When I arrived in Japan in the 1970s, I was both young and stupid. Now, over three decades later, I can only make half that claim.
Back then I looked forward to my first Japanese New Year's with electric anticipation. I knew New Year's ranked as the calendar's chief highlight and I naively blended this knowledge with my American New Year's Eve experience. I envisioned all-night parties, streets gushing with champagne (or at least sake), kimono-clad girls with twirling noisemakers, and everyone ringing out the old year with maybe bows instead of smooches.
What a let down when I trudged about my neighborhood to find nothing open whatsoever. I collected some drinks from a vending machine and sat in my apartment alone, watching some sappy singing show on TV.