thing about a city day is that you can choose half a dozen sites and hit them all in one day, oftentimes even leaving time for cigar shop and/or a nice meal.  On the list for today was the National Diet, the National (Olympic) Stadium, the Imperial Palace, souvenir shopping, the Tokyo Skytree, the Cigar Club, and, if time allowed, a nice meal.

I did not set an alarm clock last night, choosing instead to wake up naturally.  Without my sleep machine, however, I have constantly waking up between sleep cycles, so it was only an issue of deciding at which 90-minute increment I wanted to get out of bed.  On the way back from the cigar bar last night, I realized that I still needed a Sunday newspaper for my collection.  Tokyo was too major of a city not to get the newspaper.  I asked the driver to stop, but he didn’t understand.  It was okay.  I figured that the hotel would have a paper.  I was right.  In fact, one had also been left in my room.  I was shocked by the level of service provided by housekeeping, except for one thing: they didn’t replace the soap.  That seems like a minor thing, but my reader will know that I collect hotel toiletries, and I cannot collect a used bar of soap.  They had left my half-empty cup of sake, and they even folded my dirty shirts and socks.  I knew that it would make packing much easier.

I headed down for breakfast a little behind schedule, but I knew that the limiting reactant, should I choose to do it, would be watching the sun set at the Tokyo Skytree.  It would be quite easy to do everything else on the list before then.  I got the same thing I order for breakfast every morning in New York, along with undercooked bacon and overpriced coffee.  When I say overpriced, I mean 4 times the price of a coffee at Starbucks.  It was almost as much as I paid for the double espresso in Moscow and more than I ever paid for drip coffee.

I decided to stop at the concierge to get the dope on the Olympic Stadium, since the information available online was unclear.  I also considered asking her to make me a reservation at a nice restaurant.  From what I understood online, tours were offered of the Stadium from the Sports Museum, which was technically instead the Stadium.  I was not sure if tours were available to the general public or only as part of organized groups.  She called the stadium, and the sound of conversation seemed off.  When she hung up, she uttered the dreaded word, “Sorry.”  The rest of the sentence didn’t matter.  The stadium was not accessible to the public, only for concerts and sporting events, of which there was not one tonight.

Okay, but what about the sports museum?  If I could go into the museum, I would technically be inside the stadium, and that would be okay.  Where was the access to the museum?  Would it be open today?  Closed for renovations.  I asked when the renovations would start, and when they would end, but it didn’t matter.  I was under the impression that the demolition of the Stadium was slated to begin in July.  Surely they would not be renovating it in time.  It didn’t make any sense.  I was devastated.  Was there any way around this?  No, I could not afford another vacation day.  Could I trade this trip with my birthday trip in September?  No, the demolition would begin by then.

Determined not to lose heart, nor to let this ruin my day exploring Tokyo, I decided I would just go and see what could be done.  Maybe I could plead with or bribe a guard or construction worker.  Maybe I could show my USOC Sixth Ring card and make up some story.  Maybe I could find an open gate.  Maybe I could somehow get close enough to be able to say that I was “inside the stadium.”  Meanwhile, I had lost my desire for a nice meal, but I did not lose my desire for a cigar.  I want to the cigar store in the lobby and got an overpriced El Rey del Mundo Exclusivo Asia Pacifico.

I lit up my Ashton ESG and made my way towards the National Diet.  I knew that whatever happened at the Stadium, if I got home and did not like the picture I took at the legislature, I would be disappointed.  There was no point being disappointed about two things.  When I finally got to the Diet, it was all closed off, and I had to go across the street to take a decent picture.  I could walk up to any legislative building in the United States at any hour of the day and touch the front gate.  Well, maybe Congress requires some security checkpoints, but you can get an unobstructed view of it from the National Mall.  It made me realize just how true “We the People” is.  I am always shocked in other countries when the building is either behind a gate or even blocked from public view.  My only conclusion is that those countries do not truly have a people’s government.  In a true republic, affairs of the government are a matter of public concern.  My making the legislative buildings open to the public, it emphasizes that point.  I believe that almost every legislative session in the United States at every level is open to the public.  That is certainly not the case in other countries.  At least I was able to take a good picture here.

Oh, I forgot to mention, the non-smoking signs, I looked at them more closely.  They clearly said in English, in block letters, that smoking on the street was prohibited.  I passed plenty of cops, but none of them said anything.  It was over an hour from the hotel to the stadium, in the heat, in my suit, lugging my heavy bag.  None of that mattered.  I was a man on a mission.  However, a bathroom emergency changed that.  After I ditched my cigar, I stopped at a 7-11.  Yes, they have them here.  There was no “you need to buy something” or “customers only.”  In the end, I did buy something, two much-needed bottles of diet sports drink, along with using the ATM.  I made my way to the Stadium, and I was ready for anything.

The place was teeming with cops and locked gates.  My plan was to walk around the Stadium in search of an unmanned, unlocked gate.  Alternatively, I would use my USOC card to try and make up some story.  As I was walking, I saw that there was a soccer match at the Stadium.  Fuck!  I should have planned my trip around attending that soccer match.  Oh well, it was too late.  As I walked, I realized that I was underneath the concrete of the uppermost seats and, worst comes to worst, I could call that being in the Stadium.  But, wait.  There’s no one at this gate.  And, look.  It’s unlocked.  Throwing caution into the wind, I opened it.  It made a terrible screeching sound, and there were guards and construction workers not far away.  Surely they would notice.  They either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

I made my way to the seating area, but there was another gate, locked.  It didn’t matter.  I was most certainly “inside the stadium at that point.”  I started laughing in triumph.  I couldn’t believe that I did it.  I like to say that there is a story behind each Olympic Stadium visit, and there certainly is for this one.  After I took my pictures, I didn’t get the hell out of Dodge.  I got the fuck out of Dodge.  I walked a few blocks away, not caring if I was going in the right direction, not checking my map until I was out of sight.  I did, however, stop at the open gate to the museum and asked the guard if it was closed.  It was.  I might have been able to use my USOC trick with him, but it was unnecessary.  I had did it and managed to get away with it.

