I have so many memories of Tokyo, I don’t know where to start. How do I filter what’s important and fun, and which memory is just a sweet piece of nostalgia, but meaningless information to someone else?
Even though on my most recent trip I spend a week in Tokyo, it doesn’t feel like long enough. I want to linger here, and keep weaving in and out between the busy metropolis and the quiet alleyways of the city.
While in Shibuya, I happen upon another Bon Odori matsuri. There are more tourists here, coming to see the famous Shibuya crossing and enjoy the shopping streets and billboards, but despite this being a tourist’s destination, the festival retains its charm and authenticity – it isn’t made for tourists to gawk at and take photos of, though I do – you can tell there are lots locals who have come out to celebrate and enjoy the comforting feeling of tradition and community.
After the festival, I wander around, ducking into and out of various shops; I don’t buy anything except at Daiso and other hyaku-yen shops, and only items that will fit into my small luggage.
There are still pockets of Shibuya that continue to retain that traditional feeling of Japan that one might have glimpsed in the movies. One such alley is Nobei Yokocho, it’s English name “Drunkard’s Alley”: it’s a tight alley lined with small Japanese eateries, most of them already busy with patrons. From there I roam to other streets that are now quiet, and I never feel unsafe or weary of turning down seemingly abandoned areas.
On the last day of my holiday, I’m back in Tokyo. I go to a hairdresser to put a bit of bounce back in my hair. At first I intend on adding a bit of rose into my hair, but I chicken out on the bright colour and have, instead, a bit of purple tint added to the tips of my hair. (The best hairdresser I’ve ever had was a sweet lady in Numazu, a 5 min walk from my flat when I lived in Japan, and I’m hoping to relive that joy once again. I did try to get a haircut with her, but sadly when I was in Numazu, her shop happened to be closed.)
With my new hairdo, and a dash of purple haze in my vision, I visit the Ghibli Museum. For a few hours I am once again young and unburdened by the obligations and responsibilities of adult life and my imagination is sparked once again, reminding me of the beauty of the little, simple joys that are the essence of life.
***
My favourite memory of Toyko is actually when my Grandmother visited me in 2006, and we visited the Tsukiji Fish Market (I believe it is no longer in its original location.) We got up very early to explore the market, though we didn’t make it in time to get a seat at the tuna auction. The market was very busy as vendors and serious shoppers veered around on skids, scooters, bikes and pallet trucks, taking no notice of tourists. The ground was wet with fish fluids and water – the workers were armed with wellies, much better than the sandals that we wore which forced us to keep a slower pace and jump from dry spot to dry spot to keep our feet dry. No one paid any attention to us, so it was up to us not to get in anyone’s way – there were a few close calls where we got in the way of fast moving business transactions or a transport of fresh fish. We weaved in and out of the market labyrinth, studying the fish and other sea creatures that I never imagined could make their way onto a plate. It was the first time I saw eels alive: since living in Japan, I’ve had unagi as part of my meal many times, but seeing them squirm in a bin full of red water made me question eating them…for a bit.
After exploring the main market, I took my grandma for breakfast at one of the shops that lined the outer market. We had fresh sashimi bowls for breakfast. Our bowls arrived looking like bouquets, full of colour and volume, sitting on a bed of fluffy sticky rice. After following a decidedly Polish diet for 20 years, I had some time getting used to, and falling in love with, Japanese food – it remains my favourite food. But my Grandmother, after following a Polish diet for 68 years, had only a few days to allow her tastebuds to adjust. She curiously studied her bowl – all this raw fish? For breakfast? She was a good sport about it – she ate it all, including the orange, fluffy and salty sea urchin.
***
There is still much of Tokyo left to explore…another time.
Funny story: It’s the day of my departure. Early in the morning I take the train to Narita Airport for my 10:45 am flight. When I get there, I can not find my flight on any of the displays. I’ve already missed two airplanes in my lifetime, so I’m starting to panic. A kind attendant looks at my ticket and tells me I’m at the wrong airport. Oops. Haneda Airport is almost a 2 hour train ride from Narita, and I won’t make it for my flight. A thought occurs to me: is this a sign to just stay in Japan? Sadly, it is pretty easy to, for a small fee, re-book my flight, and I catch a flight from Narita to Hong Kong, where I catch my original connecting flight to Toronto.