A friend told me before I left that there were no trash bins in the city and this is true. When we get snacks along the way, we carefully put all the waste in the plastic bag usually provided, or we just take one with us, and carry it around until we get back to the hotel. A pleasant consequence is that so far we have seen practically no litter in the city.
Eating while walking or generally on the street is considered ill-bred. We don’t see much of it here, but a few cases have been spotted, for example in Harajuku, although ice cream or those creative desserts from Angel Crepes don’t seem to be an issue. What we did today was simply pick a bench and quietly eat with our backs to the street. Clever!
The Japanese are very good at recognizing which things will lead to questions from foreign tourists, as is clear by some English translations we’ve seen around. Just when you start wondering, voila, there it is, the crucial point. “Please don’t touch the puppies and ask for assistance” in a very expensive pet shop in the Daikanyama district.
Wearing socks with shoes is very popular among ladies, and oh, what socks they are. The shoes alone are worth several articles of ecstatic description, but the socks are not far behind, in every color imaginable, with ribbons, pearls, feathers etc etc. Feet are taken seriously here. As is everything else, it seems? I saw a woman with pearls lining the hems of her jeans and generally being “dressed” is certainly filled with a new meaning over here, at all times of the day.
In contrast to hotels in other countries I’ve stayed in, we have not heard or seen the housekeeping staff in our hotel, but when we come back from walking, everything is comfortable and pristine, and the robes (yes, we get robes, unexpected) are folded on the beds like I never could fold myself. Only it doesn’t button all the way down, because, once again, I’m too big for Japan.
Some of the talking does sound like what you may have heard during your childhood anime watching. It’s generally a melodious, sometimes even sing-song language, and you understand why the Japanese have a reputation of being musical and good at singing.
Long lines outside of Western eating places are a very common sight, often made up of mostly teenage school students or young people, none of them looking bored, but either doing something on their phones or chatting to each other. Dessert places are frequented especially heavily and the excitement about what’s on offer is palpable. The Disney theme regularly pops up among sweet food and seems to be at home among the poppy brightness that is one part of what we connect with Japanese culture.
Nobody stares at me when I think I’m being awkward with my chopsticks. They just enjoy their own meal and let others eat in peace.
And while locals do of course talk and laugh among themselves in the city, even in Shibuya I get the impression that if it weren’t for the traffic, it would generally be pretty quiet. It might be an inner quality, maybe that’s why it’s always possible to sit down and think here.
The toilets talk. It’s a wee bit unnerving. No (British) pun intended. OK, they don’t actually talk, at least I haven’t, er, experienced anything like that yet. But they are always warm. Some of them make a noise when you, er, get very close. Others lift the lid up by themselves when you enter and the panel of buttons next to the seat is intimidating at first glance, but the most important one is usually illustrated unmistakably or simply helpfully labeled with FLUSH in English.
There was one fantastic toilet I didn’t want to leave for a while, because there were paper cups by the sink and little packages of what turned out to be self-toothpasting toothbrushes. You hold them under running water and voila.
When shopping, cash is put in a small tray placed in front of you for that purpose, and if you miss this step and hand it over to the cashier, you apologize, because that is not how things are done around here, and since the cashier is thanking you so graciously you feel horribly disrespectful. Your change, though, is given back to you by hand, but I can’t help wondering if that is happening because of my aforementioned blunder.
Little towels soaked in warm water await on tables in almost all the cafes we’ve been to so far, and it’s very refreshing after a lot of walking in the city. Most containers on the tables will include a sauce for food, even if said container looks like a teapot to you and you accidentally ruin your sister’s green tea by wanting to be helpful and pouring in to her cup from said container.
Almost everyone, and that’s a seemingly constant stream of a great many people, walk on the left. Navigating becomes a habit, and even if you do err to the right, locals will politely skirt around you, giving you breathing space to step back to where you belong.
Even if your waitress only speaks Japanese and you, unfortunately, don’t, she will stay until she has made absolutely sure that she has understood your order correctly, even if you start repeating “OK” like a parrot just so as not to feel like an idiot and let her do her job. Her attentiveness will cause blushing and feelings of subsequent gratitude in your soul.
Locals also like to stop and watch traditional Japanese weddings and film them with their (considerably more advanced than mine) mobile devices. No pushing or yelling.
If you go inside a jewelry shop like Osemawa in the Harajuku district and open your mouth at the sheer amount of earrings on offer, after a closer look you will see a sign reading “FOR THOSE WHO DO NOT HAVE PIERCED HOLE”.
There are people everywhere and most of them look happy and industrious.
And I want to take pictures of practically every sign, poster or ad, because I can’t read them, but each letter is so intricate that it all looks like a work of art.
