Shibuya After Dark

I’ve noticed a weird pattern emerge in my life. One that involves me having to sleep in rather unexpected places after I’ve recently moved to a new area. Maybe that doesn’t sound so weird at first, because you’re probably imagining, “Well yeah, that Matt is a gorgeous babe, I’m sure that happens like every weekend for him.” Well, you couldn’t be more wrong, dingus. Besides, I’m saving myself for either an alien or mermaid if they are ever discovered.

No, this pattern of ending up in an unexpected place for a night is due to me being an idiot.

I managed to live in Michigan for over 3 years before being involuntarily taken to spend the night in Lansing Sparrow Hospital on a cold evening in January during my college years. I’m sure you can imagine the stupid reasons why that happened.

And it only took about 2 years in California for me to accuse a friend of trying to prank me by hiding my keys (to be fair, he literally had just pulled my wallet and phone from my pockets, and after I got them back, I assumed he still had my keys when I couldn’t find them), storming out of the bar I was at, turning down offers to crash at a friend’s place, and paying $20 for a taxi to take me back to the apartment I knew was locked and knew that neither of my roommates were returning to that night. Boy, I sure showed that guy who just kept his prank going on for too long, despite insisting he didn’t have my keys.

That night, like some kind of urban Bear Grylls, I semi-slept in my gated community’s hot tub to keep warm by letting my eyes shut in 5-10 minute bursts for the next 3-4 hours to make sure I didn’t actually fall asleep and drown (I know I was in California, but it was like January and probably 40 degrees and I was probably in shorts and a ¾ length sleeve shirt at best, so it was cold; just accept this part of the story). I also removed all of my clothes except for my underwear before getting into the hot tub so I wouldn’t have to deal with wet and cold clothes later, and body part by body part, meticulously re-emerged from the hot tub to dry off before putting my clothes back on and watching the sunrise from the inside of a Carl’s Jr. where they messed up my order and gave me a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit instead of a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. Honestly, I was happy to be alive, so I just ate the damn thing.

If you’re wondering what really happened to my keys, turns out, I lent them to a friend so she could use the UC Berkeley bottle opener on my key ring and just forgot to get it back.

Welp, it only took about one month in Japan before I had to sleep in an unexpected place. But before we reach that point, allow me to share some nice sightseeing/typical travel blog details that happened on that day before I screwed everything up.

I went to meet up with some friends in an area of Tokyo called Odaiba. Odaiba is actually an artificial island that was built in the 1850s as a defense fortress. But today, it feels more like a giant island playland. A place that’s on eternal vacation. There’s beaches, shopping centers, an onsen (hot spring) theme park that replicates the architecture and look of old Edo-period Japan, restaurants with all kinds of international cuisine, an indoor arcade with interactive 3-D games/rides called Joypolis, and a ton more. When I got off the train at Odaiba, it felt more like I was at an amusement park than anything else.

The Rainbow Bridge from Tokyo to Odaiba.

During the day in Odaiba, I saw a monkey jump over increasingly high hurdles to “He’s a Pirate” from the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack, watched hula dancers perform during the Hawaii-festival going on at the European Renaissance themed Venus Fort shopping center, and then went to an Oktoberfest celebration in April, where a bunch of famous German brewers had beer stands set up and were selling gigantic steins of pilsner and weisse at even larger prices. I also got pulled into a dance train of drunk people near the live music tent where Japanese musicians were playing and singing some kind of Japanese-German polka hybrid. Everybody was super hype and super buzzed, myself included.

 

Eventually, my friends and I bade farewell to the man-made paradise that is Odaiba and went to a bar in Shibuya to finish off the night with some more affordable drinks. I drank an (6 or 7) Umeshu Sour(s) for the first time, which went down as fast as watered-down vodka cranberry drinks for a 19-year-old girl who just used her fake ID to get into a college town bar for the first time. After encouraging the DJ to play all the J. Biebz jams the bar would tolerate, it was getting late and time to make a decision: catch the last train of the night going back to my place in Tscuhiura, OR try to meet up with some friends that split off from our group earlier in the night and were going to rent a karaoke room for an all-nighter (which people totally do in Japan) and take a train back home the next morning. 

