Roppongi -- Japan's Answer to Bourbon St.

Thought I would start postiing some of my travel adventures. I have been to South America, Central America, Asia, the Middle East, and parts of Africa. I was one of those backpacking crazies right after I graduated from college. This is one I wrote in 1997 after I got back from Asia.

Love it, hate it, loathe it, leave it: Roppongi is undenialibly a people magnet. Perhaps it doesn't attract the most savory of characters, but it cannot be denied that all walks of life rub elbows and more in Roppongi unlike anywhere else in Japan. To me, this is the Asian version of New Orleans' Bourbon Street. Wild, Crazy, Sexy, and Sultry.

What is Roppongi. Roppongi is Tokyo's little den of sin for ready-to-go gaijins and adventurous Japanese. Its humble origins date back to 400 years ago when it was a quiet little temple town with nary a vice to its name. Tragedy seems to be in Roppongi's blood as it has faced ravaging fires, WWII bombs, and drunken foreigners puking all over it during its long questionable past. Its party reputation began a hundred years or so ago, when Japanese soldiers were quartered there and, as it usually happens around young men with money and testosterone to spare, a sordid night-life sprung slowly into life. The US military continued this fine tradition in Roppongi after WWII.

These days, a night in Roppongi can be spent fending off the lusty advances of horny Nigerians, frustrated sailors, and pent up marines, and those are the guys. The girls there are crazy. Some are prostitutes, trolling for their next trick. Other women go there to find a tourist and have a little fling. For the young male out on the prowl, he has to run the alluring but annoying gamut of the massage girls. Shouting: "Massagee! Massagee!", they love to rush out to grab any passing single male and not let go until their victims have either given in or brutally fought them off. There are nightclubs that have nothing but "working women" in them. Then there are the legit clubs where the young and horny crowd go to hook up for free. There are gay clubs, transvestite clubs, clubs for old people. You name it, you can find it.

The night is a friend to Roppongi and its inhabitants of party-goers and pleasure-seekers. The streets are seemingly filled with beautiful people stumbling about in a wonderful haze as they hop from club to club. In rich rolling Nigerian accents, club hawkers call out to the passing crowds inviting them to clubs that promise to be packed with fun and people. Perhaps its the blinding flashing lights, the blaring music, or the alcohol but the insides of the popular clubs do seem to boast a population of the most incredibly good looking charismatic people who simply personify the word "cool".

Some nights, however, just aren't a good time to visit - though some sour critics would say that there is never a good night to visit Roppongi. I went there for the first time on New Years Eve 1996. Nearly the entire crew contingent of the USS Kittyhawk aircraft carrier was there to meet, compete, and throw-up on me. It was wall-to-wall testosterone. Roppongi on that New Year's would have been a lovely place to go if you were female or gay. Unfortunately, I was a single male. Bad Luck!!

I went club hopping with some friends I had met up with. A couple of them were from Japan, the others were Europeans. I got incredibly drunk and had repeated run ins with the Navy Guys. They were being assholes to everyone. I understand they are cooped up on a ship for months at a time, but they need to chill out when they come to shore. They were only looking for poontang or to get in a fight. I did stay out of any fights that night, although I probably saw at least 7 or 8 different fights throughout the night. Around 3 AM, I met some girl at a club and we started dancing. We decided to hook up, but she lived about an hour away and my hotel would not allow foreigners to bring women in (Stupid rule!!!)

Anyway, the Roppongi district has this covered. They have a number of seedy little hotels that rent rooms by the hour for horny party-goers. Being New Years, there was actually a line at most of these. We waited about 25 minutes for a room, and went in and had our fun. We stayed there till about 6:30 AM.

The danger of Roppongi, and there are many, is staying too long. If you do not hook up early and get out of there or you miss your last train, you will be in danger of seeing the horror that is Roppongi in the morning. Although I found my girl, the sun was already peaking over the rooftops when we left the hotel. She went her way and I stumbled to find my way to the subway station.

MY GOD!!! My first thoughts were that I had stepped into a disaster area. The morning is not a friend to Roppongi. In fact, its downright cruel. Daylight hits Roppongi with all the gentleness of a sledgehammer wrapped in barbed wire. Morning shatters all the glamour, egos, and illusions that was given by the night.

In the morning, the beautiful cool people you were just grooving with are suddenly replaced by a bunch of haggard hung-over hags and trolls. Rushing out into the streets doesn't save you either as the streets are choked with packs of shambling, stumbling walking dead. In the shadows, pale party-goers avoid sunlight like quaking vampires by seeking the darker recesses of the subways lest they explode in a noxious cloud of bone and dust. The sidewalk is covered with piss and vomit. The area smells like a sewer.

I stumble to the subway station, all the while holding my sleeve over my nose to block out the noxious fumes. In the bowels of the subway station, the survivors of the night are huddled like war-weary third world refugees as they await the train that will carry them away from this hell. Very few are capable of standing. Most are passed out in theirs or somebody else's filth. Those few who are conscious stare into the void with bleary, blood-shot eyes like shell-shock war veterans who have been too long up at the Front.

I told myself: "Never Again!" as I lurched for the train along with the rest of the wretched masses yearning for escape. Of course, I caved the next night and went straight back to this crazy purgatory of pleasure.