It's really funny how much one thinks one remembers about walking several blocks with a suitcase in each hand. I expected to remember things like "Oh, I made a left turn here" or "I should be on n street," but instead I remembered things like:
Woke up late today, because two nights ago I was arguing with Kevin that people who refuse to divorce the material from the spiritual are not self-delusional idiots. I know that makes Kevin sound bad, but this is my story. He can write about his travels if he wants to denigrate my point of view. I was expecting to get up at nine, but instead I was up and showered by eleven, which is later than I wanted to be. Managed to get on the Metro North to Grand Central, and from there I thought I could easily retrace my steps to the JNTO.
It's really funny how much one thinks one remembers about walking several blocks with a suitcase in each hand. I expected to remember things like "Oh, I made a left turn here" or "I should be on n street," but instead I remembered things like:
Of course, the funniest thing was that I had no clue whatsoever where Rockefeller Center was in relation to Grand Central Station, and I had forgotten my map, so I wandered up to 54TH Street and Sixth Avenue, then wandered back towards Radio City Music Hall until I found a subway entrance leading into the warrens underneath Rockefeller Center. There's not just a shopping mall down there, like one might see in Japan, but a series of access points to various Rockefeller buildings. The problem is, I couldn't tell which stairway went where, so after passing two separate Starbucks, I just climbed the stairs into some random building (what is the "Maison Francaise"? It had a silver airplane with a tricolor tail in the lobby) and wandered past the giant gold statuary (yeah, the one pictured) to Kinokuniya and One Rock.
The JNTO people were somewhat surprised to see me again; I guess they usually think that after handing someone a bunch of packets, they will do the American thing and blunder about based on second-hand info until they run out of money or patience, like most of US policy for Asia from 1945-1972. The Japanese women were still very happy to give me even more info, photocopying train schedules, printing things off of the Internet, and handing me yet more pamphlets. With my new special focus on Tohoku, a region of Japan full of very small inns, hot springs, and the more than occasional sake brewery, there was less information for the American tourist, and I was warned that the trains aren't as frequent and no one speaks English in some of the places I am going, but hey, I'm young and adventurous. Plus, I believe I can speak Japanese. This will obviously be tested somewhat.
After filling my laptop full of stuff about Tohoku, I stepped back out into the not-as-hot-as-yesterday to find a place to get a rail pass. I assumed that the Kintetsu International Express travel agency, at 1325 Avenue of the Americas (new fancy name for 6TH Avenue) would be closest. That's where I went, and I did get a rail pass there, so I don't know if going downtown on Fifth would have been closer.
1325 Avenue of the Americas isn't actually on Avenue of the Americas; it's really down 51ST Street, behind a gigantic Hilton. Fortunately, there are plenty of signs. I found the Kintetsu office on the twentieth floor, and avoided having to be buzzed in by following in the FedEx man. I then asked the receptionist where I could by a rail pass. She said, "now?" I am still not sure why the request was so surprising.
"Yes," I said. I was made to wait for Maria, because obviously I'm too white for any of the Japanese staff to comfortably deal with in any language. Maria wasn't Japanese, but she was able to get a rail pass for me, and I wandered out of the Kintetsu office having accomplished my mission.
There isn't much to tell after that; I found my way to a subway station without incident, hopped on the Metro North, and got back home, where I almost immediately headed out again to a party. Not much travel planning was done after five.
-Ben