The wake-up call came in to our Tokyo hotel room at precisely 3 a.m. I rolled over, looked at my slumbering eight-year-old and thought: "This is a risky game."
My son, William, and I were on the last few days of an October month-long vacation in Japan. We were wrapping up travels in Tokyo and the one event I was desperate to attend was the tuna auction at the Tsukiji Fish Market - the largest fish and seafood market in the world and hailed by Time magazine as the No. 1 thing to do in Tokyo. We were told if we didn't arrive by 4 a.m. we would not get in to the 5:15 a.m. auction. In the last five years this free to visit live auction had become such a popular tourist stop that the number of foreigners allowed in per day was capped at 120 - a much smaller number than the number who want, and try, to go. Quite simply the aging infrastructure was built for business not for throngs of tourists.
The weeks leading up to this early morning I had been essentially selling this to William, who wasn't as enthusiastic as I, that it was going to blow his mind. Of course I had never been, so my information regarding the mind blowing was coming second hand through books, documentaries (Jiro Dreams of Sushi) and word of mouth - three excellent sources to be sure. In 2013, I raved to William, a 489-pound tuna sold for $1.7 million. Like all business, markets fluctuate, this tuna being the most expensive on record. My sales pitch of money and size facts luckily piqued his interest.
At this point we had been away from home for nearly 20 days and my son had been a good sport this far. I had booked apartments through VRBO and Airbnb so that meant navigation into many Japanese suburbs, public transportation, grocery shopping, homework five days a week etc. Being away for a month means two things: homework has to happen, and; the amenities of home are necessary. Especially in a country with food often so foreign that a bowl of cereal or a sandwich is sometimes nice to whip up in your own borrowed kitchen.
So when our wake-up call came at 3 a.m. my little travelling sidekick lay tangled up in pillows and blankets, snoring softly. His heavy lids rose and fell and the first words out of his mouth were "I'm not going." I have no problem admitting this: resorting to bribes is occasionally in my parenting DNA. William turned down candy and ice cream for breakfast, and a second trip to Pokemon World Headquarters. Lucky for me my kid is Mr. Rules and Regulations, so when I told him the taxi I hired the day before was waiting (lie) he grumpily wrassled himself up so as not to disappoint fictitious cabbie.
One cool thing about 3:30 a.m. on a Tokyo morning that impacted us both was this: despite the 38 million people who call it home, this pre-dawn stepping through Tokyo streets afforded us a rare quiet view of the cityscape.
Arriving at Tsukiji after a 30-minute taxi ride (no subways run this early) our semi-peaceful journey was halted. The number of cabs arriving at Tsukiji with foreigners filing out was alarming. Though there was no running, it certainly turned into the speed-walking zone. No one wanted to be turned away at 3:45 a.m. And if we didn't get in, I did not anticipate making a second attempt.
Once through the Fish Information Centre registration desk we were awarded. .. ahem. .. afforded, green pinnies that indicated we were part of the lucky 120. I have never been so happy to slip into an ugly green pinny. In fact, even at 3:50 a.m., we were numbers 101 and 102. I thanked the Universe and plunked us down on the tiny holding room floor where we sat for another 90 minutes, shoulder to shoulder, back to back, leg to leg, with 118 others. We had a list of rules to peruse that would be strictly enforced: no flash photography, no lifting arms, no sandals or heels, no loud talking or laughing, no interfering with what is a booming business. The list of 'no' also included children. I don't know any more about this except William got in, and he was the only small person among the group.
Finally at 5:40 we were ushered out of the holding room by a security guard through alleyways, fish-packed polystyrene containers, speedy turret trucks (small forklifts) and the bustle of employees - this big business employs approximately 60,000 to 65,000 Japanese a year -to the tuna warehouse where the magic happens.
Inside we were met abruptly by a squall of fish smell: hundreds of frozen tuna bodies littered the wet cement floor in neat rows, and painted on their bellies was a red number inside a red circle for identification. Just as many gumboot-wearing potential buyers carrying large metal hooks to check the quality and weight of the fish roamed freely through. With pocket knives eventual bidders can chop a small piece of tuna tail to check the quality, record their desired numbers, and then move to the live auction zone.
There are at least 10 auctions happening at one time and each auctioneer stands on an old wooden crate with a hand bell and a clipboard, with a cluster of buyers gathered around him. An echoey jingle of that bell signals the beginning of a loud, singsong-like auction that lasts maybe a minute. The auctioneer causes such an animated and unexpected commotion and the bidders, like most things Japanese, are so calm, organized and controlled it's hard to tell who "wins." Which is part of the reason why we tourists are cordoned off behind a rope: the slightest raise of a hand is an interference and we'd be trying to figure out how to pack home a 400-pound blue-fin tuna. Not the purchase I was wanting to make.
As soon as the auction wrapped up, we as a group (actually broken into two groups of 60) were ushered promptly out of the market and weren't allowed back until after 9 a.m. At this time it is best to visit the exterior market to have the freshest sushi ever prepared.
During our month in Japan this was my No. 1 highlight. (William marked it No. 3, after Kyoto's Arashiyama Monkey Park and Nara's Todaiji Deer Temple.)
Once outside the market I suggested a sushi breakfast and although my kid is fairly adventurous I got two thumbs down. So at 8:30 a.m. as we waited for the train out of Chuo neighbourhood back to our temporary home in Shibuya, rather than fresh sushi we dined on ice-cream cones out of a vending machine. This felt only fair after dragging my little boy out of bed pre-sunrise without any guarantees.
If you are considering this trip, note that the market is scheduled to move to Toyosu district in early November 2016. The market does have some holiday closures so refer to japan-guide.com.
