The previous three days drifted along to the tune of uneventfulness. I met old friends, went out for dinners, and had drinks. I didn’t even leave Asakusa once. Today, a sign in my hostel says, “Soba party today, come and enjoy Japanese noodles!” There is also a list of local artists that will be here to teach various arts and crafts. Free food and free crafts, excellent.

Outside, it is a blistering 36°C. I take the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line to Ginza. Ginza is a massive shopping district and fashion area. The kind of place you only drive through if you have an Aston Martin or a Bentley. If there is a Tokyo edition of the board game Monopoly, Ginza would be Mayfair. There is an array of well-dressed people, expensive fashion boutiques, and all the high-priced big brand stores.

My first stop in Ginza is the rather difficult-to-find Vanilla Gallery. Hidden away in a basement floor of a rather uninteresting building, it plays host to the Fourth Artificial Otome Expo: a Love Dolls exhibition. I shyly pay my ¥1000 entry fee to a young woman and shuffle through the gallery, trying to avoid eye contact with the other customers and the dolls. The dolls are made of silicone, are hauntingly childlike, and can be customised to the finest detail; every part of a doll can be ‘made to order’. Also in the exhibition is the mould that creates these dolls; a sign says, ‘Crystal craftsmanship to build the doll up to perfection.’

The Vanilla Gallery is small, and the exhibition is in just two little rooms. Orient Industry has been making these luxury Love Dolls for thirty-seven years, or so a video of the production process tells me. They also claim to make the most luxurious and expensive dolls; probably why they chose Ginza to showcase their creations. There is one doll that you can touch, ‘Feel her soft realistic skin,’ a sign says. I pass on the touching. I can only show the photograph of the sign, as there was a strict no-photography policy in place.

I once saw a television interview with a Japanese man who said that he doesn’t want his wife to know about his collection of Love Dolls, so he rents a second apartment just for his dolls. I stay for no longer than five minutes. The life-size, realistic-looking dolls scare me. Their stillness makes me think of the dead.

Next in Ginza, I head to the nearby ‘Hello Kitty Toy Park.’ Here, there are so many toys, games, keyrings, plates, umbrellas—everything you can imagine featuring Hello Kitty. Five floors of toys, two floors of restaurants, a theatre, and a small theme park. I have never seen so many Hello Kitty items in one place. I don’t know which is more embarrassing, going to a Love Doll exhibition or entering a Hello Kitty store. Inside the store, I see a policeman on his break, inspecting the Hello Kitty toys.

Next, I head in the direction of the Police Museum. On the way, I see a huge Yamaha store and decide to play on some very expensive-looking pianos for a while. I also spot the Pachinko Museum. A sign outside says, ‘We can teach you the basics about pachinko.’ It is adults only, but free. I head inside to find that they have forgotten the museum aspect. It’s just a regular pachinko parlour. ‘More enjoy more happy,’ a sign outside tells me as I leave.

The Police Museum doesn’t seem to exist. The building that houses it is under heavy construction and gated off. A shame, I was looking forward to doing something normal today. I see a sign for the nearby Kyobashi Station; lucky for me, I know this station is on the Ginza Line, so I take the train back to Asakusa.

Back at the hostel, I watch the news. A company called Shin-shin Foods has decided to stop its one-hundred-year-long pickle production and has converted its headquarters into a capsule hotel. I learn about a process called muon tomography, cosmic rays that detect radiation. Twenty-nine cats have mysteriously been found dead in Ota Ward; police think it was poison. The usual nonsense. I do some writing before heading out for a Shiatsu massage.

The place I go to was recommended to me by the owner of Cafe Byron Bay and is owned by her friend. When I enter the building, the woman at reception looks shocked to see me. I don’t think the place gets too many overseas visitors. I mention that I know her friend, and the tension in the room instantly fades away. After my thirty-minute massage, the tension in my shoulders also fades away. The man who performed the massage offers me a fifty percent discount, just ¥1500. I actually don’t think this is fair to him; the massage was good. I compromise and tell him to keep the ¥500 change, which he does. So much for not tipping in Japan. He thanks me and gives me a points card; I am nine more massages away from a free one-hour session.

Back at the hostel, the soba party is just starting. Soba are Japanese noodles made from buckwheat flour. This is actually my favourite type of noodle. There are stalls selling badges made from Instagram photographs. You can send them six of your photographs, and they’ll make them into high-quality badges or magnets. There is also a store where you can rent a kimono or a yukata. The word kimono inventively translates as ‘thing to wear’.

There is, of course, plenty of free food. Plates piled high with ice-cold soba noodles. Tiny plastic bowls are filled with sauce, and a selection of toppings is available. I eat my noodles with spring onion and seaweed. Delicious. There is also free rice wine to drink. When all the free sake has been consumed, I head to the hostel bar for more free drinks. The night crawls along. I eat soba noodles in the lounge and get considerably less sober at the bar. The night ends, and I crawl to my room.