Japan - Part 2

Shibuya to Asakusa: Tokyo’s Last Act in Two Movements

Edmond

Jun 23, 2025

A Trip to Japan

Edmond

June 9, 2025

Read full story

Shibuya: Loafers, Lunch, Ghibli & Good Records

Black trouser and unbuttoned shacket from Oak and Fort, layered over a not so crisp white T-shirt. A silver chain watch on one wrist, a gold pendant on my chest, I step into a pair of black penny loafers. I look and feel… exquisite.

Should I wear something warmer? Yes. Would I? No. Today, today I choose fashion over function. Bad weather be damned!

The last two days have been whelming—not overwhelming, or underwhelming, just whelming. From a walking tour in Asakusa under bad weather, to an unsuccessful attempt—because of said weather—to see mount fuji. But It wasn’t all bad, I got to experience my very first tea ceremony and fresh cup of warm grass—matcha. I also tried out bloodied street Wagyu and it changed my inclination towards well-done meat.

Today I’m optimistic, I’m starting off my day with fine dining. So, I make my way to Cé La Vi for lunch. The group tour has started, but it has almost no group activities planned—my preference, I prefer the flexibility.

Exiting the elevator, I’m offered the terrace because there’s an event inside the restaurant. This would normally be awesome because of its view of Shibuya’s skyline, but the chilly breeze threaten’s to put a damper on things. And as I walk further into the mostly empty terrace, my outfit provides very little insulation, shocker.

Now seated, shivering and snickering at what is my first of a five course meal—slices of raw black fish frothing at the top. My friend and I via FaceTime make fun of me for eating things I wouldn’t normally touch. But hey, when in Rome, Rome. As we laugh and make jest, that’s when I notice her.

The woman at the table in front of me, drinking alone. We’re both on our own little islands. Perhaps we could both benefit from the warmth of the other’s company. So I end the call.

—“Hi, would you like to join me?”

— “Sure, why not?” She replies as she gathers her things and moves over to my table.

Pale green eyes, gold threaded hair, a smooth face, soft voice and a blue cast in one hand. She exudes the vibe of an eat, pray, love type of gal, in her late 40s or early 50s. The conversation’s easy flowing. I learn she’s only been in Japan for about 48 hours, a long layover before leaving for her final destination: Vietnam. Her flight’s in a couple hours and she’s spent most of the day exploring Tokyo by foot.

Unsurprisingly, she mentions she’s an avid traveler. And as it turns out, she’s also Canadian, something else we bond over. Curious how she funds her lifestyle, I ask what she does for work.

— “I’m a hairstylist,”

A hairstylist?

— “That’s cool! Hairstylist must make a shit ton of money then?”

— “Yeah. I make a good amount. In a week I could make about a thousand dollars on tips alone.”

— “A thousand dollars! On tips? That’s wild!”

— “Yeah. And I get to take time off whenever I want to. My clients often say I’m living the fairy tale life they wish they had when I tell them about my trips.”

Huh, perhaps I’m in the wrong profession. But then again, these things are rarely as simple as they sound. Nevertheless, unconventional ways of moving through life always intrigue me.

— “That’s pretty cool,”

Time flies as we chit chat, talking about our favourite cities, our lives back home, dating, and so on. Eventually, we bid our farewell. She’s been good company, providing the much needed warmth that the terrace had lacked.

Back down on the ground, I’m facing what is easily an apt symbol of organized chaos: The Shibuya crossing.

Sprawling streets surrounded by high-rise buildings, the roads unnaturally wide with no physical demarcators, and pedestrian crossings at weird angles. The air’s filled with rumblings of crowds on either side of the sidewalks, accompanied by the sound of car engines and a busker rapping in Japanese. The pedestrian sign turns green. And the real chaos ensues.

Like a noodle caught between two chopsticks, I wiggle through the crowd as everyone crosses to the opposite side at once, some stopping to take photos, others dallying to video the moment.

It’s a lot.

But in its own way, it’s beautiful. Beautiful chaos.

