Tokyo - the final fleshy travel post

Our first Tokyo subway ride, thankfully not at all crowded.
Finn's cheap Venetian suitcase is, literally, on it's last wheel.

We made our first day an easy one, exhausted as we were from the flight across Russia and China (though it didn't stop me from looking at every surface we passed as a potential sleeping spot). We headed into Sumo district, also known as Sumida. Really we were there for the Tokyo city museum, but as we passed rows and rows of restaurants specialising in the high protein meat stew apparently favoured by sumo wrestlers, we also found ourselves passing a whole lot of real live sumo wrestlers. It took me a moment to realise that's what they were, while they are big guys, really big compared to other Japanese men, somehow they don't look unhealthily overweight. Perhaps their smart dark blue kimono has a slimming effect. But anyway, there they were, rather handsome, their glossy black hair tied up in topknots, carrying cloth-wrapped bundles, walking or, knees out, riding bikes around the neighbourhood.

Distractions aside, we did eventually make it to the museum.

Deep fried octo-balls on the go.

 Next stop - Tokyo Museum of Contemporary Art.

Pool sculpture.

Crazy photo-shoot in front of the museum. 

Visiting two museums and wandering a whole lot of new streets wore us out. After a bowl of noodles in one of the very many noodle houses that line the street our hotel is on, we were asleep. But unfortunately that only lasted for a couple of hours and then at 11pm we were awake again - bright eyed but not at all bushy tailed. And so we lay there, until the clock ticked 4am and we got up and headed out to catch the action at the Tsukiji fish market.

This is jet lag like we've never had before. Our previous (if limited) experience has been that after a long haul flight we just sleep, heaps. For a week. And then we're better. But here we're really suffering the wakefulness thing and it's horrible.

The one good thing to come of it though is that, very early one morning, we bought a fireplace on trademe. Our first home improvement activity will be ready and waiting when we get there, and we'll be toasty warm come winter, no matter what Wellington throws at us.

Hot coffee in a can from a vending machine at the station as we await our pre-5am train.

Tsukiji fish market is the place where the world's tuna supplies are divvied up and sent to their likely extinction. Unfortunately we didn't get to see the auction in action - from the train station near the market we walked too far in the wrong direction so that by the time we realised, retraced our steps, and found the right way to the market, the auction had just ended. But then we found out that we wouldn't have been able to see it anyway as it's currently closed to visitors for the 'busy period' between the beginning of December and the end of January. Whether this means it's really their whale selling period, I have no idea, but it's quite fun to speculate. During not busy periods, to view the auction (held daily between 5.15 and 6.15 every morning except Sundays), visitors must register at the Fish Information Centre. Numbers are limited to 120 and separated into two groups - the first 60 watching from 5.15 to 5.45 and the second group the rest. We were very disappointed to miss out, but that's the breaks. We saw tonnes of huge tuna and loads of other crazy sea life anyway, it was quite a spectacle. (And a good thing I've been carrying my €3 gumboots around with me this whole time.)

Fresh tuna from Fiji.
I also saw a couple painted with NZ.

Dividing up the good stuff with a monster knife.

GIANT mussels.

Tuna hearts.
The most peculiar (to me) thing we saw - these came out of fish! But they're so big and red and fleshy and hearty.

Markets to the left, auction floor to the right.
Frozen tuna in the middle, ready and waiting to be run through the bandsaw.

The trucks that crowded the market, moving huge carcasses around, that Finn was fascinated by.
The 44 gallon drum on the front holds the motor. 

After exploring the market we went (at about 7am) for the obligatory post-market sushi breakfast. Still in the Tsukiji complex, this place sells the best of the freshest fish. We had to cue for over an hour in the freezing cold and paid a small fortune for the pleasure, but it was worth it. So fresh, so delicious, quite an experience.

Piping hot omelette cubes to start.
And plenty of green tea throughout, of course.

Our sushi master delivering up the fatty tuna.
That's right - we ate fatty tuna.
We admit it.
But we also promise never to do it again.
We felt guilty but did it anyway, and by golly was it yummy.
When in Rome, you know.
We weren't offered whale, but if we had been...
It's been more than 10 years since I've eaten fresh tuna, this was just a (deliberate, yes) slip, it won't happen again.

The lineup.
The octopus that had to be slapped flat but still had enough muscle-memory to curl up again was probably the freakiest specimen.
A guy down the line from us was handed a piece of sushi topped with a peeled prawn with it's tail still flapping.
Wow.
Yum.
I love rice. I love fish. I love Tokyo.

