Tsukiji 3am

“Come on. Time to get up. You said you wanted to go”

I can’t believe he is this chipper after only four hours sleep on a tatami mat.

 “But I’m all warm and snoozy” I half-heartedly protest as I roll over and open my eyes.

 Before leaving Australia, Steve had organised a tour of the Tokyo fish market or Tsukiji (skid-gee) as the locals referred to it. Very precise instructions were carefully written down in kanji, Japanese characters, for us to hand our 2.30am taxi driver by the friendly concierge of our traditional ryokan. We were to meet our guide, Naoto-san, at 3am outside a Lawson store. Lawsons are a chain of 24 hour convenience stores that we’d quickly fell in love with selling everything from hot fried chicken, pantyhose, and frozen portioned vegetables to sake and coffee in a can.

 Taxis in Tokyo are delightfully clean and well-presented; the drivers clearly take great pride in their vehicles. From the pleasant scent of the interior to the white lace doily over the head rest, they’re a sharp contrast to most other taxis I’ve been in around the world. We handed the taxi driver our destination instructions and he shot us a querying look but as our fluency in Japanese matched his in English, we were unable to elaborate any further. Steve kept pointing at the card. I smiled and nodded which is my default position in these circumstances I increasingly kept finding myself in while in Japan. There was a lot of bowing all round.

Arriving at the correct Lawson store at the appointed time, we stand around in the cold and look at each other.

“Does it look familiar at all?” I ask Steve hopefully.

“Sure..”He replies slowly looking up and down the street searching for any movement. “How about I go in and get us a couple of cans of hot coffee?”

“Great idea”

He returns moments later with four cans.

“Why four?”

“One to drink now and one to keep in your pocket to keep your hands warm” he explains, tucking one into his own and handing me a second for my own jacket.

“S-M-A-R-T” I repeat our little in joke and kiss him on the cheek. His insider knowledge of Tokyo has come in handy each day we’ve been here so far.

Minutes later a slim man dressed in a dark grey puffer jacket, khaki hat and trousers tucked into his gumboots walks efficiently up the street. Naoto-san proves an affable host with great English language skills. Unsurprisingly, he carries a small notebook and an even smaller sharpened pencil adding to the list of English names for different market produce. Having previously worked for one of the five auction houses at the market, he knows his way around.

 “If I need to, I may leave you as the security guards don’t approve of my market tours. Keep walking as normal and I’ll catch up soon. The market is open to the public but the government doesn’t like me giving tours here” Naoto-san explains as we make our way towards the market shrine entrance. Now I understand his incognito attire. If this were a tour of an American market, he’d have a heavily branded jacket, hat and clipboard .

It is dark, rainy and a bit chilly – in other words perfect weather to visit a fish market. Water cascades everywhere, in and out of buckets and tanks, along gutters in the stone work upon which clever merchants have laid wooden squares to raise their wares up out of the constant water flow. And everyone wears gumboots.

 “Glad I wore woollen socks, leather boots AND my leather jacket” I say to Steve as I tuck my scarf in and button up my jacket.

He looks at his red trainers already damp from the puddles and shrugs. “It was high summer when I came here last time”

For the next couple of hours, we deftly follow our guide through the endless stalls, as he points out this type of fish or that type of mollusc while trying to avoid the fast and furious motorised transporters zooming in and out the tiny alleyways. Like market people the world round, the workers here only concerned with commerce. Carrying boxes stacked high they push passed us stationary observers clogging up their pathways.

After leading us up ill-lit stairwells to the rooftop of the car park next door, he presents his beloved fish market spread out below us in its fervid chaotic splendour. Beaming proudly his arms open like a conductor presenting his orchestra to the crowd. “It’s the biggest market of its kind in the world. Open six days a week. The government want to move the market down the river but nobody really wants it to move.”

He perks up “You want sushi breakfast? I’ll take you to the best sushi restaurant”

Nodding vigorously, we both answer yes multiple times as if once wouldn’t suffice.

“I can’t believe this many people get here at 5am to line up for breakfast” I say as I grab Steve’s arm half for warmth and half so we don’t get separated in the melee. Lined up like cattle at one set of doors, the restaurant wrangler keeps us in formation.

“I can’t believe you’re actually queuing for breakfast. There’s no way I’d get you to do this in Melbourne”

“Damn right. Mind you if we were having sake with our breakfast, maybe”

The windows and doors are fogged up so it’s hard to peer in to get an idea of what we are signing up for. This place is known worldwide so I’m happy to surrender to the chef and eat omakase style. Tokyo restaurant menus complete with photographic illustrations are a boon to the foreigner and we’ve become adept at the point and nod system of ordering. This morning though we are happy to just turn up and be fed.

