It’s a cold Saturday night in the dark back alleys of Kabukicho, Tokyo, where I find myself confused, disoriented and now hopelessly lost.
My map is no help, so I decide it’s time to play the “help, I’m a pathetic lost tourist” card. Like a lion in tall grass, I wait patiently before picking my prey and pounce on a startled young Japanese couple who appear to be enjoying each other’s company, laughing and giggling.
They speak a little English. The first surprise is their names, Yamoto and Kerata, which actually sound very similar to some blasphemous Greek words. I recall my mother using these words constantly when I played evil tricks on my twin sister. I am a lot older and wiser now, so it’s been a long time since hearing them.
Unbeknownst to me, I am about a 20-minute walk from where I want to be: Shinjuku Station. I expect them to point me in the right direction, but they start walking. And walking. To my surprise, they say, “go together”!
Time passes quickly as we have a cross-cultural conversation covering the usual topics. We arrive at Shinjuku Station and I give them a small box of chocolates, which I happen to be carrying. They are totally surprised and delighted but it is a small token of my appreciation.
As I wave them goodbye, sadly, I think I will never see them again. But I will always be grateful to them for reminding me of the joys of travel.
