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Yesterday I went to the used book district of Jinbocho and poked around an entire street of used bookshops, most of them packed so closely with tottering dusty stacks that I had to turn sideways to squeeze between them. Most of them, unfortunately, in Japanese, although there were a lot of old-- very old, like from the 30s and 40s-- English magazines with covers about the new sensation the Beatles, or Grace Kelly, or Winston Churchill. I eventually found an English bookshop and bought a few hard-to-find children's books, which I will eventually have to ship back along with a lot of other stuff to avoid hauling it all around.
At the very end of the street I saw a huge torii, and walking toward it I discovered that Jinbocho adjoins the Imperial Gardens. There was a moat lines with-- of course-- exquisite blooming cherry trees, the branches sweeping low to almost touch the still green water. People were holding their cell phones up to the branches as if serving as operators for the trees' messages. What they were actually doing, I should explain, was taking photographs-- the cell phones are also cameras. So I followed the cherry trees along the river until my feet wore out and it got too dark to see them except as floating ghosts, and then I took a subway back. I have gotten much more confident about wandering around Tokyo randomly now that I can read-- there's always a subway station somewhere nearby, and in fact I have yet to get seriously lost.
While switching subways I wandered through the kimono department of a department store, and ogled kimonos priced between five thousand and eighty thousand dollars-- the latter displayed in a small traditional teahouse. The shopkeepers called wlecomes to me, and I really wished I knew how to say "I'm just looking, and don't worry, I will not try to touch." I caught sight of myself in the mirror-- parka tied around my waist, windblown hair with bits of straw in it from where I'd snoozed in the park, shirt with soy sauce stains-- and felt a more thorough ragamuffin than ever.
I am really looking forward to the flea market on Sunday, when I will obtain a lovely kimono jacket or two for myself, at one percent of the original price.
At the very end of the street I saw a huge torii, and walking toward it I discovered that Jinbocho adjoins the Imperial Gardens. There was a moat lines with-- of course-- exquisite blooming cherry trees, the branches sweeping low to almost touch the still green water. People were holding their cell phones up to the branches as if serving as operators for the trees' messages. What they were actually doing, I should explain, was taking photographs-- the cell phones are also cameras. So I followed the cherry trees along the river until my feet wore out and it got too dark to see them except as floating ghosts, and then I took a subway back. I have gotten much more confident about wandering around Tokyo randomly now that I can read-- there's always a subway station somewhere nearby, and in fact I have yet to get seriously lost.
While switching subways I wandered through the kimono department of a department store, and ogled kimonos priced between five thousand and eighty thousand dollars-- the latter displayed in a small traditional teahouse. The shopkeepers called wlecomes to me, and I really wished I knew how to say "I'm just looking, and don't worry, I will not try to touch." I caught sight of myself in the mirror-- parka tied around my waist, windblown hair with bits of straw in it from where I'd snoozed in the park, shirt with soy sauce stains-- and felt a more thorough ragamuffin than ever.
I am really looking forward to the flea market on Sunday, when I will obtain a lovely kimono jacket or two for myself, at one percent of the original price.
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