“You look like a hobo,” my sister said as I emerged from my cocoon of airline-provided blanket, pillow(s) and a sleeping mask with a glorious bedhead. We erupted in laughter at the rear of a very large plane, and I was temporarily blinded by bright sunlight when I yanked the illuminator shade up too quickly. Our breakfast was being served as we neared Tokyo.
Yes, it has been a while since I boarded a long-distance flight. Expecting to be very preoccupied with the duration of the journey from Frankfurt am Main to Japan’s capital (a first-time trip for me and my sibling, by the way), I was surprised by how quickly I settled in my temporary little nest, though I didn’t finish watching Me Before You. Instead I wrote and slept, or attempted to do the latter, and listened to the stewardesses gossiping behind us. When my sister said we had already covered half the distance, I actually worried about having time to finish the second meal and get enough sleep to stave off jet lag for as long as possible upon arrival.
Tokyo greeted us with fabulous, sunny weather and a wave of warmth rolling in from outside. No trace of the typhoons that had been rocking the city for the past few days and not a speck of rain to be seen. The immediate politeness of airport staff and especially the nodding and thanking (I don’t know what I did, but I’m happy if they’re happy) was one of the first things I noticed after disembarking. And I began to worry about seeming rude, with my usual smile, nod or greeting suddenly seeming noncommittal in comparison.
We got on the Airport Limousine bus to get to our hotel and once again I (we) received a bow after a polite poster reminder to fasten our seatbelts. Plenty of fresh-looking green trees caught our eye before we got to the city with its towering skycrapers, many roads, metro trains and cars, but somehow it all made a harmonious impression together and I have always found cityscapes fascinating. Bright logos, giant screens, ads, shops and cafes became more numerous as we neared the Shibuya district, and everything that I had thought, or not thought, about Tokyo began to slowly take shape.
Finding our hotel did prove to be a bit of a challenge after all. We got halfway and were just puzzling over the directions on Google Maps, when a Japanese gentleman politely asked us if we needed help. Normally I don’t pull a Blanche Dubois and depend on the kindness of strangers, but in this case we trusted our guts and did indeed encounter the Japanese friendliness and willingness to help (clueless) foreigners. I hope that gentleman had a nice day. He also pointed out the 24-hour Maurietus Petit supermarket right near the hotel, and the very street we were searching for en route turned out to be a little gem, dotted with several inviting local eateries and red paper lanterns that lit up as soon as darkness settled.
Tokyo has so far not thrown me off my feet. It’s big, busy and always alive, based on my first impressions, but it also has a cosyness to it, nestled in its side streets full of unexpected discoveries and quintessentially local cafes tucked away so neatly amongst the hustle and bustle of Shibuya, where we are staying, that you have to look twice to pick them out. After a delicious lunch of rice, salad, soup and pork fillet simmering in a mouth-watering mixture of onion and scrambled egs in the Mark City Mall – a convenient stop before you fully get your bearings – we were ready to start taking on our slice of Tokyo. No pun intended.
We also needed to stay awake until the evening. Yes, jet lag, if that’s you, it has been a while.
My guidebook allowed exactly that which I had been hoping to do – simply walk on and explore. We set off towards the famed Shibuya Crossing, drinking in the sheer multitude of everything around us – buildings, cafes, fast-food restaurants, mini-marts and supermarkets, electronics stores, shops, signs, Japanese letters, pictures, billboards, music, shop staff methodically calling out about promotions, schoolgirls giggling in twos and scrolling through their (very high-tech-looking) phones. The number of people passing through Shibuya’s streets was immediately impressive, especially when viewed from a higher vantage point. Multiple rivers of humans seemed to merge and then part, but it was neither chaotic nor uncoordinated. Not one single case of pushing or tripping, just an elegant, goal-oriented mass of locals going about their business.
On this first afternoon alone I have seen more gorgeous shoes on women’s feet than I could count and more imaginative outfits than I could recreate. Everyone is well-dressed, even those who seem to be wearing simply a T-Shirt and shorts, but if you look closely, the pockets on the shorts are cut in a shape resembling the human eye (an interesting impression should the pockets be positioned on the back of the shorts) and the shirt has an understated, but artsy statement hidden in its hem. So not only well-dressed, but individually dressed. The shopping frenzy in shops marked with the magic word Sale is apparent, but since we are literally big in Japan, we only look.
A quick pre-bedtime stop at the nearest Family Mart yielded this exciting loot. Clearly the fact that even sweets include green tea make them a healthy snack. Oyasuminasai.
