These boots were made for walking...

I have accepted the fact that there will be no 'Early Morning Christina'. I give in to this resignation. Any good intentions of rising at the crack of dawn and hitting the pavement when there are only two other people up and about go out the window.

Besides, a girl needs as much sleep as she can get when a whole day is devoted to that artform (and some would say Olympic-medal sport) called 'Shopping'. Well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

As is fast becoming a daily ritual, I make my way through Nakamise-dori. It's a rather perfect day. The sun is out and it's warm. The crowds are out in full force, but it is Saturday and there's an aura of reverence around Senso-ji. The air is scented with incense and trails of smoke snake upwards before dissipating into a cloudy haze above our heads. A group of monks hold out wooden bowls for donations. Street vendors with their stalls selling all manner of food on skewers - meat, sweets, fruits - add colour, sound and smell to the scene.

I begin to notice things, even slight nuances, that I had not seen the first day.

Today, I devote to Ginza - Tokyo's answer to New York's Fifth Avenue. I exit Nihombashi Station and am easily sidetracked by Takashimaya. It's boutique and high-end couture. It's probably a damn good thing that my budget doesn't allow one to indulge in Jean Paul Gautier underwear that would cost the price of my plane ticket here. There is little to 'realistically' entice.

And then... I discover the Shoe Floor.

Think: blinding ray of white light as the clouds part and a lot of 'hallelujahing'. I am in a country that has shoes small enough for size 4 feet.

However, reality has a way of biting you in the ass when you get too cocky about good fortune and luck. The one pair of boots I have been eyeing off are apparently too big for my midget feet. In desperation, I start wondering how ridiculous it would be to wear three pairs of socks. I leave dejected. No big bag with big box with (big) boots.

Ginza Strip: very swish. Door attendants are ready to usher you in wearing their white gloves, thick overcoats and expensive suits. The big European designers reign here. Wallets will be emptied faster than they can be refilled. 'Freebies' become a welcome relief - even if it is playing with the toys in massive Hakuhinkan Toy Park (every child's dream, every parent's nightmare), or the new gadgets in the Sony building. I also engage in a failed mission to find the famous Godzilla Statue that is a landmark around the area.

Then, the flash of blinding white light and a chorus of 'hallelujah' starts up again. Hellooo Kanematsu-Ginza shoe store.

Can we say 'boutique'. Exclusive. Swank. I pick up the first pair of boots I see. They happen to be a size 22.5 (4). They are perfect. I want to marry the attendant. We speak the universal language of 'Credit Card' and 'World Cup Football'. Huh?

For 29,800 Yen, I get my beautiful boots and a shopping experience to write home about. My attendant carries my (big) bag and sees me to the door, then bows when I depart. I LOVE JAPANESE ETIQUETTE!

Christina Very Happy. She Get Boots.

Back at the hostel, it's Girls Night Out. Lena, Mina and myself make the 20 minute jaunt to Zai's - a small Korean restaurant that Makiko works at. It's in the backstreets of Asakusa, hidden (albeit unfortunately) from the main strip. We are the only customers at that time of night. We missed the earlier rush. Probably a good thing because, as with most eateries here in Japan, it is compact. It is, however, homely and welcoming. One cook (the owner whose name is Zai) and one waitress.

The company and staff soon become like old friends and close family. Good food, good company and good discussions. This is what life should be about. This is what travelling should be.

And it's official. There is no such thing as a non-meat-eater in this country (or at least, the places I keep frequenting - save for the 7-11 when I have become a regular). We are an oddity. 'Bejitarian' meals inevitably come with floating prawns.

We adjourn to a small bar on a sidestreet called Muchas Gracios - a literal hallway/hole in the wall with undoubtedly Japan's cleanest toilet. When we arrive, Singin' In The Rain is playing on a screen and the three patrons already there are having a quiet one. That's how it was when we arrived. When we leave, it's a rather different story. There's something quite wonderful and ludicrous about being tipsy in a bar with a Spanish name in Japan, drinking Baileys and watching 'Bob' the owner (Japan's equivalent to a Hawaiian uncle) and his regulars doing the cha-cha behind the counter.

We are the Architects of Fun. 8P