Shibuyapalooza

We returned to Tokyo Saturday, Nov. 22 and, after checking into Hotel Fukudaya near Shibuya Station, roamed the grounds of the Imperial Palace. The imperial family still lives inside the palace, so that building’s only open to the public for two days a year, and this wasn’t one of them.

Amanda and I love few things more than an excellent food hall (see Food Court Rivoli in the Louvre, Pike Place Market in Seattle, Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia, the entire basement level of ICONSIAM in Bangkok, et al.), and Shibuya Tokyu Foodshow [sic] certainly qualifies. From there it’s just a few steps to what’s alleged to be the world’s busiest pedestrian intersection, Shibuya Crossing or “the Shibuya Scramble.” It’s called that because, every two minutes, as many as three thousand people dodge and dart from one side of the five-way intersection to another. You’ve seen this memorable location in everything from Lost in Translation to The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, from Alice in Borderland to Sonic the Hedgehog 3. After crossing several times and finding Shibuya Sky wildly overcrowded, we settled for pretty good views of the mayhem from an upstairs Starbucks and even higher rooftop lounge.

The plans I’d made for Sunday collapsed in a frustrating cascade of missed connections and opportunities along with overstuffed trains. It seemed everyone in Tokyo was out and about that day, but maybe it’s like that every Sunday? My patience was especially strained by our misadventures in Ueno Park. It’s a beautiful place and we did come upon a charming local fair, but what undid me were the signs advertising a traveling exhibit of Van Goghs at the museum there. Now, as it happens, Van Gogh is my favorite painter of all time, so I got excited. We stood in a hellaciously long line for the Tokyo National Museum, which, I must say, is a lovely place to visit; but no matter how far I walked up, down or sideways, I couldn’t seem to find those enticing Van Goghs. I asked at least three different docents and one intellectual-looking guest, and each pointed me in exactly the wrong direction. Come to find out, the exhibit was actually at the nearby Metropolitan Art Museum, which was something I learned five minutes before it closed a ten-minute walk from the National Museum. So no Van Gogh for us.

Then we stood in yet another winding line for a Bavarian-style Christmas village near Meiji Jingu. That turned out to be kind of fun, and why wouldn’t it? It was approved by the German Embassy and patterned after a famous Christmas Village in Seiffen. The mulled wine and sausages were delicious, and our hearts were warmed by a Japanese choir singing carols. I even got to watch as a (probably Shinto) Japanese mom explained the Judeo-Christian origin story to her young son while they regarded a plastic Nativity scene.

We finished our evening in Akihabara, aka “Electric Town,” a shopping neighborhood that serves as a focus for otaku, Japan’s variant of geek culture. Here you’ll find all things anime, Funko, gachapon (vending machine capsule toys), manga, video gaming and the like. You’ll also find a plethora of maid cafes, but don’t confuse those with Strawberry Fetish, a kiosk selling lip-smacking strawberry candies and other goodies. I’m not sure how this could’ve been true in November, but the strawberries in Japan are outstanding, besting even the juicy Spooner berries we enjoy here in Washington summers.

You know you’ve planned your vacation well when you never want to leave till the last day or two, at which time you suddenly can’t wait to get home. That’s how it was for us our final morning in Japan. We stopped for breakfast at Family Mart, then at a quaint little paper shop, Jiyucho, where we wrote ourselves a letter to be mailed to us a year from that morning.

Then we walked to our last stop, a place I was excited to take my animal-loving wife. On past trips to animal parks she’s flipped over river otters, and my research had turned up a business called HARRY Hedgehog that one-ups cat cafes by offering encounters with otters and, obviously, hedgehogs.

The week before we left for Japan, the question I was asked most often was, “What are you looking forward to most?” My answer was always the same: “The best thing I didn’t expect.” Because travel is complicated, and exhausting and expensive and often frustrating, but on great days you experience something more fantastic than you could’ve possibly anticipated. For us that was one particular critter at the Asakusa branch of HARRY Hedgehog. Because yes, the little hedgehogs were utterly adorable, as were the pair of owlets and one little meerkat. The otters were pretty cute, too, scrambling all over their enclosure and our shoulders and heads, though they’re actually a lot more screechy and hyperkinetic in person than we expected. No, the moments that took our vacation to its absolute zenith were spent in the company of a seven-month-old, male capybara named Matsuri.

Prior to our visit I knew capybaras were large rodents from South America, but that was about it. I wasn’t even sure I was pronouncing their name right, having only ever seen it in print. (For the record, it’s “cap-a-BEAR-a” or “cap-a-BAR-a.”) These little guys are worth getting to know. They’re smart as dogs, docile as rabbits and, aside from the cutest little chirrup when they’re contented, silent. The way it works at HARRY Hedgehog is you disinfect your hands, remove your shoes and enjoy a timed visit with the animals. In some cases you’re allowed to pet, hold or feed the tamer animals, including little hedgehogs. We could pet certain otters while some preferred personal space. In the case of the capybara, we were supposed to get five minutes with Matsuri to feed him cabbage leaves and apple slices, then clear out.

What happened instead was that little guy took a shine to me and climbed directly into my lap, from which he commenced nibbling my beard, then relaxed for a nap. Every few minutes the staff would come by, gush over my unplanned capybara paralysis and stroll away without curtailing our visit. I was playing it cool, I guess, in an effort to pacify staff and Matsuri alike, but inside I was squeeing my brains out. Amanda thinks I’m some sort of critter whisperer, but if I’m being honest I think it may have had more to do with the scent of the Famichiki I’d eaten for breakfast. Either way I was smitten.

Thus ended our two and a half weeks in Nihon, the land of the rising sun. So what did it all mean? What lessons if any were we able to glean and carry home with us? What does Japan do better than we do — sometimes a lot better? What day-to-day challenges do Japanese folks still face? And why is their singular, incredible country so dang goofy in all the best possible ways? I’ll do what I can to convey some of what we learned in my last Japan essay, coming later this week.