The traveler and the woman agreed to meet at the Hachiko statue—a cliché but perhaps appropriate as well. It’s a spot where countless stories converge. People from all walks of life gather here, each waiting for someone or something, yet never knowing quite what might happen. Among the countless stories that unfold here, theirs is just another in the ever-growing anthology of Shibuya mornings.
It’s Sunday morning, but the area is alive with a pulse that never quite slows down. Tourists with smartphones jostle for selfies with the faithful dog, while others scan their maps, deciding which part of the city to conquer next.
The traveler arrives a little early, blending into the swirl of the crowd. He takes in the scene as he strolls around the plaza. Across the way, Shibuya Crossing is in full swing—waves of pedestrians surging across the intersection from all directions. It’s a mesmerizing, choreographed chaos.
He stops near the edge of the crowd, searching for a good vantage point to take a picture. There’s something magnetic about the crossing, like a stage where every individual plays a fleeting role. As he frames his shot with his phone, he wonders how many encounters have started here, under the watchful gaze of Hachiko and amidst the energy of the city.
The traveler has been gearing up for this trip for weeks, checking out Pinterest for ideas for a Tokyo photo shoot, something he’s wanted to do since college. One night, while casually browsing an app meant to connect visitors with locals, he came across the woman’s profile. There was just something about her warmth and enthusiasm that really caught his attention. Their chats, run through Google Translate, showed they both loved food and were on the hunt for Tokyo’s hidden treasures. It was great that she was up for being a model for that photo shoot. Before long, they decided to meet up in Shibuya, excited to explore the city together.
Click. The crowd shifts a little, and he catches sight of her weaving through the people. She arrives exactly on schedule, her grin cutting through the commotion like a calm breeze. The morning is filled with possibilities, and they are about to write their own little story together.
“Samui desu!” he exclaims nervously as he pockets his phone. His broken Japanese stutters as he gestures to the cold in the air.
Her eyes light up with recognition as she says enthusiastically, “Yes! Samui!”
They exchange a few hesitant words before the traveler asks whether he can take a picture of her alongside Hachiko. She grins and nods as they join the line of others waiting for their turn with the statue. An elderly lady notices them and assumes they are a couple, so she eagerly steps in to offer to take their picture together. The traveler is hesitant.
“Is it okay with you?” he asks the woman.
“Of course,” she assures him with an excited smile. “Let’s go have our picture taken!”
She hands the lady her phone and positions herself on Hachiko’s left. The traveler on the right. They smile for the lady. As the camera clicks, a feeling of ease envelops them.
Afterwards, the traveler retrieves his phone from his pocket and requests her to pose at the edge of Shibuya Crossing, that legendary site where the energy of the city truly flourishes. He captures a few relaxed images before transitioning to long exposure, creating a dynamic, nearly surreal atmosphere around her. He presses the button again and again. He seizes the fleeting moment where she stands still in a whirlwind of constant motion—an accurate representation of Tokyo itself.
Once he is satisfied with the shots, they start to navigate the bustling streets, eventually drifting into a serene alley, drawn by the promise of a meal at the shokudo they planned to visit. They stroll into the labyrinthine streets of Shibuya’s quiet neighborhoods—two strangers exploring the city, discovering aspects of themselves in one another amidst Tokyo’s charm and craziness.
The traveler arrived in Tokyo the day before, a Saturday. Another hectic intersection, another pulse of life. A different spot in Tokyo, lively in its own way. Big billboards hanging over busy streets, where pop culture and the unexpected rule.
Akihabara.
Before making his way from Shinjuku Station to his hotel in Asakusa, he hopped off the train and into the colorful world of the ward’s geek culture. Huge buildings packed with manga and collectibles, every corner just begging to be explored. He dropped off his luggage in a coin locker, happy to immediately score an empty spot.
He noticed women in maid outfits, passing out flyers with their well-rehearsed smiles. Feeling a bit curious, he walked over to one, asking if he could snap a picture, but she kindly refused. No pictures allowed—just a quick peek at Akihabara’s charm, just beyond his grasp.