I lit up the Trinidad I had been saving as my triumphant cigar and walked towards the Imperial Palace, which was also closed to the public.  It was a huge cigar, and it was starting to burn my fingers by the time I got to the gate.  There was no view of the Palace, but I showed the guard a picture, and he told me where to go to take a photo.  It’s a great trick that I learned.  You download pictures of all the sites to your phone, and you can show them to people when you ask for directions.  Andrew had told me that there wasn’t much to see at the Palace, and he was right.  The only picture I could take was of an ornamental gate.  I had finished my cigar by the time I got to the gate.

At some point, I had decided to put on my headphones, and, with Avril Lavigne blaring into my ears, Tokyo was no different from Moscow or Manhattan.  I decided to take the subway to Asakusa, where the main souvenir market was.  I had to transfer, but the subway system in Tokyo is just as good as the one in Manhattan and even more reliable.  When they say the train is at 13:51, it’s at 13:51.  I stopped for lunch when I got to Asakusa, treating myself to some Tempura.  As I ate the appetizers, I realized that I was properly using the chopsticks to pick up the pieces of squid.  It only took my 26 years.

Once I got to Nakamise, the main souvenir street, I lit up my El Rey del Mundo.  This time people told me to stop smoking.  The first person was a lady who sold me some souvenirs, but she waited until after I made my purchase.  The second lady was the one next to another vendor whom I was offering my custom.  No one wanted to risk a sale by telling me to stop smoking.  I got everything I needed and realized that, other than coins, I all I had left were the banknotes I had withdrawn at the 7-11.  They wouldn’t go to waste.  The street led to a famous Shinto shrine, which was quite impressive.  I definitely like the Shinto shrines better than the Buddhist ones.  After I saw the shrine, I saw a sign for a smoking area.  Thinking “When in Rome,” I headed there.  After a bit, I found a seat, and, sitting in view of the Skytree, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can head over there.

Tokyo, Japan (Akasaka)

So, my idea of getting to the Skytree simply by looking up and walking towards it was not as simple as it seemed.  There was a river to be crossed, and I had to find a bridge, but I got there in due time.  From a distance, it seemed huge, and it just kept get bigger the closer I got (That’s what she said).  I don’t think that I found Burj Khalifa that impressive.  When I got there, I saw a convenience store at the base that sold replicas of the right size and color, but I knew there to be a few official shops inside, so that would be the first choice.  As I made my way up, I saw a Denny’s which I did not expect to see in Japan.

I got to the plaza outside, and I was absolutely floored looking up 2000 feet to the top of this tower.  I went inside, and I saw the dreaded words: closed due to high wind.  I took a sigh of relief and headed to the gift shop.  Technically, I was inside the tower, but then I remembered.  It was not any kind of goal to scale the tallest towers in the world or even to be inside of them.  I stood at the bottom and looked up in wonder.  That was enough.  I also asked myself if I had to choose between going inside the Stadium and going up the tower, and the choice was clear.  Unfortunately, the gift shop did not have any good replicas.  It was Burj Khalifa all over again.  I fell asleep at the top of Burj Khalifa, and they wouldn’t let me up the Tokyo Skytree.  What will happen when I go to the Canton Tower?  The last tower that was a real success was the one in Tehran.  Even the CN Tower was a bit of a letdown.  I got a keychain and some shitty replicas.  I then saw that they had these “grab bag” sealed balls that each continued a tiny replica.  The ones that mattered to me, other than the Skytree, were the Asakusa Shrine and the National Diet.  The question became the most economical way to do it.  I bought three, knowing that I needed at least that many.  The first one was the shrine, but the next two were the Skytree.  They saw me opening them with my fey look and got a kick out of it.  I told them that I was going to get more, but I told her to only ring me up after I opened them.  Three more, no National Diet.  I paid and went to get more.  The manager walked over, and I wondered at point they were just to going to offer me the display one.  Fortunately, the next batch had the National Diet.  I left happy and left them very confused.

In re: me not wanting the Skytree, the manager had said, “You’re different from everyone else.”  I walked away carrying that very proudly.  Yes, other people do not travel the way I do.  I decided to stop Denny’s just so I could say that I did, and I got lost along the way.  The menu was in Japanese only, but it looked like they just had hamburgers accompanied by two choices in starch.  I got the cheapest one since I would not have more than a bite or two of the starch.  While I waited for my burger, I read different people’s takes on what they will and will not miss about Japan, which will be the theme of my reflective entry.  I then went back to the convenience store to get the replica, along with getting a make your own replica at the shop next door.

I took the subway to the ANA Intercontinental where the Cigar Club was, finally getting to experience the traditional Japanese rush hour, though it was not as bad as I had heard.  Granted, I probably was not on the most crowded line, and I got on at the first stop.  As I was entering the hotel, I saw a very elegant buffet set-up, and I considered that I might get my dinner there.  However, I knew that I would want to have a cigar at the Cigar Club and another one after I ate.  I did not want to eat first, and I did not have time for a meal and two cigars.  It turned out that Cigar Club was just a small cigar store with no smoking area, but they said I could smoke at one of the bars.  The cigars were overpriced (double), so a box was out of the question.  I just decided to get one of each of the Exclusivo Asia Pacifico cigars.  After the first four, he realized what I was after and pointed out one that I missed.  Each time I picked out a cigar and handed it to him to put in the tray, he thanked me and bowed.  I’m not sure whether or not I will miss the obsequious service.

I walked back down to the buffet and looked it over.  There was some good stuff, so I asked the price.  It was very high but less than I would have spent on a three-star.  I was hungry, and I was here, so I decided to do it.  Between the cigars and the meals, I used up the rest of my banknotes and most of my coins, but I should still have enough to take the subway to the airport, and I have plenty of time should something go wrong.  I headed up to the bar to have my cigar, and they had an amazing selection of high-end liquor.  I probably would have gotten more pleasure out of spending what I spent on dinner on a high-end drink, but my budget for the trip had been expended, even over the original budget, so I decided I would just have the cigar.

I wondered if she would give me a hard time, and I erred towards having to her into it.  I was right.  She said, not in so many words, that I needed to order something.  I showed her my box from the Cigar Club and told her that I bought the cigars downstairs and that they said I could smoke up here.  She went to check with her manager and came back with matches, a cutter, and a cigar ashtray.  I chose a Juan Lopez, lit it up, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish it, upload my photos, and begin the long Journey Home.

Should We Have Dropped the Bomb?

