Forgive me for burying the lede, wishing to save the best for last.

August in Tokyo is nothing if not hot. And by Grabthar’s Hammer is it hot (I’ll let you non-nerds look that one up). I will never complain about heat (dry California heat at least) again. The humidity here on certain days brings things up several notches.

I took a run/walk to Shibuya on Friday and got a later than optimal start at around 10am. It was blazing when I left the air-conditioned wonder that is modern indoor Tokyo, and when I stepped outside I almost turned right around. Being the stubborn person that I am, I soldiered/staggered on towards my goal. It’s probably only four miles or so round trip and I did my best to stay on the shady side of the street.

Perhaps because Tokyo is preparing for the Olympic Games in 2020 there is a lot of construction going on in Shibuya, one of the main transportation and civic centers in this part of the city. Intricate elevated walkways criss-cross the main intersections as large sections of land are fenced off and occupied by huge cranes. Part of the reason for choosing Shibuya station as my destination other than its reasonable proximity for a feeble man, was my search for Hachiko.

We had heard that there was a statue of a dog near the station, and I first heard the reason for this from my Japanese instructor, Saga-san. It is an inspirational story, and one that fits in well with the Japanese ethos of loyalty.

One of our favorite restaurants is LB7 located just down the block from the apartment. We’ve been back 3 times now and it’s been first-rate each time. One of the best seats in the house is at the ‘bar’ overlooking the cooking and food prep area. It is a treat to watch the chef as he meticulously (as most things are done here) but efficiently prepares a variety of dishes. Pork chops seem to be a signature dish and are amazingly good, but I try to force myself to try different things. This time I had the Caesar salad and steak (feel sorry for me).

Have I mentioned that it’s hot and expensive here? We’ve been to Harajuku already, it’s not far from the apartment and has some interesting shopping areas. But the main street there is clearly aimed at 20-somethings; it’s crowded, loud, colorful, etc. This past weekend we visited Sugamo, the neighborhood that is the polar opposite of Harijuku. It was as advertised. The best part was the blocks of ice that were on the street every few hundred feet. You could just stand there and rub your hands on the icy goodness. Other than that, not the most exciting part of the city. At least we tried, and it will be duly crossed off our list.

There are a couple of random photos thrown into the gallery with no real stories behind them, so I’ll let the captions do all the work.

Onto the main event: For this part of the post, wait until late at night, break out your best whiskey/Scotch/Cabernet (12-years old or older please), put on some ’70s soul music for your listening pleasure (turntable and vinyl if you’re able), and think about things that are smoooooth.

The setup: On the flight back from San Francisco, we were seated behind and next to, two men who knew each other, both apparently in their early 60s. I thought nothing of it until a flight attendant came over to the man across the aisle from me and began telling him all about how much he loved listening to Motown and soul music growing up as a boy in Iowa or some such place. Bear in mind that this was a gay, mid-western white man speaking so go figure. Just before we were about to land in Tokyo, two female attendants came over and had their picture taken with the same man.

Normally on flights, female attendants ask to get their pictures taken with me, so I was understandably a little miffed at the inattention I was receiving. I asked the man why all the fuss, and he told me he was a part of the musical group The Stylistics, and that they’d be in Japan for a week-long gig not too far from the apartment at Kento’s, a club in Ginza. Being a connosuir connoiusseur connosurre fan of ’70s soul myself, I’d heard the name but couldn’t place any of the hits. When we got back to the apartment and looked them up we knew we had to go see them perform.

Kento’s is, for lack of a better word, an ‘oldies’ club, for both people (myself included) and music. When we arrived we were ushered toward the back into a corner table. The location wasn’t too important because it was a very small club, seating only 200 or so. People were eating dinner before the show, and we were the only foreigners, besides the band, in the entire joint. Amy says the gin and tonic was mostly tonic and the beer was basic, but the music was terrific. They had and 14-piece Japanese backing band including horns and strings, and they played all the hits and sounded as good as they did when Nixon called it quits.

After the show we went down to the stage and they were very gracious, shaking everyone’s hand and posing for quick pictures. As we got handshakes the lead man seemed to recognize us and gave us a big wave and smile. I told him I sat behind him on the flight over and was grateful that he never leaned his seat back. He autographed a Kento’s coaster for Amy and disappeared through the stage door, as smooth as ever.