Japan Day 3

Armed with courage and adventurous-ness, John and I set out on our own to navigate through this land of short, pigeon-toed people that are suspect drivers. Well, actually it was more an attitude of frugality with which we set out. The guided bus tour of Tokyo for sport philosophers cost 6000 yen ($60) and we didn't want to pay that, so we opted for the "Idiot's Guide Themselves in Tokyo" tour.

Like veteran world travelers, we navigated a changeover at Tokyo's busiest subway station, going from the blue line to the orange line on our way to three tourist attractions that boasted no entrance fee. (It wasn't until the way back that we realized we had been paying the children's price at the computerized ticket booths - in Japanese, the word "children" looks like the word "one-way," which happens to look like every other word in the Japanese lexicon to non-Japanese speakers.) We walked to the Imperial Palace first. Seeing the deep moat and majestic stone walls surrounding its grounds whetted our appetite for taking in Japan's most sacred structure.

The East Gate to the Palace was closed. We couldn't read the sign but the 4'7", 90-pound guard with a scowl indicated that we should go elsewhere. We met a similar fate (and guard) at the Southeast Gate. And at the West Gate. And at the North Gate. It just so happens that John and I were mistaken when we understood the Imperial Palace website's claim that "No Admission will be taken on Thursdays." We thought that meant we didn't have to pay. They meant it was closed.While the 2-mile walk around the Palace gave us a beautiful view of the entire aforementioned moat and stone wall, it also led us to our next destination - the Imperial Gardens. Deceivingly, when the Japanese talk about gardens, they really only mean "grassy areas with trees." We had seen one of those before so we left, toured the National Art Museum and caught the subway back. John enjoys the subway because its the only time he's taller than a large group of people unless he goes back to his elementary school. I enjoy the subway because I get a chance to mingle with the "rocars" - the people that are from the area.

Congratulating ourselves on our ability to navigate congested and foreign commuter traffic, we hopped off the train and went directly across the street to the local grocer for some sushi. Unfortunately, with sushi in hand, we took a wrong turn out of the grocery store. An hour and fifteen minutes later we still hadn't completed the seven minute walk to our hotel. After unsuccessfully asking directions to a Japanese cop who pulled out a Japanese map that looked like some of the abstract art we saw at the museum, we were officially lost. So, with our tails between our legs we found a park pavilion where a homeless man had just vacated a picnic table and sat down to eat our raw fish and rice. Sad and dejected, we ate in silence except for the piped in American oldies music that made the lingering smell of homeless men oddly familiar.

As we left the park, set on retracing every one of our missteps, we noticed an outdoor croquet field across the street ... that we had seen earlier that morning ... from our bedroom windows ... next door to our hotel.