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I used to teach English in Tokyo, and I'd like to talk about some of my experiences
The company I worked for had an apartment set-up for me, which was very convenient as many rental agencies in Japan don’t like to work with foreigners. It was also well subsidized, which certainly made a difference. The only downside is it was kind of far from where I worked. I worked pretty might right in Central Tokyo, but my apartment was on the far Western edge of the Setagaya Special Ward, which made it (by Tokyo’s standards) fairly suburban. Suburban in Tokyo is a little different than suburban where I’m from; the local train station served about 75 Thousand passengers a day, and there was a built-up shopping district, including restaurants, bars, karaoke places, and convenience stores (I’ll probably talk more about the convenience stores in a different post). That said, once you got a few streets away from the train station, it got very quiet, and very residential. My apartment was about a two-minute walk from the train station, and even that close my street was often very quiet. My apartment had a small balcony (very common in Japan, partly for smokers and partly for how few people own a drier), and when the weather was nice, I’d sometimes like to just sit there and take in the tranquility, punctuated by the clanging of the barriers at the train station.
Pretty much everywhere there is to go in Tokyo, there’s a train to get there. They’re cheap, inexpensive, pretty fast, and most of all they’re remarkably punctual. Companies have issued formal apologies before over delays of as little as 20 seconds. Signage on the trains is also very foreigner friendly; at every station (at least in Tokyo) most signage is in English and Japanese, and increasingly you’ll see Korean and Chinese also. There’s a high overlap between written Japanese and written Chinese, but for the situations where the written Japanese just doesn’t quite work, they’ll put things specifically in Chinese. It makes it very easy to get around, even if you don’t know the language well, which I’ll admit is a problem I face.
The company I worked for had an immersion based teaching approach, meaning I wasn’t even allowed to speak Japanese at work. Then as a result, most of my friends were either fellow foreigners who could speak English, or Japanese co-workers or students who liked the opportunity to practice their English. A lot of people who teach in Japan talk about the “Gaijin Bubble,” where they get stuck mostly knowing other foreigners. I did a pretty good job of avoiding that, but it was a lot harder to escape the “English language bubble.” My now-former students who are still very close friends are always happy to converse with me in English, and on the rare occasion one of their friends who can’t speak English joins us, they’re happy to translate for practice. I’ve sat down to try and learn Japanese probably a dozen times, and each time I end up losing motivation because not speaking Japanese really isn’t a hindrance at this point to my experience in Japan. It’s definitely a source of insecurity for me, but I guess at the end of the day the way things are now works for me, and I’m just too lazy to address it. I sometimes find myself understanding the gist of what people are saying and I suspect I know more Japanese than I realize, but it’s mostly just words and very little actual grammar.
The company I worked for taught all ages of people; the youngest student I ever taught was 2, and the oldest was nearly 80. From children whose parents wanted to help them hone their English, to business men and women looking to improve on a marketable skill, to amateurs just looking for a hobby and a way to meet new people, to those already fluent in English who just wanted to be able to practice and learn new words and idioms, the company I worked for offered lessons for them all. One group came every Thursday night; they hadn’t known each other before they started taking lessons, but over the years had become very close friends. It’s changing, but Japan historically has a very rigid social structure, and most adults are expected to mainly socialize with their coworkers. English lessons appeal to some people, like the Thursday crowd, as a socially acceptable way to make new friends. They’d always come for the last lessons on Thursday night, and then immediately go to an Izakaya on the second floor across the street for a few hours. I often see Izakaya translated as “Japanese pub” but I’m not sure that really paints the picture. They sort of combine the idea of a pub with a restaurant. There’s food, typically lots of smaller plates, and often with an extensive menu, but more importantly there’s alcohol. The Thursday night crowd liked to drink, and as a 23-year-old with a bit of a drinking problem it worked for me. We became pretty fast friends, and the drinking skills I’d perfected in American College at the expense of many of my friendships impressed the Thursday crowd, and I was more and more frequently invited to their Thursday night drinking. The story I’d like to share today happened on one of those nights.
