Cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth, Toru Kambayashi is busy behind the counter preparing to open his bar when a couple — American, perhaps, judging from their accents — poke their heads in the door, asking if they can come in for a drink.
“Not yet,” says Kambayashi, the bearded and bespectacled owner of Skavla, one of the near 280 bars, pubs and other establishments tightly packing the labyrinthine alleys of Shinjuku Golden Gai. His place opens promptly at 7 p.m.
“OK, we’ll come back later,” one of them says as they drift back out into the winter evening where fluorescent shop signs are beginning to flicker to life, slowly transforming these narrow, rustic streets into a colorful concoction of cramped watering holes.
“Christmas season is typically pretty slow around here,” Kambayashi says, pulling up the sleeves of his navy blue sweatshirt to wash some dishes in the sink. “You know in Japan, Christmas is mostly about spending time with your romantic partner or eating Kentucky Fried Chicken with your family at home.
One of the six entrances to the labyrinthine collection of alleyways that make up Shinjuku Golden Gai.
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“Instead,” he continues, “many tourists have been returning to Golden Gai since this spring. That helps because the number of Japanese customers hasn’t gone back to pre-pandemic levels just yet.”
In fact, the network of six alleys connecting this darkened yet cozy corner of Shinjuku is teeming with curious foreign travelers thirsty for a taste of one of the most iconic neighborhoods in Tokyo — a welcome change after borders were shut and many businesses, including Kambayashi’s, were forced to temporarily close during the health crisis.
Now a tourist hot spot, Golden Gai, which means “golden district,” has a surprisingly tumultuous past. Evolving from black market center to unlicensed prostitution quarter, it then blossomed into an artists’ neighborhood during the 1960s and ’70s where writers, actors and directors of stage and film squeezed onto stools alongside other cultural figures in what were called bundan bā, or “literary bars.” There, they would engage in animated discussions and not infrequent brawls that left the area’s proprietors and patrons with countless stories to regale each new generation of customer.
In recent years, however, the area seems to have changed considerably with younger barkeeps and clientele — as well as the influx in foreign tourists — perhaps signaling a new phase in the locale’s storied history. One thing that hasn’t changed, though, is the heady dose of Showa-era nostalgia that emanates from the ramshackle wooden nagaya, tenement houses that occupy 6,600 square meters of prime real estate in Kabukicho, Japan’s largest entertainment district.
Staring out the window of one of the nearly 280 establishments in Golden Gai.
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Under the arches that mark one of several entrances to Golden Gai’s alleys are two tourists: Kacper Szymanski, a U.K.-based, Polish IT engineer, and Fabio Lenza, an Italian quality analyst for TikTok now working in Dublin.
They decided to head out for a drink together after meeting up the day before while visiting the Imperial Palace, explains Szymanski, who is in Tokyo on vacation.
“I’ve already been here several times during this trip,” Szymanski says, wearing a backpack and a mustard yellow jacket. Lenza, with a curly mop of hair and a black windbreaker, says he became interested in exploring the neighborhood when he heard about it from Szymanski. They arrived somewhat early tonight and are eyeing up which taverns to hit.
“It’s great,” says Szymanski, hardly able to contain his enthusiasm. “Each bar has its own magic.”
Up to the third floor
On the night of Jan. 14, 1976, news broke that “Vengeance is Mine,” a novel written by Ryuzo Saki and based on the story of serial killer Akira Nishiguchi, had won the Naoki Prize. Saki, a Golden Gai regular, now had one of Japan’s most sought after literary awards for fiction.
As it turned out, this became an epoch-making event for the district.
“The moment he won the Naoki Prize, a gateway to success in the literary world, Ryuzo Saki transformed into a popular writer,” writes the late Hidetsuna Watanabe in his book, “The Story of Shinjuku Golden Gai.” Watanabe, who passed away in 2003, operated a bar called Nabesan in the district.
“At the same time,” he continues, “Golden Gai came to be closely watched by the mass media as a place where such writers gathered.”
Watanabe’s paperback chronicling the history of Golden Gai, and Shinjuku Ward more broadly, is one of the books lining the shelves on the wall of Uisce.
“It means ‘water’ in Gaelic,” says Seiji Toshima, the bar’s owner. The 61-year-old former corporate employee, dressed in a crisp, white shirt, opted for early retirement and opened Uisce back in December 2020.
Seiji Tojima, who owns Uisce, is a living encyclopedia when it comes to Golden Gai’s past.
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Unlike Skavla’s steampunk-inspired interior, Uisce comes off as slick and lighter-themed. Jazz plays in the background; there’s a great selection of single malt whisky. And Toshima is a living encyclopedia when it comes to the area’s past. “I’ve been drinking as a customer in Golden Gai for many years now,” he says, pouring a glass of whisky and soda.
“There are two business promotion associations in Golden Gai,” he adds. And the size of the shops are typically either 3 tsubo (10 square meters) or 4.5 tsubo (15 sq. meters) depending on which zone they belong to, seating anywhere from five to 10 with little space to move.
Until an anti-prostitution law was fully enforced in 1958, Golden Gai was known for unlicensed sex work, which is the reason many establishments actually have three floors: The first floor was generally used as a bar, the second as the manager’s residence and rooms for overnight guests, and the third as a “chon-no-ma,” a “short-time room” where sex workers carried out their trade.
