As I set off this morning I was feeling quite jaunty, thinking that the metro now held no fear for me. But it's a more complex animal than I'd realised. The exits are myriad, sometimes clustered into "gates". Most stations need detailed maps - there's up to a kilometre of passageways between different metro lines at the same station. Many are shopping malls, and it starts to feel as though you are in a parallel subterranean universe.
I started my day in one such mall, with an egg-and-toast-and-coffee breakfast, only remembering - after ordering - my egg experience of three days ago. My attempt to mime "solid or raw?" was not a success. But luckily the egg was as solid as a HB egg should be.
Most department stores and other buildings have escalators connecting directly with the stations. So you think you're heading up for air, only to find you're on goodness knows what level of a shop or - bizarrely, this morning - the Imperial Theatre. I found myself next to a subterranean stage door where a group of smartly dressed middle-aged women, loaded with carrier bags as though at the end of a shopping trip, seemed to be waiting. For Godo, maybe? I had a surreal time trying to get out, as no one understood the word "exit". It wasn't a good day for miming - I can't imagine why my "gasping fish" didn't strike a chord.
As this was my last day I was torn between wanting to whizz around, skimming as much as time would allow, and digesting the city at a slower and more realistic pace. I think I ended up beneath the Imperial Theatre because someone misunderstood by desire to get to the Imperial Palace Gardens. I eventually did get to the park, the sense of space in this hectic city perhaps the most impressive thing (though in the 17th century the area now occupied by park would have been the emperor or shogun's living quarters). But drizzle put a dampener on my commitment - I think I was the only person in Tokyo not to have an umbrella (a stubborn gesture, to avoid picking up extra weight). So I allowed myself to be lured into the attractive-looking shelter of the Palace Hotel, a 5-star monolith overlooking the park (290 rooms, 10 restaurants, £500/night suites), thinking I might test the "bargain lunch" formula, as I'd done with the Kanos in Kyoto.
Sorry, guys, but abandoning Japanese cuisine in favour of Italian was a mistake. The pear-and-chocolate dessert was good, but the watery bean-and-bacon soup a pale shadow of what I was hoping for, and the seafood pasta no better than a UK high-street chain. Despite the service, and molycoddling me with a blanket and terrace heater, I give you 6 out of 10. But you weren't snooty, and I admit I looked terrible, wearing the same clothes I've worn for 2 months, indoors or outdoors... And it was a very cool location, overlooking the Imperial moat. So, the overall experience, 7.5.
After lunch things got a bit disjointed. Trying to avoid the lengthy walks involved when changing metro lines, I elected to walk above ground. But my map wasn't good enough (or was it my navigation skills?). Hours and many km later I found myself at Shibuya, the youth shopping Mecca. I was expecting Oxford Street but Japanese youth is far cooler and more monied. I have never seen such a dense proliferation of big-name brands - a combination of Bond Street and Notting Hill, but much more of it.
The tourist pamphlet that cheerily described Shibuya as "always crowded, day and night" wasn't wrong. At intervals there'd be a queue of dozens of people outside a shop. I had to ask What and Why. One place, Nars (anyone heard of it?) was for make-up; another was a Hawaiian pancake place that had had good reviews; a third was a popcorn joint. Popcorn? How sad is that. But I liked the slogan in one sports-gear shop: "If you have a body you are an athlete". In other words, you don't need to be sporty to buy the latest sports stuff?
Shibuya was one kind of nightmare. Even worse was Shinjuku (where "Lost in Translation" was filmed). Even after my morning metro experience I hadn't bargained for the scale of this, the biggest of Tokyo's stations. I had wanted to have a peek at "electric city". But after running in and out of the vast electronics retailer, Bic, breaking into a cold sweat, and snapping a few pics at the surrounding skyscrapers, I could take no more and headed back to the ryokan.
Luckily, the previous day, I had booked a short reflexology session when a cute little man had pushed a flyer into my hand in the local department store. It forced me to give my long-suffering feet a break, and, despite cosmic communication problems (he knew I spoke no Japanese but acted as though I did), was so good I wondered why I hadn't booked a session every evening.
I ended the day in a cheap eatery overlooking one of the main intersections, directly opposite a Berlitz office - a bit weird. I repeated the previous evening's fish-rice-pickle-miso-soup order (815 calories, good, but spoiled by having a dessert, + 411 calories, not so good). And wondered about the consumer frenzy I'd witnessed. The throw-away culture is the least attractive aspect of Japan: the 100¥ shops; chronic over-packaging; disposability (e.g. the slippers used at the ryokan are thrown away after use by each guest). And the corrosive effect of Western culture on diet and attitudes.
But even in high-paced Tokyo interactions are civilised: the woman in the Palace Hotel who went out of her way to show me a short-cut to the station; the woman in the Imperial Theatre who walked me to the lift; the friendly cleaning team at the ryokan; the reflexologist who insisted on showing me to the escalator; the Kanos' selflessness in giving me a good time. People are kind in a way that would be hard to imagine in a European capital.
So, of course, I'm very sad to be leaving Japan. On the one hand feeling so grateful for the rich experience I've had, but aware of how I've barely scratched the surface. I hope the story isn't over.
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