The art of walking in Tokyo

Walking the other day through neighborhoods of the Bunkyô ward not far from the university of Tokyo campus (a must see campus for architecture buffs), I came to realize how these urban bouts of trekking have had a tremendous impact on my perception of the city, and have helped me into developing a strategy at discovering the innards of the landscape in ways unknown to me for years on. Not only is there hardly a sense of boredom wherever I walk, but my centers of interest have shifted from the touristic mundane to a captivation for the daily urban tissues of Tokyo that are so different than what you see on TV.

Landing at the station Honkomagome, looking for the possibly vanished remnants of a scientific research center built in the early 1920's, I went to visit for the sake of it being just there the Rikugien garden, a typical touristic and historical garden, Lonely Planet listed for sure, with all the nooks, greenery, crooked trees, calm ponds with turtles and carps, and the occasional wood structure making it a real Japanese garden. I was bored. Japanese gardens in my view are best visited in Autumn and Spring, or in such rare Winter mornings when snow felt during the night. They don't fit Summer. That's my bias. Period.

Blasé is the word, not so much that I am allowed to feel like it toward a place I have been living in for more than 20 years, but blasé because I now consciously know by experience that if one comes here to see gardens for instance, there are lesser known places that fit the bill way much better than the Rikugien, in terms of sheer contemplative mood and the sense of mystery, in terms of belonging deeply to the neighborhood they are located in. Neighborhoods Tokyo is so much interesting that the famous districts that are only anecdotal in terms of dimensions.

I tend to walk with clients who are not on their first visit here. They have seen most of the places a tourist comes to see. Tourists come to see touristic places. It sounds ridiculously obvious but what does it really mean? That tourists come first for confirmation, to see by themselves the spots they have been made into believing to be typical of the land, the city, the place. They come to see the expected. C. with whom I walked last month has come to Japan for more than six times in just about three years. She is addicted to Japan. She is acutely aware that her addiction is fulfilled by intensifying the sense of being there, in the tangible reality of daily life. I learned a lot from her about the perception and expectations of a Japan addict who does not live here. The most impressive remark she told me was about a typical small shopping street of a neighborhood in Yanaka where she always stay. There are lots of such neighborhoods in Tokyo and lots of such streets you don't see in the middle of the storm in Shibuya, Shinjuku and the usual fare. In fact, they are looming not far from these unavoidable spots but chances are high you won't see or notice these, and not know what to see, let alone what to do there. And what does she said about that shopping street with the fishmonger, the tôfu shop, the fruit stands where, despite what you read in the Japan special editions, don't much carry melons at USD 200 (otherwise almost nobody would buy melons!)? That she could sit on a chair right into the street, spend the day watching people passing by and just feel perfectly content.







The expert flâneurs know that flânerie is an art. The flâneur is an epicurian of the eye, as Balzac (was it?) once wrote. And one of the most difficult part of being a consumed flâneur is to know when to stop and stand still, like a humming bird. I could not better agree with her, and what she wanted from me as a guide, not the professional patented guide knowing his or her history of Tokyo in-depth, was not about history but about walking through places that intensify the sense of being there.

I did find my scientific research center of the 20s. I also found way much more, including yet another hidden small cosy upper class neighborhood about 300 meters from the Rikugien, one of those sleepy provincial, almost countryside like streets that are representative of Tokyo, covering most of the city landscape, to be found mostly everywhere, once you start leaving the avenues and the spots you came to see for confirmation that Tokyo is indeed what they show in the evening news. The mix of detached houses with tiny private gardens, all unique and silent was the usual treat. I could go on like that, writing about how I walked the Hakusan street a little further away, a street with nothing special if not for the perspective and dimensions that remind me at least of a Parisian street, until you veer inside each and every tiny lateral lanes for a treat of local Japan, local Tokyo, shrines and temples of pocket size with barely a soul, lazy places along a small cliff, a perspective that makes you all of a sudden feel as if you were in the middle of the countryside. The illusion goes on for 100 meters maybe, but it is a strongly tangible feeling, available virtually everywhere once you know the strategy and art of getting lost in Tokyo, and Japan by extension.

Blue eyed elephant

After you are over with the fish at Tsukiji, head for Hongan-ji stone shrine that is nothing like any shrine anywhere in Japan. The church like building is a nice place for a break, there are chairs, and messages in English kindly invite you to freely look around. Your mission then is to find the blue eyed elephant and say hello.

Tsukiji is not cheap

Tsukiji is not cheap. You won't find the bargain sushi here. We know better balanced places in Tokyo for quality and price. Most fishes are frozen so freshness means first the art of cooling down the fish before delivery. The tempting view of people having lunch of fish but also noodles in some covered alleys of Tsukiji, standing in front of improbable tables made out of boxes put on top of each other gives a typical Asian atmosphere to the place. Yet, this reflects by no mean the reality of Tokyo. Eating in the street in full view of anyone on third-world like appliances is nice indeed but not local, although the locals love to do it. You will love it too.

Chikuwa

Last month, on the way back from Shiraishi island (we are still longing for it!), we bought a set of chikuwa at Kasaoka station in a shop that has been around the corner for a good 100 years. Chikuwa is a cousin of surimi, crushed white fish meat paste, and can be sublime or plain ugly industrial stuff. Of course, these chikuwa were of the superior varieties.

Tokyo sky

It doesn't happen daily but this one was especially nice, thanks to a typhoon looming somewhere in the distance.

Odaiba and Ariake

Weirdness is the keyword for Odaïba and Ariake artificial islands in Tokyo bay. Everything is faked, including the artificial beach that reminds - at least that's what they say in the promotional blurb - of a "typical" Californian sea spot. Unless you don't care about food, food is all over bland to bad. After all, especially Odaiba is partially a second class shopping center. When I was working in that district for several years, they would bring groups of tourists from China and Taiwan to buy made in China souvenirs. Yet, from a point of view of architecture and the urban futuristic landscape, Odaïba and Ariake are great places to visit with a purposeful strategy to look for weirdness. The district is progressively expanding to include the Toyosu area. Same blandness, same spookiness depending on seasons and light texture. In Winter time, thanks to clear skies and crisp light, landscapes and lines can be fantastic. Anytime of the year, toward sunset and early night are a must-see. Among the many spots, the sight from the tower at the ship museum (Fune-no-kagakukan) is tantalizing over blue sky. Less known are the banks along the Shiokaze park with the container ships, and the view over the circular pool that is closed 10 months a year. In winter, the loneliness of the place is overwhelming. And contrary to what I read somewhere, there are no such thing as big waves on the Odaiba beach, and only fools and bacteria lovers would dare and swim in Tokyo bay water. The few windsurfers must be vaccinated against any coccus variety you can think about. Having said that, don't miss the visit, then head back to planet Earth some "urban human" places like Tsukiji, or far away in the West district of Tokyo.

Hatonomachi

Hatonomachi, pigeons' street, is an ex-red light district that closed doors around 1958. The small houses in rather shabby shape were tiny brothels upstairs with a European style café on the ground floor. The remnants make for an interesting time-trip into a rather poor district of Tokyo.