All the stuff to do innit…
24 hours
Familiarity breeds content… hmmm.
Upon arrival at Narita the bubble of I KNOW THIS PLACE settled happily in my heart (a good bubble) and I set off with confident stride.
I may have 14 words of language and just one small half of ONLY one of your THREE alphabets in my head, but look at me KNOW how to walk in the correct direction.
Soon got lost. Stride subsided.
Once aboard the train to Shibuya Station however, the smoothness of the express lulled me back into a state of relaxation and active planning of trips and shops and foods and other breathless activities…wonderful!
Arriving in Shibuya, armed with my PRECISE DIRECTIONS as to how to walk to my — but minutes away — hotel, head high and hair a-swish, I proceeded to follow said directions to the hiragana-shaped letter.
Emerged from the station. Somewhere…elsewhere. Phone battery suddenly plummeted from ‘loads of percent’ to none at all. Resisted tears.
Somehow found hotel. Sweatier.
I then changed my room from ‘can’t swing a cat’ size to can ‘half fit a small cat’ size, then set off out and about in Shibuya to immerse myself in the world of J-Beauty.
Soon realized, it’s not the place to immerse in the world of J-Beauty.
Rather Shibuya is noise on a platter served up high and bright and piercing, then tipped over your head….
So, I went to 7–11, got some cash out, bought a can of vodka and lemonade and a tonkatsu sammie and retired to my pod bed for the night. Dreams of Kylie Jenner (Shibuya can do that to a brain).
12 hours of sleep later am ready to embrace next 24 hours of polite, yet insistent sensory onslaught….
48 hours
Awoke at 6, brisk and lark-like and descended to breakfast where ‘tight buttery raison bakes’ offered me their tantalizing ‘pastry-fingered’ beckons.
Eschewed their chewy charms and instead ventured out into the joyful, crow-filled — as yet people free — Shibuya morning.
Wandered the back alleys of love hotels and sex parlors, telling me in no uncertain terms that this ‘strawberry jam’ was for men only.
Fine, keep your saccharine shame guys, all to yourselves.
Now to focused-ish wandering.
Decided to walk to Harajuku first, despite it being 2 hours before shops open. Not quite ready to face the intensities of an imminent rush hour subway and but one stop so — iki masho (sp?)
Weaved through the bar bedecked back alleys (yocochos) and it’s all idyllic — silent, nightlife in miniature rendered cozy and intimate.
Get to Takeshita Street — the notorious Lolita dress-up filled Carnaby Street equivalent and I am almost alone.
It’s kinda magical as the sun continues to rise and store owners scurry to open up. Seconds later it will be transformed into the manic hub that it’s known for for the next 18 hours, but for a moment there…
Quick refuel Starbucks for wifi and then back for a little J-Beauty immersion in Stylenanda and Etude Beauty. Both a touch unremarkable — seen before now in Korea — nothing especially J about this B.
Wander back to Meiji-Dori (the contentment of familiarity is back) and also thanks google maps and Verizon $10 a day roaming and J wifi (literally pop into any ATM area or station and I can hop on)…
Stop in Botanist store for a dive into how J-Beauty does natural/organic and its STUNNING. Like walking into a curated heaven of perfected foliage and creamy white clouds. Purity and pleasure. It’s SO JAPANESE.
Buy a hat. Feel more Japanese. You NEED accessories in Tokyo else feel like a naked slob.
The hour has arrived for my every time here pilgrimage to La Fôret. And my heart soars. It is a pure fashionista cosplay youth culture immersion joy and I wander every floor, surreptitiously (or not so) photographing the assistants who gaze upon me with who knows what thoughts… Sorry assistants. But you look amazing.
After a burrito (I know — food wise sometimes just easier and this time, this trip is not about the foods of the Gods — more later). It’s time to remember how to subway as this afternoon have big-ish trip out to Aomi requiring changes and station savvy. So back to Harajuku station it is for the but 1 stop trip back to Shibuya.
Effortless! Just tap my pre-loaded to phone Suica card on reader and joy — tis a breezy breeze. I dance onto the train, wondering if the tired Tokyo-ites can sense my competence and thrilled-ness. They can’t. They don’t even see me. Sigh.
Takes me twice as long to get out of Shibuya station as it did to train from Harajuku.
