In James Clavell's book ‘Shogun’, one of the characters explains how the Japanese have three hearts: ‘one they have in their mouth that they show the world, one in their heart that they show their friends and family and a third that is deep in their soul, they show only to God alone’.

Shogun is the story of John Blackthorne, an English sailor who was shipwrecked in Japan in the 1500s and must quickly come to terms with the unique challenges of Japanese culture. Now, we were not shipwrecked, we were there by choice, but the culture was still a shock - well, less than a shock, more of a confusion that takes some getting used to.

We were on our way to Club Med Sahoro to ski, and we stopped off in Tokyo for three days. We had done our research and knew what to expect, to a degree. When you think of Japanese people and the Japanese way of life, you think of a controlled, polite, historic, and ‘cultured’ destination. I was expecting geisha girls in kimonos shuffling down the street, but I wasn’t expecting city life on acid. Tokyo is a bigger-than-life, anime, sign-flashing, sound-blaring cacophony of light and sound that assaults your senses twentyfour hours a day, seven days a week.

In a freezing 3 degrees, young women were dressed as schoolgirls in miniskirts and high boots; and there were people outfitted as rabbits and mice. Every wall seemed plastered with the same