TOKYO
46 worldtravellermagazine.com
northwest. I strode towards the 17th-
century Gokoku-ji building, directly
ahead, passed under its grand red gate
and was plunged into another world.
Apart from a handful of grey-haired
local ladies shuffling up the stone steps,
there was no-one around. I had visited
this place a decade before, at the time
thinking the low-key vibe was rather
dull. But now, I seized the silence,
wandering past statues and vast wooden
structures that had survived WWII
bombings, padding through a room
festooned in ornate gold decorations, and
switching off to the rustle of a gnarled
pine tree. Scores of cats prowled eerily
around gravestones, my only company
until a monk momentarily darted
by, his robes flicking behind him.
The whole serene scene was a different
Tokyo, one I could now fully appreciate
— and, impatient as I was to soak it up,
it was a full, contemplative hour before,
placidly, I stumbled out. I was a relative
skip from crazy Shibuya — but there
were no skyscrapers, few shops and
hardly any people. Instead, wandering
south towards the undulating Kanda
River, I saw little houses framed with
flower pots, and tiny noodle bars with
makeshift signs. Had it not been for the
luminous vending machines glimmering
at every corner, I would have thought
I’d gone back in time. Eventually, a
thin alley led me past a clutch of art
museums, before spitting me out on the
leafy riverfront walkway. And there, cut
from a creamy wall, was a tile-roofed
entranceway to Chinzanso Garden.
I’d forgotten how verdant Tokyo
can be. From Imperial Palace parks
to regal Hamarikyu gardens, little
landscaped patchworks of green provide
figurativeand literal breaths of fresh
air among the cityscape’s suffocating
intensity. Inside Chinzanso, among
twisted trees and winding paths, I
discovered craggy stone carvings, a
pond fed by tinkling waterfalls, red
tori shrine gates with a string of
prayer notes fluttering in the breeze.
Glamorous Japanese newlyweds,
taking a pause from their wedding
festivities in the nearby hotel, posed for
pictures in front of blooms. I climbed‘
LITTLE
LANDSCAPED
PATCHWORKS OF
GREEN PROVIDE
FIGURATIVE
AND LITERAL
BREATHS OF
FRESH AIR’
uphill to a three-storey wooden pagoda,
a creaky, half-century-old witness to the
city’s transformation. In the distance
rose a contrasting clutch of new buildings
— the frenetic concrete city pushing
against this lush green pocket. For now,
at least, it couldn’t quite reach us.
As evening descends in Tokyo, you feel
the city revving up — doubling its electric
energy to fever pitch. Below the rainbow
signs blinking in the darkness, waves of
identikit office workers rush from office
to bar in a messy jumble; at 6pm, the
city collectively loosens its tie in smoky
yakitori grill bars. But up in my hotel, the
Aman Tokyo, I felt none of it. It was my
second day, and I had spent it huddled
under an umbrella, exploring clogged
Ginza — the ritzy designer-shopping
area by Tokyo station. It was exhaustingly
busy, especially in the rain; but a short
walk and a zippy, 34-floor elevator ride
had catapulted me far above the insanity.
Tokyo is famous for its soaring
buildings, but they do more than provide
much-needed extra living space —
they’re veritable floating oases above
the city’s earthly rush. Up here, seen
from the hotel spa, the buzzing traffic
looked like toy models, the tower-block
lights like flickering stars. In Aman’s
dark-slate infinity pool in the sky,
lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, I
could paddle in peace, recouping my
energy. I could laze on fluffy loungers
and sip nutty, roasted hojicha tea,
watching the mesmerising show unfold
below. It was so very peaceful... Dare
I say, after a while, a tad too peaceful.
Because, however much Ginza’s earlier
crowds had tired me out, I didn’t feel
quite ready to hole up for the night.