Robot Fight

Logan and I were late. The slowing blink and relative calm of the dim neon lights were an unmistakable indicator that the robot fight was over. Knowing that moments before this was a chaotic blur of shining chrome and mechanized mayhem filled me with a sense loss. We only had one night in Tokyo and this was not a good start. It can be hard to have a brief yet meaningful experience in a new city and we had to move quickly. Behind us a small labyrinth of passageways and hand painted signs beckoned.

Small bars dotted the narrow alleys, some of which were so small that we walked single file. Murmurs of foreign conversation muffled by thin walls parsed our ears, thirsty for their company. Logan and I stepped into the next bar hoping our luck would turn. We quickly realized that we had stumbled into something unique and genuine. This was the tiniest bar we had ever seen.

Beckoned forth by the cold beers, two friendly patrons, and bartender there seemed only enough room enough for oxygen and conversation. Excited by our presence and the opportunity to practice English the two men sitting thigh to thigh with us eagerly informed Logan and I that we had found a neighborhood called Golden Gai.

A relic of Tokyo’s past Golden Gai sits in contradiction to the modernity that surrounds it, a reminder of a time before Japan’s mid 20th century ‘economic miracle’. A seemingly derelict oasis spanning no more than two square blocks it’s packed tight with over 200 small venues many of which cater only to locals or the adventurous tourist.

We thanked our new friends for their history lesson and continued to explore. We meandered from building to building. Each had its own charm, energy, and clientele happy to share their stories and drinks with us. When exhaustion finally set in we wandered back to the hotel and I climbed wearily into bed with a smile on my face. Despite a slow start we managed to find a genuinely exciting evening filled with local culture.

The drive to the airport the next morning was bittersweet, its never easy to leave. I was still glowing from the excitement and warmth I found from a new city in such a short amount of time. I pulled a small snack from my bag as I reflected on my feelings. I mulled over the crinkling plastic packaging in my hands. A phrase printed on the yellow label caught my eye, ‘It Warms the Cockles of the Heart’. In any other context I would have thought it a strange mistranslation but in this moment it seemed absolutely perfect.