Friday, November 25, 2016


The Tokyo subway - clean enough to change your baby's diaper on.
The street after yesterday's snow.

Nothing out of the ordinary, just a quiet, suburban neighborhood outside the metropolis with small streets filled with bicyclists and little kids coming out from school, a few local businesses and an adjacent rail stop. Flat as a pancake, except for the slight incline near the house.

Beer jidohanbaiki.
Neighborhood plant front.
Don't let your dog poop out in the street! Japan is clean, clean, clean.
The place I made a humble entrance.
Until recently still in practice, the neighboring lady doc, right across the street.

Not the original, but sitting in the same space. Student lodgers like Mimi Smith, but unlike Auntie Lennon's, lots of parties with gaijin and intellectuals, with mandoline playing and bamboo-needle gramophone nights of revelry in a non-conformist pocket of post-war Nippon.
In front of Yoshimura's.

Across the street.

Chez Yoshimura, formerly.

The little street so inclined, tucked away in the flatlands.

Though there is no memory, it did feel familiar.

Disconcerting for the one who knew it well, because unrecognizable, but still a meaningful return.

And afterward a hospital visit in a more thoroughly modern town, to someone still living in the present but also a marker of the past, smiling warmly and with good humor through his current predicament. Long-lost relatives not to be recovered. This was a goodbye.
Former cabbage patch-turned schoolyard.

I received a friendly "konnichiwa" from a little schoolboy passing by. Kind of a "welcome back".
Town bike. More cyclists than pedestrians in these narrow lanes. The place feels out-of-the-way, though not off the beaten path.

In the street of little businesses leading to the train station. Why is that red thing a lamp?

The street leading to the train station, dressed up for Japanese Christmas.
Seeds and crackers.
Pigs in window.
It seems somehow appropriate to bump into these guys while I was here today. Almost a talisman saying, "they were here when you were here".
Grammatical wa(i)ver.

The little train station. Bowl of curry ramen before leaving at the place that's been there for over forty years. Grandma at the counter, smiling colleague warming up the conversation with her enthusiastic response to our visit to this place left behind long ago.

Daikon legs!

More Japanese English dream language, except this time in French (mostly).
And finally, this man's feet on the way back in the train.

Kodaira market street Christmas from Christopher Magee on Vimeo.

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