janebO2364BJ
Google
One of my former bosses, an extreme introvert—a common trait among software engineers—was born in the U.S. but raised in Japan. He often lamented that Japan’s bustling urban sprawl, paradoxically, offered introverts like him a tranquil haven to thrive. It wasn’t until my husband and I disembarked from our cruise ship in Tokyo that I understood what he meant: in a city teeming with people, it’s easy to disappear. ||We’d planned four post-cruise days in Tokyo—short but enough to glimpse the city’s essence. From the chaos of Shibuya’s intersections to the serenity of Hakone’s hot springs, we experienced the stark contrast between Tokyo’s relentless energy and Hakone’s restorative calm. ||Facing Tokyo’s subway map—a tangle of overlapping colored lines, microscopic station names, and labyrinthine exits—my husband rubbed his eyes in surrender. Armed with my native Chinese (and its shared characters with Japanese), I deciphered our routes and schedules, appointing myself tour guide for our party of two. First, I downloaded Pasmo, an NFC-enabled transit card, onto my iPhone. With a tap-in, tap-out system, we bypassed the hassle of ticket machines and exact change, gliding seamlessly through trains, subways, and buses. ||Our journey began on a drizzly April morning aboard a local train from Yokohama to Shibuya. Even outside rush hour, the ride took an hour. Shibuya, Tokyo’s new financial hub, thrummed with young professionals in crisp, stylish attire, their faces alight with ambition as they surged across the famous Shibuya Scramble Crossing. From a second-floor skybridge, we watched the crowd below—umbrellas bobbing like mushrooms in the mist, moving in synchronized waves. Guides weren’t wrong: the crossing was a spectacle. Later, we joined the current ourselves, umbrellas aloft, dissolving into the crowd. For a moment, I felt the introvert’s paradox: anonymity in motion, tranquil amid chaos, like a drop in the sea—seen but unseen. ||Shibuya’s adjacency to Meiji Shrine made it a magnet for tourists, whether drawn to history or haute couture. Regardless, the district had undeniably become Tokyo’s pulsing heart of fashion and commerce. ||We stayed at the Shibuya Excel Hotel, perfectly positioned near Scramble Square and endless shops. Unlike typical Japanese hotels with their cramped rooms and low beds, the Excel offered spacious quarters with two double beds—a welcome slice of American familiarity. After 24 nights on a cruise ship, we sank into the comfort, recharging for Hakone. ||The next morning, we forwarded our bulky luggage to our Narita airport hotel (where it would arrive in two days) and boarded the Shinkansen to Hakone with only light backpacks. The hotel staff handled the logistics with effortless efficiency. ||April’s cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their pale pink petals unfurling delicately, pistils dusting the air with a gentle fragrance. An hour by train and a short bus ride brought us to XIV Hakone Palace, a luxury hot-spring resort. ||Hakone is Tokyo’s weekend escape, but we arrived on a weekday, savoring the stillness. Our room was a sanctuary: tatami mats doubling as beds, a living area with a cozy sofa and tea set, and a bedroom swathed in silken linens and blackout curtains. We booked a private outdoor onsen for couples. “You might need an umbrella,” the front desk warned as rain threatened. “That would be romantic,” I replied. The attendant spoke no English, yet we communicated effortlessly through gestures and smiles as she demonstrated the knobs, showers, and sliding doors. The rain held off—no umbrella needed—but the scene was no less magical: steam rising into the cool air, cherry blossoms clinging to mossy slopes, clouds obscuring Mount Fuji (our only regret). ||Against Shibuya’s kinetic energy, Hakone was a sigh—a place where time slowed, and we relaxed.
