Icame late to Tokyo. It was October 2007, more than a decade after I’d started seriously traveling the world, and I’d already been to some far-flung places in Asia—Ipoh and Urumqi, Bishkek and Battambang. But I’d never had a reason to visit Japan, nor the budget I figured I’d need to do so. Then, a wedding invitation materialized around the same time I managed to sock away a few thousand bucks, so I booked a flight, intending to spend three weeks primarily in Tokyo, Osaka, and Kyoto—the beginner’s Japan tour.
One weekday afternoon somewhere in there, a friend of a friend—Jason? Donald?—invited me to a bar. It was in Shibuya, right outside exit 10, and it was in a basement. Already, I was excited—this had the feeling of, if not a secret, then a semi-secret. You had to know where this place was to go there!