So here we are, folks, Day Six of my week on the Pacific Rim.

My last full day in Japan nearly didn't get started at all: I was in such need of sleep that I managed to wake up after midday on this, the only day I had left to see the rest of Tokyo! I quickly changed my plans (okay, to be honest I'd already decided last night to bin the idea of getting up at 4am to visit the Tsukiji Fish Market, even though I know I would've loved it) and cut straight to the chase: lunch.

I found a small soba noodle place in a shopping mall near Roppongi, and had a bowl of what seemed to be beef gulasch, accompanied by a lovely mound of cold soba noodles. The two businessmen at the next table had enormous piles of soba noodles with a small dipping sauce - and a chunk of fresh wasabi root with a little grater - which I was coveting, I'll admit, but sadly I couldn't find it on the menu, and I didn't feel cheeky enough to point across the restaurant and say "me too". But mine was delicious too. And the best part was the tea they brought me when I'd finished my meal: it was the noodle water my soba noodles had been cooked in! Crazy but true.

After lunch I went to Roppongi Hills and paid the JPY 1500 to go to the Sky View observation deck on the very top of Mori Tower. This is a brand-new attraction that has stunning views over the whole of the centre of Tokyo. You can see out over the harbour, watch planes land at Haneda airport, glimpse the snow-covered peak of Fujiyama, spy the '70s boringness of the tower blocks of Yokohama, and peek into the secret gardens dotted about the middle of Tokyo.

I stayed up there for ages, just soaking up the view (and the rays; it was a chilly but very sunny day again). It was quite exciting to be standing at the edge of a helipad, over 200 metres above the city, and so peaceful too, despite the buffetting wind gusts.

My next destination was a total failure. In fact, this is - apart from the horrendously strong yen at the moment - the only negative thing about my whole week in Japan: I didn't once get to try an Onsen, or Japanese sauna. The one in Kyoto was closed for the exact duration of my stay, and the one in the centre of Tokyo has been closed down permanently! Damn it! I wanted to do the hot mud and hot springs and hot other stuff! Ah well, next time.

From outside the closed Onsen, I headed to Akihabara, Tokyo's Mecca for spotty geeky youths who like computers, grunge music and manga. I had a quick look into one of the many enormous electronics department stores, and tried out an electric foot massaging machine. It was okay, but just no comparison to a real person. Then I bought some Pokemon cards for my nephew's birthday, which I was missing because I was in Japan. And a teeshirt for myself that was covered in karate-chopping pigs. It's very me.

Then I had an unexpected Japan moment when I found a telly facing out from a tiny bar onto the street that was showing a sumo fight. But even in this most Japanese of sports, you can see the effects of creeping globalisation: the bout I watched was between a Belarussian and a Samoan. I have to admit, it was odd and even faintly unpleasant to see a Caucasian dude in one of those sumo nappy outfits; it just seemed so wrong, a slight on this centuries-old tradition. But I guess it's just a case of getting used to it.

There's another tradition that deserves a mention, although it's not as old as sumo: Japanese tourist information maps are handily placed at lots of intersections, and they're really useful, but it takes a while to get used to reading them. Unlike maps I've seen in other countries, which are uniformly oriented so that up equals north, Japanese maps are oriented to match the way you are facing when looking at the map. In other words, if you're walking down a road heading east, the map you look at will have east at the top. Which makes sense, I suppose.

I met Steve under the huge mother-spider sculpture at Mori Tower (it's the original; I've seen exact copies outside Bilbao's Guggenheim Museum and in London's Tate Gallery), and we headed to our dinner destination, a teppanyaki restaurant by the faintly amusing name of Bamboo Grassy. This was recommended to him by a work colleague, so I was prepared for a swish place. It took a while to find, but after we'd spotted a small sign and made our way down a dingy flight of steps, we stepped into a very well-appointed bijou eatery.

We got seats at the bar, right up against the hot plate, and opted for a standard menu of several courses, including vegetables, fish, seafood (I haven't had sea urchin since I was in Madagascar) & some beef. All washed down with refreshing beers. Well, I did glance at the wine menu, just out of interest, but decided I didn't want to pay upwards of sixty pounds for a bottle you can pick up in any supermarket back home for under a tenner. The meal was splendid: absolutely delicious ingredients cooked to perfection; friendly, attentive service; and lively conversation. These factors together made the EUR 100 per head price tag bearable. And that, my friends, is the most I've ever paid for a meal - with my own money ... ah, corporate plastic, how I miss you!