Sunday was my last night with Takuji and Sachi.
We met in Shimokitazawa--the area Takuji grew up in. Part of a town within Tokyo, it is "famous for the rock bands." He took us to his favorite restaurant, a small and cozy place called Hiroki. Popular and easily packed, we stood in line outside for our chance to sit down, meanwhile taking advantage of the wonderful waiting period to talk and let our hunger stir. We talked about everything from our trip thus far and our plans for these next two full days, to the business of Lomography, to the traditional Japanese "American Christmas" holiday and the KFC fried chicken dinner that is its centerpiece. Sachi said McDonald's is now trying to steal away the business by expanding from chicken nuggets to the inclusion of drumsticks and such on their menu. We all laughed at what gets lost in translation. They said Christmas is a romantic holiday, similar to our Valentine's Day. It is apparently very important to have a date on Christmas Eve here.
At one point during our wait to be seated, there was room for two of us to step into the inside waiting area and out of the cold, so Takuji and Anthony remained outside and had man-time while us ladies moved in and continued chatting about education and friends and traveling to places such as India and Italy. We were brought menus while waiting in line, and Takuji once again took on the responsibility of ordering for all of us while accommodating superbly to my vegetarian needs. This restaurant is known for okonomiyaki, or what Sachi tried to compare to a pancake, only with meat and Japanese vegetables in them (I'm told the ones we ate were Hiroshima style). Takuji has been eating at this restaurant since he was ten years old, and he knows the menu in every direction. He ordered for us the best okonomiyaki they have. There was a sauce on top kiiiiind of like teriyaki and also slightly sweet, but much tastier. The dishes were tall and fat. While waiting for these main courses, we had Takuji's favorite appetizer: beer, and a small dish that contained deliciously flavored mushrooms along with some scallops and baby tomatoes. The food could not have been better. It felt very necessary that we consume all of this before returning to our homes in America.
After dinner, we wandered around the small and colorful streets of Shimokitazawa, lit up and foggy and bustling during this Sunday night. We went into a hilarious shop filled with all kinds of oddities, souvenirs, funny items...kind of like a lot of stores I've seen in Ashland, only all in the same building (and there was even a toy camera/Lomo section). We picked up things and tried on things and made jokes about things and stood in awe at things. Then, Takuji led us to Cafe Ordinaire, an adorable and hidden cafe (hidden = no line to wait in!) that had vintage posters adorning its walls and old, faded looking Japanese books lining its shelves and counters (and you are welcome to browse the books while you're there). We came here for dessert and drinks. I had a slice of banana cream cake, with almond flavoring and chocolate chips and a small pile of homemade whipped cream with a mint leaf beautifully resting on top of it. I've never eaten cake like this: modest in sweetness in order to activate taste buds which my American tongue was not previously aware of. The slices were small and perfect, and we ate them with tiny forks that made everything feel just right. We had talked about getting coffee and sweets, but we all kinda knew we could go for another beer. Anthony and I compromised and had kahlua on the rocks, and our mouths and bodies couldn't have been happier.
We talked about the stupid movies we love and Takuji and Sachi's honeymoon and our favorite beers and death. We constructed the ties that all strong and sincere friendships are based on. It was only my third night seeing these two people who, until these last two weeks, I had only known through the internet and mail. Yet something about this friendship, and the four of us sitting at the same table in a neighborhood within Tokyo, made so much sense. Takuji and I met through Lomography and our shared interest in analogue photography, and soon after we were mailing film to each other from 5,000 miles apart and shooting double exposures over each others pictures. Now, on this Sunday evening in Tokyo, we were sitting a foot apart, sharing food and drinks and stories. It has been a very personal and genuine friendship from the start, and the fact that my once in a lifetime, first-time-out-of-the-country trip led me to him and his wife's company is proof of that.
