Food and Drink

Regularly photographing in Tokyo’s older areas means slowly but surely documenting disappearing structures. All too often that sadly involves the loss of life as well. The latter in particular an aspect I didn’t really envisage when starting out.

Now, after so many years, it’s something I’m acutely aware of, especially when a business has closed, or yet another home is torn down. A change that begs all kinds of questions, such as did the owner finally retire, want a change, or worse? Getting answers, on the other hand, is sometimes easier said than done, and the fate of the pickle shop owner below was one such unknown.

His colourful little corner was a part of the street I always enjoyed seeing. Then one day he simply wasn’t there anymore. Gone. No sign indicating why. Nothing. Just an empty space and a new building where he had previously always been. That was 5 years ago, so as time went on, I presumed he had passed away, with only the faintest of hopes that he’d simply pickled one too many vegetables and decided to call it a day.

Then, when once again walking by his old spot just recently, there was an old man sitting there. A sight that stopped me in my tracks. It couldn’t be, could it? What would the odds of that be? Still, I had to check, but bringing up a photo on my phone didn’t convince me either way. The only option then was to go and see, and the smile that immediately spread across his face when I asked gave me the answer I was looking for. An absolutely lovely moment to say the least.

He had indeed retired, and living nearby, he was simply chilling out on his former stomping ground. Maybe he was even reminiscing about all the years he’d spent there. That though is the past, and now, having reached 90, he is happy to relax, watch TV, and perhaps more than anything, not work.

Recently I’ve posted a few photo series of old and dilapidated Japanese markets. This one, however, is a little different. It’s pre-war and wooden, which is something of a rarity, meaning its ramshackle nature is hardly unexpected. In fact, the middle section has now collapsed, and the former homes above are in an even worse state, so despite somehow hanging on, its days really do seem to be numbered.

There again, a few businesses are still functioning, but on the day we visited, they were closed. Fortune still favoured us though, as a shop owner who still uses his shuttered premises for preparing orders was busy working away, and seeing our interest, he cheerfully invited us in for a look.

To say it was like stepping back in time is an understatement, and perhaps not surprisingly, the dark interior was similar to the rest of the market. The roof was falling in, and a structural beam in the corner looked like it was one small nudge away from disintegrating entirely. None of which bothered the man himself, and he continued to grill eel like he has done for decades — his kind and open smile evident even in the semi-darkness.

A brief but incredibly memorable encounter that made an already extraordinary place feel all the more special. How much longer the site will last is impossible to say, and an earthquake in the area only days after these photos were taken further emphasises its increasingly precarious existence. For now though, it provides an increasingly rare glimpse of how life was, and how it never will be again.

The best days of this once busy market are very noticeably long gone. A lot of it is now shuttered up, and those businesses still open are slowly but surely approaching their end. It does, however, remain an incredible looking place, particularly so with its striking main entrances. There are also some disused living quarters above, which I was lucky enough to see a little of. An unexpected extra that added even more to the experience.

A shop owner I spoke to, and who very kindly provided access to the old accommodation area, was resigned to the market’s demise, as quite understandably there are no next generation family members ready to take over. At the same time, there was a genuine sense of pride in what they still do, along with a deep affection for how things once were. Interest shown in the market is appreciated too. Sometimes its by curious visitors like myself, or one of the film crews that use the location due to its old school appearance. Way more important though are the regular customers who clearly make opening everyday a worthwhile endeavour, and so open they do until they can do so no more.

Initially I was a little underwhelmed with this old shopping arcade. The dated signs and rusting freezer were stunning. As was the old school vibe. Yet without an open shop, or a person in the frame, it somehow felt a bit lacking.

The calendars in the one place not shuttered up were recent, but we presumed it was simply used now and again rather than still being a functioning business. And then, as if by magic, the shopkeeper appeared. Turns out is indeed still open (albeit only a few times a week), and the lovely proprietor wasn’t fazed in the slightest by the sight of two foreigners taking photos. Quite the opposite in fact, and she happily chatted away as she set up shop for the day.

Then, to make things even better, a customer from the local area dropped by. She was just as friendly, and hearing about our love of old buildings, we were offered the chance to see her house that dated back to the the early 1920s. An opportunity we simply couldn’t refuse, so she put in her seafood order, and then we went for a tour of her truly stunning home. Afterwards, we returned to the arcade, took a few last photos, and then said our goodbyes. A visit that started off a little bit disappointing, and yet ended up being the complete opposite.

Crossing the border from Tokyo to one of its neighbouring prefectures is almost always a non-event. The urban sprawl simply continues, with barely any perceptible scenery changes whatsoever. Travel a little further, however, and there can be some subtle differences, so with that in mind, this is what I saw on a recent walk south of the capital.

Tokyo changes all the time, and the city’s vast array of modern shops continues to grow on a daily basis. Move away from the capital’s main hubs, however, and it’s still possible to see businesses that have barely changed in decades. Local stores that somehow keep going, with their owners diligently opening every morning despite the likelihood of little in the way of custom.

Here then are some such examples photographed over the last week or so.