Now that COVID restrictions are finally lifting, and travel once again becomes possible, I've been reflecting on how I spent approximately the last 18 months. I consider myself a fairly accomplished traveler and have been fortunate enough to see a good portion of the world. When, like everyone else, I was restricted to my home, I turned to video games to scratch that itch for travel and exploration. Yet, while both may be enjoyable, it is clear that those are obviously not equivalent experiences. Fantastic worlds, no matter how rich and rewarding, don't have the same flavor as getting to see new parts of the world one actually lives in. However, I was surprised to find that there were some games that did manage to recreate a measure of that feeling - games that take place in real locations where I've actually been.
That said, it didn't take COVID-19 to get me to appreciate the work that goes into building video game worlds, or replicating the real world inside of a game. When Insomniac's Spider-Man came out in 2018, like a lot of people I spent most of my time web-swinging around New York City. About a month after I beat that game, I actually had an occasion to travel to NYC myself, and was deeply disappointed that I was on my way to Brooklyn, a borough not featured in that game. I actually looked at a real map to see how my path would track from Grand Central Station, through parts of the city I explored in the game, and finally beyond them. I had learned part of the actual city's layout from my play experience, and I was eager (and, eventually, a bit crestfallen) to connect that experience to the real world.
However, during the pandemic, it was the other way around. I was exploring video games, and in the process, mapping my real-life experience onto what happened on the screen. While there are a number of real cities that you can play your way through, the most common one in my experience was Tokyo. I've been fortunate enough to visit that city several times, and, of course, we have abundant examples of video games set there. I've previously had the experience of seeing landmarks such as the Kaminarimon in Asakusa or the Shibuya train station in games like Shin Megumi Tensei, but it hit with much greater impact while actively stuck at home. In fact, a very niche title, Akiba's Beat, offered me one of the most significant encounters to which I can speak.
To be completely frank, I picked up Akiba's Beat because I was bored and it cost less than $20. It's an action RPG title that, among other things, deals with the specific character of Tokyo's Akihabara neighborhood, and the changes it has experienced since first being termed "Electric Town" following World War II. It's not a very big area and it's full of interesting things to buy, so as a tourist I've been there several times and been able to get a sense of the neighborhood's layout. While playing, I immediately started to think things like, "okay, if this is the train station exit, then that means the Yodobashi Camera store is back there, outside of the game boundaries, but I should be able to get to the Kotobukiya store that I like a few blocks over." This might be kind of a silly thing to think while playing, but nevertheless, when the game finally let me wander over in the direction of that Kotobukiya store, I was delighted to see an off-brand equivalent right where I expected it to be. It was just like returning to the city itself in a weird way, and gave me that genuine sense of travel that had been very hard to come by for the year prior.
These encounters seem to trigger some very specific sense memories, allowing me to recall not just the place, but the feeling of the place. In Tokyo Mirage Sessions, hearing an electronic billboard ad in Shibuya chattering over the game's music, or seeing the food in 13 Sentinels (as an aside, the food in Vanillaware games is perhaps the best looking food in any medium, anywhere, possibly including real life) instantly recall actual times I've spent in Tokyo, and the things I was doing, despite having only the most tangential connection to the game I'm playing.
Where this effect became most apparent was in a series that became something of a pandemic MVP for me, Yakuza. During the pandemic, I played Yakuza Kiwami, Yakuza 6: The Song of Life, and Yakuza: Like a Dragon. For those unfamiliar with the games, they largely take place in Kamurocho, a fictionalized version of the Kabukicho red-light district, a place I have never actually been. Despite that, there were a number of very familiar elements in the first game that reminded me of my time spent in other areas of the city. In between critical moments of emotionally-intense crime drama, I spent my time wandering around the city, trying to win plushies from UFO-catchers, checking out the magazine racks at the local Lawson or 7-11 equivalents, or just buying all the drinks from the vending machines - activities I actually engage in when I'm in Tokyo. After working my way through the story and the many, many mini-games in Yakuza Kiwami, I skipped over the intervening titles and went straight to Yakuza 6, the final installment for protagonist Kazuma Kiryu.
While Kiwami is set in 2005, the final game takes place in 2012, 7 years later. Starting up Yakuza 6, the first thing that struck me was how much had changed in Kamurocho since Kiwami. It was cleaner - a lot cleaner. There were less flyers and more electronic billboards. There were more cars on the road. The 7-11s had been entirely replaced with Lawsons, and there was even an actual Don Quixote (if you're ever in Tokyo, you owe yourself a trip to one of these stores - no words can do it justice)! It genuinely mirrored the change I'd seen in the real world over many years of visits to Tokyo, and immediately brought back the feelings and memories of each time I would travel, and see the city transformed.
Of course, while part of Yakuza 6 is still set in Kamurocho, most of it is set in Onomichi, a district in Hiroshima. I've never been to Hiroshima, and was immediately taken by the small-town charm of Onomichi. It's a storied port town with a major hillside shrine, a local ramen dish, and a mascot with a giant hassaku orange for a head. It's all the things I love about Japan: ancient history, unique food, and that distinctly Japanese kawaii-culture. After only a few hours in the game, I was transfixed; Onomichi was a place I desperately wanted to spend a day or a weekend. While there was certainly more crime drama featuring Kazuma Kiryu, for me, the real attraction of the game was Onomichi itself. I probably spent more time wandering around the shrine or down along the ocean's edge than I did actually advancing the game. I even bought souvenirs!
Onomichi was a virtual vacation that was much, much more satisfying than I ever expected it could be, and it genuinely lessened the hardships of being stuck at home. I'm excited to get back out into the world, now that doing so is once again a reality, but finding the core feeling of travel in those virtual worlds was a discovery all on its own. Perhaps nothing truly takes the place of real travel and genuine adventure, but nonetheless, these virtual reflections were able to reignite some good memories, and fulfill some of those same needs. We all know that video gaming can be a welcome respite from the difficulties of the real world, but it turns out that it can also be a welcome reminder of the good things as well, and maybe a promise that the good things are still be out there, waiting for us to find them.