With pushchairs for pampered pets in Tokyo not really all that rare, it presumably makes some kind of sense, if one has a couple of canines of course, to traipse them round in tandem.
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Even the briefest of walks around the likes of Shinjuku or Harajuku will produce a dazzling array of fashion along with an enormous number of phones. All of which are sported by similarly assorted age groups. Characteristics that in many ways could arguably be said to sum up Tokyo’s shopping and entertainment areas in a nutshell.
Or should that be a clamshell?
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It’s usually good to have choice, but when it comes to not so stylish or unsubtly coloured plastic sandals-cum-slippers, it’s arguable that one can have a little too much of a good thing.
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Why exactly I wish I knew, but there’s something really quite soothing about a walk through a cemetery on a sunny day.
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Despite the fact that a 90 or so minute journey from the capital on a suitably bound shinkansen can easily deposit one deep into snowboarding territory, Tokyo and its surrounding areas get surprisingly little snow — and even when there is some it’s generally just a gentle sprinkling.
Yesterday, however, more of the white stuff fell than I’ve witnessed in a long while, making trains late and commuters even more crammed than usual. But at the same time, it also had the power to make this lake, which was once popular but is now largely unvisited and relatively rundown,
seem largely worth a look.
And all in all, really quite welcoming.
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Apart from the photography aspect of it, exploring abandoned buildings/haikyo seems to offer different things to different people, and whilst the actual structures and especially the decay they undergo are invariably quite interesting, for me personally, it’s the little details and the private possessions left behind that are by far the most fascinating; items that often give hints about a person’s interests and tastes, possibly even their name — all left behind, and left untouched, sometimes as though it was only yesterday, creating strangely personal (and yet at the same time somehow impersonal) historical artefact of sorts.
A semi-decent example of this being a desk in the Okawa Seminar house, photographs of which can be seen here in part 1.
Presumably once belonging to the facility’s manager, it almost certainly hasn’t been sat in front of for the best part of twenty years, and yet it still feels almost used — private even. Especially so knowing that whoever held the position — and with this being Japan we can at least safely assume it was a man — unfortunately suffered from the occasional stomach complaint.
But whereas he may once have talked to somebody about it, or mentioned it in passing during a phone call, it will never happen again. At least not here.
Likewise, no messages or mutterings will be relayed through to reception either.
And similarly there also won’t be any talk of his other,
rather more mysterious ailment.
Although this somewhat incongruous Felix the Cat pencil case may, or indeed may not, have briefly kept his mind off it.
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Not that we ever were in the first place of course, but by following the yellow brick road, we may well find ourselves not too far away.
Or, at the very least, in Kabukicho, where there’s arguably more wickedness than even Dorothy could have dreamed of.
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