As Nikko retired behind trees and the early evening glare, Tokyo was waiting to eat us up. Suburbs grew subtly but steadily, like a monster feasting on the landscape. Before long, the train had emptied and gleam of Asakusa station was upon us. Night had come suddenly and the city was ablaze. Ueno would be our terminus, but it would also serve as inspiration for the following day.
Once again the streets of Shinagawa were aglow with the verdant sparkle of spring. Radiance had spread like the daybreak cascade of suits and school children starting their routine commute. We, meanwhile, were plundering the residential ward of Sengakuji, trying to locate a subway station that would eventually land us 80 miles north in the mountain town of Nikko.
Whether it’s on maps or in every day conversation, Yokohama endures as a distinct albeit extremely cosy neighbour of Tokyo. In reality, the two are so dangerously proximate that merging to create one giant megacity isn’t really that distant a notion. Judging by the urban sprawl on the one hour train journey between the two – it’s already kind of happened.
The Imperial Palace, situated right at the heart of Tokyo in the district of Chiyoda, remains the primary residence for the highly popular and deeply revered Emperor of Japan and his family. More than merely being at the geographical nucleus of Japan’s capital city though, this expansive complex appears to hold a special symbolic and emblematic status, too.
Tokyo’s allure stretches well beyond the endless parade of tourist spots listed and pictured in guidebooks. Indeed, every footstep kindles with it a new sense of inveiglement and affinity. Wandering semi-lost is surely the finest way of exploring the feeling further, as well as for discovering the disparity of crowds and quiet I talked about in yesterday’s article.
