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True isolation is a rarity in our modern world, and certainly not something I expected to experience in my travels to Tokyo. It's a city full of unknowns and unexpected treasures, hidden within a crawling mass of concrete, neon and millions upon millions of people. To be alone in Tokyo is to be alone amongst a sea of people. As a non-japanese speaker, the extent of my conversations with locals was limited to the usual 'thank you, hello, goodbye'. After 5 days of this, I had never felt so isolated in a city so vibrant and full of people. I decided to go for a gentle walk around the neighbourhood which I was staying in, Akasaka, on a warm and breezy July night. As the sun began to set and Tokyo's lights began to shine, the atmosphere was unmatched to anything I had ever felt before. Strolling the back streets, I observed the locals as they returned home from work for the day, while others only just began to make their way to work. I saw in the distance, hidden behind a jumble of electrical wires and billboards, what looked like a shrine poking its head up above the foreground. Sure enough, there was the Hei Shrine, sitting high above the modernity of the business district it looked over, upon its very own natural pedestal. I had seen a fair amount of shrines during my time in Japan, and in all honesty, each one never fails to amaze me. Their stark juxtaposition of traditional architecture amongst the cities they lie in is a fascinating picture. This one proved no different. As I crossed yet another busy intersection, I began to ascend above the street level by way of the large staircase that led up to the shrine's entrance. I had arrived there about 15 minutes before closing time, but due to my current mood and the undeniable energy in the air, I had to head in. As I strolled in through the gates I saw what looked to be a wedding party packing up for the day, with an exhausted bride sitting defeated on a bench outside the main building. It can be easy to forget that these buildings that we, as foreigners, admire so much as fascinating attractions, do often hold practical functions in society. This was my reminder. Respectfully, I walked around the side, entered the main courtyard and was struck instantly by a certain realisation. Not two minutes ago I was standing streetside on a busy footpath surrounded by the overstimulating sights and smells of a meg-tropolis, yet now here I stand in the midst of one of Tokyo's most popular shrines with not a soul around, and I can't hear a thing. Just silence, pure silence. It was as if I had packed up my bags, caught a bus into the wilderness and stood in the middle of a forest, without a building, car or fellow human around. All I could do was sit and admire the silence for a minute or two, entering an almost meditative state. I didn't want to leave, but I also did not want to inconvenience anyone by staying after closing time. I slipped off down the back entrance which was a large stone crafted staircase shrouded by towering trees that formed an avenue for me to return to the chaos. Darkness had just fallen as I left and as the streetlights lit my way forward I said to myself 'I will never forget that moment'.