Something that surprises a lot of people, especially New Yorkers like myself, is that trains in Tokyo are not 24/7. It depends on what train line you’re on and what station, but usually the “last train” is between 11 PM and 1 AM, with service resuming sometime around 6 AM. To appeal to working professionals, the company I worked for operated from Noon until 9 PM on Weekdays, so realistically with closing duties I was never joining them at the Izakaya until around 9:30 or so. I have a lot of great memories from those nights, but always with that nagging “we only have an hour or two before we have to leave” anxiety. From the neighborhood I worked to the neighborhood I lived in I had to transfer trains once at Shinjuku station, the busiest train station in the world, which can get pretty crowded around last train. I can’t remember exactly, but I want to say I usually had to leave the Izakaya around 11:20 at the latest if I wanted to make the transfer. This particular night we’d been having a particularly fun time; my friend Yori who was usually very quiet was laughing loudly as Atsushi and Hiroshi pretended to fight each other (and I gave color commentary). Satomi and Izumi, who usually didn’t drink much, were watching politely while having their own conversation. I hadn’t been counting my beers, but I knew the number was approximately “too many,” and for some reason I convinced myself I could wait until 11:40 and still make it home.
When my alarm went off at 11:40 reality came crashing down around me, and I recognized I would probably need to catch a taxi, which is not cheap in Tokyo, but after last train is your only option but staying out until the first train. Since I had work the next day, I did not consider this an option. Somehow, I convinced myself it was sensible to stop at the convenience store beneath the Izakaya to get a can of chuhai “for the road.” Chuhai (or Chu-hi) is a pretty uniquely Japanese drink; originally short for “Shochu Highball” it combined a fruit juice with Shochu (sort of like sake, but usually around 25% alcohol) to make a cocktail, but is now mostly sold pre-mixed and with grain alcohol and artificial flavors in cans for about 150 yen (about a buck 50 US). It’s not exactly good, but it usually goes down easily and is rarely less than 4% alcohol, sometimes as much as 9%. Like I said, I had a drinking problem at the time. Astonishingly, despite my decision, I caught a train to Shinjuku station, but I knew I was too late for the last train home.
My apartment was on the Keio line, one of the so-called “private operators.” All of the trains in Tokyo are run by private companies, but most of the subway lines are part of “Tokyo Metro” which is operated in close association with the Government of Tokyo, and most of the above-ground lines are run by the East Japan Railway Company (JR East), which used to be nationally owned. The Keio line, by contrast, has been privately owned for its entire existence. Keio trains look very distinctive, predominantly a sort of beige color with a pink stripe. Each Keio stop has a corresponding number (Shinjuku is KO 01 for example). The neighborhood I lived in Chitose-Karasuyama, was at KO 12. The Keio line has a few different types of services. Local trains stop at every station. Rapid, Semi Express, Express, Semi Special Express, and Special Express all stop at increasingly fewer stations. When I lived there, all train types except Special Express stopped at Chitose-Karasuyama, so all I had to do was make sure the train didn’t have the fuchsia pink signage of Special Express and I’d be fine.
When I arrived at the Keio platforms, I was certain I wouldn’t even be able to get in since I knew service had ended for the night. To my surprise, my passcard let me through the turnstile. I didn’t stop to look at the billboard since I knew whatever train I could possibly catch was leaving imminently. As I took the steps down to the platform, I heard the ringing that indicated the doors were closing soon, and I only briefly glanced to be sure I didn’t see the Fuchsia Pink of the Special Express as I hurried through the door. I took a seat opposite the door, and as the train began to move, I thought of how strange it was to find an open seat. I looked around the car, and to my surprise I found it sparsely populated, mostly Salarymen who looked about as drunk as I was, and some of them even looked asleep. Usually last trains are packed beyond capacity with people desperate to make it home, but this car didn’t even have a dozen people in it, myself included. I assumed it was a local train and wondered if a faster train was still coming, but accepted the longer ride for the fact it was taking me home at all.
