We woke up to heavy rain and had to deal with our bags. I had hoped to use a luggage service to deliver them to the airport, but that option had expired—we would have needed to arrange it the day before. Instead, we lugged our bags across town to Tokyo Station and dropped them with a luggage storage service. We probably should have just found a locker, because the service required us to pick up the bags by 8 PM, even though our flight wasn’t until 1 AM. We shrugged and thought, “Oh well, we’ll nap in the lounge.” That plan fell apart later, but more on that soon.
For lunch, we ate pork cutlet at Tonkatsu Enn—one of the best bites of the trip. Perfectly fried, never overcooked, succulent, and deeply flavorful. I encourage everyone to eat there. It’s probably cooked a little rare for the western pallet, but I did not feel like it was underdone.
The Tokyo National Museum in Ueno Park—Japan’s largest—showcases the evolution of Japanese art, from ancient pottery to samurai armor and Edo-period screens. Toward the end of the exhibit, a note explained how the West had once viewed these screens and artworks: as mere furniture, with European art enthusiasts dismissing them entirely. I couldn’t care less about armor from anywhere, so the samurai displays didn’t do much for me. But the galleries featuring Chinese bronzes and Buddhist statues kept me engaged.
The rain never let up. Even walking from the train station to the museum left us soaked. We had planned to visit a private collection called “The House of Gay Art,” owned by Ogizaki Masahiro. Bad weather and exhaustion kept us away, and I regret it more than anything else from the trip. Ogizaki and I had even exchanged a few emails beforehand—skipping it was foolish.
We spent the rest of the day burning through the last of our yen in the underground shopping malls near Tokyo Station. The Japanese love beautiful packaging, so we bought sweets and cookies so pristine that everyone who received them back home commented on how good they looked.
Boredom led us to grab a few quick bites in the underground. We found a sushi place with no seating—you order by the piece and stand while you eat. It was excellent, and for train station fast food, shockingly fresh.
We picked up our bags just before eight and jumped on the train to the airport, still clinging to the hope of spending a couple of hours in a lounge. Instead, we discovered that our airline wouldn’t open check-in until 11 PM. We were stuck in the terminal, unable to clear security, with no comfortable place to sit. We ended up sprawled across chairs, guarding our luggage.
I hate being early to the airport in the first place, so arriving hours before check-in, with no refuge, tested every ounce of patience I had. Eventually, I found a restaurant serving yakitori skewers. Even in the airport, the food carried the same care, focus, and respect you’d find anywhere else in Japan. The skewers were delicious, and the woman at the grill worked with such precision it felt like a performance. And it wasn’t even overpriced.
When airline staff finally bustled into view, we decided to line up. Just before check-in began, the entire team stepped out from behind the counter, bowed, thanked everyone for waiting, and then returned to start processing passengers. It was such a small gesture, but so striking.
The rest of the night was uneventful—just a flight to Seoul, then onward to JFK.
Next: Japan – Conclusion