Flânerie

Thank you Substack and strange old men in train stations for bringing me my most recent adventures. If you’re a book worm, this one is for you!

Last week, I read a substack post from postcards by elle about the 50-ish books she has given five stars (read here). In the post, the writer explained the criteria a book must meet in order to earn her five-stars. Then, she listed each book and described the effect it had on her. A sort-of regular reader myself, I was excited to feel a magnetic pull towards my own bookshelf and kindle. Acting quickly, I jotted down thirty of her recommendations, color coded them by which mood they would (or have already) evoke in m, and I got to reading. My brain was scratched. I am still riding the high days later. 

I heard somewhere, probably TikTok, that the best time to read a book is when you first encounter it. As someone who reads solely based on mood and current excitement, I cannot agree more. I spent all winter craving the coziness of a good cry and indulged in books and shows that evoked such feelings of ennui, loneliness, and flat-out depression. The sky was cold and gray, and so was my mood. However, I can't feel contentedly bleak forever, and spring has brought a shift. I want light. I want happy endings, romance, and comedy. I want to feel inspired to dry my laundry in the sun and go for an evening walk. So, the first book I chose from Elle`s list is Happy Place by Emily Henry of Beach Reads fame. I have read a few of her books in the past, so her voice is that of a friend and I fell into its cadence comfortably. A couple days of reading in, the chapters are flying by, and I find myself relating to each character as a real person and feeling for each one in turn. It is the perfect book to get me out of a funk and remind me why I read.

The second story I chose to try, White Nights by Dostoyevsky, is a little more literary in spirit (long beautiful paragraphs and not a drop of smut). The book is set during my favorite time of day: dusk and the starry hours that follow. Japanese countryside nights are so quiet. The only disturbance is pattering seasonal rain, buzzing cicadas, and the distant whoosh of the shinkansen as it passes through town, carrying travelers to brighter and busier destinations. I love that when I look up at the night sky, there is something to see. Beyond orange streetlights, the same stars my family watches back home glow distantly as the moon rises over the mountains. Once home in bed, I sit with my sliding door and window open in my bedroom. The Intoxicating smells from the yakitori restaurant across the street and the yellow glow from a ramen shop a couple of blocks away are quiet reminders of civilization, but I am too tired and comfy to partake. Dostoyevsky's story mirrors my own romanticization. As his main character wanders through the dark streets of St. Petersburg  by starlight, I wander through the story's pages under starlit skies of my own. 

Town lights beyond the curtain and a good book on my Kindle are all I ask for this week.

What I love about articles or blogs like postcards from elle is how they encourage flânerie. I stroll through online posts like the 19th century french flâneur strolls  through lamp-lit Parisian streets, picking up inspirations as they find me and letting go of whatever hobbies or fixations don't currently satisfy. I am not a consistent reader, just as I am not a consistent artist, writer, musician, or student. I am consistently inconsistent. Posts like hers help me see the benefits of this otherwise character flaw.

I wonder if this practice of online flânerie can manifest in my physical life as well. A home body by nature, I don't spend as much time exploring Japan as many of my JET programme colleagues. When I do go somewhere new, I rarely have much of a plan and prefer to wander around until I find something interesting. I am not a planner. I must be infuriating to travel with. But if you`re open to it, passive exploration can bring unexpected opportunities that would be otherwise missed.

An example: 

A friend of mine found a secret slide in the woods. Snake-like, it winds though trees on a hillside near a hidden shrine. It looks a little dangerous in the video I saw, but nothing my inner child can`t handle. Our plan was to hike up the mountain to it last Sunday. However, as the week progressed and our adventure neared, the rain forecast for Sunday steadily grew.. Needless to say, we did not go adventuring into the woods to find a possibly-dangerous metal slide in the rain. Instead, I hopped on the train to Sakata, a nearby town, to visit a thrift shop and do some plant shopping with a different friend.

