As much as we might think a vacation lets us unplug from the everyday and embrace a more carefree version of ourselves, a successful trip involves a lot of potentially stressful decisions. Chief among them: how to budget. The way we spend when we travel speaks to who we are and what we love. On a recent Tokyo trip The Wall Street Journal set me a challenge: What could I accomplish with a strict budget of $1,000? The weak yen would allow my dollars to go further but I knew I’d still face tough choices: Go on a shopping spree for the latest in Tokyo fashion or save my money for the city’s innumerable museums? Luxuriate in an upscale sushi fantasy or mine maximum value from Japan’s beloved convenience stores? A city of Tokyo’s size offers infinite possibilities. Here’s what I chose.
In a city with so many five-star hotels, I could easily blow a huge portion of my budget on accommodations. But I knew I’d be spending little time lolling about in my hotel room, so I chose one of the city’s countless, clean-if-soulless business hotels, the Richmond Asakusa. For $158 a night, breakfast included, I got a large room (by Tokyo standards), just a short walk from a transit hub.
I started my spending spree with a book: “Emergent Tokyo: Designing the Spontaneous City” by the architect Jorge Almazán and his colleagues at Studiolab. At $32, it cost more than a guidebook, but I hoped it might provide different entry points to a city that’s drawn me back dozens of times. Almazán sees Tokyo not as an indecipherable metropolis but as a place of tightknit communities, often built from the bottom up by local residents. I chose Asakusa as my home base because it’s one of the dense, low-rise neighborhoods Almazán ponders. Conveniently, it’s also cheaper than more fashionable areas.
I figured this choice alone had saved a good chunk of change, so it was time to splurge. At Okura, a boutique specializing in indigo-dyed items, I fell for a simple yet sleek hat, made of blue and black thread in a satin weave, which cost the equivalent of $75 after the tourist tax rebate that many Japanese shops offer. Don Quijote, a megastore near my hotel, sold caps, too—for under $20. But the indigo hat seemed a souvenir that would endure.
Freshly accessorized, I went in search of a meal. Though I was initially tempted by all the ramen joints that beckoned me out of the cold, my own New York neighborhood has at least 15 Japanese ramen restaurants by my count. So I chose a more obscure food genre, oden: root vegetables, eggs and fish cakes simmered in dashi. I figured the higher price (about $39 for an array of oden and drinks) would be worth it because I’d find a respite from other tourists. Boy was I wrong. In the last 20 years, Japan has experienced a sixfold increase in foreign tourism. My oden tasted fine and ordering was a cinch thanks to an illustrated English menu. But my goal to escape fellow tourists was a flop.
The next day I continued my dual-purpose hunt for frugal diversions and tourist-free establishments by heading to Tateishi, a more remote corner of the city. My target: a standing sushi bar that a local friend had recommended. To get to Tateishi, I could opt for an easy half-hour ride on Tokyo’s efficient and far-reaching train system. But I discovered that Luup, a newish e-bike sharing scheme, could also get me there quickly. Yes, the bike would cost a dollar or two more for the trip, but I’d see everything along the way. I set off on my small e-bike, looking a bit like a giant circus clown on a tiny tricycle.
My choice to stay above ground paid off almost immediately. En route, I smelled burning wood and heard a song over a speaker that, at first, sounded like a call to prayer. Then I made out the words: “Yaki-imo.” Roasted sweet potato. I bought one ($3) from the back of a small truck, blew on it, bit in and looked around.
I was in a dreary parking lot surrounded by humble houses. But bright plants enlivened the otherwise bland exteriors of almost every home. I’d read about this in Almazán’s book—how residents of Tokyo’s densest neighborhoods have made the dull postwar architecture of the city feel personal and vital.
A local sushi chef had told me that sushi as we know it was invented in the early 1800s not far from my destination, Sakaezushi. Nigiri sushi was originally sold from street stalls, before also being served in standing-room-only shops. Diners always ate with their hands. Entering Sakaezushi, I found a similar scene. Above standing diners, wooden slats listed cuts of fish; chefs removed a slat whenever a certain fish ran out. The pieces of nigiri I ordered were nearly perfect, with warm rice, just the right amount of wasabi and generous cuts of fatty tuna, salty squid, and oily mackerel. Each set of two cost just a few bucks.
My meal, including soup, beer and many rounds of fish, cost $28. If I’d opted for a Michelin-starred sushiya, even at lunch when prices are lower, I’d have been lucky to avoid blowing 10 times that.
My sushi discovery sits on the corner of a covered market that dates to the Showa era (1926-1989) and houses all manner of fruit stalls and fishmongers, sake bars and tiny shops. I wandered down the aisles for a block or two, before coming across a construction site. On the walls around the site hung paintings of old houses, bars and cramped alleyways.
Nearby, I saw an inviting-looking counter at an izakaya called Bunka Do. Inside, I asked about the open lot nearby and the diner next to me explained that developers had recently demolished the area to make way for high-rises. The paintings I’d seen depicted a kind of life that would never return here.