When the night was over, we walked back to the train station and said goodbye to these two amazing people, vowing to someday again spend time together, be it in Tokyo, along the West Coast or in Rome. I felt sad as I shook their hands one last time, but I knew it was more of a see you later than anything else. I'm thinking now about all of the hands I've come in contact with on this trip, and the similarities between here and home in how we use them: for introductions, body language, and aid when ordering things at a restaurant (I love when menus have photos...kore, onegaishimasu); for locating, exchanging, and typing love letters to people far away; for respect, for spirituality, and for extending a bit of love to someone in a temporary goodbye.
And of course, for camera holding.
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendship. Show all posts
2010-12-14
Izakaya no bangohan
Sunday night I met my friend Takuji in person for the first time.
We'd become friends through the online community of Lomography, and often over the past couple years I would forget that we hadn't ever seen each other in person; the same goes for the small handful of close friends I've made through this community, all situated in a variety of areas around the country and world, and all sharing my reckless enthusiasm for film.
Takuji is the boss of all things Lomo in Japan. Literally. ("So you're the boss of the store?..." "No, all of Japan!"). I knew he worked for the Tokyo Lomo store, but I had no idea he had moved up so high on the ladder. He's not much older than me, and he has lived in Tokyo for almost his whole life (he's visited a few places in America: Eugene, Boston, and Arcata, California; in regards to that last one, when I asked him "Why?" he responded "Yeah, I know. Why." and explained to the other guests at our dinner table that it is a place "known for the weed.")
We met him Sunday night at 6 p.m. in Shibuya, in front of the train station and famous huge intersection. Being the gaijin that I am, I was nervous about whether or not we would recognize him, and I knew that the hundreds of people constantly flooding this crosswalk weren't going to be working in our favor.
But we spotted him right away (and of course we weren't too hard to pick out); being able to shake his hand and introduce ourselves to each other was amazing. It was him, his absolutely lovely wife Sachi, one of his co-workers and friends, Nao, and a girl named Katharina who works for the Lomo store in Austria and is here for two weeks--her first time in Japan, just like us--helping to build the new Lomography shop (the grand opening of which is December 17th, meaning we will be attending the party! Me: "what usually happens at the opening parties?" Takuji: "Free beer!") I cannot begin to describe how nice all of these people were.
Takuji then led us to an izakaya--a type of traditional Japanese restaurant that I'd heard Anthony talk about since before we'd even left America. Walking in, the entire place was heated like a mild sauna. I swear, heat emanates from EVERYWHERE in this city: inside stores, from toilets...I swear I felt my seat on the train today giving off heat, and Anthony is certain the sidewalks have heaters in them. It's actually kind of genius.
We were led to a seating area for the six of us, and because it was so warm we took off our sweatshirts and jackets and hung them on the wooden coat hangers surrounding our little space. Takuji took care of all the ordering, and Nao, sitting across from me, helped me decide on a drink. I had a glass of plum wine. Then I had some really good cold sake. Different plates of different sizes kept routinely being brought to our table. Being a vegetarian, I couldn't try everything, but I promise I was just as ecstatic about the courses as everyone else at the table: a dish of tamago that came with a small pile of pickled radish, and you placed the radish on top of the egg with each bite; a tofu salad that puts any American salad from my past to shame; some kind of marinated bean sprout dish that I could live off of for days. The plates kept coming. There was a burner in the center of the table and after a while a large plate of all kinds of stuff was placed on it, and the young girl waiting on us kept coming over and stirring the food, adding spices, and cooked it until it was ready. Everyone passed their small dishes around and enjoyed.
We learned about Takuji and his wife, about how Nao and Katharina got into Lomography and what each person does for the company. In return, they learned about us--where we are from, our schooling, our journey through Japan thus far--and between the atmosphere and the drinks and the warmth and the great conversation, the evening passed so wonderfully. I made four very good friends in that izakaya, and in a way that I don't recall ever making friends before; something about the sincerity of our interaction makes me so, so grateful to have experienced it, and makes me feel that even if I were to never see any of them again, I have still gained so much from that one meeting.
