Japan 2025: Akihabara

Day 2 began at 2:00 AM, which is objectively too early to be conscious in any country. I woke up, stared at the ceiling like a haunted doll, and thought, oh perfect. I laid there until 3:00 AM, negotiating with my brain, practically begging for just another hour. That’s when I remembered Kristen had brought melatonin.

Idiot. But it tracks. I’m new at this.

The melatonin dragged me forward until I was wide awake again at 6:00 AM, because jet lag doesn’t care about your supplements or your feelings. I laid there a bit longer, appeasing the owl as Duolingo was deeply concerned about my streak, which I had already wrecked thanks to the monster of a travel day prior. Yes, streak freeze saved me, but I maintain that if you are on a plane for sixteen hours and wake up in Japan, you should automatically get a pass.

Eventually, I accepted reality. Ok. I’m up.

We absolutely nailed the morning.

I wanted coffee. Real coffee. Not vending machine coffee, which yes, is a thing here. Japan has vending machines every hundred feet. Next to bathrooms. In alleys. On random corners. Hot coffee in a can sitting next to ice-cold cherry juice and something that may or may not be soup. It’s impressive and convenient, but I wanted an americano made by a human.

We found a café across the street from our hotel. Perfect. I walked in with confidence. “Latte to Americano onegaishimasu”. Nailed it. The barista nodded. Success, I thought. Then she calmly fired back “Saizu wa dō nasaimasuka? Ten’nai de omeshiagarimasu ka? Omochikaeri desu ka?” Which, for those keeping score at home, means: What size would you like? For here or to go?

This is the danger zone. The problem with thinking you can speak Japanese is that people then respond to you in Japanese you are absolutely not prepared for. Panic. Immediate panic. Hand motions ensued. Thankfully, she was clearly used to overconfident gaijin who had memorized exactly six useful phrases and nothing beyond that. Coffee was acquired. Victory.

Next mission: Suica cards. These are prepaid IC cards used for trains, buses, and generally making your life easier. Everything we read said the JR East office opened at 8:00 AM. We arrived early, feeling smug and efficient.

It opened at 9:00.

Cool. Great. Love that for us.

So we wandered Shinjuku instead, which is never really a punishment. We ducked into our first Don Quijote, or Donki, and learned immediately that anime does not exaggerate. You can buy anything in these stores. Snacks. Luggage. Electronics. Cosplay. Household goods. It’s all there, stacked floor to ceiling like a consumer fever dream.

Nearby, we stumbled into a small arcade and played a crane game. We spent 600 yen trying to get a Mario star coin purse. It did not drop. But we still declared it a victory because crane games are a financial gray area and it very easily could have cost more.

Back to JR. Cards secured. And then, like seasoned professionals, we navigated the JR Chūō Line and arrived in Akihabara without incident. High fives were exchanged. We are now transportation gods. We deserve our own shrine. Offerings accepted daily.

Akihabara is electric. Arcades, neon, anime, otaku culture layered on itself in every direction. It’s also showing a few bruises from TikTok-driven price inflation. I was fully prepared to spend irresponsible money on a rare Nintendo 3DS if I found the right one. Instead, I saw plain-color 3DS XLs listed for ¥38,000, roughly $325. Tourists will pay for nostalgia, even when the same thing can be found for half that back home. Slightly disappointing, especially considering I had spent months fantasizing about returning to the train with bags full of vintage hardware I’d scored for twelve dollars and a bow

That fantasy did not materialize.

Still, the day was great. Gachapon machines everywhere. Arcades buzzing. Merch that will never officially make it to the U.S. Sometimes the win isn’t the deal, it’s the environment.

On the way back, we boarded a train and realized, after sitting down, that we were in a Green Car. Big seats. Cold AC. Luxurious. We looked at each other and thought, it’s a short ride, let’s see how this plays out.

JR played it out swiftly. A uniformed attendant appeared, politely but firmly, and that ten-minute ride cost us $18. A harsh lesson for newly crowned transportation gods, more like transportation peasants.

Quick sidebar: we thought it would be adorable to buy an Instax Square camera in Japan and keep a little film diary of the trip. I own several Instax cameras already, just not square. Fujifilm makes them. This should have been easy.

It was not.

We hit every Yodobashi, Bic Camera, and random electronics shop within walking distance. Sold out of cameras. Sold out of film. In Japan. Mount Fuji is practically your national logo and yet… no Instax. No rare handhelds. No Switch 2. Japan keeps politely declining my money. The search continues.

The evening redeemed everything.

We headed to Omoide Yokocho, which translates roughly to “Memory Lane” and feels like stepping sideways in time. A narrow alley packed with tiny bars and eateries, steam rising, smells hitting you all at once. Charcoal, meat, sauce, smoke. It’s loud, cramped, and alive.

We walked all the way through, turned around, and picked a place at random. Inside was so narrow that the people seated at the front had to stand to let us pass to the back. No complaints. Just smiles and shuffling. Plates started coming. Chicken and green onion yakitori. Beef tongue. Gyoza. Whiskey sours. Small plates stacking up until the narrow table barely had room to breathe.

Dinner was a complete success.

Itadakimasu.

Day 2 ended up being one of those days that reminds you why travel works. A little unknown. A little embarrassment. Missed expectations. Unexpected wins. We collapsed back at the hotel satisfied, full, and exhausted.