Back to hotel to chill as room is being made up. They say 30 mins. After 50, I say (nicely) it’s taking a little while? Everyone looks horrified. I immediately regret saying anything and apologize profusely for saying anything. Oh, what have I DONE? Don’t complain in Japan. It’s too traumatic for everyone.
Back to room I prep for my schlep. Return to (gulp) Shibuya Station. Cannot find my line. Seriously Ginza line is NOT IN THIS STATION (it is). So back to hotel. They tell me where to go — it was complicated. Get to where I should be and it’s off to Aomi with a change at Shimbashi for my Team Lab Immersive light worlds experience.
Changing at Shimbashi I board mono rail and slide across the bay to Odaiba/Aomi land.
Accomplishment levels soaring bird-like and proud. I’m sure people can see it/them! (They can’t)
The Light World is pretty cool. Though it’s as much a sea of people taking pictures and selfies. Get a tad bored after an hour or so. Wish I could have been alone here, or just with another, But the trip made the trip worth it — if you see what I mean.
Head back as the sun starts to set. It’s stunning and start to think about feeling hungry.
So as to how I’m doing food this trip? Well frankly haven’t quite plucked up the courage to venture into a good restaurant and order brokenly while staff look upon me filled with sad and awkward etc.
Also, quite frankly, Japanese convenience store food is cheap and DELICIOUS (oiiishiiiii!) So went to Family Mart and bought onigiri, a snack plate of rice balls an egg pancake and a couple of aged seasoned eggs. Oh and Green Tea. Satisfaction in my mouth.
It was a day, it was amazing, it was long. In bed by 8pm. I kiddeth you not.
Until ashita (tomorrow).
72 hours
Day spent under all of the um-ber-rellas. ‘Ellas. ‘Ellas. Etc.
It’s a well-orchestrated rain dance. An ocean of umbrellas rising and falling in silent co-operative grace. And as a Brit, I thought I was good at it. The Japanese — as with most art forms — take it to another level. Well I am staying by the Shibuya Scramble. Five mighty Umbrella armies — coming at each other from all sides — flashing dictates from the overloads of Toyota and Dentsu above — illuminating the charges. And then after just 2 minutes of fluid, side-stepping battle, the armies dissipate and peace is resumed. Until the next sally, 1 minute later…
Right, moving on. Following a breakfast of actual champions (Boss canned coffee, 2 ancient eggs and a salmon roe onigiri — or ‘fishy triangle’ as I like to call it), I decided to go off on an adventure to a previously uncharted land in my Tokyo travels — East of Shinjuku — a district called Kagurazaka.
Glided through the Metro like an actual ice-skater schooled in station manoevers and arrived amidst ever more tumultuous downpour.
Wandered through the requisite idyllic yocochos — now sighing and soft in the rain — and holed myself up in a 1970s café for hot sweet coffee and a recharge — literally. (Worth mentioning that despite being a café from the 1970s, every seat had its own table-top charging station).
Had found a promising little beauty research stop in my earlier planning and headed there for opening. Cosme Makanai was a delicate cornucopia of ancient meets modern beauty delight.
The shop is a happy hybrid of tatami room here and high end spa there. Joy.
More joy — the woman running the show greeted me with what seemed like genuine happiness (do I have a FRIEND?) and seeing my not very sneaky photo snapping, invited me to sit down to try out some Makani magic.
She placed a hot pillow on my knees first (‘it’s cold outside’ she intoned) and then swiftly placed my rucksack in a basket and covered it with a blanket (was IT cold? I wondered, or just upsetting the store aesthetic? — the latter I sensed).
She then proceeded to chat away, explaining the meaning of Makanai (some kind of workshop/foundry as I could make out), where women working there in the 19th century had had dry skin issues — hence formulating Makanai potions.
At the same time, my new best friend laid a gold (real gold) strip upon my gently oiled hand and asked me to wait… Minutes later and my left hand was the porcelain pride of any modest Japanese geisha, while my right, well, my poor old right hand — untouched by Makanai gold — I just stuffed it in my pocket.
I bought some Makani. Of course I did.
Back out into the wilds of rain-ravaged reality — warm knee pillow and bell-like laughter swiftly of my past — I embarked upon my next mission. TO GO INTO A TOKYO RESTAURANT ALONE AND ORDER IN JAPANESE.
A cozy sushi place of beauty identified — I WENT IN. I was the only one there. They put me at the back where I could not be seen from the window.
