As the phallic symbol that defines Tokyo, Tokyo Tower definitely trumps Roppongi Hills, the forty-story shopping mecca that sits one neighborhood over from the Eiffel Tower wannabe.
It's 800 yen to get to the first observation deck, a mere 150m from the ground. It costs anotherr 600 yen to go up to the upper observation deck, which vaults you 250m above Tokyo. For 1,400 yen, you can see the same view that Miyazake, the famous anime creator, saw. And for absolutely nothing, you can remember his words after seeing the view of the sprawled megapolis: "I wish," he said, "that the big earthquake would hurry up and level everything."
You can be that kind of cynical, or, like me, you can stand on the observation deck 250 meters above the city and you can look out over the landscape, a seemingly inescapable maze of concrete in all directions as far as the eye can see, and you can think: This is a dream,
Tokyo is still a dream to me, still unreal. I don't want to know her too intimately because then I may stop loving her as I love her. I may begin to feel like this place is a real place, and I don't ever want to feel that way about her. I am glad, therefore, that Chie and I arrived at sunset (instead of in the full light of day, as Chie had wanted to), because then we still got to see Fuji-san beyond the purple and orange haze of Tokyo, and we got to see the city's neon signs come to life. We missed the ugliness that Miyazake saw, the grey, stark ugliness of Tokyo by day.
We missed the ugliness and I'm glad.
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