He wandered deeper into the area, his steps taking him by colorful shops filled with manga and huge displays of Final Fantasy stuff. He could hear the chatter of fans as they explored the shelves. He then sent a picture of the place to a gamer friend. The response he got made him grin: “You’re a lucky SOB.” He got a bit sentimental, though, subtly feeling the loneliness that came with his solo walk.
As he continued his stroll, he spotted a group of kart drivers—those brave folks in their racing gear, engines revving and ready to zoom through the lively streets of Tokyo. With a playful glint in his eyes, he watched as a few of them get ready for a race, their faces lit up with serious determination.
In a realm where the boundaries of fantasy and reality beautifully intertwine, the possibilities are endless. Here, one has the chance to transform into anyone or anything, if only for a brief, enchanting moment.
The traveler is a bit disoriented. He doesn’t quite know where he is, though it’s only a 10-minute walk from Shibuya Crossing. The menu is handwritten in kanji, and for all he knows, it might just be a list of poetry titles or local haikus. The quaint shokudo is nestled in the basement of a building in a quiet alley, easily overlooked by those who aren’t paying attention. It’s humble—barely large enough to fit more than a handful of diners who sit close together, surrounding a trio of chefs working in steady, synchronized motion behind the counter.
There’s a queue outside, so the traveler and the woman fall in line. Tokyo in January is really cold, and at any time of the year, it can feel a little intense too. But right now, the traveler feels oddly calm. He has the woman next to him to thank for that. Wrapped in her black long-sleeved shirt and gray skirt, she possesses a gentle warmth. She points to two stickers on the shokudo’s door, each flexing the restaurant’s Michelin rating. She puts her hands on her hips and tells him with a delighted smile, “I told you this is a popular restaurant.”
Her confidence, showing even in the smallest gestures, instantly puts him at ease. The quiet confidence that radiates from her—his compass and brunch companion for this morning—feels like it can transform the most bustling, frigid corners of Tokyo into havens of warmth and welcome. It’s this reason this unfamiliar situation feels beautifully intimate.
It takes about half an hour, but once the seats open up, they take two of the empty spots at the far end of the counter. The woman orders for the two of them. The chefs then move with practiced accuracy. Their hands turn into a blur as they prepare and serve bowls at the same time. The scent of freshly cooked rice and bubbling broth fills the cramped space. The gentle clinking of bowls and the rhythmic chop of knives come together in a soothing melody. It’s a comforting sound, especially with their meal on the way.
Two bowls of rice are placed in front of them, each adorned with delicate flakes of katsuobushi—those lovely bonito flakes that dance gently on the warm surface, releasing a fragrant aroma that pairs beautifully with the mild sweetness of soy sauce. The meal comes with three interesting side dishes. One looks a lot like a spoonful of tuna spread, while the other two are a bit of a mystery to him.
With a pinch of rice using his chopsticks, the traveler encounters a neat fusion of flavors that achieves a balance between simplicity and indulgence. The meal grounds him in the moment. He casts a sideways peek at the woman, who is smiling as she enjoys her food. She eats with a quiet focus, relishing each bite and exuding satisfaction.
She glances up and notices him staring. She smiles gently, her eyes shining with warmth. “Do you like it?” she asks in a bright, joyful tone, her voice gentle yet distinct.
He nods. A slight smile forms on his lips. “Oishi,” he says in bad Japanese accent, and her soft and sincere laughter fills the silence between them.
She leans forward slightly. She puts her arms on the counter, and her eyes have a playful glitter in them. “It’s really fills you up, doesn’t it?” she asks. A knowing smile spreads across her lips.
He chuckles. “Yeah, exactly.”
She catches his gaze and grins. “Why are you smiling like that?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. You’re just… kirei”
The traveler holds his breath. I shouldn’t have said that.
“Really?” she chirps. “Thank you!”
