It's his turn. Kazumasa Nonaka gets up, trots to the small stage and takes the microphone. He has dressed up nicely, with his white shirt and his hair combed back. The music starts. In a slightly quavering voice, he sings Hakatayobune ("the night boats of Hakata"). On the sofas in front of him, the audience is won over. Feet tapping, shoulders shrugging. Yet it's only 1.30pm and, if you look around the small room at Mukashi no Uta karaoke ("songs from the good old days"), the customers are far from teenagers. In fact, the average age is over 80. The owner, Mariko Saito, watches Mr Nonaka raise his voice: "He's 88! And I've seen him here for over twenty years," she says.
They're all regulars, pensioners, who come several times a week." Mrs Saito has 'lost' many customers, and sometimes closes to attend funerals. But on this Friday, the white-haired music lovers are looking great. "I can tell you I'm the most tired!" says the owner. When they leave the retro-decorated basement, some will go shopping, others will grab a bite to eat. And, why not, meet up with some friends. Because in Sugamo, a district in the north of Tokyo, senior citizens have decided to make the most of life.
Communities grouped by district
Greater Tokyo (which encompasses the metropolitan prefecture and seven neighbouring prefectures) is both the most densely populated urban area in the world and the one with the highest proportion of elderly people, with 25.7% of its forty million inhabitants over the age of 65. Yet when you stroll through the vibrant tourist districts of Kichijōji, Setagaya, Ueno or Ginza, you come across Japanese of all ages. In Tokyo, senior citizens don't really stand out... except in Sugamo! Because in this segmented city, where communities come together in neighborhoods - sumos in Ryōgoku, teenagers in Harajuku, punks in Kōenji... - it was only logical that the elderly should have their own. Very few of them live there, as rents in this central area are high, but they come by day. What do they find there? Friendship, spirituality or medicine. After a day full of exploration and interaction, they, like any other city’s visitors, are in need of a comfortable place to rest. Compilation of the best hotels in Tokyo can be found online to help visitors choose the most convenient accommodation depending on their needs.
The owner of the karaoke bar says that older people come here because there are two metro lines and a tramway. "And as transport is free for the over-70s, it's very practical", she says. Getting off at Sugamo station on a Saturday morning, you notice small groups of obāchan (an affectionate term for "grandmother") waiting for latecomers. There they are, gathered together, pacing the most famous shōtengai (shopping thoroughfare) for pensioners, Jizō-dōri Street. There, loudspeakers blare out old-time tunes and inclined planes make access easier for wheelchairs. The hundred or so shops do everything they can to attract their core target. One nail salon has even invented the ad hoc discount: it offers a 60% discount to the over-60s, a 70% discount to the over-70s, and so on. Some centenarians come here to have their nails done for free.
Nostalgia is also a matter of taste
Sugamo attracts seniors because it's a place where they can recapture their youth. "Ah, natsukashii!" ("so nostalgic!") cry out tourists in front of the window of Kifukudo, a bakery that has been making buns filled with red bean paste for over a century. Dried fish, puffed rice cakes, kelp tea... Here and there, the smells emanate and mingle. "Ikaga desuka" ("Would you like a taste?") smiling ladies hand out samples at the stall entrances.
Klang! Klang! At the end of the shopping alley, a noise from the past announces the passage of a tram, the last one still running in Tokyo. The canary yellow train stops in front of the Ippuku-tei restaurant. The ohagi, a rice dumpling covered in red bean paste, has been served here for twenty-eight years. As Jingu Takahisa prepares the sweet, a delicate aroma wafts through the air. His secret? He cooks his beans in roasted green tea. "The tea lightens the whole thing, so it has to be sweet... but not too sweet! explains the chef. That's how our older customers like it. Some even come with their families to introduce their grandchildren to this flavour of yesteryear.
What sets Sugamo apart in a hurried, busy city like Tokyo is its quiet, provincial-town pace. In the street, many passers-by stroll along at a leisurely pace. A few steps and then a pause, to say hello or examine a shop window. Sugamo also offers benches and seats - a rarity in Tokyo. The few "vehicles" you come across on these streets, which are pedestrianised for part of the day, are walkers, wheelchairs or Caddie tricycles. But some of the old-timers are more dynamic. For while Sugamo plays the role of a Proust's madeleine, reactivating memories through olfactory and gastronomic stimuli, the district also acts as a fountain of youth.
