Despite being Tokyo's fourth-busiest metro station and the portal to the renowned Ginza commercial district, Ginza Station maintains an unassuming street-level presence. The station's activities occur below ground within a network of walkways and platforms that extend through central Ginza and reach neighbouring stations. When asked about the location of Ginza Station, the answer is "everywhere." Over 30 exits quietly emerge onto the streets, distinguished solely by compact booths and signage bearing the Tokyo Metro brand. Previously, researching your exit was essential planning before venturing into the area; now, Google Maps has simplified navigation by utilising the best available data to identify the nearest exit for any destination with high accuracy. Although locating this exit in the labyrinthine station remains your task, the arrival process has become significantly more straightforward in the smartphone era.

Among the exits, the A1出口 deguchi (or A7 for step-free access) places you at the epicentre of Ginza's most iconic vista: the Seiko Clock Tower, perched atop the Wakō Building, facing the Mitsukoshi department store across the buzzing Ginza 4-Chōme intersection. In Tokyo, intersections often feature diagonally cut corners, creating what urban historian Jinnai Hidenobu describes as open, plaza-like spaces. This architectural approach dates back to the Tokugawa Period (1603–1868) when public life took place primarily on the streets, and results in the buildings on these corners becoming the intersection's four 'faces'. In 2024, perceiving an intersection like Ginza 4-Chōme as a plaza is challenging, given that nearly all its ground space is dedicated to vehicular traffic; nonetheless, the Wakō Building and Mitsukoshi still exemplify the faces analogy.

Together with these two commercial monuments, the high-concept architecture of European fashion houses along broad thoroughfares shapes the prevailing image of contemporary Ginza as an international luxury shopping destination, with tax-free goods in abundance for foreign passport holders. Ordinarily, I would hesitate to herald such a manifest beacon of consumerism as a favourite aspect of any city, but Ginza is an exception. There's particular intrigue in how the commercial element diverts attention, effectively cloaking the area's more refined, traditional facets. The elegance of Ginza hides in plain sight.

Within the taxonomy of Japanese tradition, the Shinto religion manifests in diverse forms across Tokyo. Grand shrines like Meiji Jingu are its most visible form, with the site comprising 70 hectares of manufactured forest and a famous avenue, Omotesandō, meaning "front approach", laid out as its dedicated entrance. Conversely, Shintoism also finds quieter expressions: small-scale shrines positioned discreetly behind office blocks, perched on rooftops, sheltered within schoolyards and integrated into shopping streets—hidden among high-rises and along alleyways. Together, these represent a substantial portion of approximately 1500 shrines in the city. The term pawā supotto, or "power spot," in use for about 30 years, designates places believed to be wellsprings of spiritual energy. These spots might be Shinto shrines or Buddhist temples, but the term includes sacred mountains, hot springs, waterfalls, and forests. However, since hearing the phrase, I've always felt that it best captures the essence of Tokyo's myriad tiny urban shrines—unexpectedly intense pockets of tranquillity amid the relentless activity of the metropolis.