Upon arrival at Haneda Airport, after a sleepless 11-hour flight, my brother and I come to the realization that Japan will be a different kind of trip...The first sign is the lack of English (gasp!) on the airport signs, which to our bewilderment are primarily occupied by colorful kana characters. Next, comes the money issue––which given our affinity for Asian mom-and-pop restaurants should have come as no surprise––being that in Japan, real (read: tangible) money is used, rather than credit cards. You might say we are a little unprepared, but as any good traveler knows, all you can do is roll with the tide. And so we do, on a bullet train all the way to Kyoto.
In two hours time, we travel 264 kilometers, marveling at swiftly passing fields, trees, and rolling hills that span the gamut of green, like a biased kaleidoscope. I watch small factory towns blur against the backdrop of fluffy clouds, sipping on a cold can of Asahi beer, barefoot and sleepy, blending in with the local commuters. A short taxi ride from the station brings us to the bamboo-lined driveway of our home away from home, Four Seasons Hotel Kyoto. Beneath an origami-like porte-cochère, helpful attendants greet us with deep bows and guide us from check-in to our room. Walking through the lobby of the contemporary hotel, elements of the Japanese tradition echo from corner-to-corner of the open space; bouncing off one wall’s washi paper motif onto a rock-formation sculpture across the lobby. It’s all in the details, and they are everywhere.
A short elevator ride takes us to the fifth floor, which happens to be the top floor in an effort to preserve the hotel’s priceless backdrop, the Higashiyama mountain range. Our room is everything I was craving: a blend of minimalism and traditional elements like natural wood panels, tatami walls, and the unobstructed view of the hotel’s epicenter––an 800-year-old pond garden that once belonged to a powerful Samurai family. A convenient in-room bar doubles as a tea station, that we dive into immediately. We take our steaming ceramic cups to the balcony to soak in the tranquil scene, before succumbing to much-needed rest.
Being in the coveted temple district comes with an extra perk: unspoken energy––the vibrations of history and ancient power––echoing all around, and the day’s pouring rain makes it that much more poignant. No matter the unexpected change in weather, exploration is on the agenda, right after a serious breakfast at Brasserie. The open-spaced restaurant on the first floor of the hotel is all options, in both seating and cuisine. Between the bar, pond-facing terrace, and loungey leather seats that invite you for a read (or a whiskey), we go with option three. Wood details are everywhere; a rich cypress table, woven-wood accent balls atop icy marble, and floor-to-ceiling beams in minimal design fill the lit-up space. The buffet has it all. There’s an array of unique juices, French pastries, fruit galore, eggs cooked any way your heart desires, and traditional Japanese breakfast dishes. I break up my routine and try a miso soup, broiled salmon, and a matcha-glazed croissant, which tastes a lot better than it looks. Lastly, I spring for a yuzu juice, having never heard of such a fruit before. My unsuspecting taste buds are awakened by a piercing tang interlaced with honey undertones. I must say, it’s more efficient than coffee. Once my brother gets his fix of exotic fruit and treats, we head off.
The neighborhood is scattered with ancient shrines and relics which, combined with the narrow streets and low walkways, truly gives the impression we’re time-traveling. While in search of the famed Kennin-ji Temple, we stumble upon a boar sculpture outside a courtyard. It turns out the Go’o Shrine, which is filled with wild boar icons, is said to bring victory, particularly in school or business, explains a local visitor. Thankfully the woman also explains how to “pray” in the shrine, as English descriptions (or WiFi hotspots) are nowhere to be found in Kyoto. Fitting, given it is one of the best-preserved, traditional cities in the country. Between snapping photos and avoiding puddles, we talk and laugh, admiring the surprising amount of women in kimonos. Silky “wearable art”––as they are considered in Japan––adds pops of color with cherry blossom and crane patterns, to an otherwise muted, rainy day. We later learn from the hotel concierge that young couples (and friends) dress up in traditional Japanese attire for photos, and to explore the old capital in style.