The plan was to rent a bike and ride across town to the shops, hopefully minimizing any chance of getting totally drenched. But alas, the window at the station for bike rentals was closed when I arrived, leaving my friend and I faced with a choice between walking or waiting. We chose the latter. After scarfing a quick sandwich and sharing some life updates, we poked our noses into a small shop attached to the station.  As we made our way around the tables laden with bags of locally grown onions, kumquats, rice, and potatoes, we were discovered by an old man who had appeared from a side door. He seemed friendly enough as he said hello and beckoned us into the other room where a meeting of sorts was going on. Was this the town council or a Sunday afternoon book club? It was neither. Instead we found tables with rows and rows of beautiful plants. Each one was shiny green with leaves so perfect they could have been plastic. Flowers bloomed on many, and each was carefully potted in earth-toned ceramic. There were about six older men and women in the room, all standing around the plants and looking at us expectantly. It took a few minutes of introductions, and inquiries (on our part) to figure out what was going on. We had stumbled upon a plant show! One of the men had lovingly grown each plant and put them on display in the side room of the side shop in the very small station where trains only come once an hour. Honestly, I felt a bit bad as our new acquaintances chattered away about the plants and future shows. Was this even advertised? Had anyone other than these six friends braved the rain to come admire these beautiful plants? I feared not. So, we stayed. We looked at each plant, asked plenty of questions, chatted with everyone about where we work and live and which of them attended the same schools we now teach at, all these years later. It was fun. We even took a group photo (sadly, I do not have a copy, so you`ll have to take my word for it). In the end, we said our goodbyes with promises to come back in May for a vegetable and dried persimmon show hosted by the same six farmers. My friend and I, laden down with bags of gifted onions, kumquats, and two adorable new plants, made our way back to the bike rental and were on our way through the rain. 

The rest of the day was only marginally successful. The thrift shop where my friend was selling her clothes was surprisingly choosey, and time was already running short when we got there. The thrifting doesn`t matter though. What matters is that we failed at finding a mystery slide but made some new grandparent friends in a country so far from both of our homes. I`d never have found that side room off a side shop if it hadn't been for spotty bike rental hours and welcoming strangers who wandered into our orbits just as we wandered into theirs. It was a day that made me feel happy to live in Japan and to not always have a plan. Now, I have two new plants, have made a delicious pasta with my local onions, and have plans for kumquat jam later this week.

Local prizes from the mystery plant sale! Beer from 7/11.

I think what all of this has in common is captivation. I love being captivated — A new album on Spotify that runs through my brain for weeks, a perfect day that still bubbles in my chest as I go to bed at night, a good book that I wake up early to read just so I don't have to go hours without it. Captivation fuels me. It leaves me with highs I chase for weeks until chance brings me a new one. Somehow it never works the same if I seek it out; captivation has to find me for the magic to work. But when my wandering and flânerie bring me something exciting (whether online or in real life), there is nothing like it. The bags under my eyes today are a testament to my current captivation with Emily Henry`s novel, which I stayed up too late enjoying last night. I needed coffee and tea today to keep myself working through the cloudy afternoon, but the story and my current excitement has been worth every yawn.

What about you? Where has intellectual or actual wandering taken you? What captivates you these days? You know I'd love to hear all about it. Maybe we can even inspire each other to chase a new passion! Drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts, and until next time, cheers!

Note - If you haven’t already checked out postcards by elle (linked at the top of this post), please do! I love what she is doing to create carefully curated lists of media that she deems important. She has made me think about the books in my life that matter most. I’d be happy to put a post together highlighting them if it’s something y’all have interest in! Maybe I can put my color-coded mood board reading list to use!

Ending Notes

Listening To: Speaking of wandering, I love an album that makes me feel like I am exploring the inner workings of the artist's heart and brain. A good album is not only musically artful and makes me feel or think, but also tells me some kind of story. A friend of mine recently sent me the song “Dive” off of Olivia Dean’s 2023 album, Messy. After listening to the single, I quickly clicked into the album to hear more. Her vocals are poppy but soulful and I love how each song blends into the next to create the sense that I am meandering through a story, living each emotion as she does. It is an album of love that I can listen to again and again, and I have.

Recent Eats: What did I do with all of those onions? I made pasta! I have been missing Italian food since coming to Japan, and whenever I make it, it turns into a big kitchen event. This week was no different as I rolled up my sleeves and dirtied every pan in my house to make a delicious spaghetti with meaty marinara. It's nothing new or fancy, but it hit the spot when I needed something warm to stick to my bones and remind me of home. The recipe I found on google didn’t specifically call for locally grown Japanese onions, but they do add a nice touch to the sauce if you can find them!