Fourth Form of Madness

Since arriving in Tokyo, I have found myself wandering aimlessly through the impossibly clean and orderly streets clutching an empty can of drink that I finished an hour ago.  Where are all the bins? Seriously, there are no bins on the streets.  But here is the kicker – it is so clean, not a piece of rubbish anywhere to be seen, not even the odd cigarette butt in sight.  My husband, the ever knowing oracle of travel that is presently reading this over my shoulder as we make our way to Kyoto on a bullet train, pointed out that the only place you will find a bin is at vending machines.  And he is right.  This is an interesting observation.  Place to purchase, same place to dispose.  Cut out all the other options and chances to litter and hey presto a tidy freaks paradise (for those that know me, I am clearly not referring to myself as the tidy freak here).

I secretly wonder what the penalties for littering must be in Japan, they must be severe as they seem to work.  Or perhaps there is no such penalties just an inbuilt (via socialization so perhaps not so inbuilt) sense of respect that the Japanese seem to have in abundance.  There is a quietness, a certain serenity about the Japanese that I doubt even 24/7 yoga would produce in me.  Travelling on their super crowded metros is a lesson in crowd control I shall never forget.  The carriages even though packed are quiet and peaceful.  There is no shouting of loud and obnoxious conversations down mobiles, no bragging about drinking feats and sexual conquests on past weekends to all and sundry.  I soon see there are signs up advising passengers to move to the travel spaces in between carriages if they want to use their phones.  So instead there is silence and calm.  Just the sound of the trains motion and the sounds of myself straining something trying to appear as impossibly stylish and serene as the beautiful, eloquent Japanese women.

But for all their style and poise, there is something else I feel when with them, something beyond poise, a certain stoicism.  A certain accepting attitude that whatever comes their way is how life is meant to be and one should humbly live the outcome, come what may.  It is no coincidence, I find myself unconsciously humming “Que Sera Sera” in my head a lot here.

Take for example our gentle and knowledgeable Japanese guide at the Edo Tokyo Museum.  We had arrived at the part of the museum that detailed life in Japan during the second world war.  Our guide had been a young boy in his early teens.  Instead of riding bikes and hanging out with friends, he had been brain washed by the Japanese military (his very words) whilst basically starving to death due to food shortages.  Not to mention that the Japanese military hid the truth from the Japanese people right up to the end of the war.  Whilst everyone in Japan was being told that they were on the cusp of winning the war, the Japanese military officials were signing the surrender papers conceding their defeat.

To hear our gentle guide tell of his dismay at how one day his country went from thinking they were near victory and all their sacrifices were worth it, to the next day being advised that the war was over and Japan had lost was very humbling.  He told of how depressed both himself and the country were following the war, depressed and destroyed.  He showed us pictures of Tokyo at the end of the war and there were not too many buildings standing at all.  So as I looked around I realized that in about 70 years since the war they had rebuilt everything around me.  Such resilience in people always makes me well up a little, how can you not when in the presence of such beauty.

And not only did they rebuild, they kind of thrived.  This country loves an electronic gadget.  I’ve already written about the toilet experience so I will spare you that one again.  But even something as simple as a hotel hairdryer can become an intriguing affair.  There were so many buttons as well as things that didn’t ever look like buttons that when touched did things like helpful alternate between hot and cold air.    I was in awe, the usual hotel hair dryer experience involves it being stuff to a bathroom wall and barely turning on let alone blowing hot air.   In fact, I am starting to see, that anything that has possibly been thought of has been invented and is being sold here in Japan and more often than not, is available from a vending machine.  In fact, there a so many vending machines dotting the landscape of Tokyo offering so many different drinks, that I do believe I could go my whole trip and never drink the same product twice.  And believe me I am trying, I am currently making my way through all the cold milk tea drinks that are on offer over here.

Before coming to Japan, I heard the saying that “Tokyo is the most beautiful ugly city you will ever see”.  I understand that now.  Everywhere you look there are concrete and steel, often mismatched looking buildings thrown together.  An odd mixture of old and new, not only in the buildings but in the people.  But it is a combination that seems to work so well and produce an air of mystery and intrigue as well as safety and comfort that I have I never experienced before when travelling.  And a quietness and gentleness even on the busy streets and trains that I will marvel over for quite some time and hope to emulate in my own lifestyle in days to come.