5/25/14

Aboard Sakura 557, En route Shin Osaka-Hiroshima

My reader will not know what train Sakura 557 and how it affects the schedule, so I can introduce the suspense.  After I closed, I took a taxi to Haafu, Kyoto’s premier restaurant, renowned for the wagyu beef.  I figured that I would have time for a nice meal and still make the earlier train, which would loosen up my schedule in Hiroshima.  Alternatively, I could have eaten at a relaxing pace, taken the later train, and stuck to my original schedule.  I had choices.  The driver never heard of the restaurant, but I was prepared.  I had the map in Japanese of the surrounding area.  That did not help.  I then told him it was near the Imperial Palace.  He didn’t know what the Imperial Palace was.  I found a picture of it.  “Ah, Gosho.  Kyoto Gosho.”

During the drive, I worked on combining my WIJG and Travelogue entries to create a Day 2A entry.  I had just published it when he pulled up to the restaurant, 15 minutes before it was open.  Given that I was right next to the Imperial Palace, the center of Japan for over a millennium, it would have been a sin not to see it.  Of course, my timing and sense of direction was off, and I got back to the restaurant 10 minutes late, 10 minutes that I did not have.  The palace was another letdown.  Most of it was blocked off, and there was no real good views of anything other than the walls.

On the other hand, walking around, closing my eyes, I was able to picture being back in Imperial Japan, samurai guards at the gates of the palace, and that made me happy.  I knew that I was somewhere special, even if I could not see anything.  I ordered the wagyu beef, which came with rice, noodles, and soup, along with a glass of sake.  I was on an extremely tight schedule.  The train to Shin-Osaka was at 12:18 PM, which meant I wanted to be at the station by 12:10 PM.  I figured it would be a 10 minute drive to the train station, so I should have the taxi come at noon.  It was 11:50 AM, and they said that 10 minutes was not enough time.  I asked how long before the meal would be out.  They said 5 minutes.  This is not Honduras.  When they say 5 minutes, it is 5 minutes, not 4 minutes, not 6 minutes.  I said that I would eat my meal in 10 minutes.

I was trying to play both sides of the fence here, and it was Whiskeytown all over again.  If I missed the train, it meant that I should have just stayed to enjoy my meal.  I scarfed down the food, and the beef was absolutely delicious, everything that I had ever heard about wagyu beef.  I had a few sips of soup and more rice and noodles than I should have had.  I basically used the chopsticks as a spear to eat the slices of beef.  I paid my bill and asked when the taxi would be there?  3 minutes.  I knew that 3 minutes meant 3 minutes, not 15 minutes, not 4 minutes.  I looked at my phone and saw that it was 19 minutes to the train station, which meant that I would miss my train.  I asked the driver how long it would be to the station, but he had no English.

We must have made good time, since it was 12:16 PM when I got to the station.  I quickly paid him in exact change and made a run for it.  My phone said it was Track 7, and I didn’t even bother checking the boards.  It was very crowded, and I had to weave my way in and out of people, but, at 12:17 PM, I figured all was lost and slowed down to a brisk walk.  I knew there was no chance of the train being late.  But, wait, the train was still in the station.  I ran to the track, just for it to start pulling away as I got to the platform.

I looked at my phone.  12:18 PM.  If I had ran the whole way, I would have made it.  If I had went up the stairs instead of taking the escalator, I would have made it.  I then checked my phone and had an idea.  I could take the Nozomi train and hope to feign ignorance when they said my rail pass was no good on the Nozomi.  There was one at 12:29 PM, which would get to Hiroshima at 2:11 PM.  That would give me plenty of time for both sites there.  However, the train was packed, and I was really worried about being told to get off the train and being stranded somewhere where I couldn’t get the regular bullet train.

We arrived at Shin Osaka at 12:44 PM, and I knew that the original train I had been planning to take if I had made the connection was at 12:59 PM.  I would do that.  Not only would I not have to worry about being kicked off the train, but I would also have more room and, more importantly, an electrical outlet.  It worked perfectly, and I am now on schedule to arrive at Hiroshima at 2:26 PM, which gives me 4.5 hours to visit the sites, over an hour at each site, maybe even enough time for a proper dinner.  My computer is almost fully charged, and my phone is doing well.

Nara was always the sacrificial lamb, and it looks like today will be a success, despite the disappointment of Kyoto.  I had to shift around a bit in the car, since the car had reserved seats, and the people kept claiming their seats.  I finally found an empty row and sat down to relax.  The seats were so comfortable, and I had two outlets.  The conductor than asked for my ticket.  Obviously, I didn’t have one.  I knew that I didn’t need one for the train, but I did to be in that car.  I showed him my rail pass and told him where I was going.  He told me that Row 15 was okay, so I moved.  He thanked me for moving and bowed to me, as if I was doing him a favor, rather than skirting the rules.  I let my electronics charge up a bit, rubbed out some tobacco for my Ardor, the one that kind of looks like the Guggenheim, perfectly suited for a train ride in Japan.  Once the bowl was full, I moved to the smoking compartment, lit up my pipe, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.

Hiroshima, Japan

That is a dateline that requires no explanation.  Every image you can recall about the famed run of the Enola Gay, none of it can do justice to the reality of being here.  As underwhelmed as I was by Kyoto, I was even more overwhelmed by Hiroshima.  I am now sitting in front of what is simply known as the “A-Bomb Dome.”  Its official name is the Hiroshima Peace Memorial, but that is a euphemism.

However, that was not my only goal here.  The first stop was the Shinto shrine, Itsukushima, an orange gateway floating in the water, only accessible by ferry.  I had read that the ferries were fast and frequent, but that was an understatement.  I made a very quick transfer to the local metro, which took me to the ferry terminal, and I just missed the 3PM ferry, but the next one was not far behind, only 10 minutes later, and the ferries took 10 minutes, not 30 minutes as I had budgeted.  I was on good time.

I started looking at my phone, and, at 3:16 PM, I wondered why we hadn’t started moving yet.  I looked up, and I saw that we were halfway there.  The boat was so smooth that I hadn’t felt it moving.  I knew that the inscription photo could only be taken from the boat, and I feared that I had missed it, but the angle was actually coming right up.  I don’t know why the Shinto shrine here moved me more than the Buddhist shrine in Kyoto, and I certainly don’t think it was an issue of aesthetics.

