tokyo’s cold embrace: surviving the 7.7°c haze with a sesame oil drizzle

tokyo, where i learned that 7.7°c feels like a slap from the void. the air here is so wet you could probably shuck an oyster off a mannequin. i wrapped myself in a kotatsu the size of a casket in some dive bar and ordered a cup of miso ramen that came with a side of existential dread. it was-pro tip, escape-still lukewarm by the time the booth shook loose from its cobwebs.

i slipped past a man in a yakuza flickr jacket who stared at my passport like it owed him money. the bartender whispered, ‘some folks say if you find the izakaya with the katakana-english menu hidden in the woods, they’ll throw in a second chopstick.’ i didn’t find it. instead, i got robbed by a raccoon dog pretending to sell off-brand matcha lattes.

*shiromine mountain was supposed to be my zen retreat, but the trailhead turned into a punk concert with teens chugging beer and belting to a generator. i overheard a girl claim her grandma’s red lantern recipe takes 17 years to ferment. hard to argue when the neighbors kept screaming about tsunami nineties. the map app glitched, dropping me into a karaoke bar that plays 90s boyband mashups. still, i’m glad i checked those stupid hyperlocal reviews. farmer yamaguchi from the izakaya said the same thing-about the boyband place-while serving me a bowl of miso that tasted like regret.

if you’re here and the soukans are howling, catch a festival at ueno. the one with the float bigger than a truck won’t make you feel small. (it will make you feel the need to lie about how many you’ve done). locals warned me not to trust the man in the parka selling sunflowers. i didn’t. he just winked and charged me the price of a train ticket.






[the subway here is like a subway but with more people and less time. take my word for it.] someone nearly sold me a fake kimono that folded into a passport holder. said it was ‘handmade by the dictator’s niece.’ would’ve bought it if not for the marker stains.

hidden gem: the pancake shop in shimokitazawa. it’s actually just a guy in a lab coat who burns every third order. tip: go at noon or it sells out. also, wear waterproof boots*. the tree roots here chew through shoes like they’re vendetta victims.

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