In Tokyo you would go to bed tired, sleep soundly for a few hours, and be wide awake at 4.  It was light by 4:30.  You’d give up going back to bed, you’d shower, pull your boots on, and walk out to the shore of Tokyo bay on the man made island of Odaiba.

Generally you met fellow Iowa Farm Bureau members who couldn’t sleep either.  Rarely did you see any local running around aimlessly.  I thought it a sign of cultural advancement, until I noticed the large logo of a local Starbucks.  Pluses and minuses, I suppose.

Back at the hotel, breakfast was very American.  There was bacon and sausages, orange juice and coffee, and pasta and Caesar salad.  (I’m sure someone read about the latter combo in a book somewhere.)

After we would board the busses in front of the Grand Nikko Hotel and take the Rainbow Bridge into Tokyo.  In the bay beneath us was an old island.  It was the sixth of the six original man made islands that bore the name Odaiba in 1853.  They were batteries to keep out Commodore Mathew Perry, his Black Ships, and the Americans they represented.

Japan had been closed to the West for 200 years prior.  It would be closed no longer.  Today hotels and western shopping centers stand nearly on top of them.  So much for isolationism.

“What did you know about Tokyo prior to coming here?”

“I knew it was clean.  When people would  describe it, nearly all would say, ‘You don’t even see a cigarette butt lying on the ground.'”

“Did that surprise you?”

“Not until I realized how much the Japanese still smoke.”  I smiled.  She laughed.

“My boyfriend smokes, but I usually make him do it under the range hood of the oven.”

The attractiveness of a woman telling a man what to do is universal.

Her name was Coco.  Part of our group was enamored with her.  I had just met her as we sat down for dinner.  We were on the 42nd floor in an American-style restaurant called The Oregon Bar and Grill.  Beneath us was part of the heart of Tokyo.

Down there, among the neon lights, were the androgynous looking youth that had packed our train at each stop from our hotel.  They were headed out.  We were headed up.  Tokyo is big enough to head anywhere.

In 2015 Tokyo had a population of over 13.5 million people.  Chicago, in comparison, had a population just under 3.  If we were to include the Chicago metro, we could boost the number to 10.  If we were to do the same for Tokyo, we would jump it to 37 million, housing more than 25% of Japan’s entire population.

It’s the largest metropolitan area in the world.  On those morning busses, you couldn’t help but stare out the window and marvel at the 20-story apartment buildings which sprouted out of the ground feet apart and stretched to the horizon without end.

Tokyo’s population is like its humidity.  You swam in it.  It stuck to you.

It was a clean stickiness, with a Western feel, on a belly full of pasta, OJ, coffee, and croutons.  If only I had a cigarette.