I would end up doing neither. But not for lack of trying to do both.

One of my favorite things about Japan is the public transportation. It is incredibly efficient, there are frequent trains so you’re never waiting any longer than about 10-15 minutes before a train stops at your station, and it’s actually not too complicated to figure out. Japan’s train system is far superior to any public transportation system in America. The only negative thing for me is that to get back home the same night, I have to leave Tokyo typically around 11:30 when the last train going to where I live leaves, which is a bit early for my liking.

Such was my original plan for this night. Here’s all I had to do: (1) Board a train for the Yamanote Line at Shibuya Station (2) Change train lines at Ueno Station (3) Get off the train at Tsuchiura Station. Not at all really that complicated. Honestly, I could probably drop you off at Shibuya with these directions, and you could do it. So let me tell you how I fucked this up.

When I got on the train at Shibuya, it was packed. Not “guards trying to shove people in so the doors can close as the train is already taking off,” but it was getting there. It’s either 14 or 15 stops from Shibuya to Ueno depending on if you take a train going clockwise or counter-clockwise (this train line just runs in a big circle), so it was probably about 20-30 minutes to get to my transfer station.

The Yamanote Line.

For the first few stops, I just stood there hoping I didn’t accidentally rub up on a Japanese person and freak them out. After a few more stops at some of the major Tokyo neighborhoods, the train was mostly cleared out, and I could finally grab a seat.

Apparently, this would have also been a good time to take all of my clothes off and only let my eyes rest in 5 minute intervals to avoid falling asleep—well, maybe I wouldn’t have had to take my clothes off—because the next time I opened my eyes, I immediately knew I had slept past my stop. I doubled checked on my phone just to make sure and confirmed it. I was not getting back to Tsuchiura. In fact, I slept so long, that I was about two stops away from Shibuya station again.

I had no idea what I was going to do at this point, but I figured I better just get off the train and come up with a plan. Almost immediately, I ran into another problem. I couldn’t get out of Shibuya station. My train card wouldn’t let me out because I was trying to scan to leave at the same station where I got on. Or at least I assume that’s why.

After walking in circles near the station exit for a few minutes—getting up close to the ticket gates to leave, but then quickly running away, looking like I’m Stoop Kid from Hey Arnold or something—I eventually summoned the courage to walk up to a station security worker, incorrectly conjugate the past-tense form for the verb “to sleep,” and let him know in broken Japanese that I’m a complete moron foreigner.

Mr. Hero security man allowed me to get out of the station without having to pay anything (isn’t my stupidity punishment enough?). I sent a text to one of the people at karaoke and prayed to an almighty Daibutsu that they hadn’t changed plans and would actually see my message and be cool with me joining up with them.

Man, if they only knew the velvet-smooth pipes on this little lost boy wandering through Shibuya’s neon wonderland after dark; with a honeyed voice that could transcend language barriers and make even the happiest of hearts ache with the shared pain of a thing longed for that could never be attained; of the recognition and regret of the limits on each and every single person’s fleeting life just through a melody; of frontiers that could never be explored because we are all just temporary; of strangers passing in the night that look at one another and hop for even the smallest acknowledgement, but because of fear, let another opportunity expire, another moment in their transient lives simply a skipped track that could never be played again once passed; with a timbre that could make weeping willows cry out for joy; that would probably picks songs like Wrecking Ball and Stacy’s Mom to sing at karaoke.

Well then, there would be no doubt at all of getting a response from his friends and having a place to call home for the night, finding shelter in the art of song and music that had so often provided sanctuary for the lonely and forlorn with no place, no body, to go to throughout the centuries.