I cracked open my chuhai (I’d grabbed a seasonal cherry flavor), and took a sip from it. It’s pretty bad form to eat or drink on public transit in Tokyo, despite lax to non-existent open container laws, but I was drunk enough and the train was empty enough that I didn’t really care. As I sipped from it, I looked up and down the car and noticed that there was not a single advertisement or route map anywhere. I looked to the electronic display that usually showed the name of the approaching station, but it was blank. I took another sip from chuhai. The train eventually came to a stop at Sasazuka (KO 04), the next station after Shinjuku. I stood up and walked towards the door as it opened onto the platform, and looked to see if the station’s billboard would tell me what kind of train I was on. Instead, to my surprise, the sign was completely blank, and as I looked up and down the platform, I didn’t see any lights on in the station, except for the buzzing glow of the signage on a vending machine.
As I looked, I noticed the train I was on didn’t look like the traditionally Keio train in its beige and pink; instead it was completely silver, as if it had never been painted at all. Instead of showing a type of service I recognized, the sign that usually displayed the service type was completely dark. I briefly considered getting off at the station and trying to call a taxi, but when the doors started ringing, I stepped back, and let them close in front of me, grabbing the handrail as the train resumed its motion. Now there were only 4 of us in the car, myself included, which I found strange as I hadn’t seen anyone depart. I took my seat again, and supposed this must have been some unscheduled service; a train that needed to return to a trainyard and a conductor who had kindly decided to pick-up drunks like myself to see us home. I supposed he must have phoned ahead to the station staff to expect one last train.
The next stop was Meidaimae (KO 06), so I knew it for sure wasn’t a local train, but every other train type went straight from Sasazuka to Meidaimae, so I didn’t know much else. My chuhai was half empty, and as the doors closed, I drank the rest of it, and put the empty can in my bag. From the day of work and the alcohol and the stress of worrying about catching the train, I was having trouble keeping my eyes opened. I’d occasionally been able to doze lightly on trains and hadn’t missed my stop, but given the circumstances I thought it was important I not fall asleep, and I did my best to stay awake, shaking myself as needed. I woke up to the sound of the doors ringing at Hachimanyama (KO 10) which only the Rapid and Local trains stop at. It’s probably a fifteen-minute walk, twenty tops, from Hachimanyama to Chitose-Karasuyama, and I briefly considered getting off there, but the doors closed before I had a chance. The train ride between the two is only a few minutes (Rapid trains skip KO 11), and I struggled as hard I could to stay awake. It seemed like an excruciatingly long amount of time was passing, which I assumed just spoke to how tired I was, as I fought my eyelids to stay open, and fought away the sleep that was grabbing me.
I woke up to the sound of the ringing that indicated the doors were closing. I got up with a start, and without really thinking went through the doors and onto the platform. I knew there would not be another train, but I also knew that no matter how far we’d come since I’d drifted off, staying on would only take me further from home. The doors closed a moment after I was off, and the strange silver train pulled away from the station. As I watched it go, I saw it was packed full of people, and a woman who looked to be in her 50s took the seat I’d vacated. I watched it until it disappeared around a turn, and stood rooted to the spot as I listened to it departing, and waited until the clanging of the barriers ended. I felt as though I’d been asleep for a long time. Have you ever gotten drunk then taken a nap, and woken up a few hours later somewhere between drunk and hungover? That’s how I felt. I checked my phone and saw it was only a little after midnight. I think this is a good time to bring up that I didn’t really have a smartphone when I lived in Japan. I had my American smartphone in airplane mode, which I used mostly as a camera and a pocket watch, though I did connect it to Wi-Fi at home (or on the rare occasions there was Wi-Fi out), and I had a small Japanese flip phone that could pretty much only make calls. Anyway, my smartphone said it was only a little after midnight, which didn’t seem right to me. I could have boarded the train much before midnight, and it was at least 15 minutes to Hachimanyama by Rapid train from Shinjuku. I figured I’d actually only been asleep briefly, and figured I couldn’t be too far from home, but I didn’t recognize the station.
