Japan (3)

This is a small story made long...

We arrived in Akasaka in time for a late dinner. When we left the hotel to go looking we made the mistake of turning left rather than right, which took us into the dormitory/office section of the suburb. Eventually we found  a Thai restaurant, but the whole experience was rather cold. There were almost no people round; one couple came into the restaurant - which was otherwise empty - just as we were leaving.

Next day we went to Kamkura, of which elsewhere, but in finding the station we also found the bit of Akasaka we'd missed the previous night. There's quite possibly more of this, but what we found was three long streets plus many cross streets & laneways with bars, restaurants, karaoke, cemeteries (they're everywhere) nightclubs. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was on the station-side of the hotel. So on the way back from Kamakura we explored it a bit, ate dinner in a cheap and cheerful Chinese restaurant and went home.

(we're getting to the story, this is essential background)

Next morning I went out to hunt down some espresso coffee (the previous day we'd drunk brewed coffee, which is common, in a coffee place mildly reminiscent of Melbourne in the early 1970's - I'm thinking of Cambridge tea rooms off Block Arcade, but a bit less dark) because I'd noted a couple of espresso paces the previous evening. It was about 6:30, which is a beautiful time of day in cities where the average humidity is above 85%, and nothing was open. Except, I turned a corner into a laneway, and saw a guy with suitcase moving quickly and purposefully away from a youngish long-hired guy in a well fitted somewhat shiny (modishly shiny, not antique shiny) suit bowing deeply - bent double deeply - with quite a large grin.

Looked to me like the proprietor of a small bar/nightclub saying goodbye to his outstanding best customer, who was either heading home for a shower and a change of shirt or else turning around and heading back to work with more determination than good sense.

I saw what I saw, but the story is complete fiction. Plenty of other scenarios will fit the scene.

What particularly made an impression was the bow. It was so deep, and so fluid. He must have come very close to bruising his shins with his forehead. Bowing is a feature of the Tokyo service industry, but this was something beyond the usual. This was the bow as a small art form. And the smile. It was quite generous. I don't think I imagined it. On the bow I built the story.

Still, it may have just been the microculture of this context - I'm only guessing the bar. The thing about microculture is that it isn't really particularly significant. Take McDonalds as an example; it has a very definite microculture, but its significance is nothing other than to provide predictability to its clientèle. It wouldn't be sensible to make up any stories based on the interaction between a McDonalds' employee because that interaction isn't really based in  narrative. It's founded on a marketing manual.

So, travel stories. Maybe a series of acute observations or maybe just hidden stories from a writer's past. I spent a lot of time working in bars.