I got a text back pretty quickly. Karaoke was still a go. I was more than welcome to join. And could I pick up a bottle of vodka as an offering to the karaoke gods (or maybe just for everybody to drink from so we didn’t have to pay for some drinks for awhile). I put the location into my phone and headed for my first karaoke sleepover.

I bought some vodka, reached the point on my phone that said where the karaoke place was supposed to be, and I just couldn’t find it. No matter what my phone was telling me. I found one of the 3 taco bells in all of Japan, which I returned to a few weeks later to eat at, but I could not find this karaoke place.

I was now in borderline panic mode. It was like the scene in Home Alone 2 where Kevin’s out late at night in New York and everybody is super scary. Seriously, I had to close my eyes as a kid when that taxi driver turned around after Kevin said, “It’s scary out there” and replied with “Ain’t much better in here kid.” I watched it again tonight, and while he seems to be just a normal human being with no movie makeup work done to him, when I was a kid, I swear his skin was like Freddy Kreuger’s.

Every Japanese person was 10 times more Japanese (and I don’t need to tell you, anything past Japanese to the 2nd power is just too much). The language sounded just a little more sinister. Each word overheard sounded like a threat. Could I have asked my friend to come out and meet me somewhere? Probably. Could I have gotten a more specific description of how to get to the karaoke place if I asked? Yeah, without a doubt. But did I choose the easy route? Come on, I’m the guy who went back to an apartment I knew I was locked out instead of taking an offer to stay at a friend’s place.

With Plan A and Plan B out the window, I quickly came up with Plan C. Capsule Hotel. If you don’t know what a capsule hotel is, allow me to explain it quickly. It’s only a hotel in the sense that multiple people can pay to stay inside a building for a night. You basically pay to sleep in a cryo pod from a sci-fi movie. Your “room” is no larger than a double-sized bed at best, and is grouped with several other capsules containing who-knows-what kind of people all around you.

With an unopened vodka bottle still in its plastic bag in my back pocket, I found a place that could basically charge me whatever they wanted to sleep in for that night. I’m sure you’re all aware, but I just want to remind of the constant language barrier I’m facing at this point. Despite a sign on the building saying “Capsule Hotel,” I still had to make sure I wasn’t about to pay some random guy behind a desk a bunch of money and end up getting God-knows-what. So I asked the guy “Kapuseru Hoteru desu ka? (Is this a capsule hotel?). He said yes and pointed me over to a vending machine in the “lobby” where I was supposed to purchase what kind of hotel capsule experience I wanted. I picked the cheapest option that looked like it would give me a ticket for a bed to sleep in and not whatever else it was I could choose. The price came out to 40,000 yen, which is like $35.

The actual Capsule Hotel I stayed at that I actually found again a few weeks later by pure accident.

As you can see from the picture, this was a capsule hotel “and sauna.” Maybe that’s fancy and a something special that not all capsule hotels have. Maybe that’s a typical thing. I really didn’t know. A bunch of people that seemed to be already checked in were in cotton robes, so I had no idea if I was supposed to take off all my clothes and ask for a robe to sleep in or what. Maybe they chose the more expensive capsule hotel option from the vending machine and got all the perks. It’s still a mystery to me. What I did know, was that like most places in Japan, I was supposed take off my shoes and place them in a locker before going any further than the lobby. So I did that and made my way to my pod number as fast as possible before something else went wrong.

I got into an elevator with two other Japanese men. One in a full robe. One not. My pod number was 627 or something like that, so I was on the 6th floor. At this point, I was incredibly relieved to be in a place where I had a bed that I was going to be able to sleep in. Every problem seemed solved.

And that’s when it happened. The elevator doors opened on the 3rd floor. The floor with the sauna I could have paid an extra $15 to use. And there they were…a bunch of naked Japanese butts and penises staring at me; beckoning me to join them like the ghost family from the Tower of Terror who suffered a terrible fate that stormy night. I’m pretty sure Rod Serling’s voice came over the speaker at that point: “You are the passengers on a most uncommon elevator,” followed by the Twilight Zone music. 

