Filming location of Hou Hsiao-hsien’s *Café Lumière* — A classic Taisho-style café in Tokyo

Text and photos byExcerpted from *100 Ways to Tokyo* by Chen _g-xin, published by Kate Culture

Encountering *Café Lumière*

Walking along Yasukuni-dori, turning onto Hakusan-dori, passing by Sanshodo bookstore, the musical instrument street, and then crossing Ochanomizu Bridge — this stretch of road could also be called “one of the walking routes of Naoko and Watanabe.” But to me, this path is less about the route from *Norwegian Wood* and more about my journey in search of *Café Lumière*. After all, this is the only section I walked solely because of Hou Hsiao-hsien’s *Café Lumière*.

*Café Lumière* is a film made as an homage to director Yasujirō Ozu, and its filming style is very much in the Ozu vein. If you’re familiar with Ozu’s style, you’ll know that this isn’t a particularly plot-heavy movie — it’s just a slice of Tokyo daily life, a film as plain as water. But when you’re thirsty, you’ll find yourself missing it.

There are a few unforgettable scenes. There’s the café where the heroine, Yoko, sits working, with a view of the Kanda River visible through the window behind her, and several scenes in old bookstores that left an incredible impression on me. Because of these, I searched carefully through Jimbocho several times looking for Erika Café, the real-life café featured in *Café Lumière*, but I couldn’t find it. It wasn’t until my third visit that I finally pushed open the deeply Taisho-style door of Erika on Hakusan-dori — only to find that there was no window with a “view of the Kanda River.”

“That was my brother’s shop. He passed away, and it’s closed now.” At the old-school Taisho-style café, after drinking a strong cup of coffee, I finally couldn’t help but ask the owner to confirm — and received such an answer from the seemingly shy proprietor. The Hakusan-dori branch has a similar vibe to the original shop, and comparing it with stills from the film somewhat satisfies the feelings of a film fan.

Most of the customers in the shop are regulars, and the normally quiet atmosphere becomes lively because of me, the curious tourist asking questions. The excitement peaks when I ask the owner to sign my book and take a photo. “Boss, you’re a celebrity too now — there are young ladies asking for your autograph!” the regulars chime in. The owner’s daughter smiles softly, seemingly delighted to see her father blushing over it all.

Another scene didn’t have such a heartwarming moment. While wandering among the old bookstores hoping for a lucky find, I got more than a few stern glares from various bookstore owners. That’s understandable — after all, I kept flipping through books while constantly glancing around, which must’ve looked pretty suspicious. Amid those glares, I found myself imagining whether, if I just kept at it, I might spot a waiter in a bow tie carrying a silver tray with a coffee pot and porcelain cups, delivering coffee. Apparently, Jimbocho really did once have waiters like that, serving coffee to regulars. But so far, I haven’t seen any — do they still exist?

On Ochanomizu Bridge, I captured the most iconic moment from *Café Lumière*: the split-second when trains cross on the four railway lines. Then, combining the memories I gathered along the way with the ambient sounds of people and traffic recorded just like the film’s protagonist, I edited them together into something truly precious — my own version of *Café Lumière*.

Erika Café, located at 1-32-3 Kanda Jinbocho, Chiyoda City. It’s a warm, classic-style café, and it’s probably liveliest during breakfast hours.