 “Luckily ‘sake’ is sake in Japanese AND English” I lean in and whisper conspiratorially.

It’s our turn and the wrangler herds us into Daiwa Zushi for our 12 piece sushi set menu. More bowing to our chefs is required as we sidle behind our fellow diners and find the two spare stools. There’s nowhere to hang jackets, so we stay rugged up as ceramic cups of hot sake are placed in front of us. Perched in place, I look down the length of bleached wood bar and take a sticky beak at our fellow diners and what they have on the wooden blocks that are their plates.

“So everything” Steve says more as a statement than a question.


“Including uni?”

“Wouldn’t miss it” I confirm.

I had eaten sea urchin roe in Melbourne but it wasn’t till I came to Tokyo with Steve that I got even close to how good it could taste. Its golden yellow flesh creamy in the mouth with a briny yet earthy flavour. We had just witnessed the uni auctions here at the fish market and learnt about the vagaries of the weather and catch. This was going to be the freshest seafood I had ever tasted without having to catch it myself.

The rhythm of the sushi meal played out in front of us like a well-composed symphony. Starting with the lighter fish such as aji and hirame moving through to richer pieces like the uni and the otoro (fatty tuna), the sushi chefs pride themselves their timing.

“You know, sushi is 95% behind the scenes preparation by the underpaid apprentices and these chefs out front get all the glory” I proclaim as I eagerly await the first offering that is placed in front of me.

Opened and exposed as it is on the rice mound, I gingerly touch the raw prawn. It flinches. I retract my hand.

“Well it is fresh” I remark shaking my head slightly.

 Aji, hirame, ebi, maguro, tako, toro, o-toro and uni. The names have cadence all to themselves. Practised hand movements mesmerise me as I watch the rice being pressed into the perfect sized mounds, a smear of wasabi underneath the thinly sliced flesh and then two are brought together like the gentle of handling a baby chick.

“You’ve got to watch ‘Jiro Dreams of Sushi’. Their dedication to their career is incredible. Fourteen hour days, apprenticed for ten years learning to wash rice, cook rice, stir rice, toast nori, clean and prepare fish and that’s before they’re even allowed to assemble the sushi.” he implores. “It’s called shokunin. It means repeating the same skills over and over til you become the master artisan.”

“And women aren’t any good as sushi chefs. Hands are too warm and too small” he baits the rabid feminist in me. “Plus they menstruate you know”

“You can’t annoy me today. I’m in my happy place” I say grinning from ear to ear.

Final Tokyo chapter

Walking up a side street we spied a coolroom of hanging meat on the second floor of a restaurant. Naturally we were drawn to investigate. Gonpachi hadn’t exactly satisfied. Up we wandered and soon we found ourselves sitting down with some jamon, terrine, cheese and baguette, a rose wine for me and a red wine for Steve = Happy days! 

This place was a delicious, delightful respite. Le Petit Marche in a back street of Roppongi was just what the doctor(chef?) ordered. Fortunately it was mostly patronised by Asian customers with only one other Western couple (American, I think).

 It was from here that we walked up to Kento’s – a 50s/60s pop club which although was a bar, looked more like an american diner. The band does 15 minutes on, 15 minutes off throughout the evening of american 50s/60s pop – with the occasional Abba song thrown in for good measure. The band is appropriately attired and coiffed wooing the audience who really seem to get into the swing of things even if they have little to no sense of musical timing. I drank some sweet garishly coloured cocktails; Steve had some 12 year old Yamazaki whiskey. All was somehow right with the world.

Coming home along the main street where lots of restaurants and clubs are situated was a different experience altogether. So many noisy westerners that I became quite resentful. It’s an odd feeling because I am a westerner but I was almost offended by the presence of so many westerners. I’m still processing that bit.

One guy deliberately tried to bump into me either to pickpocket(of which I had nothing on me) or to ‘cop a feel’. Either intentions aren’t pleasing but that’s honestly the only unpleasant experience like that on the whole trip.
All in all, despite many instances of language barrier, we have fared very well. Japanese people, as a culture, are very honest. They also, on the whole, have very good english language skills. Way better than our ridiculously small grasp of Japanese.
Note to self – learn more basic language skills of the country I’m travelling to.

next installment…

Saturday April 5th 5pmish

We are all checked in to our swish accommodation – Hotel S – on one of Roppongi. It’s very modern with tight, efficient design = very japanese and one thing that I’m actually quite attracted to. I didn’t quite prepare for what I might buy here. A knife was a possibility but to be honest I don’t really need one. The ceramics and fabrics are highly covetable but again it’s all want not need.