It was a charming little island with food stands and souvenir shops and deer.  Yes, reader, there were deer roaming the streets in the same way pigeons do in New York  I had read about it, but I was not prepared for the reality of it (though, the same can be said about the A-Bomb Dome).  I got some grilled squid, which was awful, and I could not find a single trash can on the island.  I went to another vendor, but she didn’t know what the word meant.  I looked it up on Google, and then she threw it out for me.  I lit up my Romeo y Julieta and walked around the beach, looking at the shrine, taking some pictures.  The shrine is only accessible during low tide, but the view from the beach is amazing.  After I got my souvenirs, I had some fried oysters, which were absolutely delicious.  I somehow got lost on the way back, and I asked the first Caucasian person I found for directions to the ferry.  She smartly suggested that I follow the coast, but I didn’t know how to get back to coast.  We figured it out.

I was ahead of schedule, but I knew that I would want the extra time at the dome rather than trying for a rushed meal, especially since I had already eaten oyster, and the main local dish was very carb heavy.  I had figured out how to take public transportation directly from the ferry, which was covered by my rail pass, to the dome.  I just had to pay a small fee for the tram in the city.  30 minutes ahead of schedule, which meant that I would have had exactly 0 minutes here if I had not done my trick with the Nozomi.  Now, I have an hour.  I walked across the street to the dome.

As soon as I entered the Hiroshima Peace Memorial and saw the famed dome, it hit me like an atomic bomb, pun very much intended.  I am not ashamed to admit that I started crying.  I walked around the entire structure with my mouth wide open in abject horror.  Since it was underneath the explosion, it had partially survived, and you could see the structure of the concrete, but the devastation was obvious.  70,000 people died instantly with that blast and another 70,000 from the aftermath.

Here was an American walking around, tears flowing from his eyes, while the locals were laughing and joking.  To them, it was just the local park.  To me, it was a reason to fly halfway around the world and spend a day on a train.  When I walked in, I took out my Montecristo, but I could not bring myself to light it.  I needed to truly experience this first.  No pictures, no cigar, no water bottle until I regained my composure.  I wondered if I should apologize to these Japanese locals, but I was not sorry.  I was merely saddened by the loss of life.  Japan started the war, and we finished it.  We were entirely justified in the way we finished it, and we saved millions of lives by doing so.  My father always said to never throw the first punch but to always throw the last one, or something like that.  We threw the last two punches here and at Nagasaki.

I am a firm believer in the Non-Aggression Principle, but that is not a synonym for pacifism.  John Galt did not say that no man may use force.  He said that no man may initiate the use of force, and that is a principle I hold dear.  Whatever disagreements men have, they can resolve it through reason and trade, not having to resort to force.  When Japan bombed Pearl Harbor, it changed everything.  The only question is, did we have the right to do something that killed so many civilians?  I say that we did.  They had 4 years to stop supporting the Emperor.  They chose not to.  They chose to continue to support is war efforts.  Through that support, they became viable targets.  I am not ashamed of our actions.  In fact, I think Truman is the greatest Democratic president of the 20^th Century.  It is just that it is gut-wrenching to see such a real reminder of those losses of lives.  Once I got to the plaque, I recovered, lit my cigar, and took a picture.  Other than the plaque picture and the inscription picture, I did not take any other photos, since I know that I will not need pictures to remember this site.  I sat down on a bench with the vista of the inscription photo and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can make my way back to Tokyo.

Tokyo, Japan

I saw the Buddhist shrine, the Shinto shrine, and the A-bomb site.  I made it back to Tokyo without having to slap on a new date.  Even without Nara and with the disappointments of Kyoto, today was a grand success.  All that stands between me and declaring the trip a grand success is setting foot in the Olympic Stadium.  Everything else I want to do is easily doable in a full day, but stadium is still a bit of an uncertainty.  I shouldn’t have any trouble, since they have tours set up, and there is a museum there.  I was thinking that, when I get back to the hotel tonight, it will take me less than 2 minutes to pack, compared with the 2 hours I spent packing for my weekend in Moscow.  I have gotten more and more efficient, both at packing and repacking.  The journey from the A-bomb site to my present location was unadventurous, consisting of a tram, 2 trains, a subway, and a taxi.  I was never pressed for time, except the initial run to catch the tram.  I slept on the trains from Hiroshima to Tokyo.  I was not sure if I would go back to my hotel and call it a night or head out to the cigar bar.  I realized that I could not make that decision until I arrived at Tokyo Station.

I woke up a few minutes before we arrived, awake and refreshed and decided to go to the cigar bar, a place called Cohiba Atmosphere.  I had to find the subway station, and my rail pass did not cover the nominal fee.  I was more annoyed about having to go through the process of buying the ticket.  I grabbed a taxi outside the subway station and showed him my printout.  He did not know the place, but he entered the address into his GPS, and we were soon there.  I opted for a Havana Club rum, a cheese plate, and a Punch cigar.  As soon as I took the cigar out, I knew it would be plugged, but I really wanted it.  I knew that the waiter would not understand what plugged meant, and I thought that I could work out the plug before I started smoking it.  I was right.  Puffing on a Cuban, sipping on great rum, and chewing on even better cheese, I was in heaven.  After I finished the cheese, I proceed to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and also upload my photos.

1964: The Experience - The Kyoto Protocol (Or: More Thoughts on Happiness)

5/24 (WIJG)

Aboard Hikari 501, En route Tokyo-Kyoto

The fundamental question is this “If something makes you happy, but it makes you happy for an irrational reason, why should you not pursue it?”  That is the practical version of the question, which I attempt to pursue from a more philosophical vantage.  The philosophical formulation becomes “Happiness, not rationality, is the Final Cause of our existence.  Is it possible to have irrational happiness, or is that a contradiction?”  The opening salvo in this argument is “Emotions are irrational if acting on them will reduce your happiness.”  What then does that mean about irrational happiness?  In order to better understand this we need to go back to the balance between fulfillment and enjoyment.  I suppose irrational happiness would be something that increases your enjoyment at too great of a cost to your fulfillment.  It’s about net happiness, and there has to be some way to balance it out.  [Cut a discussion of drunken indiscretions.]  The answer is not that you cannot always explain your emotions.  That is bullshit.  You should never act on emotions that you cannot rationally explain.  I will never say, “Oh, my emotions got the best of me.”  What then is the solution?  I am truly stumped here, and I cannot think of an answer.

