The stereotypical image of a Tokyo street is something from Shinjuku or Shibuya, lined with tall buildings flashing with neon lights, and mobbed with people filling the intersections at each walk light (but not jaywalking - that's not really done here).
And that definitely exists. But what makes Tokyo so much more interesting to me is the huge contrasts available in the city, and not necessarily ranging over a large area. In fact one of the things I found amazing on my first visit here was that you can take a turn off one of the huge high-tech boulevards of Shinjuku and turn into a little narrow street filled with old-fashioned wooden buildings, traditional lanterns hanging to advertise the kind of food served inside. Or turn between two skyscrapers into a small Shinto shrine sandwiched at ground level and looking quite ageless.
While the main thoroughfares have raised sidewalks, the smaller streets can get quite narrow, and are paved all flat, sometimes with a line painted to divide a small side lane, though I think that's supposed to be for bikes. They're not closed to cars or motorbikes, but pedestrians are free to roam widely, and cars will yield to them, usually quite patiently. It makes the city feel like it belongs much more to pedestrians and cyclists...
While most of the buildings are new thanks to the various disasters of the 20th century (earthquake, fire, bombing), the streets have retained their old-city feel in their variable width. Maybe for a wide-streets North American it's especially impressive, but I always love little tiny alleys that give the feeling they've been occupied for centuries...here they range from the smaller streets still wide enough for a car to the narrower ones barely wide enough for a motorbike (not that that deters anyone) to the little tiny ones not wide enough for two people to pass side by side.
And everyone seems to cultivate a little garden along the outside of their house (so that the tiny streets appear to be long lines of spiky and exuberant green with narrow bands of sunlight separating them) Another example of Tokyoites' trust in their neighbours' good behaviour. Sometimes flowers or ornamental plants, often little pots of edamame or eggplant, even huge fruit trees, growing in pots right on the street. So far I've seen mikan (Japanese mandarins), several different oranges, and persimmons. Everything is so beautifully tended. Yesterday, stepping off Omotesando, one of the fancy Champs-Elysees-esque shopping boulevards, I found this adorable cafe called Motoya Espresso Express, which was indeed an espresso bar operated out of a little VW van, parked in a little parking lot of the type that has a car stacking-elevator to fit more in. It was quite cosy - chairs, ash trays, art books and newspapers to look at, and all presumably tidied up every night when the owner had to park the van! Despite this, the owner had carefully placed tiny plants in a neat row all along the front and side of the van. Of course I had to have a latte - it was delicious.
The ebbing and flowing thing is a more general observation from travelling in places like Venice or Prague, which seem to be mobbed with tourists all the time. My experience there has been that stepping one or two blocks away will take you to places that are completely deserted. We seem to flock together in huge congregations, or not at all.
And it's that way here. In a city of so many people you might think it would be crowded all the time, but actually I keep wandering through places that are almost empty and silent. It's not just that I have been getting up early - you can go from the hurly-burly of Ameyoko, former black market and good place for cheap shopping and meals (on which more later), on a Sunday afternoon to pleasantly quiet pretty backstreets where you could hear crickets chirping if it weren't for the fact that they don't chirp until evening.
Monday was a holiday, which affected my plans a little (I showed up at the fish market at 6:30 to find it was closed!) but ended up turning out well as I ended up wandering around the nearby neighbourhood (and island) Tsukishima and finding the most beautiful, peaceful shinto shrine I've yet seen, all green and stone in the morning light, and with incredible wooden carvings of waves tucked into the upper corners of the buildings. Hardly anyone was up early on a day off, so I seemed to have the city to myself for hours and hours. Eventually I was so hungry I headed for Shinjuku to have breakfast (the part of the city that never sleeps is a good bet even on a holiday!) and was almost disappointed that the famously busy station was almost sleepy at what should have been rush hour! A few hours later though, the holiday crowd made up for it.
Crowded or deserted, narrow or wide, this city is fascinating.
