After a pretty good sleep, arose about 5:30 and spent time calling family and friends, snacking a little, reading some and watching the news. The morning was rainy and windy outside, perhaps a precursor of the soon-to-come monsoon season. Inside sounded good for the time being.
About 8:00 the rain had mostly stopped so I donned a shirt and jeans to head out to check out the temperature outside. It was windy, but not cold, so I headed out on a little walk around. It lasted 90 minutes.
The Sunday morning traffic was nearly non-existent and few people were walking or biking. I headed out somewhat aimlessly, first arriving at the cocoon building, needing to check out this distinctive form in the building landscape, made up mostly of fairly traditional high-rise steel, glass and concrete structures. It was part of the Shinjuku district of Tokyo, the area that the government decided, some 40 years ago, would be the city and government center. The previously low level structures of this traditional area have given way to a dizzying collection of tall buildings and neon.
Surely steel and glass like many of the rest, the cocoon building, with its long, curving sweep on four sides from bottom to top and four large glass and steel spines with a lattice work of steel supports, was to become a landmark building as I negotiated my way in the surrounding area.
The wind blew and I walked street to street. As I explored mostly-deserted outside cafes and community areas, the wind would howl and send down showers of former raindrops from the leaves above to keep me alert. One poignant moment came during my walk through the Shinjuku Central Park. I had gone past a few of the ever-present morning street sweepers tidying the public space with old, rough brooms, and had stopped by the Shinto shrine and temple where an older gentleman was offering his morning prayers at the outside shrine and a younger woman bowed and rang the bell at the main entrance of the otherwise still temple.
I headed back through the park and saw the blue-tarped structures of the local homeless community, typically neat and tidy (and in this rainy time, almost all with a scavenged umbrella attached in open state above the entrance to the makeshift shelters), noticing no movement around the little camp. Unknown in previous years, in the last decade or so, I think, the encampments have become more commonplace in the cities, but always with the characteristic order so common in Japanese communities.
As I rounded the bend on one of the pathways through the park, I saw two men by a park bench. One, the older, sat in an upright, dignified manner in his mismatched suit using a worn umbrella as a support for both hands out in front, as he gazed in apparent serene contemplation of the lovely flower beds on the other side of the path. Beside the bench, a younger, scruffier man had a cart of some sort, and he moved around corralling the bags and piles of cans and bottles and the few belongings he had collected. He moved constantly for those few moments it took for me to approach and walk by.
What a study in contrast between those two men, and between those two and me, the privileged foreigner who knew that not far away was running water, warm food and very nice lodgings. It is a bubble in which we are able to do this music and have this experience. A gift in many ways. We offer for awhile the chance for people to escape whatever their surroundings are and have a bit of peace and recollection of years past when they heard this music in an earlier time in their lives. I was pretty certain those two men would not be in the audience the next night. Perspective is good.
I walked on, back toward the hotel, and saw a raven perched on a sign in the park. I stopped to gaze at the strong, curved black beak and the impressive size of the bird for a minute or so. As I turned to walk off, not ten seconds had passed before I heard and then felt the wingtips and the air created by the raven at my neck as it flew by. I wheeled around, watching as it flew back to a nearby tree to watch me every bit as intently as I had studied the raven earlier. Perhaps it was protective parenting, perhaps just the raven saying “who do you think you are, trespassing on my territory?”
As I turned the last turn back toward the hotel, I began to feel the chill of the wind and raindrops on my thin shirt. I headed for the ubiquitous Starbucks store a block from the hotel for a Matcha Tea Latte. The warmth felt good--one more sign of my privilege, I guess, knowing how those men might have enjoyed a hot tea at that moment, but it was very welcome.
As I entered the Hilton lobby, I had a chance meeting with Bob. Mark joined us. Mark and I ate breakfast, then headed for a walk. Mike showed up and Huey, Duey and Luey headed out for another trek. I didn’t make the time to return for proper shoes so the long walk took a bit of a toll on my feet. Around and around we went (a frequent event for our travels), eventually to the Shinjuku Gyoen National Gardens. Shopping for bananas, o.j., boiled eggs and any GF chips I could find.
Back to hotel at 2:00 for mid afternoon--3:00-6:00 nap. Dinner at the local Ootaya restaurant for three, back to hotel and evening reading, internet, tv, practice and late skyping with Deb before retiring for the night at 11:30. Long day. The rest will be singing or traveling days, so very different feel than this one. Here we go.