After prostitution was outlawed, the area was re-established as a drinking quarter, and the name “Golden Gai” was born during the mid-1960s as it flourished as a cultural magnet, attracting a long roster of writers, editors and figures from stage and film.
Artist Taro Okamoto, film director Nagisa Oshima, novelist Shusaku Endo and playwright Juro Kara were all notable regulars, while other well-known figures, including journalist Takashi Tachibana, ran their own bars.
Toru Kambayashi prepares to open Skavla promptly at 7 p.m.
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At the height of the financial bubble in the late 1980s, however, real estate sharks began hunting for property in Golden Gai, leading shop owners to organize a coordinated protest against redevelopment projects. Despite the efforts, Toshima says many establishments were driven out, leaving the area desolate in the wake of the bubble’s collapse and the subsequent economic stagnation of the 1990s. “That’s around the time when I first began drinking here,” he says.
Golden Gai’s glimmer didn’t fade, though. New shops started opening in the 2000s, and the once-empty streets began thriving again with a renewed appreciation for the district’s retro charm and unique architecture. Even today, entering one of its alleys feels like traveling back to an old Tokyo, an era before glitzy highrises dominated the city’s skyline.
Intimate quarters
Clambering up a narrow, creaking wooden staircase, regulars are beginning to gather at Hip, a “rock, soul & blues” bar two stories down from Skavla.
It’s Kamabayashi’s first Golden Gai bar, opened 12 years ago when he was still working as a liquor wholesaler. Unlike Skavla, which has had international tourists in mind from its inception (the bar’s website is in English only), Hip appears to lean more toward a Japanese clientele. It has an eye-catching interior, with both its walls and ultra-low ceiling painted cherry red.
Yukio Takahashi says the clientele at her bar, Hip, has been getting younger.
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Led Zeppelin is performing on a screen behind the counter. Drinks are being poured tonight by Yukio Takahashi, her bleached blonde hair hiding under a black baseball cap. Now 38, she says she’s been frequenting Golden Gai since she was 19 and has been working at Hip for several years now.
“A lot has changed around here since I first started coming. Customers used to be much, much older,” she says, her voice raspy from years of booze and cigarette smoke. “What’s the charm of Golden Gai? Well, the venues are so tiny, the distance between customers and staff is naturally very close. I guess that creates an intimate atmosphere,” she says.
Tetsuo Motoyanagi, 35, a ponytailed DJ sitting at the bar counter and sipping a beer, chimes in: “There are a lot of eccentric characters in this town,” he says, referring to Golden Gai as its own self-contained community. “It’s a very tolerant place.”
A Christmas tree is set up in the corner of Hip, though this time of year is rather quiet.
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Not all bars are open to everyone, however. There are members-only establishments, especially among older venues. The bar Futaba, for example, has been operating for 75 years and is now run by the original founder’s granddaughter.
The sheer diversity of the establishments, though, is one of Golden Gai’s biggest draws. There are chic bistros, a 24-hour ramen shop, a bar staffed by actors, bars that double as an art gallery or library — you name it. While the tumbledown outer shell remains timeless, the district’s inhabitants are gradually shifting.
“There’s been some noticeable generational change,” says Kambayashi. “I think around 10 bar owners, most of them old and running their place on their own, have passed away since I opened Hip.”
All that glitters is not golden
As the last train approaches, people begin flocking toward Shinjuku Station. Others remain — many joints here operate until the wee hours of the morning.
Once outside Golden Gai’s gates, Kabukicho’s glaring neon lights, noise, exhaust and love hotels greet bargoers attempting to call it a night. While much of Golden Gai’s nostalgic allure has been preserved, that’s not the case with the rest of Shinjuku and the seemingly perpetual redevelopment projects altering its cityscape.
Vermilion gates line a path to Hanazono Shrine, where a lot of Kabukicho business owners go to pray.
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Kabukicho, often dubbed the “sleepless city,” has been in the news this year, too, with crackdowns ongoing on malicious host clubs charging female patrons extortionist fees and the so-called Toyoko Kids — runaway teens who loiter around the Shinjuku Toho Building, often getting involved in prostitution, illicit drugs and other crimes.
Two of them sitting by the big plaza in Kabukicho are willing to chat on condition of anonymity; a woman with a black face mask who appears to be in her late teens and a man around the same age, also masked up and wearing a bucket hat.
“This is where kids who have nowhere to go gather,” the man says, without elaborating on how they are planning to spend the night. On one side of the plaza are kids who are camping out with futons. Asked about Golden Gai, both shake their heads, saying they’ve never been to the place.
Masamichi Nakawatase (foreground) enjoys a drink at Hip.
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Earlier, Kambayashi had mentioned that even within Kabukicho, certain districts operate within their own ecosystems: Shinjuku Ni-chome’s LGBTQ neighborhood, Golden Gai, the host and hostess clubs — they’re all a part of Kabukicho, coexisting without encroaching on each other’s turf. As famed photographer Daido Moriyama often says, Shinjuku is a “stadium of desire” where people from all walks of life gather — there’s a place for everyone.
That includes Masamichi Nakawatase, a regular at Hip who operates a beauty salon in Shibuya Ward. He’s about to be swallowed into the crowd heading toward Shinjuku Station’s ticket gates. Somewhat tipsy from the drinks he had at Golden Gai, and with a can for the road, he waves goodbye.
“I’ll be back soon,” he says with a smile.