Early Tokyo Observations

Sat in my room on the 10th floor of the Shibuya Excel Hotel. Can't decide if the tiny mechanism on the ceiling is a sprinkler or CCTV - either way, I'm smoking in a non smoking room. From the window I can see Shibuya crossing - surrounded by advertisements - one of which is for the clothing brand Hachette featuring a well-dressed George Bush lookalike with a wolf between his legs, looking on lovingly.
I've been here for 48 hours. The city makes me laugh constantly, but if one thing has really tickled me it was a slogan on a t-shirt: "Every child has a silver lining."
A combination of jet lag and culture shock makes it impossible for me to construct any kind of narrative right now, so in effect, I'm going to list what I've noticed so far.
Tokyo Tower Records must be the only record shop in the world which gives prominent racking to Nouvelle Vague and Tracy Ullman, side-by-side.
Harajuku reminds me of Camden - but obviously a million times better, cleaner and less smelling of piss, but more fragrant flowers. Notices flag the street known as 'Takeshita': "Don't smoke," "Don't steal". I couldn't help but read Takeshita as "Take Shit," so the irony them asking "Don't steal" faintly amused me.
I was unsure of my route from Shibuya to Harajuku and the nearby Meiji-jingu temple, so I asked a boy who looked vaguely British. He turned out to be French Canadian - 18-years-old and fluent in Japanese after living here for 5 months on a school exhange programme. Imagine if you will a Scottish Buddy Holly - all geek specs and more slender than a Harajuku girl. He offered to show me the way, explaing en route about his time spent in Japan, living with a family who constantly watch TV. He also told me that he thinks Japanese girls are beautiful, but comes a cropper when trying to start conversations with them. "I ask them what they like doing and they always say the same thing: shopping and karaoke. Nothing else. Really, nothing else," he complained.
I've heard people say this before, but I'm inclined to, or at least, want to disbelieve it. However, there's no denying that during work hours men are absent from the streets, which are saturated with women consuming. Still, if you're into shopping, there's no place like Tokyo.
The temple fascinated me for a few reasons. As far as I understand it (and I certainly have little idea about Japanese history), the Emperor in the 15th century fought the arrival of the Spanish and subsequently banned all foreign people from entering Japan. Then, in 1860-70 or so, the Americans apparently turned up in a steam-powered boat, which freaked the Japanese out so much (ships to them were powered by sails) that the Emperor at the time - Meiji-jingu - decided to revoke the tradition and let foreigners in. The word "Meiji" means "enlightened rule". His introduction of all things Western led to Japan becoming Asia's most wealthy country, hence why he's got a shrine in his name. I apologise to those who know about Japanese history, for I'm sure I just made a pig's ear of it.
Anyhow, Patrice (the boy) and I are at the temple and he insists I pray, for it is good manners, and takes me through the ritual of washing my hands and face, clapping twice, praying and then clapping twice again, as the others appear to be doing. I admit to him that although I performed the ritual I didn't actually pray. He told me he did the same thing on another occasion because he had "nothing to ask for".
On the pathway to the temple was a series of barrels, stacked up in rows of three, donated by the Frech government and each and every one containing wine. It surprised me the French would donate such a thing, but it surprised me even more that they decided to keep them on 'spiritual soil'. It's like imagining a load of crates of beer stacked up outside St Pauls.
No-one jaywalks here under any circumstance. I crossed a road without using an official crossing - the road was empty and I'm not a child. The police whistled at me and one started to run in my direction. I ran into a shop and hid behind some clothes. Too fast for the cops, it would seem.
The men who patrol the streets and direct the traffic carry pink, yes, pink, batons.
People are so sharply dressed here I look like I should be selling the Big Issue.
I have spent most of my time here holed up in the British Embassy (an architectural let-down) and a conference room at a shopping centre called Bell Commons with a crowd of British music industry folks, many of whom have been here before. Last night we were taken to an incredible Japanese restaurant where I failed to get to grips with the chopsticks. The pork and cheese balls were great, the cold noodles less so. The night ended with an obligatory trip to a Karaoke booth. That will be the first and last time I sing "I Love Rock N Roll" overlooking a Shibuya street. In fact, I'm determined it will be the last time I involve myself in Karaoke. If I have a choice out of that and shopping, it will have to be the shopping. After all, the new Modest Mouse release (which is seemingly unavailable in the UK) is now in my possession.

Some pictures here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/47994895@N00/sets/72157621818549569/