When it’s especially nice and comfortable in normally far colder November, there are certainly worse things to do than trek out to west Tokyo and enjoy a leisurely lunch,
lager,
and a lovely and relaxingly long read.
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With their mayhem, mikoshi and monstrous size, Japanese festivals are fun to say the least, but at the same time they are apparently nowhere near as enjoyable as enthusiastically forcing as many fingers into one’s mouth as is physically feasible.
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After looking at some personal effects and the rooms in parts one and two respectively, it’s finally time to see the facilities; areas of the small huddle of mining company-related houses which, despite being abandoned a couple of decades or so ago, are still surprisingly well equipped.
And whilst at least one resident appears to have left in a relative rush,
others were decidedly more deliberate.
Not of course that clean dishes would make cooking dinner any less disagreeable.
Meaning it’d be about as tempting as using the toilet. A water closet complete with twenty-year-old used paper for added uncomfortableness.
A feeling of filth and fetidness that no amount of cleaning,
could ever cleanse.
For anybody interested in more haikyo/urban exploration, there are also pictures on Tokyo Times of entirely abandoned mining towns, water parks and also love hotels, along with a whole gamut of other stuff in the haikyo category.
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Celebrated throughout November but focused mainly around the 15th, Shichi-Go-San (Seven-Five-Three) is a rite of passage of sorts for young Japanese children; an event that dates back as far as the Heian Period (794 to 1185), with its modern version involving elaborate outfits and ceremonies aimed at warding off evil along with wishes for long and healthy lives.
But after a day filled with formalities, photos galore and incredibly uncomfortable kimonos, the patience of participants, and indeed parents, can possibly be pushed to the limit.
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The Japanese notion of wabi-sabi is notoriously difficult to describe, let alone try and define; however, whilst many would disagree — including the missus who maybe ought to know more and maintains I’m miles off — this scene, with its sense of transience, silence and certainly sadness, personally at least almost perfectly encapsulates the concept.
As does this, yet somehow not quite as clearly.
Or indeed, completely.
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With a pen, paper and some possible positivism, for this fella at least, the weekend is all about a walk, and more importantly, a wager.
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