Transporting Back

Going through the chunky old style photo albums at my parent’s place in Sydney, I have been surprised by the limited number of photographic documentation of our big decade (70’s) in Tokyo. Photography then wasn’t like it is now. Many people didn’t even have cameras. And if you did, prints took a week or sometimes two and each one cost money. So nobody was snap happy. There are shots of the family at home, birthday shots, restaurant shots, etc but hardly any of the outside environment we inhabited. Doubtless, we went to plenty of places but purely for the experience and picture taking was a rare thing. Kind of cool in it’s own way - more power to living in the moment - but a few more visual reminders would have been good for me at this time.

So how come there’s a picture of our lovely Mum standing in a car park you may wonder. And so did I. Until, on closer inspection I realised that the white Toyota Crown is our much loved old car. That alone would not have merited a picture. The car beside it is a Volvo P1200 which was made between 1957 and 1966. Our family had a scarlet red one in Australia in the late sixties and it was much loved. A very stylish car, too, I must say. They were rare in Australia and I remember our Dad would wave to others of the same model, if we ever passed one.

As they became slightly more common, my brothers and I devised a game for car trips were we would see who could be the first to spot another Volvo. If you did, you called out ‘Volv!’ and got points. Extra points were given for the exact same colour and model - in which case you would sing out ‘Red Volv, our fashion!’

Looking at the photo, I vaguely recognise where it is but not quite. It is not a common location but somewhere not completely unfamiliar. It’s funny how places have a feeling and a vibe and get stored in special places in your mind. We all know the phenomenon of going back to visit the old family house after a long absence and remarking how ‘small it is’. In our memory it was bigger. Perhaps we grew physically, but as well, the memory swelled over time perhaps.

I am sure there are many spots in Tokyo that if I am lucky enough to be able to return to visit when this book is published in Japan, I will feel like that about. I’m certain, too, that much has changed and little of what was will still remain. We experience things in reality then store them in our memories where they change shape over time. Ferment. And like tasty oshinko (pickles) when we desire, we can go back for a delicious, snacky revisit.

With the writing of Love Letters To Japan (and this blog), I admit - I have been feasting a little, that’s for certain. ​