The traveler manages to exhale.
“You’re handsome, too,” she adds.
He shyly smiles as her words vividly hang in the air for a moment.
“Arigato gozaimasu,” he finally responds.
In his desire to quickly shift the topic, his mind drifts to the previous afternoon, remembering a place he visited. “You’ve been to Senso-ji?” he asks.
She nods, her eyes glazing over for a second, lost in thought. “Yeah. I was with my friends. It was crowded, but magical—like I’m in another version of Tokyo.” She smiles softly, almost wistfully. “We found a little stand selling these prayer strips, and I wrote something on it—nothing major, just a wish for something to look forward to. It felt… special.”
The traveler listens intently. There’s something about the way she speaks, so vividly and yet so casually, that makes him feel as though he’s right there with her, standing in that temple, soaking in the sights, sounds, and scents.
“Sugoi,” he says quietly, not even realizing he’s spoken aloud.
Her smile returns, shy yet radiant. “Yes, sugoi. Moments like that, they stay with you. Even now, whenever I think of Tokyo, I think of those little unexpected places—where you find something, but it feels like something finds you too.”
Asakusa was a more traditional contrast to Akihabara. Whereas Akihabara buzzed with the energy of electronics and pop culture, Asakusa was steeped in history and tradition. And it’s where the cheap hotels, including his, are.
The subway ride from Akihabara wasn’t long, and before he knew it, he was walking through the streets. He soon arrived at his hotel in a quiet area–far enough to be insulated from the bustle of the tourist area but close enough to be of walking distance from it. After checking in and relaxing for a half hour, he went back out and headed to the Senso-ji Temple.
The alleys leading up to the temple grew increasingly alive with energy—tourists, both Japanese and foreign, milling about, many of them dressed in traditional kimonos, their vibrant colors standing out against the worn wooden shops and lanterns. It was an entertaining sight, somewhat like walking into a living postcard. He moved through the crowd, taking his time to enjoy the atmosphere—the talk of fellow tourists, the aroma of street food mixed with incense, the clinking of coins as people made offerings at the small shrines. He reached the main gate, the vivid red Kaminarimon, pausing to take in the hustle and colorful spectacle in front of him.
From there, he climbed to the top of the Asakusa Tourist Center. The view from there was breathtaking—a sweeping panorama of the ward stretching out before him, a mix of traditional rooftops and modern skyscrapers. Tokyo’s background, a symphony of steel and glass, was striking from a distance. The traveler paused to savor the sight of a city caught between its ancient history and the unrelenting advance of modernity. As the sun started to sink below the horizon, the sky took on stunning orange and purple hues. As he stood there, mesmerized by the amazing scene, he felt a strange mix of sadness and joy, knowing that his time in Japan was coming to an end.
After that, he walked along the Sumida River to get away from the hustle. In the stillness of the twilight, the river stretched out before him. The final rays of sunshine reflected on the surface. The hum of the city died away here, leaving just the calm lapping of water and talks between boatmen preparing their vessels for the evening ride. He took a big breath and felt solid for a moment. This ephemeral tranquility was worth a longer pause.
As darkness fell, he returned to the city. He decided to try this small gyukatsu restaurant, where a long queue had formed by the roadside. He remained patiently in line. After an hour, one of the staff led him to his seat. And a few more minutes later, he received his order: a single beef cutlet with rice and miso soup. The food exceeded his expectations. The smooth, golden-brown meat crumbled easily in his mouth, leaving a flavor that remained long after the last bite.
With his phone’s battery dead and Google Maps unusable, he made his way back to the hotel using only his recollection and the meager illumination of the streetlights. As he walked away from the center, the energy of Asakusa steadily became distant and seemed to fade until the city became dark and eerily quiet.
The woman picks up a small amount of the side dish and pops it into her mouth, chewing slowly. She tilts her head a bit, almost like she’s enjoying the feel of it. “I love these,” she says softly, almost as if she’s just thinking out loud rather than talking to him. “They take me back to my mom’s cooking.”
