I arrived in Tokyo in one piece after a flight unremarkable except for five minutes of terrifying, dinner-tray throwing turbulence. At the airport, I got myself on a train bound for Hayama, the town where John lives, about 2 ½ hours from Narita airport. The town is only about one hour outside of downtown Tokyo, however, making Hayama a far-flung Tokyo bedroom community. It’s very pleasant, just outside of the greater Tokyo urban sprawl zone, and it’s on the beach. Apparently there are great views of Mt. Fuji from the waterfront, but it’s been cloudy, so I haven’t seen this for myself.
I’d been in Japan for less than 12 hours when I committed the worst faux pas possible in Japanese culture: I was sitting at the breakfast table when I realized I was still wearing bathroom slippers. Luckily Daisuke, John’s partner, wasn’t awake yet and John thought it was funny.
It’s the kind of story that’s too good to spoil with verification--or even attribution: It’s said that an interviewer once asked Mick Jagger what he’d do if the rock ‘n’ roll thing ever fizzled out. “Well,” he supposedly said, “I guess it would be pretty cool to be a travel writer.”
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