003 — Making of: In Japan
Exploring the country's in-between places and some photos that aren't in the book
When I went to Japan for the first time at the end of February 2023, it wasn't to make a book. It was to run the Tokyo Marathon, as I was generously invited to participate in by ASICS, one of the event's title sponsors. It was a good race — the first full running of the event since before the pandemic brought a celebratory feeling to the city and I eked out a personal best for 26.2; one of the rewards for which was to drink a Sapporo out of one of the shoes I'd just worn to do it. My friend assured me this was mandatory best practice.
Photography wasn't the purpose of the trip but I brought three cameras with me (taking photos can easily become the purpose of any trip). We arrived five days before the starting gun went off to get used to the time change, and on the first few mornings I automatically woke up at 4:30 AM. I'd fight the jet lag till it started to get light out and then go for a slow run around Shinjuku, where we were staying. Shinjuku is one of the busiest hubs in Tokyo and by running early I got to see the streets before they were jammed with tourists and salarymen. The necessity of needing a longer route also brought me into neighborhoods that I wouldn't have gone to if I'd just been sightseeing.
One of the best ways to get to know a new city is to go for a run there. You see the neighborhoods that exist between the most popular areas, which can seem like transitional spaces on a map but are often just as interesting as the central areas that the metro teleports you to. You won't find Starbucks or selfie sticks in these places and that's a good thing.
Moving through these neighborhoods is how I began to notice that vending machines are everywhere in Tokyo. In the U.S. we tend to put them in common areas and gathering places — parks, bus stations, cafeterias, through the lobby and around the corner. In Tokyo, it seems like one machine is often meant to serve the residents of a one-block micro-neighborhood.
After the race my legs were wrecked and without running I needed a new excuse to wander, so walking around with my camera(s) became the thing that got me out into the city. Taking pictures of vending machines was part of that, but the purpose still hadn't evolved into making a book; it was just another reason to wander into the in-between parts of Tokyo. Doing this, I happened upon hidden shrines, an amazing yakitori izakaya (yakitori is chicken on skewers; an izakaya is sort of like a bar that also serves food), and neighborhoods so charming they obliterate the image of neon and skyscrapers that often portrays the city. People were out, the sakura were blossoming, and Japan's perpetual golden light made it easy to stay out all day.
My return flight hadn't even taken off when I decided I needed to come back. When I got home I convinced my partner we should skip Thanksgiving and spend it in Japan. We went back to Tokyo and also spent time in Kyoto, and for five days we hiked across the Kii Peninsula on the Kumano Kodo, an ancient pilgrimage route. By this trip the idea to make a vending machine zine (still not a full book, yet) had taken hold in my head and we spent a lot of time in the in-between places, looking for vending machines but also escaping the mob and getting a better feeling for things. We went to plenty of the famous spots too — they're famous for a reason.
It's hard not to be aware of your tourist status in a place like Kyoto where overtourism has become a real issue (an issue Tokyo doesn't really have). I simultaneously wanted to visit the famous bamboo grove and all the temples but also not contribute to the problem. But like it or not, we were tourists. I like to think we were of the more mindful type — part of Kyoto's tourism issue is that most visitors go to all the same places and we made an effort to spread ourselves out. (And wound up walking across a mountain range and spending nights in partly abandoned villages in the process.)
Finding interesting vending machines was as often a result of this venturing through in-between places as it was the point of it. Many of these trips' most memorable moments came when we found ourselves in these places. One afternoon in Kyoto, we ended up drinking tea in a low-key temple with what seemed like a senior community group; I have no idea what cause our donation went to but I hope it was a good one.
As for an actual update on the book, it's being sewn together as I type and this week the page edges will be painted by an artisan bookmaker in Montreal whose studio is full of incredible old binding equipment. I haven't announced a release date yet because any delay in this multi-step process will change it, and I don’t want to let anybody down. But I'll have one soon.
In the previous issue I revealed the cover of the book and what it’s made of. The first issue was about why I decided to make it in the first place.