There were 7 naked men standing around headlocking each other, engaging in some friendly horseplay with steam from some hot water spout enshrouding them in a divine-like mist as if this was a totally normal thing to do at 1 a.m. on a Saturday night.

I actually felt guilty and looked away. Like I shouldn’t be allowed to gaze upon these unashamed men unless I was taking part myself and letting everyone else see me in my true, natural state.

The robed man next to me on the elevator got off (not like that, you sickos), apparently ready to shed the towel and previous week’s stresses to take part in some bare-skinned high jinks with the fellas. If I could read Japanese, I would have I hit the “door close” button as fast as I could once he stepped off. Instead, I was privileged to the red band trailer of Shibuya After Dark before the doors closed slowly, giving me one last glimpse at an aspect of Japanese culture I never expected to see.

The elevator finally reached the 6th floor, and I tried to get into my bottom level capsule-bunk as quietly as possible, since I had no idea what the appropriate level of noise-making was for this kind of thing. The capsule bed was equipped with an elevated TV and mini night stand and was actually pretty comfortable all things considered.

The next morning, I made sure to take the stairs down to the lobby, grabbed my shoes from the locker, and took what honestly felt like a walk of shame back to Shibuya Station.

Would I have been more comfortable If I got back to my own place that night? Sure. Would it have been more fun to see how long I could sing before falling asleep? Yeah. But would I have as good of a story as this if either of those plans worked out…I doubt it.

First Impressions

It's Sports Day Eve, and I am sitting here sipping a Zima and eating Moonlight Cookies. And as I wait for the Sports Day Tengu to levitate up through my second floor window, hover over me while I sleep, and bring it's horrible, beaked face down just centimeters from my very own sweet punim and bless me with the power of "Ganbatte" (do your best) for tomorrow by chanting a hideous, whispered incantation into my ear—provided I don't open my eyes before the Tengu is finished bestowing its Ganbatte on me, in which case, the Tengu can rip off my face and exchange it for its own so that the Tengu can now live a normal life (although it will probably be an amazing life since it will now be a super handsome man) and leave me with the face of a feared and despised spirit until I catch another person opening their eyes as I lurk above their bed, trying to give them a nice blessing—I decided it was time to write some of my first impressions of Japan down and catch people up on what I've been doing in Japan so far.

Moonlight Cookies grant me the power of 100 cold, lifeless, space rocks. And the power to write.

If you're wondering what Sports Day is, I'm going to write a full post on it later after I get to experience it firsthand tomorrow, but basically, it's a day when all of the students at a junior high school participate in various athletic events and their parents come to watch. Also, the part about the Sports Day Tengu is entirely fabricated...as far as I know.

The Story Thus Far

In the 21st Century, in the year 2016, when the kingdom was in turmoil due to battling factions of buttholes fighting for political control and their cadres of mindless worshipers turning things as mundane as carpeting into a volatile debate, one person who is currently writing about himself in the 3rd person thought, "I wonder what Japan's like." Albeit, this thought was unrelated to the aforementioned troubles.

Like some kind of xenophilic Pinocchio, he always wanted to transform from his own dull, hollow ethnicity and become a real Japanese boy (and also wanted to befriend a giant, talking insect and join a cruel traveling circus that exploited and mistreated its employees, but those stories are yet to be told). Plus, he kind of has a big, phallic nose despite being a pretty honest person.

 

Having developed his charm and kindness skills growing up in Illinois, improving his toughness and grit stats living in Michigan, and learning whatever traits come from living in California (maybe it's just good to NOT lose skill points there), he had absolutely no qualities on his skill tree that would normally allow him to be able to survive in Japan.  He just simply hadn't leveled up enough.

Cue deus ex machina: Can you speak English? Yes? Do you want to come live in Japan, teach English to students, and get paid? Yes? Okay, see you in a few weeks.