Integrity.  That’s the answer.  My personal integrity is a huge part of my happiness.  One of the main reasons that I feel so fulfilled with my life is that I have such a high integrity.  I do not allow contradictions into my brain, and I hold myself to my very high set of personal standards.

The philosophical question posed was whether irrational happiness can exist, and I believe that I have answered.  Yes, irrational happiness is happiness that gives you enjoyment (or fulfillment) at too great a cost to your fulfillment (or enjoyment).  Anything that requires me to sacrifice my integrity would be irrational happiness.  That still leaves the practical question.  Should you fulfill said irrational happiness or is to do so necessarily an act of akrasia?  I believe it is the latter.  I have established that irrational happiness can exist but that it should not be acted on.  However, that still leaves one final question to explore.

If Happiness is the Final Cause of our existence, should we really question what makes us happy, other than in the pursuit of happiness?  The answer to that, I now believe, is that we should not, but it is an irrelevant question.  Every single question we ask should be in the pursuit of happiness, just as should be every single action we take.  If something makes us happy, of course should ask why it makes us happy and if we will be sacrificing more happiness down the line.  I believe that that brings me full circle.

5/24/14 (Travelogue)

Kyoto, Japan

I cannot remember so looking forward to a WHS and then being so disappointed by it.  That said, I am glad that I visited Kinkaku-Ji, or the Golden Pavillion as it is called.  My goals for today, at the most basic level were to see the best Buddhist shrine, the best Shinto shrine, and Hiroshima.  Adding Nara only came later as an afterthought.  I woke up early and knew that I would not get back to sleep.  I actually had enough time to shower and have my Nic Toro before my train, so that was exactly what I did.  When I woke up, I realized that I could see the Diet from my hotel room, not noticing it at night.  This makes three hotel rooms in a room now where I have seen a legislature building from my window.  There were “No Smoking” signs all over the street at random locations.  The only logical conclusion was that the city of Tokyo banned smoking on the street, but I refused to accept that as the reason.  Following the train tracks, I had no trouble finding the station, and I found a nice place to sit outside and finish my cigar.

I planned and replanned my day, trying to figure out alternative options.  In the end, I knew that it would all depend on what time I left Kinkaku-Ji.  I am one of the few people in the world who can say, “I will evaluate all of my options and make a rational decision,” and actually do it.  That motto served me well during my Eurotrip and my WWI trip, and I knew it would serve me well here.  When I got inside, I was amazed.  This was Japan’s Penn Station.  You could catch a train there to anywhere in the country.  Reader, it was 6AM on a Sunday, and I had never seen Grand Central or Penn Station that crowded, even during rush hour on a weekday.  The train ride was unadventurous, and I could feel how fast the train was moving.  I did not get to see Fujisan, most likely due to heavy fog.  I went to the bathroom, and I was shocked to discover that there was no soap, but, fortunately, there was a separate sink-only unit that had soap.

Once I realized that I was not going to see Fujisan, I went to the smoking compartment and lit up an Opus.  I continued for almost the entire train ride to evaluate my options, including trading Nara for a nice lunch in Kyoto.  In the end, that’s what I think I will do.  Unwilling to stand for 90 minutes, I sat in a corner of the smoking compartment and wrote my WIJG entry.  I will include the highlights when I publish as the philosophical section.  We arrived at Kyoto right at 9:14 AM, just like clockwork, and I took a cab to Kinkaku-Ji.

When I got there, I went to cross the street, and I experienced something new.  A cop actually stopped me from jaywalking.  There were no cars coming in either direction, but he would not let me cross against the light.  When I got to the entrance, there were no smoking signs everywhere, but I knew that I could not leave the WHS without a Cuban.  The site was as packed with Japanese tourists as the Statue of Liberty ever is.  I found the plaque and had no trouble finding the vista of the inscription photo.  I recreated the photo and took a few of myself without the cigar.  I then lit up the Cohiba, and people started staring bullets of me.  After a few photos, I moved aside, but I was completely underwhelmed.

I realized that I had already achieved my maximum value from the site and that I could leave right away, possibly even getting back on my original schedule, but the walk to the exit took too long, especially after stopping for souvenirs.  I didn’t really want to buy the souvenirs, but it was a WHS, and they were cheap enough.  One of the vendors, at an outdoor kiosk, refused to sell to me while I was smoking my cigar.  I had never seen such an aversion to smoke.

Just as Andrew had promised, the place that had the green tea also had the replicas, but that, too, was disappointing.  It was gold, plastic, piece of crap.  It was not like the beautiful replicas I have collected from Europe and the Middle East.  I tried to get a taxi to Nara, but it was too expensive, and they wouldn’t let me smoke my cigar.  If either it was cheaper or if I could have finished my cigar, I would have went.  My meal at Kyoto’s best restaurant will be significantly cheaper, and I will probably enjoy it more than Nara.  I went to the smoking area by the bus stop, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, while I finished my cigar, which is almost done.  I would have liked to write my entry in view of the temple, but that was not an option.  It was a very beautiful sight, but it did nothing for me.  Did I enjoy seeing Kinkaku-Ji?  No.  Am I happy that I saw it?  You bet.

1964: The Experience - Love and Beauty

5/24/14

Aboard Narita Express 54, En route Narita-Tokyo

I suppose that I fell in love with Japan even before I got off the plane.  The efficiency with which everyone got their bags and got ready to get off the train absolutely wowed me.  Every single action I saw every single person take from the time we landed until the time I got on the train seemed to be done with the utmost of efficiency, not a single moment or movement wasted.  It took less than 15 minutes from the time we arrived at the gate until the time I had cleared quarantine, immigration, and customs.  I was worried because I needed to get my rail pass by 9:45 PM.  The train was at 9:44 PM, but I did not know that, or if there would even be another train tonight.  If I did not catch the train, I knew that I was looking at an outrageously expensive cab ride into the city.  With my rail pass, this train was free and possibly even faster than the cab.  As a bonus, I will be able to walk from the station to the hotel and got my first taste of Tokyo in addition to making the walk from the hotel to the station in the morning easier.

