The Broken Hearts Honeymoon Page 6
I close my eyes and breathe, and let the aeroplane sweep me and my tangled thoughts and loss of self up into the clouds, leaving the noise of everybody else in my life back in England, and trying instead to focus on listening to myself.
It then occurs to me: I’m not alone. I’m – what do they call it? – self-partnered. And in the Land of the Rising Sun I’m looking forward to getting to know the real me, myself and I. I down the rest of the whisky in my plastic cup and wince. I’m not sure I even like whisky.
Five hours into the nearly twelve-hour flight, I take the battered travel brochure out of my handbag and flip to the page showing the tour we booked on to. The ‘Japan Honeymooners Highlights’ trip. Little faded biro markings showed price quotes jotted down, and where Matt has starred the things he was most looking forward to. A tea-stained mug ring partially covers the white of Mount Fuji in the main picture, which had happened when we’d both squealed with excitement after finally booking it and I’d knocked into the brochure causing the tea to break a wave over the rim of the mug.
It had taken us ages to come to a decision about how to handle our trip in Japan. Both of us wanted to see as much as we could within the month we planned to be away. Both of us wanted to travel by rail rather than on an escorted coach. Both of us wanted to spend some time in Tokyo to kick things off. Beyond that, we wanted to immerse ourselves as much as we could in the Japanese lifestyle and culture.
I was keen to buy a twenty-one-day rail pass and do our own thing, exploring the Big Sights but also the smaller, beautiful intricacies and places, the natural beauties away from the tourist trails. The kind of places I could write about and maybe impress my manager at Adventure Awaits with. Matt was more on the side of playing it safe and being on a structured tour. He wanted someone to explain everything to us, and make sure he could tick off all the main attractions and not miss out on anything. Hmm … where had I heard that before?
14 September, last year
Saturday afternoon, 4.30pm
‘Don’t you want the easy option, though, considering it’s our honeymoon?’ Matt asked, pushing the group tour page closer again.
‘It’s just that we may only ever go to Japan once in our lifetimes, and I don’t want to miss anything out.’ I looked at the tour page again. ‘I do like that this tour includes loads of activities and experiences, and they do sound fun …’
‘Shall we call Alex again?’
‘No,’ I shook my head. We’d already chatted to our friend about this trip three times. He was the only person we knew who had been to Japan, but ever since we’d asked him what his ‘must-do’ tips were he’d wanted to be involved in everything, from picking the hotels to suggesting flights. It was helpful, but it was really down to me and Matt to buckle down and choose what we wanted to do.
‘I know you want to go to every one of the nearly seven thousand islands that make up Japan, but we can’t fit all of it into four weeks. Let yourself relax a little while we’re there, too.’
He was right. Everybody (except Alex) was quick to tell us how shattered we’d be following the wedding and how a poolside week might be a more suitable option. But looking at the brochure, the page filled with details that made my happy heart sing, I knew it was a winning compromise.
‘Let’s do it,’ I said. ‘Let’s book it right now.’
‘This one?’ Matt pointed at the Honeymoon Highlights tour. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, it sounds perfect. And we can add on a day or two in Tokyo, right? Just to have a little freedom before it all starts?’
‘Definitely. Shall I call and book it?’
‘Call and book it.’
I watched my future husband fumble his way through a call with the travel agents, reading out credit card numbers, making stupid jokes about requesting separate rooms or asking if they could swing a free honeymoon upgrade on the flight for him but not me.
When he was done, I squealed, leaping up to squeeze him and knocking my tea on route, which splashed on our brochure. But we didn’t mind.
I love him so much, I thought. He’s my best friend. Always has been, and now always will be. I tried to imagine us in Japan, seeing the world, bonded together and I wondered where we would be in ten years’ time. What kind of adventures will we have taken by then?
I feel stupid remembering this now.
The Honeymoon Highlights tour ticked most of the boxes, with a little compromise. It would be an intimate group of three couples and one guide, a little over three weeks long and starting from Tokyo, using the Japanese rail network (including the bullet train) and promised both ‘the security and serenity of group travel with plenty of opportunity to tailor your own experience at each of our stopping locations’.
