On my last day in Tokyo, I stumbled out of a love hotel at 6 a. Upon gathering my things from my actual hotel room โ or really โ a minimalist container for my stuff that I napped in during the day, I checked out and readied myself for the trek back to the train station, this time with my travel backpack and ancillary bag stuffed with souvenirs.
But I was stopped by a young reporter trailed by a cameraman and a middle-aged man who I would soon learn would serve as translator and note-taker. We stepped out of the rain under an overhang where he explained via the translator that he wanted to interview me for a Japanese TV Show. I was exhausted but amused. That was when I mentioned spending a night out, drinking with locals. He asked me about how we communicated, and I explained some people spoke English and one person was actively translating, and for the rest, we just typed back and forth via Google Translate.
But upon arriving in Tokyo, circumstances and I would conspire to turn me into something I just started referring to as a Feral Tokyo Night Rat. Knowing the trains stopped from midnight until about 5 a. What would I do? The event, like most parties that began at or just before midnight in Japan, would go all night until the trains started running again. But I was tired and concerned about spending that much time vibing alone in a venue.
Still, I went. When I got to the venue, I encountered a line winding down the street, people waiting to get in somewhere. Two people strode up and down the street with walkie talkies, directing the queue. I flashed the QR code on my phone and asked if this was the event I was going to. The guy shook his head no and helpfully showed me the entrance, just past the queue, to a basement space. I descended the stairs and thought about how, of course, I would expect nothing less from Rose.
The vibes were a little good local women DJs and an eclectic international and somewhat queer crowd and a little off some weird aggressive stuff from one white dude and one bartender and some annoying rave baby behavior. By the time I wanted to leave, it was 3 a. I could simply stick it out in the venue, but after the bartender had made me feel far less than welcome and a little self-awareness had me contemplating the fact that I was easily the most visibly dykey person in the fog-machined underground venue other queers were of a different flavor , I opted to try my luck outside.
