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About a year since I last visited — and now nine months since Toyama, my pick, was selected as one of the New York Times’ “52 Places to Visit” in 2025 — I returned to Blue Train.

Blue Train opened in 1980, about the same time I opened. The owners are even older than you might think (they pleaded with me not to tell you their precise ages), the shop having been opened later in their lives than you might guess. I was back in Toyama to see the Etchū Owara Kaze no Bon festival up in the village of Yatsuo, at which I spent about eight hours on Monday night. It was amazing — very special — I’ll write more about it later. But this was also a trip to say hello to all the shops I put on the 52-Places list, to check in, to make sure I hadn’t ruined their lives. ¹

I popped by Suzukeema (Insta), delicious as ever with their summer “spice” curry and spectacular iced coffee, writing India on the menu in kanji as 「印度」. I managed to sneak into Hida (Insta), the natural-wine-oden-shop, despite the whole place being rented out by a group of ten women, many from Kamakura, who were also in town for the festival. And then to Hanamizuki-no-heya — I stopped by there, too. Everyone was healthy and it was a delight to catch up. Finally, I stuck my head into Alpes (Insta) to see what was shaking. The place was full, mostly of regulars (the mom of the owner’s middle school classmate was drinking wine at the counter), and it was nice, too, to verify that the place hadn’t been overrun by tourists or anything like that. Not that I was worried — Toyama is far enough away that most won’t make the hike.

Most interesting about the trip was talking with Japanese patrons in each of the shops. Many were there because of the Times piece. A husband and wife from Tokyo sipped wine in the corner of Alpes, and we ran into each other again in our hotel lobby. How did you end up at Alpes? I asked. New York Times! they replied. Which is the fascinating irony of the attention — it’s not inbound tourists that are driven by the list (though of course, some are), it’s locals and folks from other prefectures, who are made to “remember” or, perhaps, for the first time in their lives, consider Toyama or Morioka or Yamaguchi. And from that, they make plans, do a weekend trip, sneak in a cheeky glass of wine after the festival in the mountains. The homegrown tourism bump comes from the massive Japanese media attention given to the list. And with the yen so weak, and overseas tourism so inaccessible, never before in the modern history of the country has domestic tourism been so attractive.

In Blue Train, it was a joy, finally, to chat with the owners. Last time, I didn’t push them to talk since they seemed lost in thought about trains and extremely hard of hearing. But this time, they were as voluble as could be, and I didn’t feel too bad about yelling my questions / answers in their direction. They had tacked up the articles about their selection in a glass display case in the entrance. There’s a funny little elevated seat in the corner of the shop. I asked what that was about and they said it was the “omiai-seki” or “arranged marriage” seat. Turns out, when families wanted their son or daughter to marry some other family’s son or daughter, they’d meet here, in Blue Train, sit up in that elevated seat. The son and daughter would then head off into town while the families would stay and chat. Years later, the owner told me, the successful omiai couples would bring their newborns in. It was a way more potent seat than I had imagined.

On the far wall sits the tram collection — a custom set of trams from all over the country. At length, the owner expounded on the differences in trams vs. trains vs. buses. With trams, he said, you can anticipate their movements because of the tracks. Buses, no such luxury. And trams allow you to see the city and they integrate with the city, they’re part of the city. A train leaves the city, but a tram stays within it. He pointed out the color variations, and how the southern trams tended to be painted more brightly. He said the trams up north were driven quietly and smoothly, whereas the trams in Kyushu were downright frightening. I told him I went to Waseda, and one of the few remaining trams in Tokyo was right outside the school. He immediately rattled off a bunch of statistics about it and pointed to it on the wall.

About this shop, I wrote last November:

A little man behind the counter is running his perfect model trains around their magical track, a track that circumscribes the whole shop like locomotive hug, with handsome handmade scenery and hand-painted backdrops. For nearly half a century, thousands of people have come here and been filled with delight. Here, an obsession transmuted into love with a side of toast. Given the age of the shop, it’s in pristine condition. The counter polished, the trains without any dust. The egg sandwich actually an omelette sandwich with a bit of jam. (Yum.) The coffee strong. The music classical. I’m the only one here. Sitting in the corner looking at this incredible scene — truly a life’s work, a work of life. This, too, a political act. We forget that. Is it crazy to say that a place like this represents a pinnacle of a life well-used? It does in my eyes. Archetypes move humanity forward and the trains are beside the point: The play is the point, the full-throttled commitment to that play, the showing up day after day for it, the dialing in of a private obsession while simultaneously giving it back to the world as a gift. Play. Something we’ve lost. Certainly in this infinitude of toxic discourse. Certainly in the endlessly penetrating suspicion and paranoia. Something we’ve taken away from common people through shitty policies and a gutting of social services. Something shirked by a ZIRP attack on public infrastructure. Once you see what kind of play is possible — play that extends and expands throughout a life, a remonstration against fear, against smallness, against pettiness, against sinecures — you **want to see it everywhere. You want everyone to be this privileged — privileged to make this choice to commit to play, to amplify play and life, and exist as an archetype showing a hundred-thousand others what’s possible as they sip coffee and munch thick toast as a model of the 1964 Shinkansen struts around the shop on its tracks like Lady from Lady and the Tramp.

More than ever I feel this, especially given the state of things. I don’t know how much longer Blue Train will be around for, but as I’ve said before: make the journey if you can. It’s a special kind of shop, run in a special kind of way. I’m glad I was able to play a small part in giving them a boost of recognition in the twilight of their journey. And I’m especially glad to see they were able to accept that recognition (recognition they didn’t ask for, it should be said) with grace and without, I hope, too much stress.

I’m glad I made the trip up. I’ll be back on the 18th of September, in a couple of weeks, to do a live discussion with the Mayor of Toyama at the gorgeous city library, talking more about why I think the city is special.

More soon,
C

Noted