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I stepped off the plane into the standard precision I’d come to expect.
QR codes and facial recognition got me through customs & immigration without speaking to an official. A tap of my credit card carried me onto the world’s most expansive rail network, and less than an hour later I was stepping out into Kagurazaka.
But what was waiting for me outside the station that Thursday evening was just as emblematic. Hammered salarymen, ties undone and shirts unbuttoned, were yelling over one another, shoulder to shoulder inside one of the designated smoking areas I’ve begun referring to as “cig pens.”
Just beyond, a couple was very publicly displaying affection against a wall. A few feet farther, a man sat on the curb, rubbing the backs of two friends doubled over on either side of him, suffering the consequences of the last few hours.
I shook my head, let out a big breath, and smiled.
“Ah Tokyo, how I’ve missed you.”
That love isn’t universal for the world’s largest city. Many encourage people to treat it as no more than a port of entry en route to the rest of the country. And while I don’t think a visit exclusively within its limits is a true trip to Japan, something about it has always spoken to me.
Because what others view as overstimulating contradictions, I see as a society balancing between extremes.
Hyper-efficiency and joyful disorder.
Quiet reverence and neon spectacle.
Ancient ritual and relentless modernity.
Somehow, none of it seems out of place.
In the eight years since my last visit, Japan feels both the same and subtly different, with language playing a huge role. English signage has become commonplace, and people switch to my native tongue before I can even stumble through half a sentence of theirs.
In 2025, Japan welcomed over 42 million foreign visitors, one-third more than 2019’s pre-pandemic high.
Tourists have become so ubiquitous in certain neighborhoods that I’ve become desensitized to it. At times, the ratio of Westerners to Japanese has felt closer to San Francisco’s Japantown than Japan itself.
It feels like the most significant wave of foreign influence since Japan reopened to the world in the nineteenth century.
The comparison isn’t perfect. While foreigners once arrived aboard gunships seeking trade, this time they’ve come on budget airlines, armed with smartphones.
The tea world has evolved alongside the rest of the country. A matcha craze has swept the globe and added another layer to Japan’s international appeal. Now, a tea once reserved for ceremonies is being splashed over alternative milk products from Los Angeles to Lagos.
Japan is producing nearly three times as much tencha (matcha leaf) as it did 10 years ago, and it’s still not enough to meet demand.
But there’s far more to Japanese tea culture than matcha alone. Nearly 70% of tea consumed here is sencha, the traditional steamed green tea that has long defined daily life. And for the everyday person in Japan, more tea comes from a plastic bottle than a teapot.
Last year, foreign visitors spent more than ¥9.5 trillion ($60 billion) here. Economists classify that spending as an export, making tourism Japan’s second-largest export sector after automobiles.
Japan isn’t just exporting its culture anymore; it’s importing the world to experience it.
Tea has spent centuries balancing old and new, ritual and routine, luxury and convenience. If Japan is learning to balance one more contradiction—the world itself—I suspect its favorite drink will tell the story first.
Sources
Japan’s Heat-Stressed Matcha Tea Output Struggles to Meet Soaring Global Demand. Reuters, July 4, 2025.
Japan Buckles Under Matcha Mania. Financial Times, October 10, 2025.
Japan Tourist Arrivals Rise to Record in December Despite China Drop. Reuters, January 20, 2026
Great update. I get the sense you’re happy to be back. Is it true?