After spending the last week traveling through semi-deserted Siberia with its seemingly endless expanse of rivers and mountains, the train ride from Yokohama to Tokyo with comfortable and clean seats, seemed to reflect the modernity of postwar Japan. Peering curiously out the window, he noted the density of the urban areas which appeared to blend into one homogenous mass. Tokyo assumed a gargantuan character, swallowing cars, trains and people, all sustaining a never-ending flow of crowded streets, noisy traffic, a whole spectrum of colorful neon signs and a hectic, busy, bustling population. Descending at the main station and seeking to orient himself, either his use of English, German, French, Russian or, for that matter, Chinese were to any avail. People were polite, but unable to understand him, nor could he grasp what they were saying. Finally he lucked into finding a young man who spoke broken English, who was able to direct him to the nearest subway. Having cashed a travelers check for yen in the customs building, he bought a ticket, seeking a train heading in the direction of Yayoicho Nakanoku, stymied in not being able to identify the Japanese characters on the subway maps which were in many aspects similar to the Chinese, but not close enough to serve as a guide. Some ten minutes later, through the aid of an older lady, he found the right track and stood in a crowd of people awaiting the next train.

Upon hearing the roar of the arriving subway train, the crowd began to move, to undulate, even before the train had completely come to a halt, with him being shoved from behind into the person ahead of him who, in turn, was busy pushing the man standing ahead of him. Hesitating to wedge himself forward with his luggage, he was unceremoniously pushed into car by a station attendant with white gloves. Never before, neither in New York or West Berlin had he found himself literally crammed into such as mass of fellow riders, the fit being so tight that he could barely move his arms. As small rivets of sweat started to run down his neck, he fought desperately against rising feelings of claustrophobia. Nevertheless, he was able to disembark at the correct station, after pushing and shoving his way through the crowed car, whereby, to his astonishment, no one seemed to take umbrage, causing Dick to think that maybe this was standard operating procedure in the Tokyo subway.

Somehow, by hook or crook, he finally found the small house squeezed in between two larger houses. He tentatively rang the door bell, not quite sure of what awaited him. Of course he had written her that he d arrive on September 10th, but was she home? If not, what was he to do? Shortly afterward his fears were banished when the door opened and there she stood - Tama Ohta.

She had roomed beside him for a year in the Studentendorf while beginning her studies at the Freie Universität. Unfortunately, her mother became ill, asking her to return to Tokyo for a few months until she could regain her health. When Tama heard that Dick would be traveling to Taiwan via Japan, s