And that is more or less the story of how I got to Japan, but here's some more details about my first few weeks trying to figure out how to live in an entirely new country where I couldn't speak the language:

Traveling

Not too much notable. Slept a lot. Flew from Chicago to Los Angeles to Taiwan and finally to Japan. Looked in all kinds of duty free shops during my long layovers. Slept some more. Watched two dragons fight in the sky from my window seat. The red one killed the green one and then promised a peaceful millennium. You know, typical trip to Japan stuff.

Arrival & Training

Landed at Narita airport. Got my shiny new Yen with numbers so large on each bill that it made me nervous to even hold one at first for fear accidentally dropping the money or losing it somewhere. Seriously, the smallest paper bill is 1,000 yen, which is actually a little less than $10. My wallet at any time has between like 10,000 and 30,000 yen, which just sounds scary though.

Training was a looooong and at times, exhausting 4-5 day experience in a hotel, made fun by meeting a bunch of other new people who came to Japan to teach and drinking beers bought from 7/11 in the hotel at night with them. And also finding out I'm kind of old compared to most of the other teachers 😑.

Moving In

Here are the basic details. I live in a city of about 150,000 called Tsuchiura about 45 miles Northeast of Tokyo. So that's awesome! There are also two other teachers I met at training that live in my city, and one lives in the same apartment complex, which has been great.

The wheel of the car I drive is on the right, and I drive on the left side of the road. The first few days driving were a little scary, but I got pretty comfortable with the driving after about a week or so.

I buy most things based on the picture on the package, because I don't know the Kanji that says what it is. I have definitely had a few surprises, buying what looked like a snack that would taste like one thing, only to taste completely different because I can't read.

I teach English at a Junior High School in Kasumigaura 5 days a week to students who were almost all born after I finished Junior High School myself.

My apartment is probably a little smaller than an average American studio apartment. The bedroom is its own closed off space and at least the same size of any typical apartment bedroom. The toilet and shower are in separate small rooms.

I was strongly encouraged (more like forced) into purchasing bathroom slippers. From what I understood, to Japanese people, the bathroom is the dirtiest room in your home and you should not walk in there in your socks or bare feet. So instead, I now have a dedicated pair of slippers that stay solely in bathroom for people to use when they need to do their business. (Sssshhhh...sometimes I put on my bathroom slippers and use them when I have to  go back into the shower room to brush my teeth or put in my contacts after I shower in the morning and already have my socks on so they won't get wet; I'm not about to take off my socks and have to put them on again)

I live within walking distance of stores that have all my basic necessities. There's also a McDonald's and KFC about 5-10 minutes away on foot and of course a few donburi (rice bowls typically with beef or pork meat) and ramen shops even closer.

Top 3 Least Favorite Things About Japan So Far

3. TV/Radio (tie) – When I imagined what Japanese TV and radio would be like, I imagined channels that showed nonstop anime where the girls wore revealing clothes and were total waifu material and guys had awesome hair and bad attitudes, and I imagined radio stations that played the sugariest sounding J-Pop imaginable. Instead, what I got is what seems like 12 channels of essentially America's Funniest Home Videos mixed with Youtube reaction videos and radio stations that sound like all morning talk shows, all day long.

As far as the radio goes, the best station I found probably plays one or two songs every 20 minutes it feels like. And even when they do play songs, it's never the full song. Maybe about 75% of it. But at least there's an alternative to the radio situation: buying CDs to play in my car. Yes, it's 2017 and I bought three CDs. I bought Saosin's first self-titled CD, Pierce the Veil's newest CD Misadventures (apparently, I'm still an emo kid), and a three CD set of Nat King Cole's hits. I need to get a Japanese group's CD though. I'm leaning towards either BABYMETAL or SexyZone right now. Check out "Rock Tha Party" by SexyZone or anything by BABYMETAL, as it is probably exactly what you think it is and is only something that they would come up with in Japan.

