After Disneyland, I had an entire day to do whatever I wanted in Tokyo—and it'd had me anxious for weeks, scared about trying to navigate the train system on my own. That morning I went to the supermarket across the street first to buy instant noodles. (I swear by the tarako and clam chowder flavors of Knorr Soup Deli.) Then I spent about thirty minutes lying in my hotel room with my full outfit on, trying to muster the nerve to just fucking go already.
My extensive research for the trip included potential places to visit on my free day, and I had narrowed it down to the Snoopy Museum and a gallery and shop called Mount, because I think zines, crafts, and local literature are the absolute best souvenirs you can bring home from a trip. I watched a video about where to even begin with the subway, and a walking tour of Ikebukuro Station so I would know where to proceed. It's so cool that there are people out there who make these kinds of videos and share their knowledge, just because. This helped me avoid the confusion when it came to the lack of Yamanote Line symbols on the signs, because it was a JR line, so I knew to look for the JR logo instead. When I landed in Tokyo, I made sure I had a sim card with a data package to access Google Maps—my phone doesn't have eSIM capability yet and I didn't want the pocket wifi to weigh me down—and lined up for several minutes to get a Pasmo Passport so I wouldn't have to worry about IC cards and tickets down the line.
All this, and I was still nervous. I (mentally) slapped myself and yelled, "YOU ARE SMART AND CAPABLE!" You learned to navigate Singapore on your own when you were 18! People from all walks of life do this everyday and so can you! With one last steadying breath, I launched myself out of the safety of my hotel bed, grabbed my bag, and set off.
The weather was perfect. Fresh, not too humid or drying, with just the right amount of sun. On the 10-minute walk to Ikebukuro Station I stopped every once in a while for pictures and took note of different places I wanted to experience when I came back: a basement restaurant with a tasting menu, an izakaya with cute snacks and drinks, the Milky Way Cafe on Sunshine 60, the Denny's right next to the subway entrance (because they have a fun yoshoku menu and Japan uses the vintage '70s-'90s logo!), so many bakeries.
I was there before I knew it. I descended the escalator, and from there it was suddenly like muscle memory even though I had never been there before. They say Ikebukuro is one of the more maze-like stations, but to me it really was as simple as following the signs. I topped up my Pasmo and held on to the green JR symbols like an anchor, until I was on the platform that would take me to Shibuya Station.
It was a Saturday, just around noon, and the crowds were manageable. I was able to find a seat on all four trains I took through the day, even later in the afternoon. It wasn't overwhelming in the stations either. Like that j-hope lyric, but I'm bastardizing it to fit my narrative: all I had to do was be the opposite of a salmon, and just follow the (right) stream.
I switched lines at Shibuya, and from there it was a 45-minute ride to Grandberry Park. Now that I was actually doing it, my mind spun as I watched the scenery change out the window, imagining all the new possibilities I'd unlocked. It was dizzying, knowing I could just go anywhere.
I was too focused on not getting lost to listen to music, but next time, I'm definitely emoting to CHAM's "Cherish These Moments" from Perfect Blue, just like Mima does on the train.
I got off at Grandberry Park and found myself in front of the Snoopy Museum.
Walk-in admission is ¥2000, and the ticket is a comic strip published on the date of your visit printed on colored cardstock, which I found super endearing. I took my time taking in each exhibit, with the first being a room with a mountain of Snoopy plushies and all kinds of merch across the decades. There are rooms about Charles Schulz' life and the history of Peanuts, a gallery all about each individual character, and a special exhibition called Traveling Peanuts with original art (as in archival pieces personally drawn and touched by Schulz!) and comics about the characters' adventures around the world.
My favorite is the Snoopy Room, full of huge Snoopy figures that showcase his playful whimsy. A few minutes in, the lights suddenly went out, and I thought there might be a problem until silly music started up and a spotlight was cast on the figure I'd been looking at. It was a special show where the different Snoopys came to life, his shadow bouncing around the room in bursts of color and movement. The best surprise, and I'm so happy I caught it.
I also love the room with a giant version of Snoopy's house, where on one wall you can draw your own Snoopy or Peanuts gang on a sticky note and leave it behind.
