A Black Man in a Japanese World - Part I

The shrine two blocks from my hotel

I arrive in Tokyo the morning of August 18, about 9 am. I am giddy with excitement and completely freaked at the same time. Tokyo is out of my comfort zone. All the times I have traveled alone it is to countries where I could get by on a few words of the language, a puzzled look, and my smile. Tokyo is a different story. It is so foreign to me, I have no idea if my usual tricks and mystique will work.

Don’t get me wrong, I have wanted to go to Japan for a long time. The foreignness that scared me is the same thing that intrigued me. So different from everything I have known. I have been a big fan of the food since my friend Robert’s dad took us to sushi in high school. At the time, sushi was a luxury, a big unknown outside of NYC. in the early 80’s, a sushi meal would run you a couple of hundred (upwards of $500) dollars because it was so nouveau. I mean it was eating raw fish. What were those Japanese people thinking? When I told my grandmother about the meal she threatened to call Robert's dad and scold him for letting her baby eat raw fish. ‘What if you died in the middle of the night!’ she exclaimed. ‘Would he pay for your funeral?’

Beautiful shrine walkway in the city

Also in high school, my friend Avery (bestie of now more than 30 years), went to visit her sister who was studying in Japan at the time. She came back with all this weird shit. Rice flour and bean paste desserts called mochi with the consistency of gum, candy made of green tea, and shirts with sentences in English that made absolutely no sense (like that Nespresso tag line). Japan was exotic and far away. How could a young man with wanderlust resist?

Finally, while living in Chicago, I was introduced to a Japanese sect of Buddhism, Nichiren Buddhism by a co-worker and friend. For those of you that know me well, you know I am not a religious person but Buddhism is, to me, more of a spiritual than religious practice, looking inward rather than outward for guidance. The Soka Gakkai Institute, the spiritual center of Nichiren Buddhism is located in Tokyo. I thought it would be great to go and see the institute first hand. Going to Tokyo would be like a Christian or Jewish person heading to Jerusalem or Muslims to Mecca. All of these things made a trip to Tokyo inevitable for me.

Shinjuku

The city of Tokyo is all sights and sounds. Buildings covered with billboards, paper and electronic. The electronic ads are screaming at you with music or other advertisements. In every store there is music, it is loud and also screaming at you. Everything is screaming at you in Tokyo to make sure you are paying attention.Tokyo is movement, a city whose people are continually on the go. Tokyo is chaos but it is managed chaos. The movement across the streets and on the sidewalks is orderly. People queue up for everything. Bikes move through all of this without crashing into people. The city is hot and muggy. 90 degrees when I arrive and scheduled to get hotter. 

Shinjuku at Noon

My first morning/afternoon in Tokyo is a blur. I am overstimulated. All of my senses are at play at the same time and I haven’t really gotten that much sleep. I look for a place I may know, something familiar so that I can get my bearings. I see the familiar logo and stark white building that in Uniqlo, the Japanese clothing company spreading through the US. I go into the store and walk around. The music in the store sounds like overly peppy children on helium, eagerly singing of the joys of buying clothes of high quality and value.  There are eight floors of merchandise. However, this Uniqlo is not only selling clothes, it has electronics, home appliances, luggage, toys. It is like the Macy's I remember from my childhood except on speed which is on crack. I later learn this is a test store where they have combined the regular Uniqlo with the big name Tokyo electronics store called Big Co. The merger is affectionately called Bigqlo. It didn't explain the toys or luggage but I go with it because I have no doubt the toys and the luggage talk.

I leave Bigqlo and head to another department store. Tokyo is full of different department stores, all over 5 floors above and floors below with basement levels filled with food courts and food stores. I ride the escalators on each floor, stand on the left side walk up or down on the right. I travel through the store called Isetan, looking at mens' fashion. Tokyo is beyond fashion forward. Every store clerk greets you no matter where you are. Hello and Goodbye. I keep saying Arrigato (Thank You) again and again more as a catch all for any action or inaction I may take during this trip. Arrigato becomes my go-to word. 

I survey several department stores and walk away feeling the exact same thing: I will never be as fashionable or fashion forward as the Japanese. Somehow they have been able to make clothes you would wear in a post apocalyptic world look chic. They have been able to make burlap look chic. The remarkable things they have been able to do with tule, suits with shorts instead of slacks, and man bags, give them world dominance. 

Godzilla looms over Tokyo!

My friend and former work colleague, Yusuke, has been kind enough to connect me with another friend of his that connects me with friends of his who are willing to connect with me while I am in Tokyo. We correspond by email and I have activities planned for several nights and days of my trip. I look forward to picking their brains about Tokyo and Japanese culture. I am specifically interested in gay culture in Tokyo. Do you have to take off your shoes in the gay bar? How do you know who was wearing the best shoes? Do they think the sake-bomb is an American perversion? What’s a dance club like? Where do they buy their clothes?

I have no doubt instead of questions they will console me over our current administration.