When I took my CA-4 trip, success meant perfection.  With this trip, which will be called 1964: The Experience, success is measured by one thing alone.  If I can cross of the 1964 Stadium, it will be a success.  If I cannot, it will be a failure.  The legislature, the palace, the tower, those are all givens.  Kyoto is also a given and probably Hiroshima as well, but the sites I have planned that are a little further from the city might be up for grabs.  I might have to chop one of them out in order to make that last train back to Tokyo or even trade one for a meal in Kyoto.

It is entirely possible that I left New York on Friday and will not be able to say that I properly visited Japan, which means a meal on steady, level ground, preferably of local food, until Monday afternoon.  I will have my dinner tonight on the train, and I do not know when I will have a chance to stop for meals tomorrow, certainly not a proper sit-down meal.  It feels so weird having left New York before dark on Friday, and I will not see sunlight again until Sunday morning.  I slept well enough off the plane, despite losing two of my four seats to a woman who needed them for her children.  I could not complain.  I only paid for one seat.  She paid for two, so it was only fair that she would get four and I get two.  There was no way to win that fight, so I gave in.

Unable to fall back asleep, I watched the movie Her, which started out really fun, but it got boring at the end, and I hated the ending.  Before I initially fell asleep, l listened to a lot of Avril Lavigne on the plane, even falling asleep to it.  I want to do a proper treatment of why I so enjoy her music.  When I write about aesthetics, it is always about female, human, physical beauty.  When our professor mentioned the Form of Beauty, Rachel Edelman always popped in mind, but Amelia rightly argued that I shortchanged the Form of Beauty by only focusing on female, human, physical beauty.  There are so many other types of beauty, and I never treat that type of aesthetics.

I believe the theme of my initial Tokyo entry will be an aesthetic treatment of Avril Lavigne’s music, since I know that I cannot be a proper philosopher if I restrict aesthetics solely to female, human, physical beauty.  Half a lifetime ago, I wrote Treatises on Metaphysics, Epistemology, Ethics, and Theology.  Not to sound immodest, but those four papers written when I was in my early teens, maybe not even yet a teenager, probably contained more philosophical writing than most of my readers will have generated in their lifetime.  However, the Treatise on Aesthetics went unwritten, and it still is unwritten.

Sure, I have written and studied extensively female, human, physical beauty.  I spent a few years of my life defining exact physical standards I found most beautiful in a female, human face, only to learn over the past 16 months just how irrelevant it was.  The next step is to expand my views of beauty and properly explain why I found Avril’s music so beautiful.

Before I close, I made a little headway into the question I asked in the previous entry, though I think I did little more than simply better define it.  Emotions are irrational if acting on them will reduce your happiness.  That is way I say that I will never act on an irrational emotional.  If I do not understand the reason for an emotion, I will not act on it until I have provided a rational explanation.  However, using that definition of an irrational emotion does not allow for a definition of irrational happiness.  To define rational versus irrational happiness would require circular reasoning, unless the definition is that irrational happiness is something that will reduce your total net happiness.

After I watched Her, I fell back asleep, waking up as we were making our final approach.  I did some work before we landed.  I have recalled the events that led from the airplane to the train, and, once I got on this train, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.

Tokyo, Japan

As I was having my cigar yesterday afternoon, which seems such a short time ago, Hasan saw a very high end Cuban I took out of my bag.  I saw the jealousy on his face, but I told him it was not up for trade.  I explained that it was a very special cigar: the victory cigar.  I do not believe that that needs any further explanation, but I thought about the other special cigars of any trip.  The victory cigar is the most important one.  If I’m about to finish a box, I like to save the last one to be used as a victory cigar.  There is also the Cigar of the Trip, but that is usually only for longer trips.  I will only be visiting WHSs during one day this trip, so there is no point.  There is the departure cigar and homecoming cigar, which I have at the cigar shop.  Even though they are smoked in New York, I usually save count them towards the trip, especially if I am wearing my suit during those cigars.  The arrival cigar is another important cigar, as is the first cigar of the first full day.  They are the cigars that give me the confidence I need to execute a perfect trip.

Puffing on a Hoyo de Monterrey, sipping some sake, and staring at the Tokyo skyline, I am ready for tomorrow.  The first cigar I smoke on the train tomorrow will make me even more ready.  I also thought about special moments of the trip.  There are the planning phases.  It starts with an idea (I need to see the 1964 Stadium before they tear it down).  Actually, if Tokyo had not won the 2020 Games, I would be in Sweden right now.  Then it comes down to a general outline (fly into Tokyo, spend a day in Hiroshima and Kyoto, a day in Tokyo, fly home).  After that, I buy my plane tickets and plan the details, though the order can be reversed.  Then comes the moment when it hits me (Holy Shit! I’m going to Japan).  The 24 hours before I leave are usually filled with nerves (What if my timing is off and I miss the last train back to Tokyo?).  The flying part is old hat, and I’m more at home on a long haul flight than most other places.  Sometime after I arrive, and it might not be for a day there is what I simply call “The Moment” (Holy Shit!  I’m in Japan!)

That moment occurred tonight when I stepped out of the train station onto the streets of Tokyo, armed with only my Google Maps printout, my computer bag, and my sake.  I lit up my Hoyo and started walking.  I knew that walking the streets of Tokyo at that hour would be no different than walking the streets of Manhattan or Moscow.  I was right.  Readers, I ask which of you would have done that instead of simply taking a cab?  You cannot experience the city taking a cab to your hotel.  I had more trouble getting out of the train station than finding my hotel, but I did not care if I got lost.  I was not on a tight schedule, and I knew that it would be fun to get lost in Tokyo.  Maybe that will happen on Monday.  I got to my hotel, still puffing on my cigar.  Eventually, they told me no smoking and brought an ashtray.  The obsequious bellman showed me to my room, and I settled in.  I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now pause to trade my cigar for a pipe before I move on to my first real attempt at aesthetics.

If I were to see a girl and think that she was very beautiful, I would want to try to find particular features I found attractive.  If I were to claim to be in love with her, I would first need to justify why I felt that way.  In neither case would I accept as an answer, “Oh, it’s just the way I feel.”  Why then can I not explain why I like Avril Lavigne’s music?  I suppose that we could take as an answer, “I enjoy her music because it’s familiar.”  That works for her first album, and it works for many film scores.

