There are places you visit, and then there are places that become part of your story.
For me, that place is Roppongi.
It was the first ward I ever stayed in when I traveled to Japan for the first time in 2017. At the time, I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t understand the trains. I didn’t know how to navigate Tokyo. I barely understood how to get through a metro station without looking completely lost.
But I remember the feeling.
Everything was new.
Everything was intimidating.
And somehow, everything felt incredible.
I remember walking toward Roppongi Station during that first trip, trying to figure out how the metro gates worked. I stood there looking at them like they were some sort of puzzle, completely unsure of what I was supposed to do next.
Eventually, I had to ask someone for help.
That moment seems almost funny to me now.
I’ve traveled to Japan multiple times since then. I’ve navigated some of the busiest train stations in Tokyo without thinking twice. I’ve figured out routes, transfers, platforms, exits and neighborhoods.
But I still remember that first moment at Roppongi Station.
Because that was me discovering Japan for the first time.
I was completely out of my element.
And I loved it.
There was this strange energy surrounding everything. I didn’t understand it yet, but I could feel it. Tokyo was moving around me at a speed I wasn’t accustomed to, and I was simply trying to keep up.
Then came Mori Tower.
It was one of the first places I visited in Tokyo, and stepping out to see the city from above left me completely stunned.
Tokyo seemed endless.
Buildings stretched farther than I could comprehend. Roads disappeared into neighborhoods I couldn’t name. Somewhere below me were millions of people going about their lives, and I was standing there trying to process the fact that I had actually made it to the other side of the world.
I had dreamed about seeing Japan.
Now I was looking at Tokyo.
That view became more than just a great photograph.
It became a marker in my life.
It was the moment I realized just how big the world really was.
And Tokyo was my introduction to it.
But Roppongi wasn’t just observation decks and skyscrapers.
It was also where I had my first real dinner in Japan.
Kushimura.
A small izakaya tucked into the neighborhood.
I still remember sitting there on that first night, surrounded by locals, eating yakitori and drinking a cold beer.
It wasn’t some elaborate dining experience.
There wasn’t anything particularly glamorous about it.
And that’s exactly why it became so memorable.
I was sitting on a quiet backstreet in Tokyo, eating food I had never experienced before, surrounded by people whose language I couldn’t understand, and somehow I felt like I had finally arrived.
This was Japan.
Not the version I had seen in travel videos.
Not the photographs I had saved before the trip.
Not the idea of Japan that existed in my head.
The real thing.
Warm food.
A cold drink.
A small restaurant.
A quiet street.
Tokyo happening all around me.
That night has stayed with me ever since.
And that’s one of the things I love about Roppongi.
It has layers.
There is the modern Tokyo of Roppongi Hills and Tokyo Midtown, the towering buildings, shopping, restaurants, art and incredible views.
There is the nightlife that has made Roppongi famous, with bars and restaurants that keep the neighborhood moving long after many other parts of the city have quieted down.
But there are also the quieter streets.
The small restaurants.
The hidden corners.
The places where you can step away from the massive buildings and suddenly feel like you’ve discovered a completely different side of Tokyo.
That’s the Roppongi I remember most.
The Roppongi where I was still trying to figure everything out.
The Roppongi where I didn’t know which train to take.
The Roppongi where I was discovering Japanese food for the first time.
The Roppongi where I looked out over Tokyo and realized how much of the world I still hadn’t seen.
Years later, I can return to the neighborhood with a completely different level of confidence.
I know how to get around.
I know what the trains are doing.
I can walk through Tokyo without constantly checking a map.
Japan doesn’t feel nearly as foreign as it did that first time.
But Roppongi still carries something different.
It remembers the person I was when I arrived.
And maybe that’s why certain places become special.
It’s not necessarily because they’re the most beautiful places you’ve ever seen.
It’s because of who you were when you experienced them.
Every time I return to Tokyo, I find myself thinking about that first trip.
The nervous traveler standing at the metro gates.
The person staring out from Mori Tower in complete disbelief.
The traveler sitting in Kushimura, eating his first yakitori and drinking his first cold beer in Japan.
I didn’t know then that I’d return again.
I didn’t know I’d eventually make multiple trips to Japan.
I didn’t know I’d fall in love with Tokyo.
I certainly didn’t know that I would someday be preparing for my fifth trip.
I was just trying to figure out how to get through the train station.
That’s what makes Roppongi so special to me.
It isn’t simply the first ward I stayed in.
It’s where my story with Japan began.
Every time I walk through those streets, I’m reminded of how far that nervous first-time traveler has come.
And somewhere beneath the confidence, the experience and all the trips that followed, I think that person is still there.
Still standing at the station.
Still looking up at Tokyo.
Still wondering what could possibly be waiting around the next corner.
Maybe that’s why Roppongi will always feel like my first Tokyo.
Because before I knew how to navigate Japan, before I knew where I was going, before I had any idea how much this country would eventually mean to me, Roppongi was where Japan first welcomed me.
And I’ll never forget that.
