Earlier i hardly came to Shinjuku, reason for which is that Shibuya was (is) much more friendly, everything is easy to find there, and it has a y in its name, which is cool. I had no idea what kind of place my hotel will be in for this three days, but it turned out to be quite nice. It’s a bit difficult to navigate in the tiny streets surrounding it, but i managed to find it thanks to online maps.
I arrived, dropped my stuff, went for an atm, because you have to pay in advance, had a bit tasteless curry lunch at a nearby indian restaurant watching the Osaka sumo championship (i think Osaka, i guess championship), turned on music and had a “little nap”. That was around four pm, and i got up at around ten. Not the best thing, because though i have slept four hours altogether in the past few days, now i’m sure i won’t be sleeping anytime soon, although it’s already over midnight. And i went for a walk.
Already when i arrived it was apparent that this is some kind of korean district. All the shops have signs in korean as well, every restaurant is either korean or yakiniku (with the exception of three thai restaurants), which is probably also for koreans, and even the hotel has all the information and signs in korean too. I found a Don Quijote department store as well, i’ll finally have the opportunity to check it out (never been to the one near the university). Then had a turn, and forgetting where i am, headed straight towards Shinjuku.
It was at first strange that after one or two dark and quiet streets suddenly restaurants and bars (most having guys instead of girls on their advertisements, if you get what i mean) started popping up. Wondering just a second i realised that i know where i am, though not necessarily happy about it: the middle of Kabuki-cho, often named the red light district of Tokyo. Until i got out on the Shinjuku side (where there were visibly more girls on the adverts), i was invited pretty enthusiastically to a “massage” salon, a black guy tried to shake my hand (“hey yo Babylon soldier”, first time someone called me that, and though in spite of my hair, i’m not a rastafarian believer, i know what that means and to be honest, it filled me with pride, being called that) all the way to a “good bar”, soon after another offered a place with “really good japanese girls”.
At Shinjuku station the Starbucks’ were already closed, though i’dve liked to have a cocoa-like something. Ended up in a McDonalds, cheap dinner and headed back–this time for security’s sake (it was already almost midnight) by train. Found the hotel and here i am.