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Against the canvas of night, a thousand red beacons flicker and fade; and an ocean of lights quietly glisten, and reaching into the distance, into the obscurity, life is breathed. Our time in Tokyo was all too brief, but it mattered. Departure is assured, and soon the seamless flow halts once more. Leaving places and people behind is never the same thrill as travelling to meet them.
There’s a reason even the most unpretentious and devoted of travelers chase after the most iconic of sights. It’s not about acquiring any boasting rights. Rather, it’s the act of rewarding oneself with a tangible, visible epiphany of how fortunate you are to have experienced the foreign land that you are in. In Japan, there can be no greater symbol of this than Mt. Fuji.
Tsukiji is not just the biggest fish market in Japan, it’s also the largest in the world. Every single day (bar Sundays) two thousand tons of seafood tumbles in through its gates before getting briskly carved up and auctioned out. There really is no other place on earth quite like it. Nor is any visit to Tokyo complete without delving inside its often frenzied, always smelly perimeters.
Kamakura is an alluring little seaside town just an hour away from Tokyo. Adorned with a copious array of old shrines and temples, it remains a perennial favourite for day-tripping Japanese and foreigners alike. When you consider also it’s hearty small town semblance and pleasant coastal scenery, there really are few nicer escapes from the big city.
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.
