Green Amnesia: A Walk Through Harajuku

I know everybody has been patiently waiting for the second part of my Korea post, it's on the way soon! I had an interesting day yesterday though, so I just wanted to give everybody a little walkthrough. Days like yesterday are the reason why I really like living in Japan.

Saturday afternoon, around 1pm, the doors on the Yamanote train open, but nobody gets off. I'm forcing myself between the bodies, until I've managed to wedge myself into a roughly human-shaped space in the packed train. Bent uncomfortably at the waist, I have no choice but to try to balance myself awkwardly with two fingers on a metal bar whenever the train shudders or knocks me sideways.

I'm on my way to Harajuku to shop for some clothes. You've probably heard of it if you've read about Japan. If not, you've at least seen pictures of it. Images such as these generally originate there:



Harajuku is a center of Tokyo youth culture, and in Japan, that means fashion. In this case, that it's a variety of shops selling clothes that vary from the full costume dress seen above to cheap and used items, like jewelery mass-produced in China or Korea. Many Japanese adults are quick to distance themselves from Harajuku culture, but it is the center of movements such as the Visual Kei culture, and it is an icon of Japaneseness to the international world.

The train makes a stop at Shibuya, one of the most popular destinations on the line. A mass exodus occurs, and I am forced to step out of the train to let people past me. I climb back on, and the train, although actually still standing room only, feels absolutely empty to me. I am relieved to be able to stand up straight again. Nearby, I notice a couple. They appear to be in their early 30's, and very well dressed. With one arm the man is holding onto a pole to steady himself and with his other arm he's holding up his partner against the movements of the train while she plays the new Super Mario game on her Nintendo DS. I assure you, it is as completely adorable as it sounds.

The train stops, the voice from the platform says "Harajukuuuuu, Harajuku," and I climb down onto the platform. I exit the station and this view greets me from immediately across the street:


Navigating the crowds again doesn't appeal to me so much at this point, so I turn around and head in the other direction, towards where the Goth-Loli's usually like to play dress-up.

As I head towards Harajuku's famous bridge, I see more and more foreign faces. Harajuku is a popular tourist spot, mainly due to it's atmosphere of a twisted fashion show. Here, the cuteness that is Japan's stock in trade is juxtaposed with horror. In the name of fashion, Harajuku's rapidly evolving cultural landscape is often host to images ranging from the classically self-destructive, such as the symbolic mutilation of piercing and tattoos, to the co-opting of historical artifacts of terror, such as nazi uniforms or the swastika. This is costume play though, and the symbols, divorced of their underlying philosophies, are harmless. They are worn for effect, but this is really just shock as a fashion trend. Besides, being in Japan has long since disabled my outrage reflex, so I am content to enjoy the show.



As I step onto the bridge, I am assaulted by a Japanese group singing to promote their band. My headphones are drowned out, so I linger a bit to hear what these two are about. Perhaps under a lot of pressure, they seem uncomfortable as they fight to convert the small crowd into fans, one at a time.



I'm not that interested in their style. I move on across the bridge. Tourists are taking pictures of the assembled cosplayers, and I am envious. I want to take pictures as well, but I'm embarassed to look like another foreigner fresh off the plane. Within my head though, an argument is won, and I decide to indulge my inner tourist. Resolved to get some pictures, I scan the assembled fauna. I select two particularly exotic specimens, surrounded by a group of admirers. Somewhat abashed, I ambush my quarry and attack them with my rapid-fire request for pictures. I accidentally startle them, but without actually looking at me even once, their admirers fall away and the default peace-sign pose is assumed. I have my picture.


As I step off of the bridge, the music from the singers fades, and the first hesitant notes of the song Green Amnesia begin whispering in my ear. The concrete and steel break open and a little piece of forest appears, welcoming, before me. Unexpectedly, the gate among the trees and the music and the feeling all become uniquely mine. I am alone among many, exploring my own personal Japan. I cross the threshold of the forest, and the moment holds for six minutes and thirty-six seconds, as I walk down the long trail between the trees.



Tokyo, one of the most developed urban centers in the world, is the epitome of human achievement. It is a testament to the ingenuity and capabilities of the human race when working in cooperation. That is something I truly love. But here in this little bit of forest and history, encapsulated within the urban sprawl, I find myself absent-mindedly envisioning the time when humanity has died out and this bit of forest has begun growing up among the train tracks and concrete walkways and secret little alleys, reclaiming the city that imprisoned it.

Maybe all of Japan feels like this from time to time. The closeness of the natural world is an intrinsic part of Japanese spirituality. If you visit Miyajima island, near Hiroshima, or Nara, or even a shrine in the middle of the city, with its own tiny, domesticated bit of nature, this becomes clear. Japanese art and movies sometimes appear obsessed with two themes; kinship with, protection of, and acceptance of one's role within nature, and nuclear apocalypse. In a movie like Nausicaa, the themes are combined.

As the last notes of Green Amnesia fade, I am returned to the world along with everybody else. Flanked on either side by tourists, I feel at home holding my camera at the ready. I snap a few pictures of a traditional gathering, the title of which　roughly translates to Meiji Shrine Reverence Meeting.


I am satisfied. I head back out of the forest and begin to shop. Even as I scan the countless cheap necklaces bearing crosses, stars of david, and swastikas, get jostled by young members of fashion tribes forcing their way past me, invariably talking about how crowded the place is every single time, and yelled at by Nigerians working to bring customers into their shops, I have the feeling that this Japan and the one I just left are two different places that have, somehow, managed to co-exist here more than anywhere else. Rather than being wiped out, the natural world and Japanese spirituality have been preserved, contained, and domesticated. It's growth has been managed, but fostered, even at the pinnacle of human development.