The sage in Yoyogi Park

I was in Tokyo/Yokohama last week for a conference, and had Monday morning free...



Rising early from my berth at a capsule hotel in Shibuya (due to a cacophony of snores coming from the other bunks), I decided to go out exploring. After a bath, I left the Astro Inn and walked the three minutes to Shibuya station. I was suprised to see Hachi-ko, one of the world's busiest intersections (for pedestrians anyway), surprisingly vacant at 8am. Nonetheless, I entered the Starbucks on the corner, ordered an Americano and took a stool by the 2nd-floor window overlooking the intersection, eager to people watch. As I enjoyed my coffee and riceball breakfast, Hachi-ko came to life--by the time I had finished, it was teeming with vehicles and the crosswalking masses I had expected. Exiting the Starbucks, I picked a street and began walking, hoping it would lead me somewhere of interest. Fifteen minutes later found me on the edge of Yoyogi park.


The morning was absolutely brilliant, the second straight day without a cloud in the sky. Refreshing to see the air so clear in Tokyo, it had been overcast/hazy on every previous visit. I strolled about the park aimlessly for ten minutes, smiling at the mothers with strollers, the large ravens, and the homeless man's laundry hanging on the fence. On the parkmap, I saw some ponds with fountains and headed in their direction. As I neared, a few early blossoming cherry trees caught my attention. It seemed about a month too early for sakura, but we have had an incredibly mild winter. As I took out my camera for a few snaps, I noticed another homeless man just beyond the small grove of trees, spreading his cardboard mattress on the sunny lawn.



After getting my fill of the early sakura and the nearby fountains, I walked back towards the entrance of the park. As I passed one of the homeless men sitting on the lawn, he called out to me in English without accent "Hey, excuse me, what country are you from?" I was quite surprised, for Japanese strangers rarely iniate contact with me. I walked over to the man to say hello and introduce myself. He was sitting cross-legged on the ground, with all of his possessions scattered around him, save those that were hanging on the fence in the sun. I sat down beside him, admiring the quality of his camping gear. He had a nice camp stove, and wore well-used but clean, warm-looking clothing. He had just made a cup of coffee for himself, but offered me the stainless steel cup upon sitting, and said "Welcome to my home". I remarked that I like his home very much, and had just been admiring the cherry blossoms in his backyard. He made himself another coffee in a small tin bowl, and we began chatting. He introduced himself as a traveller and a writer, a Japanese citizen but born in Northe Korea. He immediately pulled two paper-bound booklets (both in English) from his rucksack. One was titled "A Traveller's Collection of Poems" and the other (his most recent short story he claimed) was "The Albatross and the Sea". A note on each publication said "UNDERGROUND PRESS, REAL FOOD FOR THOSE WHO CARE". He mentioned a Hemingway influence, and when I told him Hemingway was my favorite author, he said "well you must be a great young man". We talked about Hemingway for sometime, before moving on to Fitzgerald and then Tolstoy (with my new friend doing all the talking about the latter). From there, the conversation took a most interesting course, touching such topics as Christianity, the man's travels, satellite cameras ("they are probably watching us right now!" he said), the various Tokyo parks the man had lived in, the war in Iraq, and American politics, before returning to books, especially about what he had written. The man seemed quite happy and lonely, though admittedly he didn't want to live in Japan. At one point he said: "I don't like Japanese people...I have no Japanese friends...they are too serious...they are robots".



Throughout most of the conversation, I was primarily listening and saying very little, though there were many things I wanted to ask (mostly about why he chose to live in the park). He spoke cheerfully without stopping to pause, making it difficult for me to add to the conversation. He did not mention family, only that he was divorced and that his married years were the worst of his life. He said he had lived in LA for several years, but had been arrested twice and there were "immigration problems". His English was not flawless, but he knew enough slang that he almost passed for a native speaker. I could have listened to him ramble on all day, sitting on the sunny lawn in the mostly empty park. Unfortunately, I had to attend conference workshops in the afternoon and had to take my leave. I offered him money for the publications, which he happily sold, throwing in a small leaflet of his haiku. I noticed on the back of one of them his printed email address. I promised to send him an email and stood up to say thank you for the kindness. He kept talking, and pulled yet another booklet from his bag. He said "You are only the 2nd foreigner I have approached like this in Japan. You made my day. You are a bright young man. I want to give you this." The booklet contained more of his writings, stories from Afghanistan where he spent time as a freelance journalist during the civil war. I thanked him again profusely, and gave him the only thing I could think of at the time, a tangerine (I would later regret not remembering the book of short stories I had in my bag at the time, which he no doubt would have enjoyed) I waved goodbye in the late morning sun, and walked away smiling. I passed three Japanese youths with serious faces, all staring perplexedly at the strange, grinning gaijin.