Christmas - and I'm stuck in Tokyo!

My Life 4.7 Christmas - and I'm stuck in Tokyo!

Here I was in Tokyo, a week before Christmas. More than that, five days
before my birthday! I had finished my business, and was waiting for a
seat on a flight home. "Fully booked!" They told me.

I wandered into downtown Tokyo - the Ginza. The big stores were all
celebrating Christmas, they were, unusually, full of small children. As
you entered two little girls in pink uniforms bowed deeply. At the foot
of the escalator, more pink girls wiped the handrail with a cloth as it
sped by, and bowed. Outside, there was much laughter along the streets,
some of which were closed off so the crowds of pedestrians could walk
easily, and inside in the tot department, it was pandemonium!

The Japanese have a simple sense of humour. Once, in a station, a huge
crowd was giggling and laughing at mechanical frilled lizards that were
scuttling across enormous model landscape. In the department store, a
fascinated crowd surrounded a toilet. I sidled up. The toilet bowl had
a Perspex cover. As I watched, a stainless steel probe slowly emerged
from the back, moving horizontally. It stopped, and a jet of water
suddenly shot up, drumming against the perspex. Howls of
appreciation!

I had come across a similar toilet at an NEC factory. As I sat on it I
saw that a small paper notice on the back of the door was stained with
water. I puzzled why.
When I finished, I noticed that as well as the temperature controls for
the heated seat, there were other buttons. I pressed one, and a fan
whirred, blowing warm air round and out of the bowl. Hmm. I pressed
another, and a small steel probe emerged. Fascinated, I stood there as
a jet of water shot past me, across the cubicle and hit the paper
notice spot on. I wasn't the first it seemed! Later I dared try it
properly, and it worked quite well.

The first time I walked in Tokyo, I came to the famous pedestrian
crossing near Ginza. It is a large crossroads, with crossings marked
across the mouth of each of the four roads, and a further two crossing
diagonally over the centre, corner to corner. Lining up, waiting for
the traffic to stop, shoulder to shoulder, rows lined up behind me, I
gazed at the wall of people on the other side. It was impossible! Yet
when the signal came, each small army walked towards each other, like
pikemen in an old war. I paced myself with the rest - I didn't know
what would happen. The two fronts closed on each other, closer, closer.
And then it was over, we were passing through each other like ghosts.
It was simple. I did not try to think, just walked steadily, in unison
with my companions (for now they were my battle-hardened allies).
Glancing around, I saw the same thing happening on all the other
crossings.

This is one of the true secrets of being Japanese - the skill of not
bumping into each other. In the ever-crowded pedestrian areas, the only
people who ever collided with me, or stalled in front of me wondering
which side to pass, were westerners. This skill is tied to the other
Japanese core behaviour - keep moving! No Japanese ever stopped in
front of me to think of something, pull up their sock or to gaze in
some window. They obeyed strict traffic rules, pulling out of the
traffic to one side, finding a niche, or turning down an empty side
street to do whatever they wanted to. This is their true skill.

As a westerner, if you stopped in a public place - a station, say,
within a short time, an english-speaker would pop up at your elbow and
endeavour to help you - even conducting you to the ticket office,
translating for you and helping you with the change, leading you to the
platform and bidding you farewell. I once decide to find my own way to
a seaside town I had glimpsed from the bullet train. I found it on the
map. The suburban train lines had very few 'Roman' signs, so I had to
learn the ideograms for my destination, and follow signs on the trains
and platforms, as I had to change trains at one point. My main
concentration was avoiding being helped. I did not achieve that in
Tokyo, but managed to keep moving and not look at a map too obviously
for the rest of the journey. I finally got to the beach! It was a long
walk. On the way back, I saw a bus stop. While trying to puzzle out the
destinations on a small notice (I was looking for the sign for
'station') a bus screeched to a halt. The driver motioned me on. I
tried to say I didn't know where I was going, holding my hands out and
shrugging. He just motioned me in more emphatically. There was no one
else on the bus, which drove straight to the station and stopped. The
driver turned round and looked at me. I got off. I offered him some
money, but he just shrugged and smiled. I smiled. We never spoke. He
knew where I was going. I was a gaijin in a seaside town- where else
would I be going?

So here I was in the basement of one of the large department stores. I
loved it here. Two basement floors of food! The women behind the
counters called out as if in a market place. Things were being baked
and cooked freshly for sale. I never tired of tasting samples offered
by the nodding, smiling women. One spotted me as I passed and called
directly to me. The crowd around her smiled and giggled. She thought
she had me. I went over. She was pushing jellyfish through a cutter,
turning it into spaghetti-like strings. She put some in a small bowl,
sprinkled it with soy, and offered it, a cheeky grin on her face. I
suppose she thought I'd refuse. I took the dish to small, polite gasps
and slurped up some of the jellyfish with the help of the small
chopsticks she handed me. The crowd went silent. I wiped my mouth,
smiled and said "oishii" in my best accent. The crowd laughed, and a
few clapped. The woman and I smiled at each other, and I went on my
way. Of course, she didn't guess I'd had it before (it's a bit like
crunchy spaghetti).

When I got back to my hotel, I found I had a flight. Great! It meant
going back via Hong Kong, which lengthened the journey, but as the only
seat my Company could find was first-class on Cathay Pacific, I didn't
mind too much! Much as I loved Japan, it was nice to be going home. But
I knew I'd be back.

(1985)