This morning we commuted by train from Asakusa to Roppongi – that was after a hearty breakfast of cream cakes and coffee from Angelus, a store we’d been drooling at the glass of in Asakusa. Pretty much most of the way Steve was strongly advocating a taxi ride instead. That might, of course, be related to the many stairs Tokyo Metro seem to have as well as the need to transfer trains with our luggage.

After arriving in Roppongi and dropping our bags off at our hotel we went for a wander. Luckily, it turned out to essentially to be a dry day. I get to visit the art supply store (which is incredibly well stocked – far greater than anything I’ve previously seen and well presented in a tiny space). Again fabulous use of a small space.

A short promenade around the Mori Art museum area and we just happened to find ourselves at the Brew Dogs bar. Brew Dogs are a couple of the scottish guys who brew incredibly interesting craft beers. Beer in Japan can be a no-brainer – like in many parts of the world – but there is a growing market for craft beers – well made and tasty little numbers.

A few hours were easily lost there before we strolled/straggled back to our hotel via a very fancy, high end shopping outlet complete with an american high end food store – Dean and Deluca (WANKERS!)
There is quite a strong attraction to french and italian (more so than other european nations) food and drink here in Tokyo, and more so in Roppongi. Obviously a fair proportion of that is expat demand. Fabian. our Shinjuku guide from Monday night, did point out that it is most favourable and advantageous to be french in Japan. There’s clearly an attraction there.
So now at our hotel it’s time for a soak in the bath ( a little down time – aaaahhhh!)

After a most appreciated soak, we hit the town. We started at Gonpachi which is a restaurant that inspired a set in director Quentin Tarantino’s film Kill Bill. It is a replica of older Tokyo (Edo) style places. Food was hit and miss, probably because it straddles too many styles (sushi, yakitori sticks, soba noodles as well as other odd items which felt western to me). Most other eating establishments we have visited usually had a tighter, more limited but more focussed menu.

Gonpachi was clearly playing to a more western audience, of which there are many in the area of Roppongi. We had heard there was a large ex-pat community in this area. Last night as we chose to walk up a quieter backstreet , avoiding the touts, we found an array of embassies. Pieces fall into place.

Day 5

Friday April 4 2014     

It’s my brother’s birthday today – happy birthday Al!

Today has been an odd day. We had such a full on day yesterday with the super early start and some sake or five that I really didn’t want to get up this morning. Mind you, the tatami mats that we are sleeping on aren’t exactly comfort central.

After the Tsukiji fish market tour we came home and slept for 5 hours (well I did) before attempting the second half of the day. We had a yummy lunch next door at the Sobateria. I had the spring special of cold soba, tempura vegetables (not all of which I recognise) with a dipping sauce. Afterwards hot soba water is brought out to mix with the dipping sauce which then becomes a light soup. This was very much the experience of soba I had been seeking. In my mind, it is traditional and I felt vindicated by the four older, immaculately attired japanese women sitting at the table next to us who all ordered the same dish as I. Steve had soba in a hot broth (possibly dashi) with crispy fried chicken. He was satiated also.

After lunch we wandered around some more exploring different parts of Asakusa. The sake bar, which is also a liscened bottle shop,  was our first stop in the evening. Hoppy St, also locally known as ‘stew st’ was our final dining destination. Wow- what a place!

It was one of the few areas where I’d seen restaurants tout for your business. The restaurants are tiny places that extend directly onto the street and when it rains, as it did last night, heavy plastic curtains are lowered and secured with any weighty object to hand.

So there we were under some type of ad hoc cover on a table next to 2 very rambunctious fellows having a great time. Offal soup, horse sashimi, grilled chicken gizzard and pigs feet terrine – OMG! I felt very Anthony Bourdain. And in true Anthony Bourdain style things did go downhill….in a good way. Some more beer and sake and shochu and sleep came very easily.

Unsurprisingly, today was much more low-key. We started slowly with some tea and coffee at a cafe/gallery a few streets away. Tea here is served cold and black or hot, milky and sweet – I chose the latter. Gallery ef is situated in a building that was built in 1868 and has survived fires, earthquakes and war. It’s very serene, dark, shoes off, minimalist, calm, shiny lacquered floors kind of place. It was a very moving experience.

One thing that I’ve learnt is that I should have brought more business cards with me. Good thing to know for next time. After the gallery visit, we strolled down to an incredible stationery store. Again, it was a sanctuary. The Japanese people as a culture value stationery, ceramics and fabrics far more so than western societies. It’s delightful. I share these passions also.
Luckily Steve is happy to indulge this apart of me. I’ve learnt a lot about being with Steve this trip. He’s very good for me. He understands the many sides of me and sometimes knows what I need even if I have yet to perceive it myself.