What did catch my eye immediately, though, was that unlike Sasazuka, all of the station lights were on, and the billboards were showing trains continuing to arrive in the near future, though I didn’t recognize any of the service types offered, and they all seemed to be continuing away from Tokyo, not towards it. That wasn’t altogether too unusual; many trains in Tokyo share lines with others, and the Keio line was no exception. The Private Toei Subway trains often shared lines with Keio trains, and I wasn’t overly familiar with Toei service, so I assumed it was either Toei or another private train I wasn’t familiar with. As I explored the platform, I soon saw a sign showing me where I was. Upsettingly, I appeared to be at “KO 54 Maigonomachi,” a station I’d never heard of before. I knew the Keio line branched at some points so it wasn’t exactly a linear progression, but regardless, there was no way that KO 54 could be even remotely close to KO 12. I looked around a bit for a map to see exactly where I was, but there didn’t seem to be any area maps. That was only a little unusual for a train station, and I resigned myself to leaving the station to try to figure out where I was.
There are a few options when you miss your last train; you can take a taxi and pay out the nose for a fare, you can try to find a capsule hotel and pay a few thousand yen (1000 yen is about 10 dollars US) to sleep for the night, you can stay awake, you can try to walk home, or you can try to find less savory options of where to sleep. I’ll admit that I’ve crashed in various places after missing a last train; at a Hookah lounge that was open until 5 am, at a 24 hour McDonalds that was being lax about checking seats, in the doorway of an office building that was closed for the night, on a bench once, and at a karaoke place (though that’s usually only cheaper than taking a taxi). Despite the train service shutting down around midnight, Tokyo is really a 24-hour city. The bar scene runs late into the night, although after last train it’s usually increasingly locals. I’ve never gotten a straight answer as to why Tokyo’s trains don’t run all night, but the one that makes the most sense to me is that Tokyo figures “you don’t shit where you eat,” and if everyone needs to be drinking in their own neighborhood by midnight, they won’t get as rowdy.
As I stepped out of the train station, it struck me what an unremarkable neighborhood Maigonomachi seemed to be. I don’t mean that as an insult, but many Tokyo “suburbs,” including Chitose-Karasuyama, are pretty interchangeable. There’s a convenience store right near, sometimes inside, the train station. There’s a supermarket within eyesight, there’s a whole slew of restaurants and 4 story or higher buildings near the station, and bars and Izakayas aplenty. Maigonomachi had all of these, and for a moment I couldn’t tell what was wrong, but then I saw it. It was only a little after midnight and despite all the lights being on, I didn’t see a single person in any direction. Come to think of it, I didn’t hear any noise at all, besides the wind. It was mid-March, and it certainly wasn’t a balmy night, but it was hardly freezing. I cautiously started walking to try to find a street map, and passed by an Izakaya. The front door was open, welcoming customers in, but there was not a single person inside or out, and there was no music playing from within. I picked up my pace, and though I didn’t turn to look I thought I could hear the door slowly, but intentionally, being slid shut. I was very relieved when I turned a corner, until only little way’s down I saw a Shinnyu Chan’s Convenience store.
