Photography

These two scarecrows were stood silently protecting a couple of rice fields in west Tokyo. One of them, even when suddenly appearing out of the darkness, seemed more serene than scary.

His colleague, on the other hand, was suitably sinister.

Tokyo’s older neighbourhoods are much quieter than the rest of the city, and they are also places where cats are most definitely much loved.

Faded tourist spots long past their peak are common in the Japanese countryside, and invariably they are fascinating locations that slowly disintegrate rather than suddenly just ceasing to exist. The gradual, yet very visible decline creating a vicious circle of sorts, as the lack of investment and modernisation deters visitors, and the resultant reduction in custom further lessens the chance of financial support, leading ultimately to dereliction. Perhaps the perfect example of which is this old resort town I photographed at the end of last year.

The lakeside spot below is yet another, although in the fog it took on a completely different look and feel. Before the weather changed, the area was already quiet, with just a few couples wandering about, each one looking around, seemingly unsure of where on earth they had driven to. When the surroundings began to rapidly disappear from view, however, so did those last tourists, meaning they missed out on an experience that was almost otherworldly. The dense fog turned the rather sad silence into something far more serene, plus what remained visible took on a completely new, and at times almost ethereal quality. A transformation that resulted in a genuine sense of wonder — something that maybe, just maybe, was felt back in the day when business was booming.