Upon leaving the stationery store – Kakimori – we had a trashy lunch of snacks from Lawson (the convenience store with more) whilst sitting overlooking the Sumida river. some major queuing was then necessary to purchase tickets for a cruise down said river to Hama Rikyu gardens which is just past Tsukiji fish market by the top of the Tokyo bay. after a brief walk around the muddy paths viewing the 300 year old pine tree we cruised back to Asakusa just in time for a freak, short but sharp hail storm to dampen our clothes but not our spirits.

A wander around the Sakura beer garden (after hours in an amusement park) was essentially  waste of effort but you don’t know til you go. It could have been a really cool, hip place to eat and drink but the lack of patronage made it all appear just a little sad and dull.

Oops – I forgot our trip to a bizarre store called Don Quijote. Think cheap nasty meets nice department store – food hall included. We bought a range of things – trashy snack foods including shelf stable’ camembert’ cheese, multi pack of groovy socks for Steve, USB connection heated pillows, Hello Kitty pez for the girls. Odd and lots of fun. Our dinner by comparison  was pretty low key. Kamamishi – rice and other bits cooked in a pot served with a strong miso. Again, just what I needed.

Day 4 Tsukiji fish market

Thursday April 3rd

It’s just after 6.30am and we are sitting at Tsukiji station after our tour of the wholesale/retail Tsukiji Fish Market. Breakfast was at Daiwa Zushi which was 12 piece sushi set menu breakfast. Naturally we accompanied that with hot sake – our chefs highly approved of that. They line you up like cattle at the doors on one side (a restaurant wrangler does thew work herding you in the correct manner) only to be efficiently guided out afterwards on the opposite side.

We were to meet our guide at 3am outside a Lawson store {convenience 24 hr store selling everything from hot fried chicken, pantyhose, frozen portioned vegetables to sake}. We had 2 young girls from Singapore on our tour also – Iris and Jasmine. Naoto-san was very efficient, affable with great English language skills. He previously had worked at the market for one of the five auction houses so he knew his way around. The government does not sanction tours of any kind and employ security guards who apparently done like Naoto-san. I promised him a private tour of Melbourne’s Queen Vic Market if he ever visits our fair city of Melbourne

So we’ve now been up for 4 hours and I reckon we are doing really well considering we probably only had 4 hours sleep on a tatami mat. It’s fortunate that it’s prior to peak hour so the train ride home is simple and sans train passenger wrangler.
Our taxi driver at 2.30am was old school. No English (which matches our fluency in Japanese) and lots of bowing. Taxis here are delightfully so clean and well presented. Clearly the taxi drivers take great pride in their vehicle In fact, Tokyo as a whole we are finding very clean, though there  is a dearth of rubbish bins…

Our plan is to have a few hours rest/nap before attempting the remainder of the day. Clearly some sake won’t hurt in this aim.

I found the market workers pretty much the same as most genuine market people around the world – concerned with their own business. By that i mean, they aren’t exactly rude but do like to get on with what they should be doing so please don’t get in their way. Fast and furious mototrised transporters zoom in and out the tiny alleyways.

It was dark and rainy and a bit chilly – in other words perfect weather to visit a fish market. Water cascaded everywhere, in and out of buckets, along gutters in the stone work upon which clever merchants had lain wooden squares to raise their wares up out of the constant water flow. Yes, everyone wears gumboots. I’m so glad that I wore my leather boots over woolen socks with jeans tucked in, leather jacket, scarf and new knitted peaked hat = kept me mostly dry and warm.

12 noon

Just woke up from a 5 hour nap and I’m feeling good. Mostly rested and we can attack the day again. I think we are going to try and track down a tea or coffee first (it’s a massive assumption that you’ll be able to get both in the same establishment) then find a soba restaurant. Soba is a buckwheat noodle often served cooled but also served hot in a broth.

We are staying very near a shrine that has a lot of cherry blossom (sakura) trees surrounding it. Most locals we come into contact with tell us how lucky we are to be here in the very short sakura season. The blossom only lasts a week or so apparently and that’s exactly how long we are here for.
Today it seems to be drizzling almost constantly. Not that it made a difference at the market this morning as although we were essentially always undercover, there was water everywhere anyway. Ain’t no water restrictions due to drought here. 

We got quite wet on our first day in Tokyo and kept juggling with the idea of buying an umbrella (a clear one so we could see what/who was weaving their way through the throng) but also as a defense against other umbrella wielding pedestrians. We didn’t and we survived and I’m guessing we won’t today either.

The plan is to caffinate first, then soba, then hang out in a  sake bar to learn more about sake for the afternoon – purely for educational reasons you understand. Of course honesty dictates that I admit that we had our first sake at 5.50am with our sushi breakfast – purely to warm our bones, you understand.