It was another rainy day in Ginza and I was stuck inside Tokyo Station without an umbrella. So I decided to walk around, making my way from the underpass all the way to the office buildings, until I saw this coffee shop. It was tiny, and I’m not a big fan of coffee, but somehow my feet walked me inside to see what was inside.
Coffee Machine in Marunouchi’s OaZO building is like an unexpected oasis in the middle of the exacting world of the salary man’s passageways which were built to get you as quickly as possible from A to B. It was sandwiched among other big stores, but the aroma of fresh roasted beans with coffee machine sound in the background could snap anybody out of their steady walk, at least just to check out, like what happened to me.
But the next thing I knew I was in front of the cashier, gazing down at their menu and surrendered to the fragrant smell around me. I ordered one caramel au lait (¥450) with a chocolate puff pastry (¥270), and entered the seating room already filled with people. Since the wooden tables and cushioned seats were all taken, I took the high stool on the outermost part of the coffee shop, and discovered for myself what everybody subconsciously bought from this coffee shop: the scenery of the hectic world outside.
Coffee Machine is located on the side of a busy corridor, facing an endless stream of businessmen and women. I sat next to the big window, witnessing the extreme divergence between the activity outside, and the calm inside the shop.
It was like a race outside, with people nearly running instead of just walking. Like a time-lapse video everything seemed to be twice as fast. Conversely on the inside, somehow it was practically silent. The small seating space was close to full but every table seemed to have its own invincible sphere that held them back from disturbing others, no matter how juicy the conversation was with their company.
I could just sit there and people-watched all evening long, if I didn’t remember that I had two things to do: my coffee, and my pastry. I savored both treats while staring outside, yet felt bad at the same time because it was like mocking everybody who passed in a rush. So I turned my head around and instead immersed with what was inside the shop.
The maroon walls and timbered flooring took away the Tokyoite lunacy out of my system, slowly drifting me away from my rigid day. When my ear caught the tunes of Spice Girls’ “Wannabe” and Sixpence None the Richer’s “Kiss Me” (yes, they had a soft spot for 90s songs), I dispelled all the guilt I felt for the salary men and sang along anyway, because nothing felt better than nourishing yourself with comfort food and tapping to the beat of some old-school favorites.
After all it was a calm recess to escape Tokyo and its rain. And stepping out of the coffee shop to plunge back inside metropolitan frenzy, was surely the hardest thing to do.
