Here we are, at a film premiere in Tokyo. Invited by the director himself whom I just met a week ago. A series of fortunate connections got us into this delightful situation.
It all started when I visit Pianola Records, the record store of this guy I met a couple of weeks back. I’m browsing vinyls when a friend of his enters the store. He's a film editor and director, and we have a quick chat.
I then wander around Shimokitazawa, knowing I should get some work done. I'm reluctantly trying to find a place where I can sit and open my laptop (which has proven not-surprisingly hard in Tokyo) and someone says "Oscar?".
It's Yuji, the film director I just met a couple of hours ago, coming out of a store with a pack of American Spirit cigarettes. He invites me to deliver something at a nearby café, and it's my perfect excuse to not work.
We get to the café, he exchanges a few words with the lady at the counter, and I have time to look at the place. It's tiny and exquisite.
Jazz is pounding on some huge old speakers; everyone is quiet, listening.
It's a jazz kissa, a type of café for dedicated listening to jazz that peaked around the 60’s and few remain. And this is not just any jazz kissa, Yuji explains as we sit down, but the oldest one in Tokyo. It was closed for a while and then reopened. Same furniture, same sound system, same vinyl collection. It has burgundy tones, and I get a red wine to match with it and further close the opportunity to get any work done.
We strike a quiet conversation around movies, editing and the indie Japanese filmmaking industry. After a while, as my wife comes in since we were supposed to have dinner in the area, Yuji gets up to take a call outside (never inside, too rude, obviously).
He comes back and says his wife is joining us, and we're going to a Mexican bar.
It sounds more like an order than an invitation. Vámonos.
The bar is called Oleo and it's filled up to the last corner with kitsch Mexican decoration: from Frida Kahlo tablecloths to perforated paper. The bartender is wearing a hoodie that says "Corona - Las Vegas" and is clearly nervous to have the first Mexicans enter his Mexican bar. We then see a bottle of one our favorite obscure mezcal. The authenticity level just went up.
As if this cannot get more surreal, the screen behind me starts playing a video of someone going through the beautiful Amsterdam Avenue in Mexico City, about 4 blocks from where we live. I'm thrilled to be living this meta-moment.
Yuji says he’s presenting his documentary next week: Bring Min’yo Back, about a disappearing genre of traditional Japanese music, that has recently been mixed with latin, cumbia-like sounds to a pleasant and surreal result. "Come, it's next Sunday." Sounds like a plan!
As we're paying the check, the song "Paga la cuenta sinvergüenza"1 is playing. I explain the irony as we vow to meet next week for the premiere.
A few days later we're in Kichijoji, pretty far out from the center of Tokyo. We head over to World Kitchen BAOBAB, a live music bar I have saved on my map. There's a guy rehearsing in the back as the owner greets us.
"Mekisko?? Ohhh!" It's an unfair advantage to be Mexican in this part of the world.
"How did you get here?”, he asks amused.
"Ted Gioia! He posted a video a while back."
"He's your friend?" No, I laugh as I show him the video.
In the months coming up to our trip, we source recommendations from people whose opinion I value. Unknowingly, from famous people like Ted Gioia or Craig Mod. Knowingly, from friends and colleagues. I treat them like gold and I'm always extremely grateful to them for sharing their hidden gems.
We act on them systematically and also keep an open eye when going there, as we improvise, asking bartenders and new friends where we should go next.
Then we let the algorithm do its connecting magic.
Like being here at BAOBAB, with the owner showing us his physical photo album of when he travelled through Africa collecting vinyls. He roars at his own jokes with the most contagious laugh, but then stops as the live Japanese folk starts.
I later tell him about this movie premiere we're going. "Oh nice! Minyo Crusaders have played here, I'm friends with them." (A few days later, as the credits roll in the documentary, I see World Kitchen BAOBAB in the acknowledgements and think of how accurate is the clichéd "the world is such a small place").
We get talking to other customers and after a while the bar is one big party. We meet a girl from Timor Leste that studies nearby and says she's going to Mexico City next month. I promise to send her recommendations, happily wondering what ramifications that will bring.
Infinite thanks to everyone that has given me a recommendation, because of that you’ve detonated situations like these.
PS. Just another random encounter at an off-the-beaten-path café.
The waitress asks us who recommended this place.
Craig Mod, I tell her, as if I personally knew him. "Ohhh Craig Mod!" she almost shouts, as she runs to a corner, coming back with his autographed book, Kissa by Kissa. "He loves pizza toast, but we don't have any". I laugh, understanding the unintended inside joke.
We leave, but not before giving her a pulparindo2. She's thrilled and I'm just happy to have lived this little moment.
Pay the bill, you scoundrel
We always carry traditional Mexican candy to give to particularly nice people we meet along the way. We recently added sevillanas to the mix because we've had children spit out the peculiar spicy sweet pulparindo
I love your beautiful stories of synchronicity, Oscar! With your delightful storytelling and sweet side thoughts, I feel like I'm in a charming movie watching lovely experiences unfold and knowing that these are also seeds of moments that will blossom into more magical experiences for you and your wife. :) :) :)
Damn, Oscar. Film premiere? Invited by the director? Jazz kissa and drinking red wine? Stop being so cool. Everything you’ve shared about the places you’ve been while in Japan so far sound like they have such pleasant atmospheres!!
I clearly have a higher vigilance than you because if I were you and saw that video playing 4 blocks from where you lived, I would have gotten a little suspicious lolol
“we've had children spit out the peculiar spicy sweet pulparindo”
Hahahahahahah I love this detail.
I love that you’re taking us along with you on this trip and I’m excited to see what sights you bring us to next time. By the way, did you buy any special vinyl records at that guy’s store?