Drinks with Yuri

by Christine Nobin (South Africa)

Making a local connection Japan

“Four jobs?! How do you have time for fun?!” Yuri’s eyebrows lifted at my loud response. I was pretty shocked at myself too. We laughed. It seemed that the delicate wabi-sabi style cups charmed me into having one too many rounds of umeshu. The cosy izakaya filled up quickly. There were only 12 seats after all. Thanks to Yuri, we had secured a prime spot for three. The back corner table made it easy to access the surprisingly modern bathroom without having to shimmy past too many people. We had met Yuri earlier that evening at the East exit of Shinjuku Station. He had been waiting with a name badge and “tour guide” sign, smiling at every foreigner just in case they were us. He looked just as friendly as described by the reviews online. Having skimmed over a few “Must-do in Japan” articles, it seemed to us that izakayas and onsens were the most daunting. At least we could book a tour guide for one of those. Fear of the unknown and our very basic Japanese skills made a bar-hopping tour the best bet for us. Were foreigners welcomed into such small, hidden bars? What if Google translate let us down? We needed a local, and that was Yuri. As his last tour of the evening we were sad to say goodbye, so we invited him to join us for a few drinks. He told us he couldn’t stay too late because he had another job in Shibuya the following morning. Although his friendly demeanor remained, I could see the exhaustion wash over his thin face. His worn shoes, withered backpack and cracked phone screen pointed at a humble youngster yet to make it in the fast paced, impersonal wonder that is Tokyo. His eloquence in English, Portuguese and of course, Japanese was lost in the shadows of the skyscrapers. He seemed well beyond his 22 years, interested in other cultures and eagerly sharing his. He was at ease with us “foreigners”, often expressing how difficult it was to connect with people of his own age and culture. We had felt that too. Although we’d experienced the warm embrace of Japan’s unique tourism, we felt at arm’s length with the people. Yuri changed that. A few minutes before the last train, we walked down the bustling streets towards the station. Other people his age were only just coming out to play, whereas Yuri was heading home. Keeping the conversation light, we shared what we loved most about Japan, coincidentally passing a wall of vending machines that happened to be on the list of “loves”. Coffee, tea, water, soda - all at your convenience. The buttons underneath each drink winked at me. Hypnotised, we continued on our way, having bought many more drinks than we needed. We came to know that his father was that guy. The man who stocked up the vending machines after midnight. I’d never thought about all the “invisible” workers that made the city function as effortlessly as it did. His father struggled to find work after moving from Brazil back to Japan. It seemed Yuri didn’t know much about his father’s background. Apparently they don’t talk about it. To my surprise, I learned that Brazil had a huge Japanese population and consequently, I learned that I didn’t know much about Brazil either. It made sense to me why Yuri could speak Portuguese. I assumed that he had picked it up from his father. Instead, he studied with a tutor in the hopes of going there to ask the questions that would never be answered at home. The station was in sight and I wondered who and what Yuri went home to. Although he’d shared such personal things with us in a short space of time, he still seemed like an enigma. A rare find in a heavily populated city. As we descended down the stairs into the station, other “invisible” workers were coming out to clean and organise the recycling bins. Yuri helped us buy tickets back to our capsule hotel. He wished us well, put on his headphones and boarded the next train. Tomorrow, he too would become an “invisible” worker.