Well, now it was going to be two couples and me. And the guide. Oh gee, I was going to have to partner with the guide for everything, like when your teacher takes pity on you in PE and says you can practise relays with her because nobody else wants your short, slow legs holding them back.
I exhale louder than intended, and the woman next to me looks over. She seems to see something different from when she looked at me last time, perhaps glancing the name of the tour and wondering to herself why I was travelling alone. ‘Are you okay?’ she asks.
I smile at her. ‘Yes, thank you. Just a little nervous about taking a trip on my own.’
‘Is this the tour you’re doing?’
‘Yep. Only I’m going to be the only one not honeymooning.’
The woman looks like she doesn’t know what to say, so to stop her thinking the worst happened, I add, ‘We called off the wedding, it was for the best, but I decided I could still do with a trip away to clear my head, and this was already booked and paid for.’
‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I can understand why you’d be a little sad. Would you like the rest of my Jack Daniels?’
I shake my head but thank her. I settle back in my seat and look out the window at the clouds below me, slivers of sunset appearing on my horizon, and my eyelids droop.
When I wake up it’s dark, and I’m face-down on a hotel bed, fully clothed, my suitcase unopened beside me. The curtains are open, framing a vast cityscape beyond the glass windows that looks like the opening shot of a film noir, only with futuristic towers stretching into the inky sky and neon lights like Christmas bulbs.
‘Dammit,’ I mutter. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I had so little kip on the plane that by the time I arrived at Tokyo’s Haneda Airport I was so bleary that I barely remember the jostle of passport control, the bustle of baggage collection, the hubbub of the arrivals lounge and the shuffle of the shuttle bus journey to my hotel, nestled on the outskirts of the Harajuku neighbourhood.
I sit up. The room is pristine and quiet, the double bed lower than I’m used to and an opaque screen separates the sleeping area from the bathroom. Decorated in plums and browns it doesn’t give away the location, and I could nearly be in AnyHotel, Anywhere, if it wasn’t for the tiny details that pop out at me. Intricate calligraphy stencilled onto the wallpaper. The postcard-sized Manga print above the kettle. And when I go for a wee – I had my bladder to thank for waking me up – an array of electric buttons along the side of the loo lead me to experience a surprise water spurt.
My brain is still foggy, still desperate for more sleep, but if I close my eyes now I’ll never adjust to the time zone. Besides, grrrrrowl, my tummy tells me it’s dinner time. Or lunch time. Or breakfast time. I shoot a quick message off to my family to let them know I’m here and then freshen up in the shower before heading out into the early evening.
Warm air hits the bare skin of my face as soon as I step outside, and my ears fill with a thousand different noises that had been masked from within my glass sanctuary. Cars, distant trains, chatter in a language almost alien to my ears, apart from the odd recognisable word that I catch on the breeze. But all the careful preparation, the print-outs of hiragana characters I’d stuck to my fridge, the hours spent googling and You
Tubing our destinations, hadn’t prepared me for how much of a complete novice I would feel. I don’t even know what the shops are called that I pass, or what the road signs say, and I wish I had someone else here to figure it out with me.
Luckily, I do have trusty Google Maps, which I’ve cached on my phone so that I can use areas I’ve downloaded offline, and I navigate my way towards the central hub of Harajuku. I don’t have a plan (which is a little unusual for me) but my weary body and mind seem to want to just take me for a wander.
There’s laughter from passers-by which tinkles alongside pop music. I can’t quite tell if it’s coming from the shops or from speakers above them but it seems to be the same song. I turn onto Takeshita Street and am met with a candy-crush dreamscape that sounds like Disneyland after dark and looks like multicoloured sequins have been thrown in the air and are floating in front of me to light my way. The long, shop-lined strip has a bokeh effect on my still weary eyes; the rainbow of illuminations out of focus. I follow the trail past stores spilling out with cute stuffed cartoon animals, Hello Kitty merchandise, vintage clothing and much, much more. I move with the crowd and keep having my eye caught by the sight of young women dressed in powder-puff pinks and mint greens, sunshine yellows and bold turquoise stripes, mermaid-toned hairstyles woven into plaits and bunches. They walk with a confidence and individuality, showing themselves and their outfits off, and they’re mesmerising.
