Asakusa 5-6-26

One of the best things about no longer working regular business hours is that everyone else does. I've been seeing so many people I know out on the street because instead of riding the same direction minutes apart, now I do it in reverse. This seems like a valuable metaphor for something, although I'm not sure exactly what.

But back to Japan, Day Two-ish or so. Setting: Hibiya Park.

It had occurred to me at some point that it'd be fun to track down some Japanese bike messengers. Of course it didn't occur to me until after I'd left the States, because I'm sure that if I'd thought of it sooner, someone here would have known someone there and it would have been a cinch. But I didn't. So instead I'm in Tokyo with my eyes peeled.

It's never too hard to spot 'em-- bags, radios, nappy hair-- and especially in Tokyo, where everyone except messengers rides their bike on the sidewalk-- but they're mostly always in and out, and I know what a pain in the neck it is to be interrupted when you don't want to be, especially by someone who doesn't speak your language, so I'd held off making contact. Also, I'm really shy.

But we're outside the entrance to Hibiya Park, looking at our Lonely Planet or something, when I hear exactly what I know I'm hearing-- a chorus of Nextel radio beeps. I turn around and there are three track bikes leaning against a wall, and behind them, three messengers. With a little encouragement from Nora and Aileen, I decide it's now or never, so I approach.

"Do you speak English?" I ask. Two of the dudes laugh and shake their heads, but the third makes the universal sign for "small amount" so I decide it's ok to continue. I say something, I forget what, involving "New York" and "messenger" and "me," which they seem to understand, so I decide to ask them about bike stores. I figure that if I can find the cool bike store, I can see if there's anything going on, or at the least pick up a souvenier or two.

"Uh... bike store?" I say. Maybe I try to say the word "store" in Japanese. Of course it doesn't work, but we grunt and point a lot until we're all saying "bike store" and nodding at each other. I get out my map and a pen, and ask if they try to show me where it is. My map is the lousy Time Out Tokyo one, which of course has nothing on it, but one of the guys rummages through his bag and pulls out what looks to me like the Manhattan phone book, but is apparently what real maps of Tokyo look like. He pages through it, evidently finds what he's looking for, and then writes down "Asakusa 5-6-." I recognize this as the first part of what addresses look like in Japan, but he doesn't seem to be able to figure out the street number. He calls up dispatch. I recognize "Asakusa" and "hie," but dispatch doesn't seem to know it either, so I say thanks and leave. I'm on vacation. Whatev.

We cross the street and are heading into the park when another messenger (not one of the three I was talking to) calls out after me. I stop and walk back towards him. Then I notice that he's holding out his radio. Before I know it, I'm on the radio with dispatch and he's telling me "26, Asakusa 5-6-26."

I'm totally jazzed. Thank the dude. Run back to my friends. Go into the park. Later, I go to the bike store and it's not all that (although it was convenient and easy to find). Nevertheless, I'm content. I think that's the end of the story.

Posted by lauren at August 29, 2003 12:43 AM | TrackBack