After the idyll of Meiji Jingū, stepping into Shibuya felt like someone cranked every dial to eleven. Around the station, there are people everywhere—an endless sea of humanity—along with neon signs and shops competing for every square centimeter. It’s loud, both acoustically and visually. Everything flashes, everything blares, everything demands your attention at once.
The most famous intersection and the most famous dog in the world
Like probably every tourist in Tokyo, I was keen to see the legendary Shibuya Scramble Crossing—the busiest pedestrian intersection in the world. At peak times, up to 2,500 people cross here simultaneously, moving in all directions like some kind of perfectly choreographed urban ballet. Pedestrian scrambles aren’t really a thing in Germany, and certainly not on this scale, so standing there watching the organized chaos was genuinely intimidating. Will you make it across in time? Or will the tide of humanity sweep you off to some unintended destination? There’s only one way to find out.
The Hachikō statue
Before plunging into the crossing adventure, I first paid a visit to Hachikō—or rather, the statue dedicated to this famously faithful dog.
The statue is surprisingly small but impossible to miss, thanks to the perpetual crowd of people queuing to take photos with and in front of the monument. Finding it is straightforward: just follow the Hachikō exit from Shibuya Station (who would have thought…). With a bit of luck and patience, a gap will open up so you can snap your own photo. Even the manhole covers around the statue are appropriately decorated with Hachikō’s image, because of course they are.
Regardless of the dog’s fame, it’s a beautiful statue—simple and understated. The doggo looks a bit worn and weathered, but then again, he was already that way when he became famous for his decade-long vigil waiting for his owner. There’s something fitting about that.
The Scramble Crossing
Now off to the intersection, which sits right next to the statue. At that time of day, there was still relatively little going on by local standards, and the crossing seemed almost innocent. Or so I thought—until all the pedestrian lights turned green at once and everyone started walking.
No one ran. No one rushed. Everyone moved with calm purpose, as if they had all the time in the world. It’s a strange feeling when everything around you is moving and pulsating, yet somehow maintaining perfect order. But I was to experience this more often in Japan: chaos that isn’t chaotic at all, crowds that flow rather than clash.
I watched the hustle and bustle for a few green phases while slowly edging my way toward the zebra crossing. Next time, I told myself. Really, next time… oh no, better not… Too late! Suddenly I was right in the middle of it.
What can I say: spectacular, but surprisingly relaxed. Just as I’d observed from the sidelines, everyone moved with that same calm, purposeful flow. Now that I’d acquired a taste for it, I crossed the intersection several more times in different directions, then took the opportunity to check out the shops in the immediate vicinity. Everything was exciting and shiny, but somehow nothing called to me—I didn’t need jewelry or cosmetics, and besides, Ginza was on the agenda later. I could do some proper shopping there.
Shibuya – Confusingly Funny
Finally, I had enough and wanted to enjoy a view from above. There were essentially two options:
- Shibuya Sky: An observation deck high up in the Shibuya Sky building. Really impressive height, but it seemed like it would be more spectacular at night, and I would have had to wait almost an hour. My tight schedule didn’t allow for that, and at ¥2,000, it felt quite steep.
- Magnet by Shibuya 109: A lower observation deck where the entrance fee also included cocktails. Sold.
So it was a no-brainer—off to Magnet. The building also functions as a shopping center, seemingly dedicated to merch and nerd culture. Lots of J-Pop and J-Rock fashion, various T-shirt shops, the usual. Then, on the ground floor, I passed a shop selling “Artificial Insemination Kits.”
I’m sorry, what?
Gashapon Madness
And then—a floor dedicated entirely to gashapon! I’d heard about these capsule toy machines before but had completely forgotten about them until that moment. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, so in I marched.
I wasn’t the only gaijin there, which didn’t really surprise me. What did surprise me was the sheer diversity of customers. Middle-aged women with and without children, men in business attire, teenagers, elderly folks—you name it. And they certainly didn’t all look like they were picking up small presents for their kids. No, these people were hunting for themselves.
Each machine dispenses a certain thematically appropriate assortment of plastic capsules, which hopefully contain your object of desire. Often—but not always—they’re small plastic figurines, similar to the toys in German Kinder Eggs.
I was about to leave when I spotted a few machines dispensing Moomins. Yes! I quickly exchanged one of my ¥10,000 bills, fed ¥400 into the machine, turned the crank, and out popped a blue plastic ball. Nice! My hunting instinct awakened, and I quickly repeated the procedure twice more. These would make perfect presents for Amber and Caroline. I decided to wait to open them—delayed gratification and all that.
Beautiful views!
Satisfied with my gashapon haul, I made my way to the eighth floor. The entrance fee was reasonable, and I ordered a gin and tonic—decent quality and surprisingly strong. Then I stepped out onto the platform to enjoy the afternoon sun. Nice lounge music drifted through the speakers, and my increasingly protesting feet were grateful for the beach chairs scattered around.
After chilling out for a while, I took some photos and videos of the intersection below. The crossing is far more impressive from above—you can see the whole choreography unfold: the waiting crowds building at each corner, the lights changing in unison, then everyone flowing into the intersection from all directions at once like some kind of beautiful, organized chaos:
That’s it! I still wanted to visit Ginza, so I trudged back to the train station—slightly tipsy but navigating the Tokyo metro like a pro by now. Everything went smoothly.