I should write about this. All of this, I need to capture the kawaii culture in all its cutesy Technicolor glory. It’s so much to take in that I switch my phone screen away from the map and start videoing everything from the anime-print socks to rainbow candy floss. Maybe during the lonelier nights here in Japan I can write a few pieces, maybe blog posts, maybe articles, to show Adventure Awaits when I get home.
‘I’m in Tokyo,’ I narrate from behind the camera, feeling a bit silly talking to myself but too sleepy to care. ‘Just arrived into Harajuku and the jet lag is pretty outstanding, but so is this street. Check out all of this swag. I think I’m the dullest-looking person in the whole district right now.’ I turn the camera around and pan it down my body, showing my muted jumper and jeans and coat. Maybe I should start wearing more colour.
My stomach gives off such a loud howl that for a second I’m not sure if it’s that or one of the moggies inside the cat cafe that I’m passing, so I take it as a sign to refocus my search for food. I hover beside a crêpe stand on the street for a moment, deliberating between sweet and savoury, but I’m kidding myself: there’s only one crêpe I’m going for.
‘Konbanwa,’ I say to the woman behind the counter, and give a bow. So far so good. Thank you, Duolingo app, for giving me little Japanese lessons daily for the past couple of months. I then notice that all the crêpes have the English translation under them and my tired brain takes the opportunity to shut off and forget all of its carefully learnt phrases, so instead I stand like a fool pointing at the crêpe, a dopey, hopeful expression on my face and say slowly, ‘Custard caramel cheesecake special?’ I loathe myself and swear that I’ll do better after tomorrow.
I’m yawning again. After this I’m going to give in and go back to the hotel, call it a night. But for now, once I’m handed my crêpe-wrapped cheesecake slab, I stand to the side and munch it with the hunger of someone who last ate aeroplane bread rolls. Me in a sea of people. It’s so busy here, and the streets of Harajuku, Tokyo, only seem to be filling up more as the night unfolds. In crowds this big a solo traveller could start to feel lonely, but for me it feels freeing to get a little lost in translation.
Chapter 4
Loneliness follows
The happiest place on earth
When the curtain falls
‘Good morning, Tokyo!’ I say out loud, my heart bursting with a sense of happiness and freedom as I fling open the curtains to sunrise over the city. It’s early, but already the streets are bathed in a warm, spring yellow glow the colour of Easter chicks. Looking down from my window, I see some of the capital’s 9 million residents already beginning their day, or ending their nights, with a jog, a coffee, a moment of zen.
I’m moving accommodation today, away from Harajuku cute and into high-rise chic, to the Park Hyatt Tokyo, the hotel made famous in Lost in Translation. If it hadn’t been a non-refundable part of the tour I probably would have cancelled and stayed put here, not because I don’t want to visit the hotel but because it’s a bit of three-night luxury I can’t afford now.
Technically, the tour starts tomorrow. An arrival night was included today, then a free day tomorrow, and tomorrow evening I’ll meet the other couples and the guide for dinner. We then have one more day and night in Tokyo before heading on the bullet train to Kyoto together.
But today is freeeeeeee and I’m feeling so well rested and giddy from the immersive kawaii cuteness of Harajuku that there’s just one thing I want to do. It wasn’t on the itinerary for Matt and me, but bugger Matt, I can do whatever I want now. And I’m going to spend the day at Tokyo Disneyland!
After a pleasant half hour on the toilet experiencing all the exciting settings, I’m ready to pack my things back into my hefty great suitcase and make tracks. I think I’ll walk! A lovely morning stroll will take me right past the Meiji Jingū shrine, protected from the lively hum of the city by a large tree-filled park, and out the other side to the Park Hyatt within forty minutes or so. There I can hopefully leave my clobber, and jump on a train to Disneyland.
