How Tokyo’s Four Seasons Hotels Helped Me Find Joy In Slowing Down While Traveling

Ahead of my trip to Tokyo last month, I felt pressure to pack in as much as possible. It’d been over four years since my last visit, and so much about our world had changed. While I had a loose agenda sorted out in my head, something shifted when I arrived at the intimate, 57-room Four Seasons Hotel Tokyo at Marunouchi. (The plan was to stay here two nights, and the last two at its newer sister property Four Seasons Hotel Tokyo at Otemachi.) I was spent coming off my first visit to Kyoto—where I ran around nonstop like a typical tourist—and the drizzly rain wasn’t helping me feel motivated to hit the ground running again.

What did I do instead? I made the most of my minimalist, cocoon-like room that afternoon. I perched by my floor-to-ceiling windows, absorbed the clock-like rhythm of the Shinkansen trains just below, and slowly savored my welcome amenity, an exquisite bunch of plump green grapes. (A friend revealed they were Shine Muscat, which are so prized they’re often given as gifts.)

Later for supper, I tucked into spicy, ultra-craggy fried chicken with all the fixins’ like homemade ranch, mashed potatoes, and braised kale (just the cure for my homesickness) at Maison Marunouchi, a breezy brasserie led by Michelin-starred Chef Daniel Calvert, who also heads up the very popular two Michelin-starred restaurant Sézanne. With a full belly and to the soothing sounds of Shinkansen trains whirring by, I drifted off to sleep.

The next day was bright, clear, and balmy—perfect for one of my favorite urban pasttimes, shopping. (Not much changed in that department, thankfully, with retail stalwarts like Nihombashi Mitsukoshi and Kappabashi Street still bustling.) That evening, I enjoyed another lovely dinner at Maison Marunouchi with the charming general manager Charles Fisher over flowing champagne and conversation. At one point I jokingly expressed regret over not ordering my hotel go-to, the club sandwich, and he promised to get one in my hands before I left. (Though the offer was sweet, I chalked it up to him being professional and polite.) To close the night, I ventured out to Folklore, a chic bolthole hidden away under the Yurakucho train tracks, for a shochu martini nightcap.

The following morning, I checked into Four Seasons Hotel Tokyo at Otemachi. Perched sky high on the top six floors of a gleaming tower, there’s heart-stopping views of Tokyo’s iconic cityscape everywhere you turn, from the 190 rooms and suites to VIRTÙ, the swanky cocktail den headed up by Keith Motsi. But don’t be fooled into thinking the sky’s the limit. Here, as I soon discovered, it’s just the beginning.

Faraaz Tanveer, the Director of Spa & Wellness, was waiting in my room for a private yoga session. I discovered the practice a few months ago, and wanted to learn how to make basic poses, especially trikonasana, easier on my old bones. But the biggest takeaway was when it was time for Savasana (corpse pose). “I’m really good at lying down and relaxing,” I quipped. To which Tanveer replied, “This is one of the hardest poses. If relaxing is easy, why do so many people have a hard time doing it?” His statement hit home. During this solo trip, I felt obligated to scope out Tokyo’s latest and greatest—not because I necessarily wanted to, but because I felt like I had to. Tanveer’s words were all I needed to take the pressure off, and slow down.

The Yakusugi Forest Renewal after our session certainly helped. Inspired by the ancient cedar trees—the oldest is believed to be between 2,170 and 7,200 years old—from the remote island of Yakushima, the two-hour spa ritual whisked me away on a virtual forest bathing session with a purfiying full-body exfoliation and restorative massage infused a heady, woody scent.

Over the next two days, I took Tanveer’s advice to heart and did what I pleased. I scoured one-off vintage goods at Oedo Antique Market, the country’s largest outdoor antique market, at the Tokyo International Forum. At est, a Michelin-starred restaurant merging local ingredients—even the water selections are all Japanese—with French techniques by Chef Guillaume Bracaval, I tried Japanese venison and tofu cheese. Executive Pastry Chef Yusuke Aoki’s afternoon tea showcased how versatile the luxurious grapes I was welcomed with at Marunouchi can be with artful bites such as Shine Muscat Shortcake and Cold Consommé Royale with Muscat Jelly. On my last night, a pal and I dug into yakitori at Shirokane Toritama Kagurazaka and Sakanamachi Gogou’s terrific seafood plates—the grilled fatty salmon belly was especially dreamy—and lemon sours.

Despite these wonderful experiences, I often think about what what happened as I checked out. In the lobby, I spotted Fisher with a Four Seasons bag in hand. He had walked over from Marunouchi, to personally deliver a club sandwich and a loaf of Sézanne’s legendary Hokkaido corn sourdough bread. As it turns out, I was wrong: he wasn’t just being nice at dinner, he was being sincere. These tokens served as heartfelt and delicious reminders of how many of my trip’s most memorable moments were spent between two extraordinary hotels—not just stomping the city streets.