Steam from the yakitori grill blurred the mushroom parade of umbrellas down Omoide Yokocho. Rain lashed Tokyo’s streets.
Quietly sipping an Asahi I planned my escape. Salarymen with rumbled shirts and loose ties passed around a microphone.
“Billy Jean is not my brother,” they screeched to tinny beats.
I’d accidentally crashed an anniversary party.
The microphone reached my end of the bar. I stood up to leave, but red-faces pleaded with me. I was 5,000 miles from home. Nobody knew me. I sang my heart out, off-key. They bought me enough Saki to see me through to 5am.
Suzy Pope likes the boring parts of travel best. Timetables, waiting rooms, long train journeys, planning, and research. It’s probably because she’s a librarian as well as a freelance travel writer. She’s taken some of the longest, rockiest, most scenic and luxurious trains in the world and delighted in planning every second of the journey.