Yokohama Cruising Club ~ At Honmoku Sea Fishing Park
August 18, 2010 (Photo taken)
It was less than a year after I’d moved to Naka Ward in Yokohama. Back then, I often walked from Yamashita Park, down the street in Shin-Yamashita where the BUND HOTEL used to be, and on toward the harbor. I suppose it was because I’d just started living in a new area. Almost everything I saw felt fresh, and whenever I had the time, I’d wander all over the area within a radius of two or three kilometers from my home.
Ever since I was a child, I’d always felt a special fascination with the city of Yokohama. So, just the fact that I was walking through the city’s everyday streets on my own two feet felt a little surreal to me back then.
August 18, 2010. On that day, while walking aimlessly, I happened to end up in a corner of the Yokohama Cruising Club. I’m not entirely sure now just how far I was allowed to go. But as soon as I stepped inside a little, a scene unfolded before me that was quite different from the “Yokohama Harbor” I had imagined.
Yachts lined up in neat rows.
Countless masts reaching toward the sky.
Old tires floating in the seawater.
Rusted iron.
Wood weathered by wind and rain.
A slightly faded building.
It wasn’t the glamorous tourist destination that Yokohama is known for, but rather a place that felt like the backstreets of the port—a place where the sea, ships, and people had left their mark over many long years. Among all the sights there, I still vividly remember the sight of an old, faded blue door leaning against the wall.
A rusty fence and barbed wire, with a single door standing beyond them. In the background, a bright blue summer sky stretched out. I don’t know why it was placed there. But there was something strangely beautiful about the way it stood there. It was incredibly hot that day. I remember walking through the harbor, sweating profusely, with my first-generation Canon EOS 5D in hand.
More than a decade has passed since then, and looking back at these photos now, it seems to me that they capture more than just ships and buildings. My very own perspective from the time I had just moved to Yokohama is preserved right there.
Try turning down an unfamiliar alley.
Try walking to an unfamiliar harbor.
Stop to look at rusted iron or weathered wood.
At the time, I didn’t think of it as anything special. I just walked around and pointed my camera at whatever caught my eye. But looking back now, I realize that the Yokohama I saw back then was a Yokohama that existed for me only once.
It’s not just that the city has changed.
It’s because I—the person who used to look at that place—am no longer the same.
August 18, 2010. Midsummer in Yokohama.
In those photos, the heat of that day and the scent of the sea remain. And there I am, still looking at the city of Yokohama with fresh eyes—just as I was back then.
