Tokyo, on Foot

We reached the city around nine on a weekday evening. The station was still crowded with people in dark suits, some stopping to bow to one another before heading in different directions. After a long journey, I found myself watching these departures as closely as the signs overhead.

I had come to Tokyo partly for its design. The restraint, the contrasts of colour, the apparent confidence of a simple composition: these were things I had admired from a distance. Now there was a whole city around them, moving at its own pace.

First impressions in Ginza

The car door opened automatically, a small detail that felt remarkable at the time. We were driven to Ginza, where the order of the streets made an immediate impression. It was tempting to let that first view stand for the entire city. Over the following two weeks, Tokyo became less tidy in my imagination and much more interesting.

The strongest memories are ordinary ones. Sushi at the fish market. A warm wipe arriving at a restaurant table. Taking off my shoes before entering particular dining and religious spaces. Some things I noticed as a visitor were simply the arrangements of everyday life for the people around me.

What came home

The habit of removing my shoes stayed with me after the trip. It was a modest change, but it made the boundary between the street and home feel more deliberate.

That is the kind of souvenir I value: something absorbed almost without noticing, then carried into a different routine. Tokyo gave me plenty to look at, but it also changed what I paid attention to.

I arrived with an idea of Japanese design. I left remembering a station late in the evening, the streets of Ginza and the small courtesies of sitting down to eat. Those impressions still feel larger than any list of sights.