by Lani

If you want to CouchSurf in Japan, you’ll be rejected. A lot. But, eventually, someone will come through — and, in our case, it turned out to be a reserved Tokyo lecturer and a wild Argentine tango instructor in Nara. So, let me start with Tokyo.

The night we met Haruki, our first host, it was raining in Tokyo. We had just spent the last four nights in Shinjuku, stuffing ourselves with ramen, tripping over neon-lit streets, and trying to make some sense of the city. It was time for us to actually meet some locals, and I was glad that someone had accepted us. Just as I imagined, it’s incredibly hard to find a CouchSurfing host in Japan, especially Tokyo, and Haruki had agreed to let us crash on his floor for two nights. When he met us in the station, Haruki was covered in rain and Jared looked like he was about to faint. For the last hour, Jared had felt sick in the stomach and was chugging soda to soothe the ache.

“Is it okay if we walk to my place?” Haruki asked.

I looked at Jared, worried he wouldn’t be able to walk over. But he suddenly seemed better. Maybe the prospect of exiting the tourist traps of Golden Gai and Shibuya perked him up — whatever it was, he was ready for the walk. So we weaved through a quiet residential neighborhood in the rain, passing locals on bicycles and salarymen on their way home. When we arrived at Haruki’s place, we slipped off our shoes and entered his studio. The entrance lead to a narrow corridor, which included a basic kitchen setup — a sink and one electric burner — and a laundry machine next to the bathroom. The bedroom consisted of a twin mattress, clothes hung on the wall and bookshelves stuffed with Japanese books and, um, “Sex and the City” and “Gossip Girl.”

“You like Gossip Girl?” I asked, a bit surprised.

“Oh yeah,” he smiled.

After the typical small talk — like, Haruki telling us about his crazy stalker ex-girlfriend — we were informed that our tatami mattress was elsewhere. Actually, it was at Haruki’s friend’s house, which was a short walk away, and Haruki needed to pick it up. Sure, that wasn’t a problem. “We can come with you,” Jared offered. Haruki seemed slightly hesitant but said “Sure, let’s head over.”

We all left the apartment at 8 pm, and things seemed normal enough. The neighborhood was tourist-free and incredibly peaceful, something that we hadn’t seen yet, and the windows were lit with a warm evening glow. By that point, I was pretty excited to meet some of Haruki’s friends — maybe they were super cool locals who wanted to get shit-faced and party, or at least eat delicious Japanese food and find us vaguely amusing. But, as we approached the building, Haruki began to nervously walk at a much faster pace. He quickly passed us; it seemed like he didn’t want us to follow him for some reason. Then, he dashed up two flights of stairs, walked to an apartment doorway and slid through the unlocked door. Without us.

Uh, okay. Jared and I stood in the hallway unsure of what to do.

“Are we supposed to wait outside?” I asked.

“I guess,” Jared said. “This is kind-of weird.”

We stood in the hallway, feeling confused and idiotic. After a few seconds, Haruki popped open the apartment door.

“You can come in,” he whispered. “Just be very quiet.” So we walked into the apartment, which looked like a basic 2 or 3 bedroom place, and took off our shoes. Haruki lead us to a dark and empty room near the entrance, where he told us to wait. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered, and then Haruki walked to another room, apparently rummaging through the apartment. As we stood in silence, it occurred to me that we probably weren’t supposed to be in that apartment at all. Haruki probably didn’t even want us to come but, for some reason, he couldn’t say no.

“This is fucking weird,” I whispered to Jared.

“Yeah, we’re CouchSurfing in Tokyo,” Jared said. “Of course it’s fucking weird.”

Shortly afterward, Haruki swung by the room.

“It’s time to go,” he whispered and we rushed out the door. Jared held the mattress, bundled in his arms, and I carried the pillows. As we headed back back to the apartment, Jared and I remained silent, assuming that we had witnessed something that wasn’t our business to understand. But, after some time, Haruki began to explain.

“That place we went to,” he slowly started, “it’s my place. I lived there. But not anymore. I had a big fight with the people there. So I moved out. But the bedding is mine. I’m allowed to take it. So that’s what happened.”

Damn, it was just roommate drama! We’ve all been there; not a big deal! But this situation was different than typical American drama, and the difference was in the communication. Up until that point, we thought we were visiting Haruki’s friend and everything was cool. But that wasn’t the case. Haruki could have let us know what was up, like when we first chatted at his place, or when we volunteered to join him, or when we walked down those peaceful residential streets, but he said nothing. It was only after we left, perhaps out of obligation, that he explained the situation.

Later that night, we all went out to ramen and drinks near his studio. As we sat at the bar table, waiting for our soups to arrive, Jared asked, “I heard in Japan that people never say ‘no.’ Is that true?” To that, Haruki thought for a minute. So I rephrased the question. I asked, “Let’s say I invite you to a party and you don’t want to go. What would you say?”

Haruki shyly smiled with recognition, “I would say, ‘Unfortunately, I have plans earlier that night. I would absolutely love to attend but I am worried that there is a chance I will not be able to,’ or ‘I am out of town due to personal obligations outside of my control, and I regrettably cannot attend.’”

So, in other words, Haruki doesn’t say no.

Then I asked Jared how his friends in New York would handle the same situation. “They would just say, ‘Nah, I’m straight dude.’”

And, as we laughed, the events of the night became clearer to me. Haruki probably didn’t want us to come, and he didn’t want to explain the situation to us, and he didn’t want to inconvenience us with any of the personal details. But, because he didn’t want to directly say no, and we didn’t pick up on the clues, we stumbled into a dark and empty room in some random dude’s apartment in Tokyo. Of course Haruki cannot be simply explained by culture. We’re all individuals with fears, obsessions, loves and desires that are unique to us — not just reinforced by where the hell we happen to have been born. But there are lessons to be learned when you step outside of your country and find yourself sleeping on a kind stranger’s floor. What is considered complicated and passive in the States is often basic courtesy in Japan, and what is considered honesty in the States may be rude behavior in Japan. That’s one of the things about travel that remains the most compelling and confusing: the subtle, seemingly minor choices that shape us as people, and the often clumsy ways we try to make sense of them all.

The next night, Jared and I went out in Shinjuku to meet with an expat friend. Even though I assumed Haruki preferred to stay in (he wasn’t a party guy), I invited him just in case. “Hey Haruki,” I messaged, “wanna come out for some drinks in Shinjuku tonight?” After about an hour, I received a reply. “Oh,” he messaged me, “I am a bit busy with my Japanese friends. So, if time permits me to go there, I would like to join you.”

That time, I knew what he meant.