In my extensive readings about Tokyo, no quote has resonated more with the feeling I get upon arrival in the Japanese capital than Hara Kenya's observations in his 2019 think piece, 'Designing Japan: A Future Built on Aesthetics’.

Hara is one of Japan's most influential graphic designers, best known internationally as the art director of MUJI, the renowned Japanese lifestyle brand. He is also a wordsmith, able to articulate concepts in a way that mirrors the precision of his graphic designs. Hara possesses an uncanny ability to position each element in even the most minimal layout just where it should be.

Long admiring Hara's work in both written form and the design studio, I found it encouraging that his impressions of Tokyo closely aligned with mine. Maggie Kinser Hohle’s impeccable English translation further enhances his insights. 

Whenever I get off a flight at Narita airport and pass through that impersonal space, walking toward passport control, I have the same feeling. While it is boring and lifeless, I can't help but admire how scrupulously clean and well kept it is. All the floor tiles gleam; it makes you think that you could roll on them without even dirtying your clothes. The carpet is immaculate too. You see traces of the best efforts to remove even minor stains. I am certain that the cleaners who work here never put away their mops and vacuums the minute their shift ends; they continue until they complete the task. Returning from another country I'm always keenly aware of their attentiveness, their consideration.

Moments after disembarking and observing something as mundane as the traces of cleaning agents on the carpet, Hara crafts a vivid portrayal of the culture and work ethic that shape Japan’s global image. While Japan's respectfulness and cleanliness are now well-acknowledged, Hara's insight illuminates the human effort involved in upholding this reputation.

Hara continues:

Even as I leave the airport in a car on the expressway, this feeling endures. I take no pleasure in the denatured scenery, but the road surface is as smooth as a mirror, the car's engine is quiet, and not a single street light illuminating the route is burnt out. 

In recent years, my trips to Japan have invariably taken me to Haneda airport, followed by a taxi journey towards the city centre. Peering out the window of the spotlessly maintained Toyota JPN taxi, as the waterfront's urban fabric unfolds, the tension of my 18-hour transit dissolves. It's in these moments that an inner quiet I only truly feel in Japan begins to settle in. The comparatively harsh daily life of London, where I reside, now seems distant.

I become aware of the subtly different scent of humidity in the air and gradually attune to the Japanese language emanating from the in-car entertainment system. The smooth ride, free from any jolts, subtly facilitates this transition.

This impression soon merges into the nightscape of the city centre, its intricacy and complexity stimulating my senses. Each of the innumerable lights shines steadily and reliably; not one flickers or is out. Combined, they become high-rises extending into the distance as an immense accumulation of light. 

This sensation isn’t limited to car travel on the expressway. Urbanists, whose job is to study and plan towns and cities, often cite the maxim: a developed country is not a place where the poor have cars—it's where the rich use public transportation. Indeed, in Tokyo, whether you choose the Narita Express train, the Tokyo Monorail, or the Airport Limousine bus, the journey from the airport to the city centre is equally seamless.

My first visit in 2009 brought me to Narita Airport by night, where I boarded the NEX to Shinjuku station. This 80-minute journey transitions from Chiba Prefecture's pastoral landscapes to the iridescent neon heart of the city. The emerging view of Shinjuku, with fleeting glimpses into yokocho alleyways cutting through high-rises, was a scene that compelled me to unravel its 'why' and 'how’.