Quienquiera: my neighborhood bar. This was my hangout, my “home” away from my “home away from home”. I’d walk 30 seconds down the block, leaving the confines of my modern apartment for the streets of Tokyo’s quiet, old neighborhood of Shirokane (“white gold”), and find myself at an inconspicuous 100-year old house. Nestled inside was this little gem of a bar. It beckoned like a dark, welcoming living room. A total treasure. A place where I practiced Japanese with “my boys” and they picked up little phrases of English from me. Back and forth. They made cocktails the old school way: by hand. House-infused spirits, fruits and herbs hand-pureed with a mortar and pestle, and the ice hand-cut to perfection. Every night, I’d take my seat at the end of the counter next to what I called “the flowers of Quienquiera” and photograph my new friends, documenting memories between sips of a Side Car or “Campari a la Julie”. My drink, just for me. Over time, new friends became old friends. Quienquiera is what I miss most about Tokyo. — J.E.
tel: (03) 3446-0609
above: Fab5 Freddy, Deborah Harry, Lee Quinones Pike // Cherry Streets (c) Bobby Grossman
Balinese rituals // PH: John Stanmeyer // Holga camera. See more in NYT
Collecting water for the cleansing ceremony of Melasti
Stabbing himself with a dagger during Melasti
A bride stands, waiting to be introduced to her groom
Preparing for a sacred dance performance
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The False Mirror by Rene Magritte
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