I was supposed to meet some friends in Takasaki City at 6:30 on Saturday evening; having, however, arrived by chance a little before 4:00, I had a full two hours to spend before it was time to meet. I had pinned one area of the old downtown section "Cool Place" on my iPhone in September 2010 but had allowed 18 months to go by without exploring it fully. Here was my chance.
"Cool Place" might well have been christened "Old Place"; it's a covered section of shops on the northwest side of the station spanning some ten blocks, more than half of which are closed down. The ones that are still in business seem rarely frequented, and their aging proprietors, surely having worked there their whole lives, seem solitary souls.
I started on one end at a dusty china shop. Outside, a table was laid out under the dreary April sky, laden with rice bowls, sake cups, handleless tea cups, and other assorted dishes in piles of 50 yen, 100 yen, and 200 yen sections. Upon entering I was shocked by both the lack of customers and the wealth of wears--teapots, glasses, cups, and plates were precariously balanced on shelves lining up all walls. For all their splendor, though, there was a fine layer of dust over everything and the store had the feeling that no one had cleaned in years.
Even so, I found many pieces that I loved, and set them out on the counter for the chain-smoking tenin to wrap for me. According to the labels affixed on the pieces, I should have ended up paying more than 6000 yen, but he gave me a gigantic discount (without having asked for it). The 2800 yen flowered tea pot that I loved was acquired for only 500; the 800 yen chopsticks were lowered to 200 yen each. He wrapped everything in newspaper, smilingly told me my students were lucky for having such a pretty teacher, and sent me on my way.
I wandered up and down the street of other shops, stopping at a stationary store and a sweets shop, imagining life in Japan back when these stores were up and bustling. Surely in the 60s and 70s this area was the place to go--first to the vegetable shop, then the meat shop, on to buy books at the honyasan, a hat at the hat store; each shop dedicated to one purpose and surely having the best quality for it. Now, walking this line of half-closed down stores filled me with such nostalgia for a world I never knew, I almost felt like crying for its loss. I hadn't meant to buy anything that day, but sensing the hopelessness of decaying businesses, I felt compelled to contribute something to keep them going.
Of course modern life is convenient, but I still get filled with sadness for a life rapidly disappearing. No one wants to go shopping in the old stores downtown; they want to go to the places right around the station, where everything is together, or at the mall, way out of town. Ironic that right after shopping at these mom-and-pop stores I went to Costco. What can you do to preserve the simplicity that once was found here?
It's not just Japan; the U.S. has long since felt the sting of big box stores swiping business away from individual small business owners. Luckily there are downtown revitalization programs sweeping the country as well, but I know it'll never be what it was before I was born. I know the words "progress" and "change"--I just prefer "simple".
(Post Script: I've been reading "Jane Eyre" for the past two weeks; I think my writing is accidentally getting a 19th century feel as a result.)
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