He looks at her. “Your mom?” he asks.
She smiles, her expression warming as she lets out a wistful sigh. “Yeah, she used to whip up meals for me when I was a kid. Nothing fancy, but they’re made with love.” Her eyes light up for a moment with a touch of nostalgia, but that feeling is soon replaced by a soft warmth. She has this knack for making even the tiniest things feel really special.
He grabs his own side dish, and it brings back a little something in his heart. “I get that. It’s about that feeling, right? It’s about the memories that come with it.”
She beams a bit more, grateful for his understanding. “Exactly. Food connects us to moments we’ve shared.”
An unspoken connection between them lingers just long enough to make the place around them feel a little quieter and a little slower. Contented with the meal, they sit back.
As they finish their meal, the traveler leans back slightly, the warmth of the food settling in his stomach. He glances at the woman, who is carefully placing her chopsticks across the rim of her empty rice bowl. She looks up and smiles. Her face glows with a quiet satisfaction.
“That was really good,” he says. His words are slow and deliberate, as though savoring them like the meal they just shared.
The woman nods, her hands resting lightly on the counter. “Simple is best sometimes, isn’t it?” she replies, her tone soft, almost wistful.
The traveler looks around the small shokudo, taking in the bustling atmosphere. The chefs are already clearing up the counter as they prepare for the next wave of customers. He turns back to her. “Shall we go somewhere for coffee?” he asks, hesitant but hopeful.
Her eyes brighten, and she tilts her head slightly, as if considering the idea. “Yes, let’s do that,” she says with a smile. “Let’s find a peaceful spot for coffee.”
Sunday for the traveler started just after sunrise at Meiji-Jingu Shrine, a peaceful sanctuary in the middle of Harajuku. The entry is marked by towering torii gates, their imposing presence serving as a reminder of the holiness within. The traveler strolled down the gravel path flanked by plants that are lush despite the frigid and dry winter air. As he walked, his steps produced a rhythmic crunch that seemed to radiate throughout the serene woodland.
He paused by the entrance of the temple. Inside, a sizable crowd had gathered around the main altar to offer prayers and make wishes. He lingered for a bit to watch them. As he was leaving, he turned to face the gate, bowed his head, and clapped twice in silent prayer, not for anything specific, but to just show respect for the place.
He exited the shrine and followed the people to Omotesando, a popular boulevard bustling with activity. The contrast is striking: whilst Meiji-Jingu provided that connection with nature and the spiritual realm, Omotesando dazzled with new boutiques and avant-garde architecture. He strolled down the tree-lined boulevard, admiring the window displays that combine high fashion with funny art.
The boulevard was quieter than anticipated, with most shops still closed and their elegant façade reflecting the early morning light. A few early risers sauntered casually, occasionally pausing to take photos of the desolate avenue. A couple in casual wear shared a quiet conversation as they ambled past, their voices low against the soft hum of the city waking up.
The traveler lingered for a moment, absorbing the subdued energy. Without the usual throng, Omotesando felt almost dreamlike—a stage set awaiting its fashionable cast of characters. He took a deep breath, relishing the tranquility before Tokyo’s pulse quickens with the day’s beat.
He considered going deeper, perhaps dropping into one of the strange side streets to get a better look at the neighborhood’s renowned weirdness. But the thought of being late for the meeting ahead made him hesitate. He checked the time. It was still early, but he nonetheless decided to head to Shibuya.
The woman leads the way, her movements light and unhurried. The traveler follows her pace. His hands are tucked into his jacket pockets. The silence between them feels natural, like there’s a link that connects them without the need for words.
His voice then cuts through the silence. “So where are we going?”
She turns to him and says, “There is a café near the station. It’s not big, but I hear it serves good coffee. And it’s quiet. I think we’ll enjoy it.”
They continue to navigate their way through the scaffoldings, the footbridges, and the escalators, going in and out of adjoining buildings. The woman pauses as she checks Google Maps on her phone again.
