Tea in Tokyo

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The phone rang in my room. This was the first time it had rung since I’d been in the ryokan, as everyone was using my Japanese mobile phone number. It was the hotel reception. Very politely and with several ‘gomen nasai’s’ and ‘sumimasen’s’ (I am sorry – excuse me) it was pointed out to me that the check out time was 10 am. I glanced at my watch, saw that it was 10.30 am, and with some ‘sumimasen’s’of my own was down at the reception 5 minutes later. Japanese people are always very courteous, but unlike the British, if you’re not doing something quite as it ought to be, they will in the politest language possible inform you of the fact. I think it was the owner himself at the reception. I was given a present – a small item covered in the traditional Japanese cloth. I’d never been given a present before on leaving a Japanese hotel. Did they always do it at this ryokan, or because foreign tourists are such a rarity now? The owner helped me out the door with my case, and then gave a deep bow, saying ‘arigato gozaimashita’ (thank you very much).

On the Shinkansen I heard the sing song voice approach. I looked up expecting my coffee, but instead it was a young female conductor, a first for me. She was followed by another surprise – the coffee trolley was being operated by a young man, very earnest, but not quite with the accustomed grace. I asked him if he had any ‘obento’, the Japanese equivalent of a sandwich but far more delicious. You can always find several shops selling obento at larger railway stations, which travellers pick up to eat on the train. You also find them in the food sections in the basements of department stores – they make handy quick meals. Shortly before closing time they are offered at a discount as they would never be kept for the next day. Japanese wives produce them for their husbands to take to work and their children to school. A Japanese friend of mine when her children were still at school used to get up at five o’clock each morning in order to make obento for her husband and children.

I was given a menu – fortunately with photographs – of the various obento, and I chose ‘yasai’ (vegetables). It came in a box, divided into five segments – cooked vegetables, pickled vegetables, beans, a pickled plum (ume), three rolls of plain rice, two rolls of flavoured rice. Japan has the longest life expectancy of any country in the world, which is due to their diet with a very low cholesterol rate in their blood.

Startled I opened my eyes – I must have nodded off with the movement of the train. I glanced out the window – and there was Fujisan, Mt Fuji, crowned with snow. I’d almost missed it. I’d chosen the left side of the train to have a good view. I fumbled for my camera. We were speeding by so fast would I find it in time? The Shinkansen runs through the narrow strip of land between the sea and the mountains and so everything must squeeze into this space. In the foreground of my photos of Fujisan from the train are factories with enormous pillars for chimneys, pylons, shopping malls, wires and yet more chimney stacks.

The train enters Tokyo. It’s a very strange feeling thinking that Tokyo, of all places on the earth, has become rather a no-man’s land for foreigners. Many of the resident foreigners have fled, many of them taking long distance flights which will have given them far more radiation (a Tokyo-New York round trip is 190 microsieverts) than if they’d stayed put. I have read in several newspaper articles that a new word, ‘flyjin’ has entered the Japanese vocabulary. It plays on the word ‘gaijin’ (pronounced ‘guyjin’), which literally means ‘outsider’ and in everyday Japanese describes foreign people. ‘Flyjin’ are all those foreigners who have left. Tourists have the problem that their travel insurance won’t cover them. I found one that would cover me through the Japan National Tourist Organization in London – I can still trip over my feet.

At Tokyo Station I look for the Yamanote line – the circular raised line running round Tokyo. The escalators are cordoned off. I see a sign in Japanese, and can make out ‘jishin’, (earthquake). I had read somewhere that with the power shortages in Tokyo they are trying to cut back on energy in whatever way they can where it’s not necessary. The mains frequency of Tokyo and the north is 50 Hz, whereas in the south it’s 60 Hz. This means that Tokyo cannot easily obtain its power from the south. I sigh to myself when I see the notice as there is nothing else for it, but to lug my two bags – I don’t do ‘travelling light’ – up to the platform. I know I won’t get any help because that doesn’t happen in Japan. When our two younger children were small, aged 10 and 6, I travelled back to Europe from Japan on my own, with them, plus two large cases. Mito Station at that point didn’t have a lift or escalators, so I had to go backwards and forwards to get cases and children down to the platform. The flight back took me to Frankfurt, and then we went by train to Munich. Someone at every point of the journey in Germany came forward to help me. It’s happened to me several times since in Japan, and it’s the same this time – I do it on my own. My destination is Nippori, but now I’m wiser. The escalators aren’t working either and are cordoned off with a sign, but I spot two Japanese people ahead of me, with large cases. I follow them all the way down the platform, and there’s a lift, and it’s working.

I check in at the ryokan. I’ve stayed here before with my niece when she came to stay with us when we were living in Japan, so it was easy to find. The owner speaks good English. I ask her if they have many guests as it’s a ryokan which concentrates and specialises on foreign tourists. They’ve all cancelled, she said. We really appreciate you’re here, she adds.

I’ve arranged to meet Keiko, a very old Japanese friend of mine from the time when we first came to Japan in 1994. It’s so good to see her. She takes me to an area of Tokyo I’ve never been to before - Kagurazaka – to a charming café. Our drinks are before us – mine a clear glass teapot with green tea and cherry blossom floating in it, Keiko’s is a latte made not with coffee but with ‘macha’, green tea powder. Keiko tells me what it was like when the earthquake struck. Her flat is on the 20th floor in Tokyo, and it swung backwards and forwards. It was like the time when she was on a boat crossing over to Kyushu (the southern island), when a typhoon hit, it was moving so much.

When we part company, we hug one another – which isn’t at all a Japanese thing to do.

So far today in Tokyo I have only seen two other westerners, a couple in the street in Kazurazaka. Not a single gaijin on the trains. That’s never happened to me before. In Mito it would often happen that I wouldn’t see another gaijin, but in Tokyo you always see gaijin. But not now.

In today’s Japan Times, there’s an article with the headline ‘Half of embassies return from flight’. Apparently 32 diplomatic corps closed their Tokyo offices at one point since March 11. ‘While big missions like the U.S. and U.K. embassies have been in full operation since the earthquake, many smaller ones found it hard to function due to electricity, gas and transportation shortages, government sources said.....As of Monday afternoon...five, including the German and Swiss missions, were still in Osaka or other regions.’

An article catches my eye about the children who are evacuees living in shelters. ‘For the children, the monster in the closet has been replaced by the monster of Mother Nature: The ground they play on can rattle and crack, the ocean they swim in can morph into a killer ware, the air they breathe might carry harmful radioactive particles’, I read. Ian Woolverston, a spokesman for ‘Save the Children’ said, ‘The stories they were sharing with me were about first an earthquake, then a tsunami and now their fears for radiation. Being alone is the thing they’re most afraid of.’

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