“A wedding, I love weddings!” says Jack Sparrow, and the same goes for me, though probably for different reasons than the ones he concluded his statement with. Seven hours on a Eurocity Express from Hamburg to Prague, and then I was picked up by one of the wonderful maids of honour to continue to the wedding location, Statek Ondříkovice.
I had mostly been to Prague before and it was exciting to see the landscape change to the stuff of those Czech fairytale films I remembered from my childhood. Hilly, green, lush – the busy highway eventually gave way to narrower country roads boardered by fields, grass and occasional forest. I was indeed in a village and we had to ask for directions despite the GPS. But time moved differently here. And when I stepped out of the car and breathed in, it was as if great buckets of something else entirely were being poured straight in to my lungs, making them expand. A city girl I am, through and through, and this air was immediately and completely different. “You don’t go to places like this often, do you?” one of my co-passengers remarked shrewdly.
Located on the edge of what is known in the Czech Republic as the Bohemian Paradise, Statek Ondříkovice is a lovingly restored farmhose which combines comfort with features that help retain its original charm, like the wooden furniture and staircase. Flowers spill from windowsills and corners, and it’s all so idyllic I can’t quite believe it. It’s also very warm and summer is simply everywhere. Wide fields surround the property and a spacious courtyard makes for breakfast outside in good weather.
The sounds from the cosily creaking staircase in the lobby mingle with the excited voices of guests running to and fro between rooms as they prepare for the wedding. I step outside on the wooden balcony spanning the second floor and run my hand carefully along the railing, watching stripes of sunlight settle on it. It feels like a happy house.
“Everytime I come back, it’s like becoming a kid again,” a French colleague of mine said to me dreamily when I shared my weekend plans. “I think I never really stopped,” I replied.
I thought about this some more in the RER train en route to Disneyland Paris, making my fluent in perfect French sibling laugh with my literal English pronounciation of the Noisy-Champs station we passed. It translates as nutty fields, by the way. I don’t know which I enjoy more. But hey, to quote Daria, it’s a nutty, nutty world, and maybe with Walt and Mickey’s help I could escape it for a while.
I want to remember her as well, I realize. The child who discovered herself, not just the adult. I want to carry the things she found out then inside myself, because they still make me who I am. And she is me, just independent, bill-paying, more knowledgable about polite sarcasm and prone to sentimentality.
Somehow I felt this trip would round up all these thoughts anew, since Disney animation was such a big part of my childhood and continued to be so later on in life, coloured by a special sense of memory and appreciation for discovering the stories from an adult point of view.
Trekking along to our hotel independently at first with the aid of Google Maps proved fruitless, as despite Google’s encompassing power, the Maps failed to recognize the high rows of trees blocking our progress as impenetrable. But we were already essentially in Disneyland, with Disney thinking and Disney music inflitrating our brains, so off to the bus shuttle we went, which just didn’t arrive for a while – one of the easiest things to do if you want to make someone who’s lived in Germany for years twitchy.
Once we reached Hotel Cheyenne it was truly like stepping back in time.
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Except we were larger and the security check in the lobby was a painful reminder of current events. What I notice is also how I automatically switch to accommodating this necessary procedure in my daily routine for the moment, while simultaneously thinking it’s just sad.
Hotel Cheyenne is one of the affordable accommodation options at Disneyland Paris. Family-friendly and spacious, many buildings with apt names like Billy the Kid or Calamity Jane spread beyond the main one with the lobby, lining a broad street built like a typical scene from a town in an American Western. Not only do they look the same as I remember from the one time I stayed here as a child, but so does the interior of our room. It’s almost bizarre to see the exact same table lamp with a cowboy boot for a holder, or the horse-patterned stripe of wallpaper just below the ceiling. A short attempt to climb the ladder to the top bunk proves that this is a) painful and not advisable in socks; b) silly as the bunks are too small for us now anyway. There’s also a weight limit I’m pretty sure I exceed nowadays.
If you can walk from your hotel to the park, do! The surrounding area is green and wide in the summertime, otherwise bus shuttles from the hotels actually are frequent. As for booking the travel package and all that practical stuff, two words: in advance!
One more predictable security check and we were strolling towards the gorgeous, prominent and posh Disneyland Hotel. I was still having trouble believing where I was, so I settled for the dreamy state of acceptance.
Little girls dressed like Belle and Snow White skipped past me along Main Street. Bachelorette party (or hen do) groups from England popped up every few minutes in a flurry of sequinned Minnie Mouse ears and young sisters holding hands dashed in to shops overflowing with Elsa and Anna dresses, some emerging as two Elsas or two Annas. Yes, Frozen was being marketed very heavily indeed, despite being released all the way back in 2013.
