melancholy moment of empheral spring

Ah to be in Tokyo at hanami. It's that time of year, again, when soft little pink petals shower like a warm snow over the drunken hordes that cram every public place with a cherry tree. It's wonderful.

a night on the town.

It was a Wednesday night , but Kabukicho in Shinjuku was humming. Even the cats in Golden Gai were on the prowl. I was headed through Shinjuku Station to the Yamanote line to take me homeward.

A cardinal rule of coexistence on the trains in Tokyo (and trains are central to life here) is that you don't look at anyone directly. You may have your nose pressed up against the cheek of the person next to you, but you never 'notice' that they are there. Well, as a gaijin and a person whose life is about looking at the world, I do look, and on occasion take a picture. Usually everyone goes along with this and pretends that they don't see me.

This night I nabbed a seat and casually pointed the camera across the aisle. I snapped a few exposures of the people across from me, then glanced to my right. A young woman was glaring at me - sort of a scowling evil-eye expression combining disbelief and disapproval. I innocently gave her a look back - like the French bof expression meaning something like, 'it can't be helped'. She kept giving me the same look, with emphasis. No one else on the train pays any attention to either of us.

So I lift the camera (a Nikon dslr - not exactly a spy camera) and take another picture. I look back to my commentator and see her covering her face with her hands, squirming with the effort of keeping herself from laughing out loud. She catches my eye and goes into another paroxysm. I get off at Shibuya to transfer to the Toyoko line, that takes me to my home.

Tokyo goes green....

In an era of ever increasing awareness of our responsibilities to the global environment, Tokyo has bravely set out to prove its credentials as a 'green' city. In a stroke of genius the city hired Christo, the famed artist, to improve Tokyo's image. The result is an unqualified success - Tokyo really looks green.

room with a disappearing view

For the last 22 years I have lived in the same semi-suburban apartment in Tokyo. I moved here in 1985, but I actually first came here my first night in Tokyo, when it was the home of a friend. The view from the only window is the first glimpse of Japan I had by daylight. It has been a constant of all the years since, and a relief from the dim cramped space that I live in.

The elegant roofs of the house across the narrow street were always a pleasure to contemplate. Their broad embrace plus the generous surrounding garden gave me openness and light, even after they built the Starbucks on the corner. The crowning glory of the view was, when the air was clear enough, the tip of Mt. Fuji. Fuji, which served as my rock and reassurance amidst the encroaching tsunami of new houses and apartments, posts and wires. The lower part of the mountain was steadily eroded by 'progress', but top of its white cone can still be seen some days. This last morsel of the mountain is about to slip beneath the waves of concrete, within a few weeks.

To see photos of my disappearing view and what is happening now, please click the link for my new page of "Tokyo Magazine" , where I will be posting photo essays on the megalogpolis.

for the moment

To kick off this site on meanderings and musing on my adoptive home, Tokyo, please have a look at photos on my dual purpose, art and commerce website, kenstraiton.com.