Hachikō, Shibuya Crossing, and Pepper Lunch

Day Three of Tokyo, concluded:

Here's a heartwarming little tale for you:

Hachikō was an Akita dog born on a farm near the city of Ōdate in 1923. His name had the word "Hachi," or "eight," in it, meaning he was the eighth in the litter, and the suffix "kō," which here means "prince" or "duke."

Hachikō, the latter years.
From Wikimedia Commons.

A year after the dog's birth, a fellow named Hidesaburō Ueno, a professor with the University of Tokyo's agricultural department, took it in as a pet.

The pair of them, Hachikō and Professor Ueno, began a daily routine. Ueno would head off to work in the mornings and return to Shibuya Station in the evenings. Hachikō would always await his owner at the station, and return home with him. They kept this up for about two years.

One day in 1925, Professor Ueno suffered a cerebral hemorrhage at work and died at his desk, never to return to Shibuya.

Got your handkerchief ready? Good. You'll need it.

Every day for the next nine years, Hachikō went to Shibuya Station and waited for his master to return. Without fail, he would appear at the moment the professor's old train arrived, plunk himself down, and sit patiently. Every day. That's at least 3,285 days, just so you know.

At first, the other passengers and the station staff were hostile to the dog. But then he began to attract attention. Soon, a newspaper article was published about him. Something about the Akita's pointless but heartrendingly loyal conduct touched the hearts of Tokyoites. People started to bring Hachikō food and treats to sustain him while he waited.

In 1932, a former student of Ueno's, who had some expertise with Akitas, followed Hachikō to Ueno's former home when the dog returned there after another fruitless day of waiting. There, the student learned the dog's history. Intrigued, the industrious young man conducted a census of purebred Akitas still remaining in Japan, and to his astonishment he found there were only thirty left—one of which was the faithful Hachikō. Over the next few months the student published many articles in the Asahi Shimbun newspaper about Hachikō's unswerving behavior. Soon the dog became a nationwide celebrity. He struck a cultural chord with the Japanese, you see. His fidelity and filial piety to his master's memory was seen as an ideal toward which all citizens should strive. Schoolmasters used the dog as an example to their students, and children began to refer to the Akita as chūken Hachikō: "Faithful Dog Hachikō." He became a national icon of loyalty, even coming to be associated with the emperor.

Hachikō himself died in March of 1935, and was found on a street near Shibuya Station. His autopsy revealed that he had terminal cancer and worms. There were four yakitori skewers in his stomach, too, but they had not contributed to his death or impaired him in any way.

His stuffed and mounted remains are kept at the National Science Museum of Japan, in Tokyo. His monument is in the Aoyama Cemetery in the Minato district of that same city. But that wasn't what I was interested in when I climbed on a subway train to Shibuya on the evening of August 2. I wanted to see Hachikō's statue.

The original statue was put up in 1934, a year before the dog's death. Hachikō himself was present at its unveiling. The metal sculpture was subsumed by the Japanese war machine in the 1940s, but a second was erected in 1948, and still stands today. It is currently Tokyo's most popular meeting spot for the young and the restless. Dozens of twenty-something Tokyoites, dressed in the latest fashions, may be seen standing around his statue, clicking away on smartphones and waiting for their posses to show up.

Each year on April 8, there is a solemn ceremony of remembrance; hundreds of dog lovers attend and stand reverently by the faithful pooch's likeness, heads bowed. Perhaps the most touching memorial came in 1994, though. That year the Nippon Cultural Broadcasting company was able to piece together an old record they'd found and retrieve from it a recording of Hachikō barking. On Saturday, May 28, millions of listeners across the nation tuned in to hear ol' Hachi "speak."

Brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it? Excuse me for a moment... [whoonk]

Okay, I'm back. It was August 2. I had seen and paid my respects to Hachikō. Now I wanted to step a few feet farther away from Shibuya Station and catch a glimpse of what has certainly been used for every single Japanese travelogue, documentary and tourism commercial since the Dawn of Time:

...Shibuya Crossing.

You all know it. You've all seen it, even if only on TV. Every time people think of Tokyo, or see it on the telly, they see this scene: a gazillion people crossing the street between Shibuya Station and the trendy, glitzy shopping and party district nearby.

Now I can honestly admit that, yeah, it is really that crowded. All the time. Every 45 seconds or so the light turns red, the traffic dissipates, and hundreds of people swarm onto the pedestrian crossing in a pulsating phalanx. It was an absolute madhouse. Every 45 seconds.

Tokyo's big, did I mention that?

Then it was time for dinner. I scouted around for a bit and finally found this place under the railroad tracks.

It's called "Pepper Lunch" (as you can clearly see from the photo) and it's a teppan-style diner. A teppan is a large metal griddle used to fry up meaty dishes, you see. Some places cook the food for you, and with others, you cook it yourself. 

Not my photo. This is from a website called Japan in Melbourne.
Apparently they have Pepper Lunches in Australia, too...

With Pepper Lunch, there's a strict protocol. You walk in, turn right, insert some money into a machine, then punch in what entrees and drinks you want. I ordered some steak with corn on the side and a draft beer. The machine spat out a ticket, which I gave to the lady behind the counter. Before long, a tall mug of cold beer and a teppan full of only-just-beginning-to-turn-brown steak arrived in front of me. (I was too busy cooking to take pictures...sorry, you'll just have to imagine the sight and smell.) The teppan was still broiling hot, so I finished cooking my steak and tucked in. It was gorgeous. The side dishes were mashed potatoes and salad, and they really complemented the steak dinner and beer. I waddled out of that place, happy as a clam.

And that was that: Day Three of Tokyo, done.

I mentioned that Tokyo was big. But you'll hear how truly big it is in two days, when I tell you about TOKYO TOWER. Before that, though it's ZŌJŌ-JI. My fourth and final day in Tokyo starts tomorrow! Don't miss it!