A lady carrying a sports bag passes through the small white gate of the Sugamo Sport Centre, the local gym, where classes are adapted for people with slightly rusty joints. Further on, you can also find old-fashioned recipes for invigorating tired bodies. An old man, cane in hand and headgear pulled down, observes the Sugamo Miuraya restaurant. Will he be enjoying suppon nabe? This turtle stew is preceded by a glass of reptile blood, which is said to preserve male vigour. And all along Jizō-dōri street, shops offer ladies bright red underwear hanging from rods. The visual effect is amusing, but their meaning is rooted in ancient beliefs: red panties are sometimes offered to celebrate someone's 60th birthday, because this colour is associated with blood circulation and would allow you to age in good health, but also because this birthday marks the completion of five cycles of twelve years in the Chinese zodiac. You then reach kanreki, an age reputed to bring you back to the beginning of the calendar cycle... A sort of rebirth.
A Buddhist temple to ease your pain
There are a dozen Buddhist temples around Sugamo metro. But the most magnetic is the Kōganji. Grey-haired worshippers pass under its cypress door and join a queue where, one after the other, they pour water over a statue of the goddess Kannon before rubbing it with a small white towel. What is this strange ritual? The man with the answer is the head of the temple, Akinori Kuruma. A well-known figure in the neighbourhood. Smiling and talkative, Mr Kuruma has many lives. "I have a degree in cardiology, but I only practise three or four times a month now, because running the temple and giving talks on the dangers of smoking take up all my time", proclaims this slightly eccentric fifty-year-old. His CV also shows that he was a member of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle club in Atlanta before taking over the management of the temple.
"The ritual takes place in two phases: first, you come to pray to the healing Buddha Jizō and swallow a small rectangle of paper symbolising him. This is a remedy. Next, you rub the goddess of mercy, Kannon. For example, if you have a sore shoulder, you rub the shoulder of the statue." A deity who soothes man's suffering by bearing it for him? "That's it, a bit like the Christian Jesus," he sums up. So that's what attracts senior citizens to Sugamo, who are keen to age in good health and forget their rheumatism. Eight million people visit the temple every year. It's a sort of Buddhist Lourdes, but not just that, as Kōganji also plays a social role. Since 1960, its community centre has been advising the faithful. "They make appointments to discuss spirituality, family, heritage, the meaning of life and death too," says Akinori Kuruma.
A support network for senior citizens
As for the 57,000 elderly residents of Toshima district, to which Sugamo belongs, the town hall tries to look after them, as half of them live alone. In the post office on Jizō-dōri street, there are information posters (neighbourhood meetings, prevention of telephone scams) and the employees are very attentive to elderly visitors. "We have signed an agreement with businesses: if someone notices someone in difficulty, they let us know," explains Naoe Futoshi, head of the kōreisha ("third age") office in Toshima. His job is to forge links with and between senior citizens, hence the usefulness of this community centre, fifty metres from the post office, which he shows around, highlighting the ballroom in the basement.
The official's task is made easier by a network of 220 volunteers who visit the elderly to help them with their shopping, keep them up to date with the news or simply talk about the weather. "Some no longer see the point of going out, and their loneliness encourages problems of depression and sometimes dementia," laments Mr Futoshi. As much as poverty or health, loneliness is a major concern for the elderly, who fear dying anonymously and indifferently. Whereas generations of Japanese used to live under the same roof and die at home, surrounded by their loved ones, they are now faced with the issue of kodokushi, or lonely death. Japan is the only country in the world to keep statistics on the subject, with 30,000 lone deaths a year.
So to stave off the anguish of the last day, why not keep on singing? "Nonakasan [Mr Nonaka], it's your turn! Back on the small stage, the old man smiles and sings the rhymes of Michizure ("fellow traveller"). This morning, before leaving, he had written down the titles of the songs he wanted to perform. This is the last one, and it's very close to his heart. Michizure evokes the seaweed floating on the surface of the water, speaks of regrets, of things lost. Here, Nonaka-san sings of the Japan of yesterday. Or is it the Japan of tomorrow? Senior citizens may well be Tokyo's future: they will make up 30% of its population by 2035.