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Thirty cities pretending to be one. Nobody sees all of it, which is the point: everyone comes home with a different version.
Six alleys of bars that seat six people each. Check the cover charge first.
Barefoot through knee-deep water and mirrored rooms. Timed entry, book ahead.
The wholesale auction moved; the good stalls did not. Go hungry, go at seven.
Low buildings, second-hand shops, coffee. The version of Tokyo you can walk.
Too big and too loud for me after a week in Kyoto, which says more about me than about Tokyo. Three days, mostly parks. I would come back and stay in one small neighbourhood instead of trying to see it.
I went in ready to be a snob about it and came home rearranged. A city where a nine-seat counter run by one man for thirty years is normal rather than an event. I ate standing up, alone, at eleven at night, more times than I can count, and never badly once.