Kennin-ji Temple is filled with school children on field trips in varying uniforms, spread out like teams across the gleaming courtyard. In spite of the busyness, the oldest Zen temple in Kyoto has an air of serenity. Even the crowds somehow keep to a whisper without anyone implementing a rule––a testament to the well-mannered Japanese culture. Strolling through various halls, gardens, and meditation rooms calms my ever-running mind, but not my hungry stomach. The overflow of newness combined with walking everywhere, which I never do back home, has me tired and ready for a meal. We flag down a taxi, say the name of our hotel, and without any other words (since we have yet to master any Japanese), are whisked away to our oasis.
In keeping with local tradition, my brother and I begin our evening at the onsite teahouse, just a glass bridge away from the main grounds. After 5 p.m. the scene transforms into a sort of happy hour with sake and Champagne being offered en lieu of tea. A dewy petrichor hangs in the air, as ready-to-set sun rays glisten over the koi pond. Like the rising bubbles in our crystal flutes, we too become revived, just in time for a seasonally inspired dining experience at the Brasserie. From a creamy burrata salad to saffron-foam topped scallops, the preparation, fusion of cuisines, and service are five stars.
A trip to Kyoto isn’t complete without a visit to the iconic (and as of late, Instagram famous) Fushimi Inari Shrine. Although fashion bloggers often reduce the site to snapshots of seemingly never-ending torii gates dripping in glossy vermillion paint, there’s more to it. The hike up sacred Mount Inari is busy––New York City subway busy––but the resulting mellow pace is part of the appeal. I marvel at the grandiose main gate, bright and beautiful, as we climb the winding path to the top. Sub-shrines and fox sculptures fill the grounds paying homage to Inari, the god of the rice harvest, commerce, and business. The torii gates along the trail are donations from Japanese businesses and individuals thanking the kami for their prosperity. The top of the hike provides sweeping views of the city below. It’s the perfect way to say farewell to the former capital.
I assumed the most impressive thing I would see this day was Mt. Fuji––whose snowy peak floats above fluffy clouds, even in May––as we zoom along to Tokyo on yet another bullet train. The Ritz-Carlton Tokyo shatters that belief with the swift swing of its colossal glass doors. Nothing says “luxury” quite like a Bvlgari shop in the lobby...We are guided from the elevator, through an opulent main lobby, which holds a café, a bar with nearly 400 varieties of whiskey, a painting so grand it had to be brought in through a crane, and live music. Yet, we’re off to another elevator for the Club Level, on the 53rd floor! We pick a cozy spot near a tall window and are given delicious green apple matchas––talk about checking-in, in style. The “library lounge,” with over 200 books on Japanese culture, design, and cuisine, wins me over with panoramic views, and an East-meets-West aesthetic. Although we planned to explore before dinner, the unbeatable comfort of the Lounge wins us over with complimentary cocktails, hors d’ oeuvres, and an unobstructed view of the growing Olympic stadium, as the sunset bleeds into pastel strokes across the skyline.
A quick stop at our Imperial Palace facing room, and it’s time for dinner at Towers, one of the hotel’s seven restaurants. The service here aims to please, with even banal details like the menu, being custom-made with our names atop the seasonally inspired five-course omakase. The sleek and modern design of the space strategically incorporates aspects of the kimono, which are scattered throughout the hotel grounds, on plush velvet pillows and romantically lit lampshades. It’s no wonder the table next to ours chose Towers as the location for their proposal. My admiration is interrupted––a welcome interruption––by a king crab appetizer. From the zest of pickled turnips to the indisputable freshness of the crab, the dish is a 10/10. Next on the menu is a delectable scallop confit topped with smoked eel and caviar, this is the Ritz after all. My made-to-order (by the restaurant manager himself) gin and tonic arrives just in time for the Kuroge Wagyu Tenderloin. A must-eat while in Japan, it absolutely exceeds my expectations, with even the marbling melting like theme park cotton candy.