As I said, I’ll probably talk more about convenience stores in a future post, but there’s a somewhat unspoken rule that if you see a Shinnyu Chan’s you need to go in and buy something. They always make me a bit uncomfortable, but there’s a very common Japanese expression “Shoganai” which best translates to English as “It cannot be helped/avoided,” and whenever I came across a Shinnyu Chan’s I would mutter it under my breath before entering. The smiling girl behind the counter yelled out "Irasshaimase!" as I entered, and I only nodded, avoiding eye contact. As I said, I can’t really speak Japanese so the nuances of forma Japanese are beyond me, but basically “Irasshaimase” is something shop workers usually yell when you enter their store. I hurriedly made my way to the back of the store where the drinks cooler was, and among all the unusual options I picked out an Elderberry flavored Soju (the Korean equivalent of Shochu), making sure I had exact change for it (you always want to pay exact change at a Shinnyu Chan’s). I quickly went to the counter, still avoiding eye contact, as the girl rang me up, asked me if I was 20 (the legal drinking age in Japan). I offered a stilted “Hai,” and then put the coins on the counter, took my drink, and left. It tasted pretty awful, I’m not big on Soju or Shochu, but I still took the time to finish it. I didn’t want to bring the bottle home with me.
Another thing about Tokyo that throws a lot of people, especially New Yorkers, is that it’s built in a very chaotic way. There is no real organization to the streets, they’re built more or less where they can be, and most of them wind and turn and often end very abruptly. I think the geography of Tokyo is a factor, it’s mostly a plane but it can be fairly hilly in places, and it’s my understanding that part of it has to do with Japan’s recovery from the 2nd World War. The fire bombing of Tokyo killed more people than either atomic bombing, possibly more than both combined, and did extensive property damage to the city. Post-war Tokyo was little more than a charred ruin, and in it shanties and black markets formed, and as wealth began to return a lot of permanent structures were built more or less along the lines of where the less permanent ones had been. It’s a jumble, and it’s very very easy to get lost, which I quickly realized I was as I threw away my Soju bottle at a much more typical Convenience Store, and realized I wasn’t quite sure anymore where Maigonomachi station was relative to me. I still hadn’t found any street maps, and besides the girl working at Shinnyu Chan’s I hadn’t seen even a hint of another person, if she even counted.
I tried to orient myself by the stars, but it was fairly cloudy, and I couldn’t see the North Star, or anything else of note. I looked around to see if there were any taller than average structures I could orient myself by, but everything I saw was about the same height. I decided not to just stand there in the abandoned street and wait until morning, so I picked a directly at random and started walking. The path looped me back to what seemed like a business district and I assumed either Maigonomachi or another train station was nearby, but I never came across it. Instead, I began to smell the very faint smell of cigarettes, and as I approached an Izakaya, I saw a man, dressed like he worked there, standing in the doorway, smoking and looking at the sky. “Konbanwa (good evening)” I said, suspecting he hadn’t seen me, and my suspicion was confirmed when he jumped in surprise. I was partly relieved to see another person, but partly concerned why he was the only one I’d come across. That said, I’d been walking for about an hour at this point, and my feet were killing me (the work shoes I had at the time had really bad support). I pointed to one of the tables outside, and the still shocked looking man slowly nodded, and I sat down.
“Nama biiru, onegaishimasu (draft beer, please),” I said, and he nodded a bit quicker, and was gone. I looked to the sky again, but still saw nothing but clouds. He was back shortly with a beer for me, and held up 3 fingers, which I took to mean 300 yen, so I gave him the coins, considered it a decent price for a beer, and began to drink. Japanese beer is generally pretty light, vaguely German inspired, and usually quite drinkable. This was no exception, and I sat in silence drinking it, slowly becoming away the man was still watching me, with the same look of fear. I know there can be anti-foreigner sentiment in Japan, but I’d personally never encountered it, and wondered if that’s what it was. Then again, I supposed he too must have noticed the lack of other people out. I didn’t have the Japanese for it, but wondered if I could ask him.
“Eigo (English Language)?” I brokenly asked, and he only smiled politely, with the same scared look, then shook his head. I racked my brain to see if I could come up with enough Japanese to ask if he knew where everyone was. I settled for the best I could do.
