When sending a mail or surfing the net on a cell phone, a cigarette, it seems,
is suitably satisfying.
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Considering that Yoyogi Park’s much-pictured rockabilly dancers were one of the first things I ever saw in Tokyo, the disappointment of slowly finding out that all the city’s green spaces aren’t frequented by phenomenally quiffed fruggers has been decidedly difficult to deal with to say the least; however, on a recent Sunday saunter around Harajuku, it was nice to see that despite a certain amount of posturing,
posing,
and meticulous preparation,
the practice is not only ongoing, but is still, above everything else, focused very much on fun.
Along with the habit of happily flaunting far from fashionable fashion,
and more than a fair bit of flamboyance.
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Another day, another delivery, so it’s once again time to straddle the trusty Honda Super Cub and bike around Tokyo’s labyrinth-like and likely busy backstreets.
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After a working week spent crammed onto commuter trains and buffeted around Tokyo’s busy streets, some salarymen it seems like nothing better than securing a secluded stretch of the river and enjoying a serene spot of fishing.
Along with some much needed ‘me time’.
Maybe.
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On a brisk but bright January day, arguably nothing sums up Shibuya better than some super-sized boots, sunglasses and a cigarette.
Along with an elaborate blonde bouffant as an added bonus.
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Abandoned buildings/haikyo come in all shapes and sizes as well as covering all manner of previous purposes; however, whilst a certain amount of melancholy is par for the course due to the memories, and to a certain extent the lost hope, left behind, the Higashi Izu-cho Isolation Ward is by far the most depressing place I have ever visited.
A predominantly wooden structure that, due to its location in a relatively dense bamboo forest, is rapidly decaying — the sanatorium’s brave battle with mother nature now very much a long lost cause.
Yet when the ward finally closed its dilapidated doors isn’t exactly clear, with anywhere up to the early 80s deemed possible, although magazines found in one of the rooms apparently suggest it may well have peaked in the mid 60s.
But regardless of the dates, the ward’s remaining straw mattress beds,
along with the antiquated and now damaged fittings,
paint an especially bleak picture.
One in which sick and presumably dying patients — smallpox being the most likely cause — lived out whatever time they had amidst the most basic of facilities.
Somehow dealing with the no doubt dank and dreary conditions.
And all the time resting on those aforementioned,
and absolutely horrible looking,
beds.
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After no doubt attending a Coming of Age Day (成人の日 Seijin no Hi) ceremony of some kind or another, this young woman waits patiently to head off down the tracks and begin to do the things that adults do.
The dawning prospect of which is understandably not something to smile about.
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