And that definitely exists. But what makes Tokyo so much more interesting to me is the huge contrasts available in the city, and not necessarily ranging over a large area. In fact one of the things I found amazing on my first visit here was that you can take a turn off one of the huge high-tech boulevards of Shinjuku and turn into a little narrow street filled with old-fashioned wooden buildings, traditional lanterns hanging to advertise the kind of food served inside. Or turn between two skyscrapers into a small Shinto shrine sandwiched at ground level and looking quite ageless.
While the main thoroughfares have raised sidewalks, the smaller streets can get quite narrow, and are paved all flat, sometimes with a line painted to divide a small side lane, though I think that's supposed to be for bikes. They're not closed to cars or motorbikes, but pedestrians are free to roam widely, and cars will yield to them, usually quite patiently. It makes the city feel like it belongs much more to pedestrians and cyclists...
While most of the buildings are new thanks to the various disasters of the 20th century (earthquake, fire, bombing), the streets have retained their old-city feel in their variable width. Maybe for a wide-streets North American it's especially impressive, but I always love little tiny alleys that give the feeling they've been occupied for centuries...here they range from the smaller streets still wide enough for a car to the narrower ones barely wide enough for a motorbike (not that that deters anyone) to the little tiny ones not wide enough for two people to pass side by side.
And everyone seems to cultivate a little garden along the outside of their house (so that the tiny streets appear to be long lines of spiky and exuberant green with narrow bands of sunlight separating them) Another example of Tokyoites' trust in their neighbours' good behaviour. Sometimes flowers or ornamental plants, often little pots of edamame or eggplant, even huge fruit trees, growing in pots right on the street. So far I've seen mikan (Japanese mandarins), several different oranges, and persimmons. Everything is so beautifully tended. Yesterday, stepping off Omotesando, one of the fancy Champs-Elysees-esque shopping boulevards, I found this adorable cafe called Motoya Espresso Express, which was indeed an espresso bar operated out of a little VW van, parked in a little parking lot of the type that has a car stacking-elevator to fit more in. It was quite cosy - chairs, ash trays, art books and newspapers to look at, and all presumably tidied up every night when the owner had to park the van! Despite this, the owner had carefully placed tiny plants in a neat row all along the front and side of the van. Of course I had to have a latte - it was delicious.
The ebbing and flowing thing is a more general observation from travelling in places like Venice or Prague, which seem to be mobbed with tourists all the time. My experience there has been that stepping one or two blocks away will take you to places that are completely deserted. We seem to flock together in huge congregations, or not at all.
And it's that way here. In a city of so many people you might think it would be crowded all the time, but actually I keep wandering through places that are almost empty and silent. It's not just that I have been getting up early - you can go from the hurly-burly of Ameyoko, former black market and good place for cheap shopping and meals (on which more later), on a Sunday afternoon to pleasantly quiet pretty backstreets where you could hear crickets chirping if it weren't for the fact that they don't chirp until evening.
Monday was a holiday, which affected my plans a little (I showed up at the fish market at 6:30 to find it was closed!) but ended up turning out well as I ended up wandering around the nearby neighbourhood (and island) Tsukishima and finding the most beautiful, peaceful shinto shrine I've yet seen, all green and stone in the morning light, and with incredible wooden carvings of waves tucked into the upper corners of the buildings. Hardly anyone was up early on a day off, so I seemed to have the city to myself for hours and hours. Eventually I was so hungry I headed for Shinjuku to have breakfast (the part of the city that never sleeps is a good bet even on a holiday!) and was almost disappointed that the famously busy station was almost sleepy at what should have been rush hour! A few hours later though, the holiday crowd made up for it.
Crowded or deserted, narrow or wide, this city is fascinating.
1 comment:
Oh Meggo! Your descriptions are so tantalizing, it makes me want to hop on a plane over to Japan right this second! Glad to hear that you are rediscovering child-like wonder and generally having a lovely time. Looking forward to more!
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