Arrows on the floor lead efficiency to the clinical like immigration. Short men prop up robotic machines, ready to welcome you into their foreign land. Floating a few hundred miles of the mainland of Asia, Japan’s unique culture has had limited immigration influence. As such, within minutes of stepping off the A330, the sense of being in a unique land is palpable. The immigration officer bows and communicates with you from behind his mask. White gloves protect him from any contaminants us ‘Aliens’ may be bringing into the country. Having safely secured a stamp in the passport, we were ushered towards a single file escalator towards the baggage reclaim. Metal bags came out by the thousand, rudely interrupted by our north face duffels! We engineered our way through the customs procedure, battling with a seismic language barrier before being thrust into Japan proper. A swift and warm welcome to Tokyo.
Be it a small train station on the outskirts of Tokyo, a main transport hub or the airport - there always seemed to be a little Japanese character ready and waiting, whenever our inevitable language block arose. Tapping more buttons than one could find in the cockpit of a plane, we couldn’t work out how to purchase a ticket. The machine was speaking at us, lights were flashing and if it wasn’t for the helper, who made himself available in quicktime, I think I would have evacuated through fear of a technical default. I have never seen a machine flash more and offer more options - all to buy a ticket. Nonetheless, following the friendly aid of the volunteer and the incredible customer service of the airport staff - we had our tickets and we were on our way. It did make me think, what on earth do the Japanese make of visiting London? I am not sure Mohammed at Clapham Junction is well versed in Japanese, nor are any of his TFL colleagues adept in any form of customer service.
The platforms are marked with the exact location where Coach 10 would be stopping. We perched our bags on the pristine platform, whilst men in suits ensured the interior of the cabin was clean enough to eat our food off the floor. The final procedure, the rotating of the seats to face forward, was carried out and we were invited to board. Quiet, efficient and alarmingly clean - if only trains were like this in England people may be a little more pleased to use them. As we raced through the outskirts of Tokyo - through rice fields and rural villages, it wasn’t long before we were approaching the main Tokyo station. Think Kings Cross, but with platforms converging on multiple levels, subway systems hiving off into every corner of the counties largest city and limited to zero English on any noticeable sign post. Amongst the madness, people move about with such a structured order, it is almost majestic to watch. Single file lines wait patiently to board rising escalators, adhering to the notice to take caution and not run for trains. On the ground, lanes of traffic have been created, encouraging passengers to keep to a certain side whilst navigating their way through the station. Obediently, everyone adopts the same approach. Except us! Now survivng on three hours sleep and with no food for some time, the cases on the back began to feel incredibly burdensome. The language barrier had lost its novel humour and the number of people moving about with purpose was beginning to become offensive. I was craving an Uber or even the sort of chaos one would see in Victoria - at least we would not have stuck out so badly. Having walked up and down the same stair case about 4 times and having left the station twice, thinking we were headed to a platform, help arrived in the form of another kind volunteer. He helped direct us towards a ticket machine, where we slapped a few buttons and tickets appeared. Thank goodness he also directed us to the platform - without that nugget of info, the tickets may as well have been a souvenir to take home!
The APA Hotel was home for the next few days. Adjacent to the famous Shinjuku district - we couldn’t recommend this little gem enough. The room offered the square root of zero in terms of space. But that said - that is meant to be the charm of Japan. Likewise, good on the place for sticking so tightly to its positioning - ‘luxury simplified’. The bedroom door opened into the bed, and if opened too fast competed with the air space where the TV was hung. The bed took up the floor space, but for a small pathway to the bathroom - itself engineered to maximise its box like offering. The tap serviced the bath, the shower and the sink from the same head. As for the toilet - once you had programmed the heat of the seat, decided the pressure and temperature of the water you wanted to sooth your anus having delivered the goods - all that was left was to battle the space available to get comfortable. That said, the room was perfectly comfortable and I loved the authentic experience it provided. In addition to the room, the hotel offered guests an Onsen Spa experience in house. Having arrived late, we took advantage of the opportunity to relax and headed straight down. Men and Women are seperated and for good reason. I slung off the dressing gown and headed into the pool - only to be confronted with a number of swinging penises and a whole heap of pubes. Apparently, these things are to be done in the nude. It wasn’t too long till I added to the peloton of bits and bobs floating in the warm waters! Despite the harrowing mental images, the Spa provided another example of what the Japanese do so well. There were no hairs floating in the pool, or old plasters stuck to the public shower tiles - everything was immaculately presented and unbelievably inviting.