I really have left it very late to write this post and I'm struggling now to remember everywhere we went, let alone the order it came in. Basically we walked and walked and walked everyday somewhere new, yet we still never made it to that famous giant pedestrian crossing or up any skyscrapers (as I've mentioned previously, Finn regards views from on high to be overrated). We had our fair share of vending machine experiences - the hot coffee in a can was up there, along with the rice bar where you chose and purchased your meal from a vending machine which spat out a coupon to be given to the person serving who in turn called the order to the cook. Very efficient service. That place was really close to our hotel and open all night so we went there a couple of times when we got the middle of the night jet lag hungers. There was also another very delicious sushi bar just around the corner that we spied one cold cold night because of the remarkable cue which had formed out the door, how could we resist such a tempting invitation? We were well rewarded, again, for another frozen wait. We stacked up a fair few sushi plates, the abalone and particularly some unidentified soft soft white fish being the winners on the night. Oh, along with Finn's bowl of miso soup that came loaded with bits of crab, including a couple of handsome pincers. And it didn't cost nearly the small fortune of the Tsukiji place. One of the many great things about eating in Tokyo is that every meal comes with miso soup and / or water or green tea. Not that water was expensive to buy in Italy, or anywhere else, but it still feels pretty nice just to be given things. Tea and soup especially. Yum.

One day we walked from Nippori south through Ueno's residential neighbourhood. It was quiet and sunny and picturesque in a small-scale low-rise Japanese houses (often fronted by small shops) and temples kind of way. 

Gravestones and rattly pickets in Yanaka cemetery, Ueno.

In Ueno Park we visited the Tokyo National Museum and a giant pond with colourful swan peddle boats for hire. From there we wandered across to Ameya Yokocho (Ameyoko Arcade) where we found an udon noodle bar serving up huge bowls of piping hot broth loaded with their freshly made lusciously thick noodles. This gave us the energy boost we needed to contend with the crowds as we searched the shop-lined pedestrian streets for paper balloons.

Imperial Palace east gardens in Tokyo's CBD.

On our last day we visited Harajuku and Aoyama, a district of crazy contrasting styles. All girly punk (gothic Lolita I think they call it), cheap, slightly grungy, and narrow lane-ways at one end. Sleek, wide (and narrower) roads, contemporary, and expensive at the other.

Prada.

Issey Miyake.

Harajuku girls, or boys, not sure. Seemed like it was a bit cold for all the usual dresses.

So we did a bit of a self-guided architectural tour in the fancy part, some of which was pretty amazing. And a tiny bit of shopping in the cheaper bit - nothing goth or punk about it, but pretty satisfying to be able to fit into a one-size-fits-all Japanese skirt. Around the corner from there we (successfully again) picked a cue to stand in outside a ramen noodle restaurant. It was a slow climb up a narrow winding staircase, but it was worth it once we finally did make it to the top. They cleverly got everyone to order while they waited in the cue so by the time we sat down we hardly had to wait at all for our noodles to arrive. And boy were they, yes I'm saying it again, possibly for the last time this blog, delicious. Thin, curly noodles served in a Tonkotsu style broth similar to the ramen we ate in Little Tokyo (LA). That is, creamy and rich from being boiled for hours and hours with pork bones and fat and collagen, and served with meltingly tender seasoned pork pieces. Golly I'm making myself hungry with all this reminiscing, if only Wellington had such good noodle bars... After all those noodles we had just enough time for a slow Sunday promenade through Yoyogi park to the Meiji shrine, outside of which there was a very large crowd of people waiting their turn to throw a coin in the coffers and make a preyer, the clapping part of which I much enjoyed. We also saw what looked like a newlywed couple in traditional attire having their photos taken with what could only have been a 3D camera. Then it was time to head back for our luggage and on to the airport. Via an exceptionally quick transfer in Sydney, that was it. The end of an incredible eight months, and the end of a two year absence from Wellington. Here's hoping we make it back to Tokyo, as well as further afield in Japan one day. It was truly fantastic, such an easy, interesting, and (so importantly!) delicious place to visit. So polite! Everyone everywhere was so unbelievably polite. Walking in Tokyo was like the opposite of walking in Rome. It was our first switch from right-side to left-side walking in some time and I, strangely, found it so much harder to adjust to than the reverse. Walking down the street, if you were on the wrong (righthand) side of the street people would move out of your way ten metres before you passed them, giving us virtually no chance of correcting our mistake. It was kind of embarrassing. And the one time I gave up my seat on a subway so an older couple could sit together, well, they could not physically have bowed any lower. Also embarrassing. The bowing in general though I liked - such an easy way to convey your thanks and gratitude in a place where you cannot speak a word of the language. I enjoyed it so much I thought I might come home bowing, but I didn't.

For more on what did happen when we came home, I will (as I have promised myself and others) do one more post to round this monster that is A Pound of Flesh off. Some kind of concluding chapter. By now it could possibly be an epilogue of sorts. So keep an eye out.

20 February 2012