I got a lot of souvenirs, my favorites being the sheer embroidered blind bag keyrings (I got sleeping Snoopy!), a '50s Snoopy and Charlie Brown pop-up card, and '90s Snoopy's favorite chocolate chip cookies. They were so good. I got two boxes, one to bring to work. I love how our team is encouraged to take long leaves to go to wonderful cities and we have this sweet little tradition of always bringing snacks from our travels to the office.
At the very end of my visit, under a chandelier made entirely of stuffed Snoopys, they had a DIY activity where you could get a random capsule with a pin design inside. You can decorate your pin with markers and letter and heart stickers—they didn't have the letter F so I couldn't make "Fiel"—then move to the button machine station where you pressed the pin yourself. I loved this part, of course.
I'm glad I looked down when I got on the elevator that would lead to the start of the tour, because I never would've known that there were more Snoopy statues outside in the park.
I hadn't made any reservations for the Peanuts Cafe next door since I wasn't sure when I'd be arriving and I'd heard they weren't necessary, but they weren't accepting walk-ins until 6 p.m., so I had lunch at the nearby Shaun the Sheep cafe instead. I had a cola float and chicken omurice in cream sauce, both adorably decorated with richly flavored chocolate cookies to resemble the characters. This is going to sound stupid, but I was surprised how common yoshoku menus are in Japan (where they originated, duh), because I keep looking for them back home and they're not easy to come by.
Another thing that makes it so perfect for socially anxious solo travelers here is that a lot of customer interactions are automated. I ordered my meal through a QR code menu and observed how my fellow diners were making their payments, which is taking the clipboard with the QR code to the counter and paying through the cashier. It was the same at the grocery store that morning, where I paid through a machine after the attendant had scanned my items and bagged them myself. I like that it makes everything less confusing and awkward without removing the human element or taking away livelihoods.
I finished my sojourn at Grandberry Park at 4 p.m. Unfortunately Mount Zine was no longer on the table if I wanted to explore Sunshine City and have enough time to pack and rest. Getting back to my hotel was equally painless, and I spent the rest of the day in the two separate but connected malls downstairs, going through the last of my checklists. Sunshine City has every character shop you could ever want: Studio Ghibli, Disney, Sanrio, Peanuts, Rilakkuma, Pokemon, even Thomas the Tank Engine. It also has the biggest gashapon store in existence, and another huge one two floors below, plus a planetarium, an observatory, and an aquarium.
That last night, settled in bed after packing, I checked the step tracker on my phone and was blown away by how much I'd been walking the entire time I'd been in Tokyo. Never fewer than 15,000 steps, with Disneyland amounting to 22,000 and my free day getting 18,000. It felt great. I was ready to collapse sometimes, but I always felt rested and ready the next day, and right then I didn't feel tired at all.
What I noticed, making my way around the city, was that it seemed like it was so easy to get to spend time together here. You could come see your friends and hang out all the time, not only because public transportation is great, but also because there are plenty of options to go. Parks, cafes, attractions, even just streets to explore. I would see groups of friends everywhere—and in Disneyland, they even wore matching outfits. It made me feel the nicest kind of wistful.
When I was 15 I was really into the idea of "wandering" as Keri Smith had presented it: leave your watch, pack only what you need, pick any direction, be aimless, get lost. As I got older I began to romanticize this less, especially in a city that isn't really conducive to frivolous meandering. But being able to go so far with just my feet and a limitless transportation system to propel me forward had me believing in it again somehow.
I don't wear a watch anymore anyway, for starters.
It's so nice to get to know the side of me again that prided myself on being a commuter after the pandemic made all the routes I know best inaccessible. To discover that walking doesn't feel heavy or exhausting or impossible when the ground you're given to traverse has plenty of spacious sidewalks and well-paved, even streets, and you're not sweating thanks to a cool climate. The Skechers Go Walks I had to buy in Osaka because all the walking on that trip broke my 200-peso shoes have been so convenient and comfortable through it all, too.
I can't exactly be aimless—we've established I'm too much of a planner for that. But I can pick a direction, trust my gut, and go.
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