My hotel room in Japan is incredibly efficient, an economy double. Because I have packed light for my trip I don’t have any trouble shoving my two pieces of luggage under the desk/table combo as there is no closet. There is a rack attached to the wall with five coat hangers but that is all there is for clothes storage. The 50” television on the wall opposite the bed becomes strange lifeline and curiosity during the trip. There is a small area with a refrigerator and shelves for the coffee and tea. On a small leather tray next to the bed is a smart Japanese robe for me to wear and slippers so I don’t wear my shoes in the room. The bathroom becomes my favorite place mainly because of the toilet which has several settings - shower, bidet, seat warmth, nozzle cleaning, pressure, and stop. You have to respect a culture that wants you to have a comfortable bathroom experience at all times. I try every button except nozzle cleaning because I think I may be losing something in translation. I can clean my own nozzle, thank you.

Vending machines on every street

Beer and highball vending machine

My first night, I meet the first of my new friends, Michiko and a group of her friends for dinner and a night exploring the bars of the gay area or ‘GayTown' of Shinjuku. The friends of Michiko are a group of young straight men who are hoping to learn more about gay places they can send or take their friends when they visit them. These young men want to make sure they can be good hosts. I comment on how the majority of American straight men would never do such a thing for fear they would be mistaken for gay or hit on by gay men. The men all look confused and one asks “Why would that happen? That would not be friendly.” 

Michiko and her friends all speak fluent English. Michiko is a professor of gender studies at a university in Japan and has spent a lot of time in the US. Two of Michiko’s friends have attended university in America. The third young man has never been out of Japan but still speaks perfect English. He continually apologizes for how bad his English is and I tell him he speaks better than many Americans I have met. 

I am excited for this tour of GayTown Shinjuku because without it, I would have thought there was no gay life in Shinjuku. The bars are inconspicuous. No rainbow flags to let you know where to go. No door person to check your id before you walk in. I can't distinguish if the signs are for a bar or for the orthodontist, this is how nondescript the signage in this area of town is. With two exceptions, the bar that caters to Americans and the bar called Campy which is filled to the brim with drag queens, you would never know where the gay bars are. 

The first bar we go into is down a flight of stairs in what seems like an office building. The entrance and the stairs make me feel like I am going to the dentist but the door opens and we are escorted into red velvet deliciousness. The entire inside of the bar is red. The walls are covered in red velvet, the seats are backed with patterned red velvet as are the stools. The servers, or bartenders, I don't think there is a difference here, are all in shorts and dress shirts with ties. When we walk in, they are all excited to see us and escort us to a few tables. Michiko does this tour a few times a year so many of the bars and people in Gay Town Shinjuku know her well. We are also welcomed and entertained by one of the famous drag queens of Japan, Bourbonne.

'She's Japan's RuPaul', Michiko proudly tells me. 

Today Bourbonne is dressed casually, much more like my grandmother would dress to go out to Sunday dinner than the outrageousness many of us are used to. Through translation, Michiko let em know Bourbonne has had a tough day and is now at rest. Even in rest, Bourbonne looks ready for a night out at Studio 54. We order a couple of bottles of shochu (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shōchū) with green tea for ourselves and ask the servers/bartenders to join us. This is customary In Japan and a sign of courtesy. 

Spending time with Bourbonne and one of the servers

Michiko continues to be my translator as I am peppered with questions about being gay in the US. What are the bars like? Are people friendly? Are they nice places? I try to answer every question to the best of my ability but I don't frequent gay bars very much anymore when I am home, only when I travel so they are getting the views of a gay man approaching 50 who likes going out but likes a glass of scotch and relaxing with friends more. I think I am disappointing them with my answers.

Steadily the questions become more personal. Where do I live? What do I like to do? What type of men do you like? What is your penis size?

Yes, the question came just that way, in a flurry of other questions. 

I stop for a moment and begin to laugh. Everyone laughs with me for a moment and then becomes very serious again. Michiko is blushing and assures me that I don't have to answer the question if I am uncomfortable. 


"However, she says, 'The servers are wondering because the average penis size in Japan is six inches and they are curious about you." She giggles and pats my hand again. "But don't answer if you don't want."

If you are a black, gay man in a gay bar in a foreign country this question undoubtedly comes up. The black penis is a legend surrounded by myth. A whispered story in gay communities where there is limited exposure to our black members. I was asked in Auckland and in Sydney which is usually followed by a request to see it. Black penises are wondered about in many corners of the world. Depending on how many drinks I have had, the question either makes me embarrassed or resentful as if I need to prove that my penis exists. Surprisingly at this moment, with a few dinner beers and a couple of glasses of shochu in me, I find the question hilarious because here, in Tokyo, I expected it. In a country so homogeneous, I would have been surprised if it didn't happen. The real question they are asking is "How different are you from us really?"

I take another sip of shochu and green tea (which by the way is delicious) and say, "Above average." This throws the servers into fits of laughter and excitement. Michiko translates several offers of dates which I politely decline. Every 'Arrigato' I utter creates more laughter.

Before we leave, I ask Michiko if anyone had asked to actually see my penis. 

"Oh no," she laughs. "That would not be polite."

To Be Continued