Girl Gone Global

The phrasebooks worked just fine in Madrid or Rome, but there I stood, overpacked suitcase, night sky falling, overwhelmed by Tokyo, Japan.

“Ozzaaa-koooza?” I asked a man in an alleyway. He stared blankly. I was SPEAKING Japanese. “Ozzzaaaa-kooooooozza?”

I held up my capsule hotel confirmation – “Asakusa”. “A’sok-uh-sa!” choppy and sing-songy. Welcome to Japanese 101! I nodded, beaming. He pointed towards a gigantic chili pepper statue across the river.

I wandered around this magnificent city alone for another hour, staring at building numbers, until finally a good Samaritan grabbed my luggage and walked me to the hotel door.

“Arigato!” I shouted, nodding dramatically. Thankfully, Japanese people are the most polite in the world, so he kindly waved me goodbye instead of rolling his eyes.

And thus began my first authentic Japanese experience: my accommodation.

Capsule hotels are certainly for some people. Those people are Japanese business people. Not single, English-speaking, female Americans, even of the extraordinarily adventurous variety like myself.

I was issued a locker, a pair of well-worn granny pajamas, and a capsule. I changed, walked down the all-female hallway and stared at my sleeping quarters.

The “capsules” resembled a large egg crate propped on its side. Two levels, bunked, about three feet by three feet by eight feet, with a thin mattress and a small television mounted inside.

I slid in. Not too bad. Not claustrophobic or morgue-like, as I had feared. I closed the shade covering the capsule’s entryway, my doorway to the rest of the world. Then, I flipped on the TV… Japanese, right. I took a few photos of my feet, lay back, and welcomed sleep.

Then, it got creepy. Somewhere, a lady began snoring. But, from where? I could stand snoring, but unidentifiable snoring? Worse! Then, the Japanese chatter. Solitary confinement may have been better. I never felt so alone.

I must have slept, though, because soon it was morning. I wandered into the bathroom then, backed straight out. I saw a pool, or was it an onsen? And three open showerheads on the wall. I pondered my next move as a tiny, older Japanese lady stripped naked and darted past me. I heard a splash as she landed in the pool.

I leaned my ear closer. She emerged from the pool, rinsed off in the shower, emerged and toweled off shamelessly before me.

She left and I slid out of my pajamas, flew into the bathroom – splash – shower – towel – safety!

Thanks to jetlag, I beat the business crowd on morning two, and it was more splash – twenty minute swim – onsen photo shoot - shower – towel – checkout and check into English-speaking youth hostel.

It was certainly an interesting way to be introduced to Japan. My adventures were only beginning, and while I laugh at my misadventures at the capsule hotel, they were nothing compared to my memories of biting into a Japanese donut, feeling a vague sensation of horror, and spitting out ground beef. Where was the cream???