“Daijoubu desu ka (are you okay)?” The fear seemed to leave him a bit in the moment, but then he became almost frantic. He quickly drew a smartphone from his pocket and began to type, then handed it to me. I took it from him and felt a knot grow in my stomach as I read the message on google translate.
“You must leave now. Do not run.”
I typed a question back into it, asking him where everyone was and what was wrong. When I handed it back to him, he took the phone and pocketed it with my message unread, and quickly went back inside, closing and locking the door to the Izakaya. I stood outside for a few moments, trying to process what had come over him, when I heard what sounded like a distant growling. At first it seemed to be coming from every direction, but I soon realized it was coming from the direction I’d come from. I looked and saw the man staring at me wide-eyed from inside the shop, and gesturing for me to go. I finished what was left of my beer, and set out, away from the growing sound. As it grew louder behind me, I considered picking up my pace, but considered his message and felt compelled not to go too quickly. The path took me over a small footbridge with a stream flowing some fifteen feet underneath it, and for a moment I thought I saw a shadow darting around at the bottom. I did not wait to see, but once I was on the other side, I did hear what sounded not unlike footsteps behind me.
As I continued my brisk pace, lights began to go out ahead of me, and the city seemed to be falling back asleep. I only glanced over my shoulder once, and thought I saw a figure dart from the center of the street into the shadows. I told myself it was just how tired I was and the alcohol, and kept walking. I think seeing the figure put me on edge, because I became increasingly convinced that as I passed the now darkened buildings, they were full of people. From the corner of my eyes I thought I saw shadowy figures in doorways and at windows, watching me pass. I kept my head down, and just continued walking, the growling and footsteps growing louder and louder behind me. I wanted to run, but the fear in the man’s eyes had been so genuine that I didn’t dare to.
It felt like hours that I continued like that, and I suppose it must have been, but time seemed to be slowing and speeding up, and its full meaning was lost on me, and I felt at once as if I’d been walking for eternity or but a few seconds. Eventually, mercifully, the sky began to grey with the hint of a dawn to come. The shadows in the doorways seemed to grow fainter, now only seeming to be tricks of the light at a distance, odd shadows cast by the streetlights that revealed themselves as I came closer. The growling and the footsteps died down. I was crossing another footbridge over a small river when the sun brought actual light into the sky, and it was at the same moment that I realized I couldn’t hear anything behind me, and I dared to turn around to see nothing but an empty street. Another noise caught my ear, and I realized it was birds chirping, which had been conspicuously absent until that point. A door opened and I almost jumped, but it was just a small old man stepping outside to smoke a cigarette. We made eye contact and he nodded to me, not a hint of fear in his eyes. He extended the pack towards me in a silent offer, but I shook my head and bowed slightly in appreciation, which made him laugh.
I finally found a train station a few minutes away from that second bridge, which was very well signed as “KO 44 Tamasakai.” I didn’t know the station, but there was a map posted as well, and I saw I was quite far from home, deep into Tokyo Prefecture, and right on its southern edge. As I inspected the map, I saw the bridge I’d just crossed must have taken me back into Tokyo from Kanagawa Prefecture, which is the next prefecture south of Tokyo. I also saw on the map many other stations and trainlines nearby, and supposed I must have somehow been walking in circles the whole time to not have come across them. It wasn’t a satisfying answer, but I didn’t have a better one, and the way Tokyo (I suppose I wasn’t in Tokyo the whole time, but the Tokyo area let’s say) is built didn’t make it strictly speaking impossible. My phone said it was 6:30 AM, which seemed both too long and too short, but mercifully it meant the trains were running. It wasn’t too long before my train was pulling into Chitose-Karasuyama station, and I was able to get a few precious hours of sleep.
