I took a train to a new place,

city notes on March 17th, 2023

March 17th, 2023 — Notes

written from a cafe called Connel Coffee, near Aoyama-Itchome Station, and again later from a bench in the garden next to the Mitsubishi Ichigokan Museum.

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I took a train to a new place today—a place I haven’t been. Then I walked for many hours through some places I had.

"I wanted to be seen, taken in and accepted, the way one is by a lover's approving gaze. At the same time I felt dangerously exposed, wary of judgement, particularly in situations where being alone felt awkward or wrong..."

From The Lonely City by Olivia Laing

My friend Noa¹ came to visit Tokyo in November (I think). Or was it December? It had been three years since they’d been back to Japan. Before their flight, Noa said they were elated. A return to Japan was a return to a place that was once a home—a temporary one—but a place that held memory and offerings nonetheless.

“I can’t cry here.” Noa said to me when we met. It was a realization. “There is no place to cry in Tokyo.” They said. We talked about how people stare, or look away, and how both actions are the same. “I can’t have bare shoulders here either.” Noa was seeing Tokyo with different eyes, already looking forward to their flight home to Europe where they could cry if they needed to.

Tokyo is a city with a population of 13.96 million people. There are 1.5 million trees. There are 1,600 tall buildings, 2,400 medium to large sized buildings, and 5,100 medium sized buildings belonging to the office sector. How many other types of buildings are there? At least 167 are considered “sky scrapers.” There are 285 trains stations. 44.75 thousand operating trains. How many construction sites are there? How many windows? Places that are no longer here—do we count the gaps?

A short compilation of spaces in Tokyo that are both public and private:

train : public transportation | we all sit or stand or sway in silence | phones in hand, books in hand, heads bent down or hung to the side in involuntary sleep | the occasional group of friends/coworkers speak louder than the rest—they stick out

park : vast open space with trees, or a small, hidden place with a bench, a single tree, and maybe a vending machine | sounds of leaves rustling or sounds of cars and trains going by | people drinking, or gathering for a picnic, either with dogs, the occasional owl on a leash, people on a date with little to no touch

ramen shops, gyudon² places, and others like them : small restaurants where people usually eat alone | they watch their phones, or they busy themselves with slurping | sometimes people come in groups but they are a nosier exception to the natural flow of one person, one seat | there is solace here in being invisible—I just want to eat

foreign friendship : meeting someone who has similar and different thoughts | things are shared but maybe not all things | do you feel it too?, we ask | some move back home because home is a friendlier place | others stay because alone-ness has become routine. familiar | I don’t know what this word means, do you? | how long have you been here? will you really stay? | furtive glances become less penetrating when standing in flocks made of two or more

apartment : small spaces not made for standing or jumping | a room that fills with light when the sun passes by the only window | neighbors hear the laughing and the crying | there is a man next door who is learning how to play the violin for five years | a cat sits on the window opposite my building; he is grey; he watches me wave to him | naked after the shower and must close the curtains

sidewalk : a route | usually clean, but with occasional trash spill arrangements | lost masks, | people can be louder here, crowds more dense closer to the station | some sidewalks are empty for a long while | people listen to music, talk on phones, listen to the sound of their shoes on cement, and avoid eye contact | some check to see if others are doing the same thing—do I stand out?

For now she need not think of anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of - to think; well not even to think. To be silent; to be alone.

From Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse

My phone says I took 17,767 steps today, but what about the other steps I took after it died?

A man in the park takes a picture of a statue with his flip phone. The statue is a green samurai on a horse, and the phone is a dark grey that closes with a satisfying clipping sound.

I was walking for a long time when I found a restaurant called “Adrift,” a young man standing outside it wore a salmon pink sweatshirt that said something like: “What is there to protect?” The answer read something like: “The calmness of the city.” On his back was a photo of a road lined with cafes and street lamps.

My phone has died. I would keep writing, but the computer will die soon too.

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Map notes: (Retraced upon arriving home)

Train to Aoyama-Itochome Station

Walked to Connel Coffee, Hie Shrine, passed the Prime Minister’s Office, The National Diet Building, through a small park with the Japanese Geodetic Origin Point, which I didn’t see, and the Clock Tower Commemorating the Separation of Powers, which I did. (All while looking for Hibiya Park, without knowing that’s what I was looking for).

From there, walked towards the mote of the Imperial Palace grounds, through the Sakurada-mon Gate, towards the Seimon Ishibashi bridge. Sat on a bench in the Kokyo Gaien National Garden because an elderly woman was doing the same and she seemed very content swinging her legs over the armrest.³ Found the Statue of Kusunoki Masashige by accident, and saw the man with the flip phone. Walked endlessly around Tokyo Station and Yurakucho Station. Took this photo at 1% just before my phone died:

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Hi all,

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1. Noa is a pseudonym.

2. Gyūdon 牛丼　ぎゅうどん　a beef rice bowl: thin slices of boiled beef over rice. usually accompanied by onions, option of eggs, green onions, and/or ginger etc.

3. This happens to be the same woman I photographed by chance about one hour before near the Imperial Palace entrance. (As seen in the first photo above).