On my first visit to Tokyo 30 years ago, I was so blown away by the city’s energy, I knew I had to stay. I got a job at a travel magazine and lucked into an apartment belonging to a friend of a friend. It didn’t take long to realize I had scored big.

My apartment was in Aoyama, one of Tokyo’s most coveted addresses. Although the capital can be bewilderingly chaotic with its dense crowds, packed subways and towering skyscrapers, its homey neighborhoods make the megalopolis seem like nothing more than a series of small towns. I fell in love with Aoyama and adjacent Harajuku’s laidback atmosphere; sidewalk cafés; and narrow, twisting streets lined with ethnic restaurants and one-of-a-kind boutiques.

I’ve returned often to my old stomping grounds, now arguably the hippest neighborhoods in Tokyo if not all of Japan. While there used to be distinct differences between the two — Harajuku was teenybopper fashion heaven, Aoyama was for trendsetting yuppies — the boundary lines have blurred.

Nowadays many people refer to the area simply as Omotesando, after the boulevard that links Aoyama and Harajuku and which is lined with zelkova trees and cutting-edge architecture. What sets Omotesando apart is its exuberant youthfulness, notable in a country where people over 65 account for more than 20 percent of the population, the highest percentage in the world. Grab a seat at a sidewalk café and you’re treated to one of the greatest fashion shows on Earth, a never-ending parade of designer clothing, edgy outfits from up-and-coming fashion houses and street styles that range from Lolita and Gothic to personalized getups you won’t see anywhere else.

Young Tokyoites flock to Omotesando on weekends like other urbanites might flock to the beach. Laforet has been the barometer for the newest trends in youthful clothing since 1978, while shoppers with money to burn peruse the upscale shops in Omotesando Hills, designed by Tadao Ando. Omotesando is a who’s-who of international designer stores, from Tod’s to Prada, but it’s also a center for homegrown stores like Issey Miyake’s Reality Lab and A Bathing Ape.

Here, too, are diminutive shops selling only chopsticks (Ginza Natsuno), calligraphy (Carré MOJI), incense (Shoyeido), items for Japanese flower arranging and the tea ceremony (Tsutaya), and even condoms (Condomania). Oriental Bazaar has long been Tokyo’s best store for Japanese crafts and souvenirs.

I love getting lost in Omotesando, exploring backstreets and discovering new shops and restaurants. But then I slip away to Meiji Jingu Shrine, dedicated to the emperor who brought Japan into the industrial age. Buried deep within a forest, it brings continuity to a neighborhood that’s constantly changing yet remains forever young.