Photographs from a small group of islands
An urban hike to see the last of the cherry blossom is always a good idea, and for this Tokyo couple, the addition of a lunchtime beer apiece must have made the stroll even more pleasant. The only trouble was that the morning walk and midday drinks very visibly put paid to any further viewings.
It was a cold day, quite windy too, but that clearly wasn’t going to deter this young woman from enjoying a winter, and obviously very welcome, ice cream.
With trains regularly rattling by behind us, and lots of people walking past, this ramshackle old alleyway was definitely an unusual place to drink. In fact, its unique characteristics made it feel like the absolutely best place to drink — no two ways about it. A spot so special that the photos really don’t do it justice, so I’ve also included a bit of audio to try and better recreate the atmosphere.
Early last year I posted a set of old and broken vending machines that I’d photographed over several years. A few months later I managed to find a few more, and then later in the year got lucky again with a wonderful looking machine discovered in a long-abandoned apartment complex.
Now there’s another one to add to the collection. One so unique due to its television-like vending machines within a vending machine that it deserves a post all of its own. A lovely chance find that made a cold and dull day considerably brighter.
Not many restaurants are as photogenic as the one below, so it was hardly a chore to stand outside for a short time and record the comings and goings of its last minute lunchtime customers. Then later, when looking back at the time stamps, there was 7 minutes between the first and last photos — a tally of 7 shots in total. And as a nice, extra bit of synchronism, it turns out that the eatery in question has been in operation for 70 years.
This shop was very much a part of the old covered shopping street. The buckets of pickles spilled out onto the pedestrian area, and the owner, who always seemed to be open for business, was always working away at something or other. There was the smell too, which was as distinctive as the colours, and noticeable from a considerable distance away.
Sadly I have no idea how long it was there for. To interrupt the old fella and bother him with my questions somehow felt wrong. Plus being several train journeys from home, buying some of his produce as an excuse to speak was never really an option. There again, it felt like the shop would always be there. Something to marvel at each and every time, and something that also offered a weird sense of comfort with its continued presence.
But of course that couldn’t always be the case. How could it? The number of bars, businesses and homes I’ve seen disappear or become derelict of late amply prove that. As did the scene below, when I was walking along, expecting to stroll past the old pickle shop once again.