A bubble bath and deep sleep (thank you blackout drapes!) later, my brother and I make our way back to the lounge for delicious made-to-order omelettes, before reluctantly leaving our cloud nine (or cloud 53...) for the real world. There’s no better place than the Shibuya ward to experience the vibrant culture and style of Tokyo. The neighborhood is filled with trendy shops, cafés, and people, so many people. Local fashionistas strut down bustling streets in stacked platforms, their technicolor doll-like curls bouncing in unison with the swing of boutique bags. A quick stop at Totti Candy Factory for an Instagrammable treat, and we arrive at the famous Shibuya Station intersection. With the switch of the light seemingly hundreds of people pour in from every side; businessmen, tourists, and uniform-clad teens defining organized chaos. It’s invigorating to be a part of the madness, but not for the easily anxious. To counter the rush of the crowd we escape to Yoyogi Park, which feels like the Central Park of Tokyo. But, the place I find peace is the neighboring Meiji Shrine. Juxtaposed against a hectic backdrop, the lush, shaded grounds radiate an air of serenity, unlike anything else I experienced in Tokyo. This is the place to recharge from nature, in-between sightseeing.
Having connected with a friend of a friend before our departure, we meet our Tokyo insider at the Lounge (where else?). Over sushi and skewers at Gonpachi Nishiazabu, where Kill Bill was filmed, Astushi gives us the cultural rundown from traditions to social norms, and the millennial scene of Japan. Since “going out” starts closer to midnight we share stories over cocktails, making new international friends, as we hop from one bar to the next. Somehow being too early turns into 1 o’clock: time to bite the bullet, and hit the club...And just like that, I twirl down the fluorescent-pink hallway of 1OAK Tokyo, like Alice, in my very own Japanese wonderland. Sometimes, you have to go down the rabbit hole. There, at the “best table,” I discover that hot nightclubs transcend cultural norms and language barriers; it’s still models and bottles, and the bass of Top 100 hits vibrating from the DJ booth. I choose not to fight it. I melt into the moment, dancing the night away, right into dawn. Not much else compares to the high of dancing for hours and emerging into the real world at sunrise, with the brisk morning air jolting you awake to really see the faded tie-dye sky. The downside to this marvel is of course that you’re bound to sleep through lunch. But, c’est la vie.
We emerge from the solace of our room just in time for afternoon tea at the Lounge (it always has our back), before taking a taxi to the Shinjuku ward, which holds the world’s busiest railway station and most of Tokyo’s tallest buildings. We explore the red light district in the unforgiving daylight, peeking into obscure shops and grungy bars before popping in for a quick tour of Yayoi Kusama Museum. Although the day is a little rushed, it feels right, as if we have adjusted to the quick pace of our environment.
Astushi meets us in Ginza for real omakase sushi at Sushidokoro Ishihara, in honor of our last night. Chef Satoshi Sato surprises us with 14 plates of delectable tuna, salmon, uni, eel, abalone, and multiple Japanese fish I had never heard of. Although we are exhausted and full, we get dragged to a “hostess bar” a few blocks away. It’s late, but Friday nights are for unwinding even in a country where the average workday ends closer to 10 p.m. Typically composed professionals are swaying through the lit-up streets; laughing, joking, and connecting in a language I cannot understand. But the body language is the same––they’re drunk, and they’re happy: they deserve it. No matter the day or time, there are always crowds moving in unison, against a cacophony of cars driving, honking, zooming past blurring faces. It’s all in flux, and at the same time, nothing is changing.
On the way to the airport I’m hit with nostalgia, as I replay the past six days. Was Japan––from its historically rich old capital to its electrifying new leader––the trip I expected? No, it was better. As opposed to following a strict schedule I got to live in the cities, to experience their essence, while having my brother by my side making me laugh nonstop. The good, bad, and unforgettable moments are the ones that count, and so does going with the flow in both travel and life. Although I learned about the customs and fell in love with the dynamic cities, there is so much more to see and experience. This is an “until next time,” kind of goodbye, but for now “Arigato Japan,” because that’s the only word I learned to pronounce...
Originally published in Santa Barbara Life & Style Magazine's September/October 2019 issue.
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