However, I am not prepared to say that I cannot enjoy a new piece of music unless it reminds me of something else.  Yes, her most recent album has a similar sound to what I so loved in high school, but there is also new music in there that I enjoy.  I can point to specific words that speak to me, but I also like the instrumentals and the sound of it.  Regardless of what Avril looks like, when I listen to her words, I think to myself that that is the kind of girl I would like, someone who would make me happy.  “I don’t care about my make-up/I like it better with my jeans all ripped up/Don’t know how to keep my mouth shut.”  Yes, that is the kind of person with whom I want to spend my life.  I suppose that her music, not just the lyrics, portrays that devil-may-care mentality.  To me, Avril Lavigne and her music represent freedom, freedom to be yourself.

That said, I also find beauty in order.  I find a circle more beautiful than any fractal.  I like classical music that fits just right.  I find Quebec and Vienna to be so beautiful because everything lines up just right.  Returning to female, human, physical beauty, I like a face where everything lines up just right.  A crooked or oversized nose will not bother me if it’s in the right place.  Pimples will not bother me if the facial proportions are right.  Large ears bother me, though.

Is that shallow?  You bet it is.  More than anything, however, a wide face bothers me.  If the height to width ratio is too low, I will never find it attractive.  It is the main reason why Natalie Portman has been slowly slipping on my List to Liv Tyler and Jennifer Garner, but I am getting off topic.  Art is what moves, or good art at least.  Whether it is music or architecture or a painting, if you find a work of art beautiful, it should move you.  I find photorealism attractive, since it is “just right.”  I find the, should I say, realistic, Impressionism of Monet attractive since it is “just right,” even if it is an approximation.  I do not care for Picasso.  I do not like rap.  I like rock and roll.  There is a common theme here, and I believe that this will serve as a good start for my Treatise on Aesthetics.

I will now close, since my pipe is almost done, and I need to get some sleep before I spend tomorrow on whirlwind tour of some of Japan’s most beautiful temples.

1964: The Experience - Can Happiness be Irrational?

5/23/14

Aboard ANA 1009, En route JFK-NRT

“There was an accident on the LIE.  What would you have liked him to do?”  That was the question I asked of the two obnoxious women sitting behind me on the bus to the airport as we finally arrived at Kennedy.  I did not say it because I felt a need to defend the bus driver.  I did not say because they were slowly driving me insane, though they were.  No, Reader, I simply said it because I usually keep my mouth shut.  Since the beginning of the year, I have been taking an active effort to alter the way I behave in social situation, forcing myself into awkard situations, making myself do and say things that make me feel uncomfortable.  That was my New Year’s resolution, and I believe that I have been succeeding in fulfilling it.  Actually, I know I have.  I will further explore this concept in my Fujisan WIJG reflection, but I wanted to bring it up here, since it is a theme that has defined this year for me. 

In this entry, rather than just including Day 0 as I typically do, I will implement the CA-4 protocol and lead up with the events of the past few weeks, my quest for NHL plaques.  It stared a while ago when I finally found the one at Grand Central, but it was not until that fateful night I asked out Emily and later found myself sitting next to the NHL plaque at Rock Center that I began my quest in earnest.  The next day, I learned that there were 86 National Historic Landmarks in Manhattan, a bunch downtown, but most of them within a 15-20 minute bike ride from the office.  With the weather getting nice and an hour for lunch, I realized that not only would this be a great summer challenge, but that I could also make it the culmination of the uniform challenge.  I would be posting 86 pictures of myself looking almost identical in each picture, wearing the same shirt, holding the same water bottle.  People looking at the photos would assume they were all taken in the same day.  Slightly less than half of the NHLs had plaques, and each one provided a small value of fulfillment to me.  I had said that any one of those plaques, anywhere else in the country, would be an instant photo opportunity, yet I never made an effort to seek them out.  That changed this month.  I believe that I have now collected almost half of the sites, including 14 plaques, and I know where 3 more are.

During that time, I became more and more convinced of the philosophy of love I formalized en route to ORD.  If I ever choose to pursue philosophy as anything more than just a casual hobby, I intend to focus primarily on my philosophy of love.  There were two major holes in my theory that I could not yet resolve, the first was resolved through personal exploration and reflection, and I intend to resolve the second in the same way.

The first hole was, if you believe as I do that love (and, by extension, sex) is purely an emotional desire, then why does sexuality exist in people who believe the way I do?  It clearly does, and I resolved it in WIJG with some very real examples of the way I felt about certain people of both sexes that met varying ends of the emotional and physical attractiveness scale.  The resolution was quite simple.  I did not allow that physical attraction was necessary to romantically love someone, but I instead realized that physical repulsion would preclude any kind of romantic desire, no matter the emotional attraction.  Last night, I argued, something that I had always believed but had never quite articulated, that the purpose of love is happiness.  If you are not happy in a relationship, you should leave it, something I know at that age of 26 but did not know at the age of 13, much to my detriment.  The argument offered was that you don’t have to be happy with someone to love them.  I rejected that out of hand.

Happiness is the Final Cause of our existence, so why should love not be an Efficient Cause of Happiness?  Our emotions should be slaves to us, not us slaves to our emotions.  Love is blind they say?  Only if we refuse to see the truth.  There can be no causeless love or any other causeless emotion.  I have held the latter as an absolute truth for almost my entire life, but love, the strongest of all emotions, was not as clear.  It was only recently that I accepted that love, just as all of the other emotions, should be purely rational.  However, what Ryan said about happiness last night got stuck in my head in a completely different way.  I spoke previously about Amelia, my drunk crush, as I think of her.  I get toasted, convince myself that I might feel something towards, my drunk self even calling it love.

No matter how utterly and royally toasted I get, I never lose my ability to do two things: calculate math problems and defend my Objectivist values.  I suppose that the fact I am constantly defending said values, especially in regards to how it applies to love and sex, which I believe are one in the same, despite what others might argue, prevents me from losing sight of those values.  If I am drunkenly arguing about the Objectivist view of love and sex, how could I ever act otherwise?  Would that not be the ultimate act of hypocrisy?

The reason I bring this up is not to try and paint myself in any kind of moral light.  No, the reason I bring it up is because I was happy sitting next to her.  By the time I got home, hours after she left, it finally hit me, a thought that I had not quite been able to answer.  If something makes you happy, but it makes you happy for an irrational reason, why should you not pursue it?  Happiness, not rationality, is the Final Cause of our existence.  Is it possible to have irrational happiness, or is that a contradiction?  It is such a simple question on the surface, but it is probably the deepest question I have ever asked.