I hit the streets early the next day, biking into an area called Ryogoku, famous for sumo. You can buy tickets to a tournament online, generally for between $15 and $60. While disappointed to find no contests scheduled that day, I was somewhat relieved: It meant a little more money to spend elsewhere. I followed foot traffic through the neighborhood until a building stopped me in my tracks.
Designed by Kazuyo Sejima to honor Japan’s most famous woodblock artist, the marvelous Sumida Hokusai Museum combines a reflective metallic gray exterior with hard angles that stand out in the neighborhood’s back streets. I sprung for the special exhibition, $6.50, and lost most of the morning wandering the galleries. A replica of a 23-foot painted scroll from 1805 depicts courtesans and helmeted horsemen on the banks of the Sumida river, the placid waterway I’d just crossed.
Lunchtime was fast approaching and I contemplated the options before me in the city with more restaurants than any other in the world. Still, my mind kept returning to the izakaya from the day before. On a short trip with a limited budget, most people would find it crazy to revisit a place they’d already been. But even a brief stay offers the chance to feel like a local by becoming a regular.
I hopped on another bike and pedaled back to Tateishi. The prior afternoon, I thought Bunka Do’s proprietor had viewed me with skepticism. This time, I got a knowing nod. I spotted a curious item on the menu: a fermented northern Thai pork sausage. I asked if they made it on site. The owner, needling me as if I were a familiar customer, replied, “You think we order it from Uber Eats?”
On my first visit, I’d noticed some bottles of obscure natural wines behind the counter but had felt too shy to strike up a conversation about them. This time, I asked if he had, by the glass, a wine from a hard-to-find Hokkaido producer that I’d longed to taste. He left and returned smiling. After he opened the bottle ceremoniously and poured me a glass, two other customers asked for the same.
Frequent travelers know that laundry is a hotel’s biggest grift, with prices at five-star properties easily hitting triple digits. The Richmond—like other business hotels of its ilk—had an all-in-one machine that cost me just $4. Another win.
While my clothes spun, I went looking for coffee. The day before, I’d stopped in at Fuglen, an Oslo-based chain that was delicious but (surprise) swarming with other tourists.
Today I decided to seek out a kissaten (a traditional coffee shop) called Coffee Aroma. One man, who looked to be in his 70s, took every order, washed every saucer and brewed every cup with a devoted focus. After I ordered an iced coffee, I watched him hand carve ice from a giant block with a wooden pick. My $6 breakfast set included a slice of toast, and was served at a small counter where I could watch the master at work.
Tokyo rewards the obsessed. It can take some hunting, but if you love something, you’ll find it here. I had fixated on a perfect cup of coffee, obscure wine and the city-planning philosophies of a Tokyo-based Spanish architect, but those are just my obsessions. This city is filled with tiny stores stocking the rarest plastic model-ship kits, laser-focused restaurants serving hyper-regional cuisine and vintage stores piled high with French workwear you can’t find in Paris.
I’m always tempted to think about value in terms of getting the most for my dollar, but this trip widened my view: By jumping on a bike instead of a train, by visiting—and returning to—places like Bunka Do, I was helping my ideal version of Tokyo survive and thrive. You can’t put a price on that.
On a budget-squeezed trip to Tokyo every well-spent yen feels like a triumph, but mistakes happen. Here, some worthy gems and some traps to avoid.
SKIP the tourist bait, SPEND at the neighborhood izakaya
While I went to Otafuku hoping I’d be able to try Japan’s oden cuisine alongside locals, instead I found a place that’s sadly succumbed to the lucrative tourist trade. Head instead to Bunka Do for an awesome izakaya experience that will make you feel like you’re a regular.
SKIP the tchotchkes, SPEND at the old-school shotengai
Nakamise, in Asakusa, is a historic market street that now sells overpriced incense, good-luck charms and other temple-related knickknacks. It’s fun for a quick stroll, but not for souvenirs worthy of precious suitcase real estate. Instead, save your yen for the nearby Ameyoko shotengai, or shopping street, which grew out of a post-World War II black market. Today it’s a dense and intoxicating maze of open-air izakaya, sneaker specialists and denim outlets.
SKIP the lines, SPEND at an underappreciated museum
The Tokyo Skytree, the world’s tallest tower, might top the list of guidebook must-visits, but it feels less like a reflection of Tokyo and more like a way to drive business to the seven-story shopping mall below its observation decks. Instead of this dystopian vision of the future, head to the Sumida Hokusai Museum for the artist’s imaginative portrayals of Tokyo as it once was.
SKIP the fancy desserts, SPEND on a convenience-store treat
Tokyo is full of dessert wonderlands where a premium parfait can run you more than $40. But don’t miss out on the sweets available in the city’s fluorescent-lit convenience stories, or konbini. Of the products that the konbini excel at, the cream puff from Lawson (75 cents) is my pick, with a filling made from Hokkaido’s famously rich milk and a pillowy shell that doesn’t break when you bite in.
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2025-01-31T21:04:53Z