Smoke, Senso-ji and the Sky Tree

Tokyo. The heart of Eastern Japan. When one travels to Japan, they usually visit Tokyo at least once. The city is similar to London, yet far more expansive. You could spend weeks there and not even see half of it. I had been in Japan for a week and I could feel it calling to me. But, where would I go first? Akihabara? Shibuya Crossing? Harajuku? No. I instead went to Asakusa. Originally, I was on my way to Akihabara (The Tsukuba Express goes from Tsukuba to Akihabara), as I would soon need to pass through there to get to Tokyo station and board a Shinkansen. On the way to Akihabara, I recognised the name of another station, Asakusa. At the time I hadn't realised the significance of Asakusa to me. When I first starting learning Japanese, I saw a picture of Asakusa and it enthralled me. It was that picture that inspired me to continue learning, to actually come to Japan. Also, the kanji on the giant lantern at the Kaminarimon, were the first kanji I ever learned. When I stepped out onto a Tokyo street, I was hit by a sight I had yet to see, quintessential Japan. From that point on, it felt real, it felt like I was living my dream. Each sight was vivid and brushed with neon colours, traditional, beautiful music played and the smell of food wafted through the air. After following signs I could barely read, I saw the magnificence of Senso-ji. Thick, dark grey smoke from incense sticks swirled around before the entrance, a beacon to the crowds. I proceeded to copy the locals; giving money, seeing my fortune, etc. Though this was real Japan, it still didn't feel like my Japan, something was missing, something inside me.

My first view of Tokyo

   I then walked around, drinking green tea in the Sun. I sat down and tried to absorb the atmosphere to little avail. Then, as I looked around, I saw a large tower, standing some 200 metres above the rest of the skyline. Normally, I would have taken a picture and moved on, but I thought to myself; 'when in Rome' and I leapt up and crept towards it, like a cat prowling, though I wouldn't doubt I looked like a deer in headlights as I saw everything, as I 'dug' everything. Old men sat around beneath the lazy sun, drinking warm beers and playing cards. Surly chefs in greasy aprons leant against walls smoking cheap cigarettes. Mopeds weaved through the narrow side streets, making countless deliveries. A beautiful woman wearing a kimono tended to flowers. I passed a restaurant selling fried squid, which would become a favourite of mine, and reached the end of the road. The cramped, bustling streets were replaced by an open park, lush grass sprung up around me. It was empty, eerily silent. I looked back at the smoke still rising. I felt agoraphobic, longing for the winding streets I barely knew, but felt more at home within. The tower, which I would learn was the Tokyo Sky Tree still stood before me, though now it was on the other side of a river, Sumida River, which cuts through skyscrapers as it weaves towards the bay. With determination on my face on par with the heroes of my favourite manga and anime, I nearly dived into the river. I thought about it, thought about finding a boat to row across the river. Alas, that would have been futile, as was the more sensible option. I looked to find the nearest bridge. There were none that were close enough, and even being able to cross the ones I could see was a dubious thought, some carried trains, others carried cars. I could find a train to take me there was my next thought and I followed the signs towards Asakusa station gleefully.

   Upon reaching the station however, I was met with the realisation that I was at the wrong Asakusa station, the correct one was the one I first exited when I arrived in Tokyo. Retracing my steps in the dying sun, I returned to Senso-ji. Now closing, the area was deserted, the smoke had died. I was out of time. I got back on the train to Tsukuba. I listened to the announcement at each station, understanding the odd word in each garbled sentence. When I was approaching Kita Senju station, I heard 'sky tree' as a train line that I could transfer to. I threw caution to the wind and jumped off the train, finding my way to the sky tree. The next train I got, the one on the sky tree line, would eventually loop back to the other Asakusa station. This train was unlike the others in Tokyo, unlike most in Japan, save for the precarious, mountainous, frozen train in the frosty North or the lonely, unmanned electric rail in the West that carved through encroaching forests, urban wastelands and untamed wilderness. This train was nearly empty, rare in Tokyo, but not uncommon in the countryside. It was home to sleeping businessmen, yawning engineers in their jumpsuits and the odd photographer riding the rails for the perfect shot of the tower, always chasing it. I was fascinated by this ecosystem and longed to be a part of it, longed to live with these people, learn their hopes and dreams, where they were coming from, where they were going, but always here everyday, symbiotic with the world they passed by. I did not feel out of place, I did not feel ostracised, I was almost welcomed by their sleepy indifference. This would be my preferred route to the Sky Tree even if at times it would have been easier taking other trains.

Tokyo Sky Tree

  
   Once I was at the sky tree station I looked back at those on the train, I would see them every time I would travel at that time of day, on that hallowed rail. The only other who departed the train was the photographer who would remain on the platform, spinning around in search of their true North, the Sky Tree, searching for the perfect picture of the majestic spire before the sunset. I don't know if they ever found it, perhaps to this day they are still there, twirling in ecstasy. I, meanwhile, was low on time, I was not part of this place or the constantly moving ecosystem. I had ties to Tsukuba, cords that pulled on my heartstrings and the hands of time itself. Thus, I climbed the lower parts of the tower. I finally stood before it, looming before me, though it would be some time before I would actually reach its zenith. Instead, I dashed around the town at the base of it, finding all manner of knick-knacks and curios. Many an hour I would spend here in future visits sifting through the rough to find the diamonds I would haul back home. Now it was getting late and I had much to do in the coming days so I returned back to Tsukuba, back to normalcy, though my next adventure would perhaps be the most significant, most cherished moment of my time in Japan.