Have you ever visited a place where you immediately sensed a strong, emotional connection? It could be a picturesque beach, an idyllic cabin in the mountains, or an iconic city. A place you never wanted to leave because for the first time in a long while, it made you feel alive, energized, and completely in your element?
In the spring of 2019, I found such a place in Koenji, a vibrant neighborhood in Tokyo.
Located just a few stations away from the bustling train hub of Shinjuku, Koenji is the antidote to the chaotic landscape of flashing neon lights, concrete skyscrapers, and 38 million Tokyoites. An atmosphere of hipster-cool juxtaposed with Japanese traditions pervades this town as I wandered the shotengai (main pedestrian-only street) – vintage clothing stores, tempura stands, used record shops, an Italian wine bar, ramen noodle joints, espresso cafes, hair salons, and produce vendors. All of life’s necessities at my fingertips, coexisting side by side.
I remember Koenji from my college days when I spent a year in Tokyo on an education abroad program. Though my university was located along the same train line, I never explored the town in great depth. So it was quite by happenstance I stumbled onto an Airbnb in this neighborhood while looking for a place to stay during the cherry blossom season.
On my morning strolls, I felt the flurry of Koenji – vendors setting up their produce stands with rows of fresh vegetables; elderly women sitting on park benches sharing the latest gossip; young mothers escorting their children to school; giggling high school girls watching the boys walk by; and hurried salarymen dashing madly to the train station. The aroma of freshly-brewed espresso and the buttery smell of baked bread permeated the air.
Most days, I lunched at the nearby Kikuzushi owned by an elderly couple and their sushi chef son. They served a tasty pre-fixe meal for $8 consisting of Chirashi (bowl of sliced sashimi over rice), miso soup, and pickled
vegetables. Every day, we discussed the topic of the spring season: the best spots for cherry blossom viewing. I told them about the mile-long Nakameguro Canal dripping with white and pink blossoms and where dozens of “pink” food vendors sold sakura mochi (pink confection) and sparkling rose. The son immediately replied, “Yes, but nothing beats the beautiful lake at Inokashira Park embraced by hundreds of cherry trees. You can picnic under the blossoms as you revel in the seasonal beauty.” I took their many suggestions to heart.
At night, Koenji transformed into another place and time, looking much like an old movie set with its backdrop of flickering street lights and colorful lanterns above storefronts. Throbbing with youthful energy, the noise level
seemed to amplify by several decibels. Restauranteurs shouted “Irrashaimase! Welcome!” to passersby coaxing them to dinner. Around the corner at a tempura bar, a crowd applauded a chef showing off his unusual cooking skills. With one hand, he cracks an egg open into the sizzling fryer and tosses the shells over his shoulders against the wall behind him. The shells fall neatly into the sink below it. He quickly cracks open another egg into the fryer this time with both hands, and then a “no-look” throw over his head. Again, the shells drop into the sink. Egg tempura, anyone? On another block, bright orange flames crackled at a seafood grill as diners ooh-ed and ahh-ed watching their meals being cooked to perfection. Generous amounts of sake and beer flowed like a raging river all evening long.
Tucked away at the end of a long narrow alleyway was my favorite place for dinner. Guranma (Grandma) was an intimate 7-seat eatery serving homemade dishes cooked by Grandma herself though she didn’t look to be a day over 40. “Konbanwa. Good evening. What would you like to eat tonight?” was her usual welcome. She prepared a myriad of flavorful dishes ranging from wasabi coleslaw to steamed rice with shiitake mushrooms to spicy chicken nuggets. She always had my favorite Niigata sake ready to pour. Guranma loved telling her customers I was visiting from Las Vegas
because it somehow always generated a bewildered reaction. “What? For heaven’s sake, someone from Las Vegas in our Koenji?” I was never sure if they were flattered or puzzled that a “foreigner” chose to stay in their neighborhood. Regardless, Guranma invariably found someone in the group who spent a month in Somewhere USA and wanted to practice their English on me. After about the fifth night, I met most of her regular customers and we’d chat through the evening like old high school friends.
Three weeks in Koenji impacted my life on so many levels: the interaction with the locals, the lively conversations, and a deep appreciation for the local cuisine. I felt invigorated. This place felt like home. I spent hours shopping at the secondhand clothing stores and came home with a few vintage skirts and dresses to remind me of this town. I even dyed my hair blond “Harajuku” style.
Warm memories linger, and I am counting the days until I return to Koenji. If Koenji were a person, I know we’d be soulmates.
