Tokyo: Tsukiji Fish Market

The Tsukiji Fish Market is the largest of its kind in the world.  There are around 60,000 people working there, and it grosses about 6 billion U.S. dollars a year.  It is a must in every guidebook, sight-seeing pamphlet, and travel blog...Which is why I was suprised when I showed up admist a chaotic sea of trucks, men carrying heavy loads, carts being rolled the wrong way down the street and endless forms of machines transporting precariously balanced crates of sea creatures.  The lot was madness--but not from tourists.  From people just working, trying to make their way around you.

To get to the main warehouse full of fish one must cross the actual lot. Nothing about crossing it to get to the warehouse was appealing.  First of all, I assume it's where all 60,000 employees park their car, because it is compact and crowded.  Obviously, the already questionable driving laws of Japan are null and void: there is no safe place to stand.  Still I looked around just in time to see two brave souls crossing it to get to this "tourist" hotspot and decided to try and join them.

I survived, getting to the warehouse all in one piece, but not before I was handed a pink piece of paper by a man in rubber overalls and high boots.  It read: "This is not a tourist spot.  This is a place of business.  Please do not take video or photos unless given permission.  Please do not interupt this workday."

Now aware that I wasn't welcome, I sort of awkwardly bowed my recognition and chose an aisle to go down.  It suprised me how much it didn't suprise me.  Compared to the Noryangjin Fish Market,  the fish were just everyday fish.  Some pieces were very large, but it looked like meat all cut up and skinned.  And it really was a workday: the vendors knew better than to assume I was there to purchase raw seafood, and shouted past me, or rubbed against me with their fish as they travelled through the endless aisles.  I got there around 11 a.m., when the market is just about to start shutting down, with most of their goods sold for the day.  Men smoked cigarettes over the fish, women hacked of heads and brushed them to the floor.  After an hour of wandering around I decided to head back into the fresh air. 

The best piece of sushi.  Ever.

Back across the lot, (where I stopped to try to record the chaos on my phone, and was handed another pink slip), is the wholesale kitchen supplies market.  Unable to cook even grilled cheese correctly, I was uninterested.  I was more concerned with trying to find a cheap sushi place.  



That obviously doesn't exist in Japan, but in the heart of the market was a decent, well-lit, fairly reasonable sushi bar.  I ordered three pieces.  I just want to try it, and I'll get a cheaper meal later I reasoned with myself.  I ordered a tuna sashimi, a crab and avacado roll, and a shrimp roll.  I looked around for some wasabi but saw none.  I saw ginger, but knew better than to put it on my sushi, and use it instead as a pallette cleanser.  So I just ate it with a little bit of soy sauce. I was immediately happy I hadn't added anything.  This is the most stereotypical thing I'll ever say (I promise):  It was amazing.  I ordered more and the chef simply smiled knowingly. It was no longer a cheap meal, but that was more than okay. 

Japan: Tokyo: Where are you going, where have you been?

Lonely Planet writes that Japan basically said, "We'll take you're technology, but we're keeping everything else."  Yes, there are convenience stores stuffed between wooden buildings, and Starbucks next to temples and shrines.  And some shopping areas are so intense you might as well be on Park Avenue.  However--when you really get down to it--Japan in uncannily Japanese.  It's what everyone's been talking about when they tell me they've experienced a "backwards culture".  It's not that there's anything wrong with it at all, it's just truly different than the one you know.  I've been in Korea for almost four months now, and it wasn't until I landed in Tokyo that I was reminded that I was on the other side of the world.  

I already wrote about my first day in Tokyo, and the last day there I took an easy day-trip to Yokohama before heading out to Kyoto on the overnight bus.  Inbetween though, Tokyo truly has everything:  the shopping is truly unlimited, the shops sell just about anything you could ever want, there's sushi, there's sake, and an endless choice of spectacular views.  Needless to say, it's easy to get lost.  In search of one of these views, I got very lost.  I thought at one point I was headed west, but looking at a map I realized I had not even been close.  A man came up in broken English and offered help, and I was so incredibly relieved.  We got to talking--he is a grandfather of two, and visited the states two times.  I told him I lived in Korea.  Moments later I was not back at the subway like he promised but instead in Japan's Koreatown.  He wanted me to help him order food.  In Korean.  After helping him order some kimbab he more or less just shuffled away.  One of the phrases I learned in Japanese was "doko", which means "where", and it was the only word I could muster as I watched him walk away.  Where are you going?  Where have you been?

Still unsure of any direction, I moved on.  I was again approached by a man.  This one was a bit younger, maybe in his late 20's, and had wild hair.  He was holding a plastic bag with plastic things in it, beat up sandals, cut-off sweatpants and a tank top, and I wondered if he was homelesss.  He spoke English really well.  He asked a bunch of questions as he led me to the government building, but he made a lot of sounds too.

"What's uhhhhhhhhhh mm.  What's your, uhm, name-uh? Eh?"

I would answer.

"Okay okay.  Mm. Hap.  This way.  We go mm?"

I would try some encouraging affirmation, to which he would unfailingly reply, "Okay okay."

If I hadn't run into two helpful Germans I'm not sure what he had been expecting of me, but I was able to attach myself to these perfect strangers and enter the building just fine.  He stood waving for a few minutes and although I was glad to be left alone, I was sad I would never see him again, never know where he was coming from, or where he was going with all that plastic.

In my time in Tokyo I tried some odd desserts, I explored some temples, I bought a MarioKart shirt, visited the Tsukiji Fish Market, joined an anti-nukes protest in response to their decision to rebuild the powerplant that had caused a nuclear disaster, and visited the Imperial Palace.   I hyper-ventilated in Shibuya Crossing where 100,000 people cross through every hour. I went karaoking all night with fifteen new friends and watched the sun rise over Tokyo with one good one.  I had really good sushi and really bad coffee.  It was my first time truly travelling alone, and I loved every minute of it.  I was free to try whatever I wanted, to change plans in an instant, and to meet new people with an open heart and mind.  I met some amazing people in Tokyo.  The beauty of meeting other travellers is that they are all open to experience, adventure, and people as well.  Where are you from, where are you going...by the way, how did you get there?  They emphathize with your stories of set-backs and they appreciate and applaud your accomplishments.  I've never completely in my element while in one place, and so it was when I was transient that I really felt at home.