Tsukiji Fish Market, Tokyo, Japan: an early morning adventure

Sashimi for Breakfast

Tokyo, Japan
by Richard Foster
I was wide-awake. Tokyo means "East City"

It was 5 a.m., I had been in Tokyo for less than 18 hours and my body was still firmly on Eastern Standard Time. More than that, I needed a coffee. The hotel restaurants wouldn't open until at least 6:30, and there was no room service. No, my only route to caffeine was going to involve getting out of bed, leaving the hotel and finding one of Tokyo's ubiquitous street vending machines - not something I really wanted to do.

Then I remembered the Tsukiji Fish Market - supposedly the place to visit for early risers and insomniacs. It allegedly offered an inexpensive and unique opportunity to see Tokyo at work. Clearly now was my chance.

I didn't really know what to expect, but I was excited about learning something of Tokyo's day-to-day life, and seeing a new area of the city. I headed for the local subway station, grateful for my bilingual city map and looking for the stop closest to the fish market. Early morning is undoubtedly the best time to travel on the Tokyo subway: the stations are even cleaner than usual, and it is wonderful to experience the efficiency of the system without the crowds for which it is famous. In a couple of hours trains and stations alike would be packed with commuters but, as I headed towards the Tsukiji stop, seats were plentiful and I was able to move quickly and easily through the subway stations.

They eat how much fish?
Japan's annual seafood per capita is 67.8 kg compared to 32.8 kg for Spain, 21.7 kg for France, 11.8 kg for the UK and only 8.3 kg for Germany. In fact Japan gets 40.5% of its animal protein intake from sea food (the proportion derived from fish as opposed to meat and dairy products) compared with a mere 4.4% in the UK. (Information taken from the Japanese Mission to the European Union).

I resurfaced above ground, and started to search for the market by walking along Tsukiji Dori. The area is home to a wide variety of small businesses whose steel and concrete warehouses and office buildings have been turned gray over the years thanks to the smog. I can imagine that on a cold, wet day the area would have a depressing pallor, but fortunately the morning of my visit was bright and sunny.

The street began to get more crowded, with people and delivery trucks jostling for space. Ahead was a collection of one- and two-story buildings, and a lot of activity; but when I reached them there was neither sight nor smell of fish. I headed down a narrow pathway between two buildings. Both sides were lined with small shops, most of which were open, selling a variety of vegetables and other produce. Defnintely no fish though.

Why Tsukiji?
Tsukiji was originally just marshland along the edge of Tokyo Bay. It was reclaimed in the 17th century to satisfy the city's need for more space. When foreigners began to arrive in the latter half of the 19th century, it was declared the foreign residents' quarters and all foreigners were required to live there. This arrangement did not sit too well with the foreigners themsevles (apparently they didn't like the numerous prostitutes ensconced there for their pleasure) and by the 1920s the area had been pretty much abandoned. After the great Kanto earthquake of 1923, Tsukiji was designated the home of the new central market, and ever since it has grown to become the home of this huge and very active fish and produce market.

There really was a wide range of goods for sale here: both standard Japanese fruits and vegetables, and an assortment of European and American produce. Most were general stores, but some specialized in seaweed, or tea, or spices, while others sold kitchen tools or general hardware. Everyone was friendly and a couple of the shopkeepers tried to interest me in their wares. Unlike the wide Tsukiji Dori, the pathways here were narrow and crowded with people, mostly men. Everyone was animated, talking, buying, and selling. As far as I could see, I was the only non-Japanese in the crowd. I made eye contact with a few people and dipped my head politely. A few of the vegetable sellers greeted me with a smile, "Ohayo gozaimas" ("Good morning"), and offered me samples. I uttered a few greetings in Japanese, graciously accepted their offerings, and told them that the food was delicious - about all my limited knowledge of Japanese allowed. Everything felt very relaxed and comfortable and my presence was accepted without any discernable problem, although I am sure it was obvious that I was a tourist and was not going to be spending money.

Despite the agreeable atmosphere here, it wasn't the fish market and, as I wasn't too sure where I was heading, I decided to push on. After about 15 minutes of working my way through the maze in what I hoped was the direction of the harbor, I came to an open area where several streets converged. It was the small blue motorized carts that caught my attention first as they dodged in and out of the people and other vehicles. They were mostly carrying a variety of crates and barrels stacked on a small platform above the engine compartment. They were like golf carts on steroids, quickly darting to and fro, zipping among the people, trucks, piles of empty boxes, and other obstructions. They were driven with great skill, very fast, and with scant regard for anyone who got in the way.

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