Japanese TV is probably worse, because I don't have an alternative (don't have Netflix or whatever else is out there). The first problem with Japanese TV is there seems to be no regular schedule of programs, at least as far as I can tell. But this could be because I don't understand what's going on in the shows and can't tell if it's a show with characters I've seen before or not.

The second problem is the one show that seems to be on all the time and on every channel is one where a few Japanese people are in a studio, a video of something else is played, like a clip where a person is being interviewed, and either you watch the faces of the people who are in the studio in little circles on the screen to see how they react or they pause video for a few minutes, cut back to the studio where each person tries to guess what comes next, and the video resumes and they all laugh at how wrong they were. Compelling television for some, but not my cup of tea.  

2. Laundry – Nobody likes doing the laundry. But it's even a little more inconvenient in Japan. First, the washing machine's settings are all in Japanese. So I kind of had to guess or look up translations to make sure I was selecting the right thing. But that's not so bad once you figure out the right combination of buttons to hit. It's essentially playing the light up Simon game from back in the day.

What really sucks is that my apartment has no dryer. And most people in Japan don't use dryers. Instead, clothes are hung outside to dry. Which wouldn't be too bad if you're living in California, but it rains quite frequently in Japan (it rained pretty much all day today). Not to mention, it's pretty windy too. And while the laundry pole I bought to hang outside of my apartment window is good for setting clothes out on to dry, I once left to run errands while my clothes were drying only to come back and find the hangers had been blown off the pole and my white dress shirts were  lying around in the parking lot.

It's safe to say doing laundry isn't going to jump into my top things to do any time soon.

1. Garbage – Nobody really likes garbage either. But Japan takes sorting garbage to the next level. First there's a bag for combustibles, like paper products. Then there's a bag for non-combustibles, like plastics. A bag for food waste, like fruit rinds, egg shells, etc. Cans and bottles usually go in their own bags. Recyclables, I guess. I have no idea what to do with electronics, but I know they have their own special disposal rules, along with other large items, like furniture.

Honestly, it's been almost two months, and I still am not sure if what I'm saying is right, because different cities also use different sorting methods. Some may only use the combustible and non-combustible bags. But then the lawyer in me would panic: what does that mean for food waste or recyclables? Can I place them in either bag? Am I not allowed to dispose of them at all unless I take them to a special disposal facility for those things? Seriously...these garbage rules are an attorney's nightmare, or maybe dream come true depending on how sick of a person you are, you statutory interpreter.

The worst part is, if you put the wrong garbage in the wrong bag and they know it's yours, they will put the bag back in front of your place with a note in Japanese that you can't read, but says "re-sort this garbage or else we will no longer pick up your garbage and you'll have to arrange to have your garbage picked up at your own cost." No joke.

For the first few weeks, having my garbage rejected was easily my biggest fear. I'm still a little worried I'm not sorting it exactly right, but I try to sneak out to place it in the garbage collection area when nobody will see me and then try check to see if that foreigner's garbage was sorted correctly after I toss the bag out.

It's the worst.

Top 3 Favorite Things About Japan So Far: 

3. Japanese – While this is obviously the biggest hurdle facing me on a daily basis, one of my primary goals while I am here is to learn as much Japanese as possible.

With many resources available, having purchased some textbooks, free Japanese listening practice anytime I step outside, and weekly lessons offered by my city, I am already getting fairly comfortable with some basic Japanese. It's a blast to learn, and I am really excited to hopefully carry on conversations in Japanese in the near future.

Super goal for the future: Write a blog post entirely in Japanese.

2. Safety – Imagine this scenario: You're walking around on a small side street that doesn't have a lot of people out or cars on the road. You pass by an apartment complex and see bicycles. A bunch of bicycles. Just sitting out there. Not locked up or chained to any bike rack. You see some umbrellas just chilling outside too. And you even see a pair of shoes outside. Nobody around. Nobody watching over this stuff.