It only works from a rationalist perspective.  Someone who does not demand the highest rational thought of themselves will quickly answer that love or happiness or emotions cannot always be explained.  I reject that answer, and I could only accept an answer that was based purely on the position that all emotions can be rationally explained, except for happiness, since happiness is a result of said emotions.  Is it as simple as “Alcohol makes me happy by altering my brain chemistry, but my brain applies filters between the alcohol and the achievement of happiness, and sitting next to Amelia removes those filters?”  I would accept that as an answer, but I would prefer to approach it from a philosophical, not a physiological, vantage.  It’s not a question that I can resolve on this flight, and the evidence and arguments I would need to resolve it would more properly belong in the scope of WIJG, not this Travelogue.

I believe that is was with that in mind that I fell asleep last night.  When I woke up, Day 0 began.  Andrew had told me that I could leave two hours early because of the inspection I had done on Sunday, but HR said that the office was closing at 3:30 PM.  I was not sure if Andrew meant by that that I could leave at 1:30 PM, but I knew that if I walked into his office at 1:30 PM with my bag slung over my shoulder and could honestly tell him that I had caught up with all of my work, promising to work on his special projects on the plane, he would not object.  I say “bag slung over my shoulder” and not “suitcase in hand” since I did not pack a suitcase.  I put a few changes of clothes in my computer bag, and that was all I brought.  I pre-packed last night, since the cigar took longer than the WIJG entry, and I knew I would forget something.  I had to pick up my laundry before I could even get dressed or finish packing, so that cost me about 15 precious minutes of sleep, but I still managed to get 6 hours, so that was good.

I was at the office by the time I realized that I had only packed one extra uniform shirt, forgetting to pack my homecoming shirt for the last day.  If I left the office at 1:30 PM, I would have plenty of time to have lunch and a cigar before catching my bus to the airport.  I knew that the cigar would outlast whatever time it took me to bike home and back to get the shirt.  A little after 9AM, I met Sokol in the lobby, and we headed to Lunchbox to grab a quick breakfast, since we felt bad that we kept missing each other this week when he was in the city.  By 1:20 PM, I was caught up with my work and had everything I needed ready to get on the plane, except that shirt.  However, Young was not there, so I could not review the two proposals.

I realized two things.  First, the proposals could wait until Tuesday morning.  Second, I could grab my lunch, eat at my desk, and then leave the office at 2PM.  It would look better to do that than leave at 1:30 PM and get lunch and then leave, even if the total work hours were the same.  It also gave me more of a chance for Young to get back.  I got my usual pre-departure meal at Hop Won: shrimp with lobster sauce and boneless spare ribs, no rice.  After lunch, I went into Andrew’s office as planned, and he was quite pleased to hear that I was all caught up.  We looked at a map of Tokyo so that he could tell me all the places he enjoyed visiting while he was there.  I also knew that places where he spent a day would take me less than an hour, but I took the advice to heart, especially since it was compatible with my current agenda.

That was that, I headed downstairs to have my Cohiba, get my shirt, and take the bus to the airport.  I bumped into Young in the lobby, and we said our goodbyes, not that I would be seeing him any less than if I had just been going to Scarsdale at 2PM.  It’s a funny thing.  It seemed as if for every person that said goodbye to me, it was not simply as if I was just going to Scarsdale for the weekend, even though they would not have seen me over the weekend anyway and that they would see me on Tuesday morning at the same time either way.  What difference does it make if I am half a world away or half a mile away?  The answer is none, which is why the one person whom I know thinks entirely rationally did not give me a big goodbye.  I lit up the Cohiba, grabbed the bike, quickly made it to my apartment, got the shirt, grabbed the same bike, and headed back.  I had about 30 minutes before I needed to catch the bus, so I headed back to the cigar store.  I traded with Hasan a Cuban for a Davidoff Nic Toro and purchased an Ashton ESG.  I said my goodbyes and went to get the bus.

The bus was at 3PM, and my flight was at 6:05 PM, meaning the check-in closed at 5:05 PM.  I was not too worried.  That all changed very shortly.  I knew there would be traffic, but I did not imagine how bad it would be.  I posted my NHL photos to Facebook, and then we hit the traffic, the bad traffic.  I will not go into the play-by-play details, but I knew I was in serious danger of missing my flight.  The whole bus was complaining, but, what really bothered me was that the two woman behind me, talking on end for the entire ride, were blaming the bus driver.  I think it bothered me more that they did not stop talking than the fact that they were blaming the bus driver, but I was not usually the kind of person to tell someone to shut up.  Usually.  It was 4:30 PM by the time we arrived at JFK, and I was nowhere near out of the woods, figuring it could very well take 30 minutes for him to go through all the terminals to get to mine.

One of the women made another wisecrack, and that was when I finally decided to turn around and say something, demanding, “There was an accident on the LIE.  What would you have liked him to do?”  They were taken aback.  How do you respond to something like that?  “We’re just talking.”  It was too perfect of a set up.  I could not resist.  I said to myself but loud enough so that I knew they would hear, “Yeah, you haven’t stopped talking the entire bus ride.”  That shocked them.  They did not expect someone to say that to them.  “We haven’t stopped talking for 5 days.”  I could hear them laughing at me, calling me a dick, trying to figure out how to respond.  I didn’t care.  I had done something that was hard for me, and nothing bad happened.

It was 4:45 PM when we got to my terminal, so I was looking pretty good.  My food is here, so I will have to wrap up.  By the time I checked in and got through security, it was 5:10 PM, and we did not start boarding for another hour, but I was too stressed to do anything productive.  I bought some Opus X from the duty free, got a burger from McDonald’s, took a much needed U, refilled my water bottle, and headed to the gate.  I had an aisle seat in a four-seater with the two middle seats empty.  There was a guy on the other end, and he moved to the seat in front of us, which was also empty.  That meant I had the whole four-seater to myself, a huge boon, especially on such a long haul.  I realized that I had forgotten my eye mask, but the stewardess was able to provide me with another.  As soon as we were airborne, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can have my dinner and get some sleep.