I was a bit zombified at work the next day, exhausted and hungover and still rattled from the experience that was feeling increasingly like it might have just been a dream. I did my best to bury the memory, but it seemed impossible, my thoughts obsessed with everything that had happened, but especially the man at the Izakaya who had seemed so scared, but tried to help me none the less. The thought briefly occurred to me that I might have been drugged, but drugs are very uncommon and taken very seriously in Japan, and it just didn't satisfy me as an explanation. Slowly, I began to try to glean information. Googling Maigonomachi didn’t return any results, and I was not altogether surprised to learn that the highest number the Keio line went to was KO 45, Hashimoto. That weekend, during broad daylight, I went to Tamasakai station and tried walking directly south from it. I came across the second footbridge I’d passed and recognized the old man’s house, but everything south of their looked completely unfamiliar, and even though I spent about 3 hours looking, I was not able to find the Izakaya, the man, the first bridge, or anything familiar. I didn’t want to sound crazy, so I asked my fellow foreign teachers if they’d heard of Maigonomachi Station, but none of them had heard of it, so I asked my boss. Sayuri was Japanese, in her late twenties, and only spoke some English. Her job was almost exclusively administrative so it didn’t really matter, and she spoke enough English that we could talk somewhat. When I asked her if she’d heard of Maigonomachi Station, I saw her entire body freeze, and a look not unlike the man at the Izakaya’s came over her face.
“Who said that Station to you? Did the children try to scare you?” I found her answer concerning, and decided to tell her at least some of the truth.
“No, I fell asleep on the train recently, and woke up at Maigonomachi Station. Do you know it?” There was no mistaking the fear in her eyes, and it was a long time before she spoke again.
“It is good you came back. Do not say this station again.” With that she left for her office, and for the rest of the week she was very distant, eyeing me with something between concern and suspicion. Somewhat against my better judgement I decided there was no reason to omit any details amongst friends, and so when I told the Thursday crowd about my experience, I told them everything I could remember. The story was met by dead silence and stone faces, until Atsushi forced a laugh and said “CLearyMcCarthy, you drink too much!” The rest of the group laughed except for Yori, and I decided not to push it, forcing my own laugh and drinking from my beer as if to prove the point. I left exactly on time that night, and tried my best to go to bed early. Instead I lay there, unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling and listening to the clanging of the barriers at Chitose-Karasuyama Station.
If you ever come to Japan, don’t miss the last train, and if you find yourself at Maigonomachi Station, leave immediately, but do not run.
[WTS] Mayflower $10 Gold (Sealed), V75 ASE, Indian Quarter Eagle, World Gold, Giant Junk Silver Lot, and Loads of World Silver!
- No risky shipping
- Please include your name when providing your address
- If there are any errors in the post please let me know via PM
- Reasonable offers accepted - Don't offer spot
Mayflower Reverse Proof $10 - $750 https://imgur.com/a/p42IBRi https://imgur.com/a/pveZrKC
V75 Silver Eagle Proof - $425 Box was opened to confirm item (bought it off someone else) - inside case seems free of debris on the obverse - didnt check reverse https://imgur.com/a/pveZrKC