If this were in America, my first thought would be that something's up. This is definitely a set up to see if I'm a bad person and will steal one of these things left unattended. And even as I stand here and consider what the hell is going on, a squad of officers will come out and violently detain me for my thought crime, my mugshot will look terrible and will become some embarrassing viral meme, and all of that will lead me to a life of criminal thievery. I will habitually steal every umbrella I see, because the act attempts to satisfy the part of my brain that needs to have some justification for why I was arrested that fateful night or perhaps as if actually stealing the umbrella now could undo the past outcome. And my exploits will lead to me becoming known as the Parasol Purloiner.

But nothing to worry about in Japan, because this is normal. The things being left unattended, that is. Maybe Japanese people are more worried about the consequences of getting caught, but so far, Japan seems like a very safe country by any standards.

Everybody walks around with tons of cash in their wallets, because Japan is like "Psh...credit cards? Uh...hackers, duh. No thanks." I frequently walk around alone at night, which I'm not sure I would do in another country where I didn't speak the language, and I still feel safe. Although maybe it's just blissful ignorance of Japanese, and I just can't understand that group of guys following at an inconspicuous distance are talking about how they're gonna jump me later.

But either way, whether through sheer ignorance of the threats being made against me or the fact that people are much more trusting, the sense that people here aren't out to do bad things to others just because they might be able to get away with it is nice. 

1. Vending Machines – If given a death sentence and offered the choice before I was killed to either have a gourmet, five star meal of my choosing but only get tap water to drink, or choose any drink I want, but only get some bland food, I'm taking the latter every time.

I fucking love drinks. Specifically pop. Soda. Whatever you call it. Every time I see a Starbucks in America, I just think how sad it is that there's not some kind of soda pop shop in its place there. What's one less Starbucks in the grand scheme of things when one store dedicated to selling fountain drinks would bring me all the joy in the world. Seriously, the discrepancy between the ability to get your caffeine fix in America via hot coffee that most people have to add some other liquid to just to be able to tolerate or having the caffeine mainlined into your system through cold, sweet, satisfying pop is disturbing to me.

But Japan has my back. There are probably at least 10 vending machines within a 100 yard circumference of where I live. And that is not uncommon for anywhere in Japan. Vending machines that sell water, Coke, sports drinks, and teas are everywhere. And most vending machines also distribute hot coffee drinks too. Yeah, a single vending machine here can give out hot and cold drinks. Suck on that, America.

Japan's drink situation is not without some flaws though. One, citrus sodas like Mt. Dew pretty much do not exist. I say pretty much, because there are a few vending machines where I've seen Mt. Dew, but it's never in grocery stores or anything. Two, aside from beer, drinks are not sold in multi-packs here. I'm pretty sure that goes for water and tea too, not just pop. You can either buy several individual sized bottles/cans or like a 1.5/2 liter bottle. But anybody who likes pop as much as I do knows that buying a 2 liter for just yourself puts you in a lose-lose situation. Either you try to ration out your drinking so the 2 liter lasts a few days, however the pop loses its carbonation and becomes stale after a few days and at that point, what even is the point of drinking it anymore, OR you unhealthily drink a full two liter of Coke in a 24 hour period and wonder why your heart feels funny. And then you have nothing to drink and have to go buy another 2 liter. It's a vicious cycle man.

There are two bonus points I want to give to Japan's drink situation though. One, melon sodas are what I see as the citrus soda equivalent in Japan and are quite popular. Fanta Melon Soda, Suntory Melon Pop, and Gabunomi Melon Cream Soda are all really good and are at least making up for the lack of Mello Yello, Sun Drop, Moon Mist, Mt. Dew, et. al. Two, the sports drinks here are also pretty good. Pocari Sweat and Aquarius are my favorite two right now and stand in as good Gatorade or Powerade substitutes. 

I'm planning on running a bit of a blog post series where I review some of the drinks here in Japan, so I'll have more on all those mentioned above in the future.

That's all for now. おやすみなさい(Oyasuminasai)/Good night. Don't let the Tengus bite.