“This is a new building,” she notes, trying to explain why it seems they’re going around in circles. “Actually, it’s my first time to see this, so I kind of got lost.”
“Well, it’s my first time in all of Tokyo, so I’m not much of a help,” he tells her. She chuckles.
Thankfully, the woman finally locates what she’s looking for just a few moments later. She points to a small café tucked into a side street, its chic exterior a welcoming sight in the chill of the morning. A sign sits over the door, and through the glass, they can see a few customers sitting at wooden tables, each engrossed in their own world.
The traveler holds the door wide for her, and the mild aroma of roasted beans envelopes them as they enter. The café is just what she described—small, cozy, and inviting. They chose a table near the window, with the calm hum of conversation and faint tones of jazz piano music providing a soothing background.
At the counter, the traveler observes her studying the menu. She’s focused, her brow furrowing slightly in concentration, and he can’t help but smile at the sight.
“What will you have?” he asks, his voice light with curiosity.
“Hmmm,” she says, undecided. She scratches her chin.
“I’ll have the matcha latte,” he says, more to himself than to her.
“Then I’ll have that one, too.”
Minutes later, two steaming cups are presented to them, each topped with a heart-shaped swirl of foam.
“Two hearts!” she squeals, making a heart with her fingers. Her passion is so genuine, so effortlessly delightful, that the traveler can’t help but laugh.
“You’re so kawaii,” he says.
“Oh, thank you,” she responds.
They settle into the warmth of the café. As they sip their coffee, the rich, warming aroma around them provides a welcome contrast to the cold morning outside.
The traveler observes her from the rim of his cup, her eyes drawn to the windows, where Shibuya’s buildings form amusing reflections on the glass. He feels a quiet satisfaction settle in—a moment that requires no words, only the comfort of shared presence.
Two hearts, he thinks, realizing the amusing serendipity of it all.
Toward the end of their drinks, the traveler and the woman find themselves talking about Shibuya—its lively streets, hidden corners, and where to find the best food. He asks her for advice about the sites that only locals seem to know. She giggles as she pulls out her phone and lists a number of cozy cafés and popular ramen places, pausing occasionally to consider which are genuinely worth sharing.
“This one is a favorite of mine,” she says, showing him her phone, which is displaying the Instagram page of a coffee shop. She then reads the name aloud, pronouncing it with her Japanese accent.
The traveler repeats the name, matching her tone, and she laughs, nodding. It’s a small, lighthearted moment, but it feels intimate—like she’s letting him in on a little piece of her Tokyo.
Back at the Hachiko statue, the city swirls around them, a current of strangers moving in all directions. A cliché, perhaps, but beneath the gaze of the faithful dog who waited a lifetime for a moment that never came, they are reminded that some encounters are destined to end in partings.
They promise to keep in touch. They won’t—not in any meaningful way. Life will sweep them along separate paths, as it always does with fleeting connections. But in this moment, they mean it.
In the days to come, he will find himself replaying little details: the clatter of bowls in the shokudo, the crisp air of the quiet streets they wandered, the laughter over heart-shaped foam.
Years from now, the memory may blur, folding into the patchwork of his time in Japan. Or perhaps, it will vividly stand apart—the morning he spent with a bubbly, kawaii woman who, for a brief moment in Tokyo, felt like the beginning of something beautiful.
Other Almost 40 in Japan Posts
- Starting the Journey in Osaka
- Sampling Osaka’s Flavors in Dotonbori
- Navigating Kyoto’s Charms and Crowds
- Meeting a Geisha Up Close in Kyoto
- Savoring Kanazawa’s Edo Charm (and Gold Leaf Ice Cream)
- Letting It Go In Shirakawa-go’s Winter Wonderland
- Wandering Through Takayama’s Timeless Allure
- Witnessing a Shinhotaka Ropeway Virtual Whiteout
- Soaking In Hirayu Onsen’s Relaxing Waters
The Tourist Gaze 