Walking through the streets, I feel the youth and excitement in every corner of Shibuya—the Mario Kart drivers, the influencers, the effortlessly stylish locals—it’s easy to get a sense of missing out on something. I eventually stumble into a Studio Ghibli merch store in Miyashita Park, and like a kid, I want everything. But as an adult, I settle for whatever fits in my carry-on.

Back on the street, amongst the high-rise buildings, one stands out—bright yellow with bold red letters: TOWER RECORDS. I’m intrigued and decide to check it out.

It’s a 9-floor building, with each floor dedicated to a genre of records—Vinyls or CDs—all neatly organized into racks, some of which have headsets to quickly sample tracks. It’s like Spotify discovery in real life. Love it. I come across some cool shit too, like Afro Bach by Joachim Horsley—a vibe! There’s something about seeing everything laid out in front of you that sparks curiosity, and an openness to try out new genres.

It’s so easy to lose track of time here, and I almost do! But after an hour, I pull myself away. I have a cabaret show to catch in Asakusa.

Asakusa: Cabaret, Kimonos & Curious Conversations

I arrive on time, quickly drop my bag on my seat—right behind the main stage—and walk back to the photo area; my ticket includes the option to take photos in a Kimono before the show starts.

I’m presented with a few Kimonos to choose from, and of course I pick the red one. It isn’t elaborate, just a top, paired with a green hand fan. The photos are then taken with my phone, this I find a bit disappointing. I’d expected something a bit more professional.

Back at my seat, my eyes glaze around as I wait for the show to start. I’d seen a bag and jacket a few meters away from me when I first arrived. But they’ve since been replaced by a girl—gold slender hair wrapped around an oval face with a straight nose. She’s cute, petite, and sitting alone.

— “Hi, my name’s Edmond…”

— “Hi…”

She says her name. It’s beautiful, I let her know. She’s Russian, here on vacation and when she’s not traveling, she’s modelling.

— “So where are you from?” she asks.

— “Canada,”

— “Oh c’est cool. Alors, le Canada c’est comment?” (Or whatever she says)

It’s a bit hard to hear her over the buzz of the crowd, chatting in anticipation of the show.

— “Is that French?”

— “Yeah,”

— “Yeah... I don’t speak any. But it’s pretty cool that you do!”

She chuckles and explains that her French isn’t that great, but whenever she gets the chance to, she uses it. We have some more small talk and then decide to sit next to each other before the show begins.

Laser lights, immersive Japanese scores, good looking performers in colourful Kimonos, and a great story—about a girl separated from her lover and forced to work in a geisha house—carries the whole thing. There’s little to no dialogue, but the dancing and acting brings the characters to life. The show’s absolutely worth it, and we’re all happy at the end when the girl makes it back to her lover.

After the show, we both take photos with the performers and decide to go for a stroll, since neither of us has anything else planned.

As we walk, we talk about the show. It’s not quite what either of us expected.

—“A lot more clothes on than I imagined,” she says.

I laugh.

—“Exactly!”

We both chuckle.

— “I like your shoes. You look really put together,”

Yes! My suffering has not been in vain. Who needs insulation?

— “Why, thank you. “

— “Have you always been this way? Put together I mean,”

— “I guess, maybe, I don’t know. It’s not something I really think about,”

As we walk past the temples and shrines, looking especially beautiful at night, the conversation drifts towards dating, lovers and everything in between.

— “I’m really into guys with trauma. Like really deep trauma. The deeper the issues, the better,” she says, barely laughing.

Ahh. Pele oo. I haven’t unlocked that level of trauma yet.

— “Interesting,”

Perhaps the comment about my “togetherness” had not been a compliment at all—Damn it!

On the train back to my hostel, moments from the trip bubble to the top of my mind. The immersive experience at TeamLabs, my fall and the Karaoke bar at Golden Gai, the museum, my trip to Mount Fuji, and the people I got to meet and spend time with.

I leave for Takayama tomorrow, and despite all the things I’ve done and experienced, I can’t help but think about all the things I didn’t—Mario Karting through the streets of Tokyo, taking in the city’s skyline from Tokyo Skytree, watching a sumo wrestling match, visiting Studio Ghibli Park, and so on.

Then, I remember the inscription on the exit walls at TeamLabs: