‘Good god! What time is it?’ I thought as the loud, annoying and familiar sound of my alarm went off next to my head. Tokyo had made me soft. Two weeks in its warm embrace had worn away my tough exterior and turned me into a softy. A month ago waking up at 4am was easy as pie, now being jerked out of my slumber at 8am was torture. Why had I decided to set that infernal device to wake me up again?
Rolling out of bed and getting dressed was done on autopilot as my mind worked to answer that question. Oh yeah, I remembered, I was going to visit the world famous Tsukiji fish market. Two weeks of lazing about in Tokyo and I was finally going, albeit on the same day I was planning to take a night bus to Nagoya.
Luckily my friends place was located on the Oedo subway line which took me from his doorstop to Tsukiji fish market doorstop in about 20 minutes. I was still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes when I arrived.
My first impression of the place was pretty lackluster. The outer market had short alleyway after short alleyway of stalls selling everything from kitchen knives to seaweed, nothing new after 6 years in Asia. I was beginning to wonder why I had come when I came to the end of one street and saw what could only be described as disorganized organized mass confusion with a set but always changing purpose.
Little one man carts trundled, or rather zoomed, through the wide streets weaving between the traffic of larger trucks. Actually, I don’t think I would even call them streets, more like wide sections of pavement with lines painted in a vain hope that people would use them as guidelines for driving and parking. People crossed in front of moving vehicles everywhere, avoiding the front ends by mere inches, yet no one flinched (except the tourists). The energy was unmistakable, even from the edge of the insanity its depth and power was easily felt.
This place was a fish market first and foremost. It was not designed for tourists to come and gawk and no slack was given to those who got in the way. It was move it or lose it. Some people got it and some people didn’t. The locals and people who worked there begrudgingly allowed visitors to enter their sacred turf but that didn’t mean that they liked it. For a while tourists were banned from the place, and for good reason. They kept on touching the fish and spoiling it for sale. Not to mention getting in the way.
In front of me there was a palatable threshold that I could almost touch and I stood at its edge hesitating. Could I make it through the maze of rushing metal and safely to the other side? Was there even a safe other side? With a shrug of my shoulders I stepped forward (and then back rather quickly as one of the small one man carts whizzed by) and into the madness.
Inside the market itself action was actually slowing down. Things begin at around 3-4am here with the fish being delivered from all over the world, peak at around 8-9am, and then steadily decline until close around 1pm. We as tourists are only allowed in to the inner market after 9am (or if you are really adventurous you can line up at 4:30am to try and see the morning tuna auctions) so by this time all ‘real’ business is done. That didn’t mean that there wasn’t still a heck of a lot to see.
Imagine a giant warehouse with aisle after aisle stocked with every conceivable fish stretching off into the distance. Then imagine it filled with people bustling about trying to get work done. Add to that small groups of tourists wandering about clogging the lanes taking pictures of this and that. Oh yeah, throw a bunch of those one man carts careening through the main passages into the mix as well. On top of that all don’t forget the sounds of thousands of people talking, machines cutting, and engines running. And there is of course the pervasive smell of, you guessed it, fish!
To say things were busy would be an understatement.
Wandering through the seemingly endless aisles I saw a heck of a lot of interesting things (see video). Something I found quite humorous (and common) was the sad looking cigarette hanging from the workers mouth as they went about cutting and selling fish. How the inspectors found that sanitary I had know idea but I figured it had something to do with the fact that they’d all probably been there for 5 or 6 hours by this time. Besides, in all my years eating fish in Japan I’ve never been surprised by a cigarette flavor or ash so who am I to complain?
People kept pretty much to themselves unless you were a regular customer or interested in buying, understandable near the end of their ‘day.’ My only conversations were with another tourist who wanted me to take his picture and the lady I bought some Aomori toro (fatty tuna) from.
After about 2 hours of stalking about, camera in hand, I figured it was time to leave. My stomach was growling and the toro (fatty tuna) in my backpack was calling. I would have loved to stop and eat at one of the restaurants that lined the outer edge of the market but money and time stopped me. Tourist prices for fresh fish were the order of the day and on my budget there was no way I could justify it (thus the wholesale tune in my pack). That and I had a final lunch date with a friend.
Tsukiji fish market, definitely an interesting place to spend a morning, even if it means getting up ‘early.’ Maybe next time I’ll try for the 4:30am tuna auction…maybe.
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