worldtravellermagazine.com 47Maybe it was just fond old memories
beckoning me to play. In any case, the
pull of the Tokyo night felt too strong.
I soon found myself emerging from
Akihabara station, in the city’s weird,
wonderful electronics district. Lights
throbbed; adverts for gaming arcades
covered every facade. Electronics mega-
shops such as Bic Camera — selling
everything from cult action figures to
rice cookers — encircled the station;
‘maid’ cafés jostled with warren-like DVD
shops. I stepped into quirky, only-in-
Japan superstore Don Quijote in search
of souvenirs. It was packed. I persevered
through endless floors briming with fake
horse heads and peculiar beauty
products, emerging with a cutprice
haul of my favourite Japanese
sweets and facial sheet masks
infused with green tea.
The clock hands were inching towards
11pm — these days my usual bedtime
— but the frenzied mob spurred me
onwards. Tokyo’s not ready to call it a
night, so why should I? I elbowed my
way through the crowds to a karaoke
bar, where I met an old Japanese friend
for a nostalgic singalong. As we were
guided to our private room, the din from
outside became increasingly muffled.
Curling up in our cosy, cushy space —
that Tokyo chaotic-calm contradiction
again — we ordered pizzas. Sheltered
from the mayhem outside, microphones
in hand, song catalogues in our laps,
we drank and sang dramatic, cheesy
power ballads — Bonnie Tyler, Bryan
Adams, you name it — until we were
hoarse, and very late became very early.
Over the next two days, further
glimmers of my twentysomething self
were teased out by Tokyo’s frenetic
energy — I was falling back in love.
But whenever my stamina wavered, a
moment of peace was always waiting.
Behind crowd-crammed Senso-ji
temple, a stop on every tourist’s hit list, I
discovered sleepy shopping arcades with
kitchenware shops and old-school hotpot
eateries. After braving frantic Odaiba,
a Disneyesque mallscape with a replica
of the Statue of Liberty, I caught my
breath on a relaxed riverboat ride. On my
final night, I booked myself into a swish
restaurant, Sushi Kokoro. After a busy
day museum-hopping, tranquillity here
was practically guaranteed: intimateomakase (chef’s choice) sushi spots such
as this are famous for being respectfully
hushed, as diners watch chefs prepare
artful courses in awed silence.
At 7pm, I pushed open the door and
my chef-host, Oba-san, welcomed me
with a polite smile. I joined seven other
guests — together we filled the counter
restaurant — and began the noiseless
gourmet parade. We greeted a goblet
of silky salmon roe with silent nods
of approval. A blushing pink prawn
was met with a shy ‘arigato’ (thank
you). But the drinks were flowing, and
somewhere between the gleaming
silver mackerel and the creamy sea
urchin, a Japanese salaryman next
to me turned, practising his English
with a simple ‘Where are you from?’A switch had been flipped, and the
raucous descent began. Soon, all nine
of us — Oba-san included — were
doubled-up with giggles, wolfing down
nigiri with cries of delight. Group
photos were snapped, email addresses
were swapped, and as we finished
our meal with a simple flourish —
a handful of sweet grapes — we
decided to carry down the road. As we
tottered out of the restaurant, Tokyo
was, for once, cloaked in midnight
silence. But only for a moment.
Because that rare, sleepy stillness
was suddenly shattered — by the
sound of my own crackling laughter.Inspired to travel? To book a trip, call
+971 4 316 6666 or visit dnatatravel.comThis page: Garden Lounge
at Aman TokyoTOKYOCredit:
Alicia Miller/The Sunday Times Travel Magazine/News Licensing