1925 D Quarter eagle - https://imgur.com/a/pjpRGma loop attached was acid tested and is 14k - ask $290
1897 20 Mark (looks cleaned) .2305 AGW - $450
1959 10 Pesos Gold - Semi PL though some Spots - .2411 AGW - $500
1905 Half Sovereign - .1178 AGW $250
Newer World Silver
Set #1 https://imgur.com/a/YigFUQh
1956 Suez Crisis 25 Qirsh Egypt - UNC - $20
1957 National Assembly Inaguration 25 Qirsh Egypt - UNC - $18
1964 100 Francs Luxembourg - 0.4832oz - $13
1938 1 Krona Sweden - $6
1960 Bolivar BU Venezuela - $4 (spot is 3.24)
1874 50 Lepta Greece - $4
Set #2 https://imgur.com/a/I7L3g0R
1978 100 Schilling Austria - spot
1979 100 Schilling Austria - spot
1909 or 1293/33 10 Qirsh Egypt - $11 (spot is 9)
1878 half crown - $13 (spot is >10)
1966 20 Escudos - $5 (below spot)
1915 40 cents (???) Cuba - $20
1924 50 Kopecks Damaged - $9
1816 Shilling UK - $6
1954 Bolivar nicely toned - $5
1770 10 Kreuzer Bavaria - $8
Set #3: German/UNC Morgan https://imgur.com/a/mPizgdj
1992 10 Mark - SPOT - $7.50
1970 Beehtoven Proof 5 Mark (mishandled) - $8
1939 B 5 Mark - Nice details/rim nicks - $16
1938 E 2 Mark - Nice luster under toning - $11
1938 E 2 Mark - $6
1875 F 1 Mark - $5
1900 o BU Morgan - $38
1 Shequel Commems - you pick which - 0.3935oz ASW - $10 for Circ; $11 for proofs (spot is 9.45)
Silver SlabsRattlers/Cheap Dollars https://imgur.com/a/SwT2bEE
1922 P PCGS [Rattler] MS63 - $40
1924 P PCGS [Rattler] MS63 [Looks better than 63] - $60
1873 S w/ Arrows 25c PCGS AU Details - $425
1963 P 50c NGC MS63 [My own submission, I thought it had a decent shot at FBL :(] - $20
Proof Barber Dimes https://imgur.com/a/lZ9ueeF
1906 - PCI - PR 61 - $450
1909 - PCI - PR 63 - $575
Half Dimes/Dimes https://imgur.com/a/E1z99Ko
1862 Half Dime PCGS UNC Details [Major Clash Marks] - $150
1836 PCGS FR02 - $26
1836 PCGS AG03 - $31
1958 NGC MS65 [Toner] - $15
1960 NGC MS66 [Toner] [all these are mine as well really thought this was FT :(] - $40
1960 NGC MS66 [Not FT?] - $25
New Foreign Crowns https://imgur.com/a/E8cdgRP
1784 Salzburg Thaler - AU Details - $200
Old Stuff PRICE DROPSSShipwreck Coins+French Ecu https://imgur.com/a/MyNHJMK
1821 Spanish 10 Reales SMP - $30
1826 Mexico 2 Reales Zs AZ - $30
1813 (?) Peru (Spanish Colony) 4 Reales Lima - $45
1822 Mexico 2 Reales Iturbide (RARE) - $100
1828 Mexico 2 Reales Zs AO - $27
1726 France 1 Ecu "IG" Engraved/Graffiti otherwise nice details - $55
1706 Portugal 400 Reis Holed (small) Strong details - $225
1857 Naples (Italian States) 120 Grana - Strong Detail Env dmg - $70
1794 Milan (Italian States) Crocione - Rev Scratch (or planchet flaw not totally sure) - $90
2 x 1868 Austria 10 Krajczar - $2.50 each
1861 Nassau (German States) 1 Kreuzer (.229 silver) - $4
1348/1929 Egypt 2 Piastres - $4
1874 F Germany 1 Mark - $6
10 x Swiss Half Franc - $2.25 each
1960 Greek 20 drachmai - $5
1947 Hungary 5 Forint - $7
1967 Austria 25 Schilling Maria Theresa Proof - $17
I accept PPFF, Zelle, and Venmo. I no longer accept Google Pay. I also accept crypto (your fees), cash, and USPS money order. New users without feedback will be limited to smaller purchases of approx $100 unless paying via crypto, cash, or USPS Money order. I also generally accept junk silver, generic rounds, and governmental rounds as payment but it is not guaranteed.
I will not ship outside the US
Shipping in the US is $5 for 9 or fewer ounces, $6 for 10-13oz, and then $8 for anything above. I provide insurance and/or signature confirmation at your request and cost.
Note: NO NOTES WITH PPFF - if a note is sent I will issue a refund