CarrollBlog

When I was seventeen, my father was invited to Japan to collaborate on a screenplay with the great Japanese director Akira Kurosawa. My mother and I accompanied him. It was a crazy, once in a lifetime trip. Kurosawa was considered a god in Japan for having made such classic films as THE SEVEN SAMURAI, THRONE OF BLOOD, RASHOMON, and others. Because he had specifically asked my father to co-write his first Western film, we were treated like mini-gods.

Kurosawa's son was my age and a member of one of the most famous rock groups in Japan at the time. A very good guy, he immediately adopted me and introduced me both to his friends and his life which was fast, glittery, and full of great looking women who smiled a lot but naturally didn't speak a word of English.
One night he said he was fixing me up on a blind date with the prettiest girl of all. I was to meet her at the Hotel New Otani at 10 pm for drinks and then we would see how things went. I asked if this girl spoke English and was told no. But don't worry because she's fun anyway. The implication was clear that we wouldn't need to talk after a certain point, etcetera. I was hesitant but what the hell-- I was seventeen and game for anything. So I put on my best and went to meet her at a hotel which was on the other side of town.
Tokyo is a huge city and to this day I remember how long the taxi ride was. I was nervous and eager and ready for anything. Still, the ride there seemed to take a very long time. When I arrived, only one very good looking girl was waiting in the lobby. Since I was the only blond, 6'4" person there, she came right over and said in halting English that she was the one. The reason we met there was a revolving bar/restaurant on top of the hotel, the only one of its kind in town. If you sat there long enough, you got to see all of Tokyo without moving from your chair.

I think our "date" lasted an hour. I don't remember. Of course it was a disaster and the girl made no sign whatsoever that she was interested in going beyond a drink or two. Silence, smiles, and then more deepening silence. Eventually it became too much and I signalled a waiter for the check. When it came I tried to keep the sang froid but it was hard because the bill was astronomical-- out the window, crazy expensive. Trying to be a 17 year old James Bond, I pretty much kept my cool and paid. Then I escorted the girl down to the lobby and gave her every last yen I had for her taxi ride home. She said thank you and left.
I was seventeen and very unhip to the ways of the world. Never once did it cross my mind that I could take a taxi back to my hotel, ask the driver to wait when we arrived, and get money from the desk to pay for the fare. I just thought "I'm broke so I I have to walk back." To this day I do not know how far it is from the Hotel New Otani to the Hotel Tokyo Prince but the walk took all night, and I am not exaggerating. I walked across that city for hours, having only one thing to guide me: behind my hotel was a huge television tower called, as I remember, the Tokyo Tower. Whenever I got lost, which was about every fifteen minutes, I would either look for the tower way off there in the distance, or I would ask someone. I would say "Tokyo Tower! Tokyo Tower!" in a desperate voice and then shrug exaggeratedly. When people understood what I was asking, they pointed in one direction or another and I was off again. This went on all night. Sometimes I got very very lost but was saved by small police booths throughout the city. Not much bigger than telephone booths, they seemed to be all over the place. In one of them I saw a man on the ground being beaten by two policemen. In another I saw three women, obviously prostitutes, huddled together and staring shamefacedly at the ground while being yelled at by a cop. These booths seemed to be hives of activity. Not only cops hung out there but loafers, voyeurs, and passersby if anything interesting was happening inside. Whenever I got really stuck, I would walk up to one and ask whoever was there "Tokyo Tower!" Some were amused, some suspicious, most people were as helpful as they could be to a tall American teenager who obviously spoke no Japanese.

The funniest part of the adventure happened in one of these booths. The first time I went in and asked for directions, a cop held up a hand for me to be quiet and lifted the telephone. He spoke into the receiver and then handed it to me. I took it and on the other end, a clearly Japanese man spoke a rapid fire English to me. So fast I barely could understand it. But we figured each other out finally and he explained in great detail where I was and how to find the way back to my hotel. But Tokyo is a myriad of little streets and tiny streets and alleys, dead ends, etcetera. So it was a very easy place to lose your way in, even with good instructions. Some time later and a few miles on, I ambled into another of these booths and did my routine. "Tokyo Tower! Tokyo Tower!" Shrug. Again a policeman held up his hand, picked up the phone, and by God suddenly I was talking to the same guy again in English, only this time he sounded more annoyed. Hadn't he told me where to go last time? Didn't I know how to follow instructions?
Around five in the morning when the sky was beginning to brighten, I was really really lost and dog tired and just beginning to doubt whether I would ever see my mother and father again. Luckily another police booth came into view and I dragged myself in. This time I didn't even say one word before the duty cop took one look at me, picked up the phone and dialled.
I took the proferred phone and said "Hello?" On the other end a familiar voice screamed 'WHAT, *YOU* AGAIN?!? YOU ARE THERE, STUPID. YOU HOME! LOOK UP, JUST LOOK UP! LOOK ALL AROUND. GOOD BYE!"
When I did look all around, I saw that the Tokyo Tower and my hotel were directly behind me, no more than a few blocks away.