3/13

I've never seen anything remotely like the Tsukiji fish market before in my life: aisles and cramped rows of fish in styrofoam containers, in dizzying quantities and species, some living and some recently living, in varying stages of togetherness. Our presence was tolerated (mostly ignored) as we picked our way carefully through the tight walkways, carefully rounding corners and dodging the treacherous gas powered carts that zipped frighteningly around the market with no regard to human life. Despite the handful of near death experiences, we saw mussels bigger than my head, maguro (tuna) larger than Ben, and a worker pull the whole spine out of a live fish in a single pull. We missed the 5 am auction, but still felt the pounding energy of the marketplace and a deep sense of accomplishment as we sat down to our massive plates of incredibly fresh sashimi at 8 am.

With tummies full of tasty fish, we headed over to the Tokyo-Edo museum. It is a massive structure, with recreated buildings of that period housed inside. We arrived just as the museum opened, and had a quiet half hour to ourselves before the swarms of school children descended. I was very in the historical accounts of life in Tokyo during the fire bombings. Of course I was intellectually aware of the hardships the Japanese citizens faced, but it was a different experience to see photographs from that time of windows being taped to prevent shattering during bomb raids, and read captions about how life changed in the city, and see the school children evacuations (just like in London). I know as a child I learned about how Londoners experienced the war, but never the Japanese citizens. I was also extremely aware of how my presence (as the only American) in that area of the exhibit might be affecting the other museum-goers. Ben felt similarly awkward as he stood next to an elderly Japanese man in front of the Hiroshima exhibit. I can imagine this feeling will be even more prevalent when we actually go to Hiroshima later this month.

After such an intense morning, lunch was definitely in order. Our guidebook pointed us to a local restaurant that catered to sumo wrestlers, and offered plates of traditional training food to the public. We split one order of a giant stew pot filled with 17 different things (almost exclusively protein). I know, it sounds kind of awful, but it was rich and savory, and each ingredient still maintained its identity. I think the reason it was so tasty was a very high bacon:everything else ratio.

We crossed a bridge and were magically back in Asakusa, our part of town. Even though it was barely 1 pm, we were so tuckered out from waking up at 5, so we made a stop at the local supermarket to pick up as many random and bizarre snacks to sample later, and crashed at the lovely ryokan Kamogawa, our second lodging. It is, in a word, heavenly compared out our last place. The rooms all have tatami mat floors, and the futon beds are incredibly soft, with huge puffy comforters on top. Ben and I are planning to stay here on our last leg of the trip.

Asakusa is utterly and somewhat painfully touristy, and we are basically at the epicenter of the action. But I still find this an ideal area, as we are in fact tourists, and the place is bursting with restaurants of all genres, shops, street snacks, and at night the area empties out, allowing us a peaceful night. Our ultimate find nearby is an ice cream shop. They boast organic ingredients, and have purely japanese flavors like purple yam, sake (the drink, not salmon), sakura, pumpkin (kambocha), sesame, and carrot! We've been two nights in a row, and have only come away with a deep sense of awe. My favorites have been the carrot and kambocha. I feel it is my mission to promote the adorable shop, and see it find it's rightful fame in a guidebook or resource site.

After a restful afternoon, we made our way to a modern art museum on the top floor of the highest building in Tokyo! It was basically as cool as it sounds. There were panoramic views of the city, and it was completely shocking to see the spread lights of a bustling city, stretched farther than we could see into the foggy dark.