The girl was celebrating her birthday and how amazing did the Boy nail it. Or at least, I thought he had. The cities highest and most impressive roof top restaurant is called New York Bar and Grill. A Japanese infused American restaurant on the 52nd floor of the Hyatt regency, Tokyo. Having walked through the city, showing her the sights, we clambered into the lift and shot up to the 52nd floor. As we stepped out, we were met by the hostess who took our coats and walked us around the perimeter to our table. As we strolled around, we took in the breathtaking views of Tokyo at night. As soon as we sat down, ice cold water was poured, napkins dressed across our laps and menus explained. At that point - the price of the food became exceptionally concerning. As beads of sweat began to pour off the forehead, we established a plan to escape the mortgage. Luckily, Zoe being a vegetarian was the perfect skape-goat, given the menu only had one veggie option. We sunk the water and then dealt the blow - “sorry sir, she is a veggie so sadly I think we are going to have to leave it for today”. Unbelievably apologetic, the man led us back to our coats. Our heads held low and desperate to get out. Whilst waiting for our coats, which felt like a month, the manager appeared and offered to cook ’anything’ … yes correct ‘anything’ that Zoe wanted. So there we go, veggie is no longer a problem…our escape plan, busted. Thankfully, the lift doors opened and swallowed us up before we had to explain ourselves further. The hostess, the waiter and the manager all spectators as the lift doors closed. So the luxury dinner failed miserably.
The only other option, a cheap Sushi eatery on route home.Amazing how most things have a silver lining, this cheap find turned out to be off the Richter good - California rolls and tuna delights filled us up nicely and ended what could have been a terrible birthday, but on a high. Arigato!
To kick our Tokyo experience off with a bang - we headed to the famous TeamLab Borderless Digital gallery. The hype for this place is like Neymar signing for PSG. Like people flocking from all over the world to see the Pope - we seemed to trek to the furthest part of the city to access this arty episode. As we approached Tokyo Bay and the Exhibition warehouses, the preparations for the Olympics in 2020 became increasingly visible. Stadia and athlete villages were popping up all around and advertising was abundant. We were briefed the dos and don’ts whilst inside the gallery and then the doors were opened. A dark corridor led into a mirage of rooms - all caked in inspiring and captivating art form.
Rooms of LED lights depicted rainfall whilst others gave the illusion you were standing amongst swarms of butterflies, amidst waterfalls. Other exhibits mesmerised with hanging lamps in mirrored rooms - enough to confuse even the brightest in the pack. Time seemed to pass with such rapidity as we moved from one mind boggling piece to another.
A personal favourite was the Athlete Forest, where bulb maizes and obstacle courses were the art. Eat that Tate modern!
From here we made the migration across the city to a quiet, edgy part of the city called Shimokitazawa. Narrow roads, occupied by the occasional cyclist were full of vintage clothing stores, puppy shops and rustic cafes. Locals were too trendy for their own good - reflecting the stores they walked past. We hopped in and out of the stores - throwing us back down memory lane - to the 90s and being dressed by our parents. Racks of clothes captivated us for some time - Patagonia, Champion and North Face proving the most sought after brands. We managed to score some bargains before enjoying a little waffle in Orange Cafe. Just the ticket to get us back and running around the Tokyo streets.
To cap off a superb day, we headed for Omode Yokocho. The tight streets are a photographer’s playground. Lanterns hang from above, adding to the congested airspace - already grappling with drooping electrical lines. Small terriyaki stalls spill out into the streets - the noise of local conversation adding colour to the moment. Completing the picture - the smell of fresh seafood grilled to perfection and the waft of a smoky haze, drifting out of the open doors. The smells and ambience prevented us from passing without experiencing. We found a busy stall - pulled up two bar stools and ordered a few light bites for dinner.
Like Benihanas in London, the chef cooked the food in front of us - checking in on the exact seasoning we desired as he rotated the chicken skewer. The food - adequate. The experience - unrivalled. A destination for any Tokyo trips in the future!
Shibuya - that crossing you have probably seen on TV or in a Samsung Advert was on the menu today. A short ride on the metro had us sipping a Starbucks with a deluxe view of the crossing from a birds eye perspective. The regimented method of living is expertly demonstrated at this tourist hotspot. Whether the road is a major highway or a tiny. Track - if the man is red - people will wait as long as they have to until it turns green. In Shibuya, the time it takes allows for quite the crowd to grow. But what makes this place super cool is the converging of a number of streets - trebling if not quarupling the number of pedestrians. As the man turns green, chaos ensues as everyone makes for their ‘other side’ whatever direction that might be. Amongst the Japanese workers, tourists pause to pose, whilst cyclists weave precariously through the bedlam. If it wasn’t for Starbucks only serving short coffees - we could have watched this a little longer - before taking our own route across the famous street.
Shinjuku neighboured our little hotel, but there was nothing small or slow about this place. Neon lights shone bright and queues of people eagerly anticipated their turn on slot machines, flashing with excitement. Shops battled for your attention, donning the latest fashion trends on Manicins leaning into the street. Tall buildings offered rooms by the hour for those looking for a different type of entertainment. If none of this appealed - street vendors churned out local delicacies with some verve.
We opted for the recommended melted cheese, wrapped in waffled potato. You bet, the perfect combo to get the taste buds purring. Having endured enough Neon lights for a decade or two, we headed to Golden Gai where love hotels and ceed hit a new level. Dodgy looking men stood in overpriced clothing, smoking and agglomerated together like a boy band. Behind them, ladies posed with little clothing on posters - protected only by bouncers - more than willing to welcome you in. Ichiran Ramen is a famous chain of Ramen - offering an experience as much as a dish.
The queue of people weaved its way up the stairs, the host promising a waiting time north of 40 minutes. Impatient and hangry, we reverted to the short walk around the corner to their other shop. As we approached the front of the line - we learnt quickly that it was necessary to buy a ticket for the meal we wanted before being taken to our table. A few ill informed taps of the buttons and no idea what we had ordered - we had two tickets in our hands. A black haired gentleman walked us through the curtains to a row of people, hunched over dark booths.
The sort of place you would long for if on a terrible tinder date - the order of play here is sit in your booth and hold tight until the bowl of goodness is slid under the hatch. Cooked to your liking of richness and spiciness - this was well worth the wait. Although eating a soup like conception is close to impossible with chop sticks - the whole experience was superb. Remember the name: Ichiran.
Ramened up and feeling local we headed for the narrow streets of Harijuku. The main draw to this area though, despite an array of boutique shops, was the Monster Cafe. Level 4 of the shopping centre lay one of the most bizzare ‘cafes’ I have ever had the pleasure of visiting. The lift doors open to a lady who enjoys sharing the news that both members of the party must consume at least one drink, one piece of food and that there is a cover change of 500 yen per person - just for stepping foot in the joint. Having calculated the maths and recognising we were looking at at least £15.00 per person, the Starbucks would have been a no brainer. But, let’s face it- Starbucks do not have monsters. Unless you are the HMRC. So, decision made - we headed in. A spinning stage was set - an audience already positioned, the suspension all too much. On stage - three women, dressed more akin to pole dancers in Latvia than monsters, danced provocatively around a giant banana. Amongst the spectators - young children and Chinese tourists, desperate to join in. The madness continued when an Aussie tourist is invited on stage to join in with the monster dance.
Meanwhile, in the background - a few tables are eating ‘monster cafe specials’ and drinking beers from measuring cylinders. The music is offensive. The decor hideous. The ambience - as extraordinarily ridiculous as you could imagine, then double it. The 15.00 per person - worth it, if only to say I went and I would never need to go back. Unless you have been - you still need to though! We will chat once you have.
Eating like locals, swimming naked and getting lost in ordered chaos in one of the world’s most over-dressed cities. If trendy, cutting edge fashion is your thing and you want a cultural explosion - Tokyo has to be simmering somewhere on your sky scanner search history soon!