Tokyo is the largest metropolitan in the world with scenes ranging from neon-lit skyscrapers to historic temples. Tokyo is a luring landscape for the generation coming of age, Generation Z. With anime, once reserved for ultra-geeks in the western world is now dominant in pop culture and mainstream media. Is Generation Z transfixed by Tokyo and Japanese culture because Tokyo is the epicentre for emerging technology? Canon, Fujitsu, Panasonic, and Nintendo being big brands there? Is it because popular YouTubers like PewDiePie are romanticising Japan? Or are we all simply a bit sick of western culture and media? Could be a combination. This piece will consider the aspects of Tokyo that draw young people in and its realities from my limited experience visiting the country.
Before my trip, the things my 19-year-old self associated with Japan were, samurais, Pokémon, sushi and Harajuku girls.
My trip to Japan
Leaving the Tokyo airport I spotted a typical pristine Japanese vending machine with an abundance of drinks from fruity juices to canned coffee, that magically came out hot? Looking at this machine and all its colours (alluring compared to the Coca Cola promoting snack machines at home) I thought about the rumours of strange and unique vending machines in Japan that were said to dispense socks, rice, and heads of lettuce and live beetles. The next thing I knew my family and I were picked up from the airport in a Sanrio themed bus and taken to our hotel in the business district of Minato.
That first night in the dazzling city, while my cousin fixed his new laptop, his girlfriend Tahlia and I embarked on a journey out into wider Tokyo. Emerging out of our hotel under darkness the streets were eerily quiet, with a mixture of shiny new and crumbly buildings reaching high above us, we made our way to the water and spotted a 7-ELEVEN. With coloured drinks, mini sushi packs and mesmerizing manga organized carefully, I didn’t know what to make of the place. We crossed the Yokosuka line and drank jellied fruit juices on a ledge overlooking a canal. Slightly jet-lagged and swinging our legs we talked about cities, Melbourne her home, London and the city before us, Tokyo. We looked out at its large expanse and considered it strangely dim for a city at nighttime. I wondered what we would face when the sun rose.
In the morning, venturing out to the train station we saw a migration of Japanese business people, hastily heading to work. They were all dressed in prim black suits, had sharp haircuts and were shorter in size compared to the towering heights of my father and uncle. The scene felt dystopian and clone-like compared to the relaxed attire that New Zealanders wear, which features an array of individualising colours and styles. I noticed a few people wearing facemasks and this was early 2019, long before whispers of COVID19. I thought about how polite it is that Japanese people wear a mask if they have a cold or maybe it’s a reflection of their priority to work, even over sickness? On the train, once we’d taken an eternity to figure out which line to take, my father spoke loudly and jovially to me and my mother trying to tease us or whatever else he could do to cause a fuss. Mum went bright red, elbowing his ribs and shushing him, feeling the collective presence of the Japanese people with their heads bowed down, in complete silence. No smiles. No one talking. A looming announcement about refraining from talking on the phone playing above us.
We were meandering down the street because my family never has a plan when we stumbled upon a small and intentionally simple ramen shop. Here you clicked buttons like a vending machine to order your ramen and pay. Limited human interaction, you even clear your plates after. Best ramen ever.
Shibuya was madness, with packed streets, and overflows of people crossing the five-way Shibuya crossing. Glimmering arcades filled with claw machines and Nintendo themed games were frequent sights in this district. Many people wore designer clothes, and a fun sight was the tourists in Mario character costumes driving Mario karts down the road.
The next day we took the bullet train to Myoko. Many passengers had convenient bento boxes perched on their tray tables. The train went up to speeds of 320kms and seemed to blur time. Out the window, the scenic views were disrupted and fragmented. Looking out too long would give you a headache. I read a book instead.
Our week in Myoko to ski, was dispersed with short trips to the rural towns. They felt like liminal spaces, slow, void of people. As if Tokyo took up all the time and energy from the rest of Japan to keep its city lights and claw machines glowing.
This trip passed like the scenery looking out the bullet train, a blur. I look at the pictures, not entirely sure I was present. I bizarrely took a photo of a young Japanese boy playing on a Nintendo Switch with a small robot pal sitting in his lap. I peruse the pictures of the multitudes of glowing lamps from our visit to the BORDERLESS digital art exhibit. Considering Tokyo is so expansive and how we only skimmed the surface of what it truly is.
Since the trip my interest in Japanese literature has only grown. I am fascinated by how these authors do what western authors cannot, discus the disconcerting, discuss the morbid. I seek out good ramen places, getting closer to finding an adequate place but still miles from finding anywhere that compares to the train station ramen at that one place I went to in Toyko.
In reflection I am happy to participate in the collective awe of Japanese culture and hope I can visit Japan again soon.