I mustered all my energies to say my few learned phrases, chest a-flutter, light beads of sweat a –clustering…and
The Sushi chef just handed me a picture menu and I pointed at the first one. Done.
Ate the delicious melty bites of fish heaven and left.
Should quickly mention though that I had nearly choked on one nigiri, as was desperate to eat as perfectly as could — ironically — and shoving 1 in whole, was, as I say, momentarily self-choked. THE VERY SHAME.
Now, as rain pelted from every angle — I decided to ditch the next trip to head back to hotel and chill and warm and reflect upon the Oishii perfection of the sushi I had just not choked on.
Also, stopped for a Lawson’s egg sammich on the way home…
Refreshed, an hour later, stepped back out into the ongoing deluge to check out the Bunkamura Museum and Arts center opposite my lil hotel. Paid good cash money to find out was an exhibition of probably (definitely) stolen Nazi art on loan from Liechtenstein. Left.
And it was loads of POTTERY. Stop that. Really no one cares.
So, it is 4pm and I have a work call at 6.30pm. But the day is yet young, so I schlep back to the metro and head out to Roppongi Hills to the Mori Museum for an exhibition on AI and Robotics.
It was Terrifying. Human Tissue Implants, Manga and Disembodied Machine Creatures. The Japanese certainly believe in an open conversation here. I’ll leave this one for a minute…DISTURBED.
Back to hotel. Too rainy to go back out after call so dinner of champions to round out the day. Fishy triangle, sammich, bag of uni rice cake crisps and the day has been MINE. Mata Ashitane
96 hours
Lark-like she rises.
With the rain her constant accompaniment.
So twas once more to the puddle schlepping, this morning with Shinjuku as destination. I don’t think I’ve ever been to SJ in the daytime and it’s an epic sprawl.
A theme of today will be the absence of my hitherto razor point navigation skills, but for now — all OK as I descend upon a couple of J-Beauty stores. All a bit low rent in Shinjuku, but I get a good picture of the mass. Including breast enhancement shading creams which appear — blonde girl marketing and all — to be directed at me? Or blondes are symbols of boobs? Who can say.
Moving on.
Sooo much rain and I’ve already walked 200, 000 steps so follow through with plan to find one of my chef friend Jesse’s resto recommendations from his recent trip. It’s a tiny ramen shop in an alley round the back of Shinjuku and — soaked and ravenous — I descend upon it.
It’s closed. Chatting to a fellow foreign who rolled up there just after me, apparently it’s Labor day. Great.
Across the alley way street however I spot a line in the rain and a couple more foreigns. Pop over and learn it’s one of the most revered soba noodle stops in the City. 8 seats, 1 hour wait. I get in line and do that thing. Foreigns become quick friend types and we exchange J-tales.
Efficiently, perfectly, of course-ly, a server comes out into the rain and goes down the line taking all our orders. Such that, when — 2 by 2 or 1 by 1 -we are let in as diners leave, our food comes instantly. It’s JOY. Japan is often JOY.
I enter a few minutes after new buddies and sit at the counter. My soba is a seemingly simple concoction of noodles, salmon roe, nori, scallions, bonito and a raw egg. It is presented and I am told to mix. The rest is a swirling dream of umami. A Dream. Umami.
I leave on a cloud and decide that nothing can top this experience for a bit so head back to hotel.
Also am soaked.
Next adventure — somewhat less successful but I care not — all is part of my system now — the rain, the streets, the metro…I head to Ginza ostensibly to visit some more J-Beauty stores but repeatedly get lost. As I say I don’t care but wet feet start to. Finally find a desired shop and there receive an email from new soba friends recommending a Katsu-don place 6 minutes walk from my hotel.
While there are a few more J-Beauty places ostensibly to check out. I decide food and chill and home is best and head back to Shibuya.
The 6 minutes walk to the lil Katsu place takes me through a cool network of back streets I hadn’t discovered yet where all are out having early evening drinks. Pas moi. I have a katsu mission. All earlier butterflies about being the lone foreign in a tiny perfect food spot have evaporated and gourmet lust gnaws at my belly instead.
It’s closed. You knew that.
So, I stop off at 7–11 and the nice guy there heats up a box of OK tasties for me. A matcha green tea — that claims to melt body fat — as my night time hydration and to bed.
Too much caffeine. I’m awake all night. However, the constant thrill of my Tokyo experiences tops all other emotions. Ureshii!