When our glasses and cups were empty and our stomachs were full (but not sickly full...I have yet to experience that even once on this trip, even considering how often I'm eating!) we gathered our outer layers and walked outside. Our friends kindly offered to walk us back to the train station, but Anthony and I were feeling so good that we wondered around Shibuya and extended our night a bit longer. The lights outside were so beautiful.
We'd become friends through the online community of Lomography, and often over the past couple years I would forget that we hadn't ever seen each other in person; the same goes for the small handful of close friends I've made through this community, all situated in a variety of areas around the country and world, and all sharing my reckless enthusiasm for film.
Takuji is the boss of all things Lomo in Japan. Literally. ("So you're the boss of the store?..." "No, all of Japan!"). I knew he worked for the Tokyo Lomo store, but I had no idea he had moved up so high on the ladder. He's not much older than me, and he has lived in Tokyo for almost his whole life (he's visited a few places in America: Eugene, Boston, and Arcata, California; in regards to that last one, when I asked him "Why?" he responded "Yeah, I know. Why." and explained to the other guests at our dinner table that it is a place "known for the weed.")
We met him Sunday night at 6 p.m. in Shibuya, in front of the train station and famous huge intersection. Being the gaijin that I am, I was nervous about whether or not we would recognize him, and I knew that the hundreds of people constantly flooding this crosswalk weren't going to be working in our favor.
But we spotted him right away (and of course we weren't too hard to pick out); being able to shake his hand and introduce ourselves to each other was amazing. It was him, his absolutely lovely wife Sachi, one of his co-workers and friends, Nao, and a girl named Katharina who works for the Lomo store in Austria and is here for two weeks--her first time in Japan, just like us--helping to build the new Lomography shop (the grand opening of which is December 17th, meaning we will be attending the party! Me: "what usually happens at the opening parties?" Takuji: "Free beer!") I cannot begin to describe how nice all of these people were.
Takuji then led us to an izakaya--a type of traditional Japanese restaurant that I'd heard Anthony talk about since before we'd even left America. Walking in, the entire place was heated like a mild sauna. I swear, heat emanates from EVERYWHERE in this city: inside stores, from toilets...I swear I felt my seat on the train today giving off heat, and Anthony is certain the sidewalks have heaters in them. It's actually kind of genius.
We were led to a seating area for the six of us, and because it was so warm we took off our sweatshirts and jackets and hung them on the wooden coat hangers surrounding our little space. Takuji took care of all the ordering, and Nao, sitting across from me, helped me decide on a drink. I had a glass of plum wine. Then I had some really good cold sake. Different plates of different sizes kept routinely being brought to our table. Being a vegetarian, I couldn't try everything, but I promise I was just as ecstatic about the courses as everyone else at the table: a dish of tamago that came with a small pile of pickled radish, and you placed the radish on top of the egg with each bite; a tofu salad that puts any American salad from my past to shame; some kind of marinated bean sprout dish that I could live off of for days. The plates kept coming. There was a burner in the center of the table and after a while a large plate of all kinds of stuff was placed on it, and the young girl waiting on us kept coming over and stirring the food, adding spices, and cooked it until it was ready. Everyone passed their small dishes around and enjoyed.
We learned about Takuji and his wife, about how Nao and Katharina got into Lomography and what each person does for the company. In return, they learned about us--where we are from, our schooling, our journey through Japan thus far--and between the atmosphere and the drinks and the warmth and the great conversation, the evening passed so wonderfully. I made four very good friends in that izakaya, and in a way that I don't recall ever making friends before; something about the sincerity of our interaction makes me so, so grateful to have experienced it, and makes me feel that even if I were to never see any of them again, I have still gained so much from that one meeting.
When our glasses and cups were empty and our stomachs were full (but not sickly full...I have yet to experience that even once on this trip, even considering how often I'm eating!) we gathered our outer layers and walked outside. Our friends kindly offered to walk us back to the train station, but Anthony and I were feeling so good that we wondered around Shibuya and extended our night a bit longer. The lights outside were so beautiful.
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