Leaving the hotel, I swing by my new favourite crêpe stand for another sugar hit for breakfast (promise I’ll start eating all that beautiful, fresh, healthy Japanese food really soon, but also, my trip my rules, right?) and this time opt for an early-morning-friendly option of blueberry jam and cream cheese.
Ah, spring days in Tokyo. I could be an extra in La La Land, just on the wrong continent, the way I’m promenading along with a spring in my step. My suitcase bump bump bumps along the pavement behind me and I have to switch arms every few minutes because it is a little heavy, but thankfully it doesn’t take long to reach the entrance to the park and the path widens, and there are fewer businesspeople around. Early-morning sunshine dapples through the trees and the forest thickens, leading me towards the Meiji Jingū shrine, which is one of the places Ariel Cortez visited in her Japan article. The ‘eye of the tornado’, she called it, referring to how calm the shrine was among the wonderful rush of Tokyo.
Bow twice, clap hands twice, make a wish, bow again, I chant to myself as I walk along. I read that on the website this morning as I was packing up – it’s the correct way to show respect once you’ve got to the shrine itself. And I do not want to be that kind of tourist who looks like they stepped off the plane and expects everything to be catered for them.
I reach the torii, the giant, angular, wooden archway that signifies the pathway changes from the everyday to the spiritual and leads towards the shrine. I’m the only one around right now, me and my suitcase, and I stop for a minute to take in the quiet magnificence of the arch above me.
I wonder where I’ll be in a month’s time. Not physically: physically, I’ll be back in Tokyo about to fly back to the UK. Physically, I shall be ten pounds lighter because of all the delicate, light Japanese cuisine and my treks up and down Mount Fuji. Providing that I honour my vow to stop eating dessert for breakfast, my skin will be clear and glowing from the vitamin D bestowed upon me by being outdoors for a month, and the break from working hunched over a copy-editing desk. Physically, I feel very confident that I’ll be returning as Gigi Hadid’s twin from this adventure. But emotionally, where will I be? Hmm.
Like all good spiritual soul-searching in the twenty-first century, my thoughts are supplemented with the tinkle of bells from my mobile phone. Even though I’m standing on my lonesome, a little lost tourist unsure if I’m allowed beyond the archway, I feel guilty at the noise and scrabble for my phone in my bum bag.
Yes, bum bag. I saw loads of people wearing really cool ones in Harajuku so don’t
‘Coachella 2015 called …’ me.
Hey sis, are you up? It’s Benny on our siblings’ WhatsApp group.
I am, I’m off to a shrine! I tap back.
Disneyland?
No, a real shrine! I say.
Very cultured, Charlie, thought you’d be hitting Disneyland for sure, chimes in Mara.
They think they know me so well … No, I write. That’s AFTER the shrine.
Noooo, you’re not serious! You can’t go all the way to Tokyo to spend your first day in Disneyland!
I bloody well can, I tell my big sister. I can almost feel Mara shivering at my tackiness. And there’s piss all you can do about it.
Marissa has started typing, and shortly after a message pops up. Hi, C! I was talking to one of the chefs at work and his sister married a guy whose boss lived in Japan for a year and he said you HAVE to go to something called …
… Marissa is typing …
I’d like to carry on towards the shrine but don’t feel I should text and drive this suitcase within the gate, so I wait.
… Marissa is typing …
I write, So how are you lot? Isn’t it 11 pm-ish at home? Or is it morning already because Marissa’s been typing for so long?
Izakara Alleys! She eventually sends. They’re these tiny little drinking taverns and they sound really cool. Nightlife in Japan sounds epic – go for a big night out if you really want to live a little.
Does Tokyo Disneyland have the same rides as the Paris one? Benny asks.
I’ll let you know! Thanks for the tip, Marissa, I might look into that, though I’m not sure if a lone gal on a heartbreak honeymoon should start drinking sake alone in a Tokyo backstreet.