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Lunching and snacks immediately and predictably wander in to the fast food area, especially if your weekend budget revolves around the € and not the €€€. Service is efficient and quick, though, and visitor traffic moves fast enough so that seating opportunities don’t require major waiting time. The Gibson Girl Ice Cream Parlour beckons from accross Casey’s Corner, bringing back memories of reading The Langhorne Sisters by James Fox, but the hot dog and fries I had don’t leave room for more.
Leaving the beautifully decorated shop window displays on Main Street behind us, we proceed towards Sleeping Beauty’s Castle. Blush pink and blue-capped, just as I remember, it’s animation come to life without being overdone and the elegant landscaping around it reminds of the various aspects of hard work connected to putting Disneyland Paris together.
A major point of excitement was exploring the castle inside, where I promptly went Disney crazy with my camera among all the carefully reproduced scenes from the eponymous animated classic.
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And then off to the Dragon Lair we went. The wailing I heard inside confirmed what my Disneyland Paris app said – some of the scenes could frighten younger guests. While I wasn’t one, I still clutched my sibling’s hand simply because it was so dark in there.
Dumbo the Flying Elephant was the first ride stop on that day and the slight nerves I had about going up and down (I know, pathetic, it’s a carousel that kids go on) dissipated as soon as I took in the view seated atop our little soaring elephant.
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I’ll just have to suck it up and watch Dumbo to the end, because when I was little the scene with him and his mother in separate cages broke me and I couldn’t continue.
My logically thinking sibling successfully took us through Alice’s labyrinth, leaving me only slightly dizzy, but not late.
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A quick dash in the Mad Hatter’s Teacups (no, we didn’t want to turn the wheel in the middle of our cup to make it spin when the WHOLE PLATFORM of the ride was already doing so) made us laugh. And then, like any self-respecting Disneyland visitors, we set off for the Princess Pavillion, me singing along loudly to various instrumental Disney soundtracks wafting from hidden speakers around us.
While waiting in line I busied myself with my camera once more, particularly enjoying the glowing Disney artefacts displayed behind glass panes and accompanied by a short snippet from the relevant story in French and English.
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“Is there anyone else here without kids?” My sibling whispered. “I don’t know,” I replied, “But look, it’s from The Little Mermaid, it’s the shell, the shell!” I succeeded in getting the lady in front of us to turn around and give me a look, though I didn’t care. The shell! Yes, the Princess Pavillion is essentially for kids, but once we were there, I wanted to see it through. Snow White was lovely, by the way, and she said she liked my earrings. She also compared us to Elsa and Anna, so a good day’s work for us, I say.
The boat ride through Storybook land followed all this princess excitement – a ride I thoroughly enjoyed, with all the recognizable details in the careful miniature reproductions of some of Disney’s most iconic animated features.
To shake things up and with more memories running through our minds, we lined up to go on Pirates of the Carribean just as it started to rain. Savvy! Deeper and deeper we ventured until we reached our boat. Even my limited French was enough to understand the dad seated in front of us saying excitedly to his kids, “Descente!” and I screamed my head off even if it was a short drop, because I’m a scaredy cat. Points out of ten to this ride in terms of atmosphere, though, and I could understand the British teenagers dashing past us to line up again. “We’ve already been three times!” Due to the movie(s) having already come out since I last visited as a child, scenes of looting pirates laughing were all the more impressive and for a few minutes you forget where you are.
One more stop was on our list and as we rounded a corner, the Phantom Manor suddenly came in to view.
During my last visit I was successfully scared in to not going inside, and I said I would come back. Convincingly draped cobwebs adorned the lamps above our heads and the darkness in the antechamber we entered was immediately intimidating. My feverish visual scan of the premises strengthened the hope that this house didn’t include hidden roller coasters, as did the presence of small children around us. I don’t want to include spoilers, of course, but I will say that the wait of many years was worth it and the interiors are fantastic. Surely fun stop at Halloween.
Sated with impressions and walking as we already were, there was one more special point of the evening left to attend to – Disney Dreams, the evening show. Darkness was starting to settle as we approached Sleeping Beauty’s Castle later. People were lining Main Street as we grabbed some hot chocolate and found a good spot.
Music began to play and the castle became an illuminated mesmerizing stage for a medley of Disney animation and music. With the rest of the crowd I sang my heart out to Elsa’s Let It Go amid one of the most beautiful fireworks I have ever seen.
A truly enchanting end to a special day, not without “adult” thoughts (How much does it cost to put on such a display? How eco-friendly are those flames? Is all the merchandise produced under the same unfair employment conditions we read about so much?)
But I do still remember her, the girl I was thinking about on the train ride here.
Writsomnia 
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