Ohanami

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I stepped out of the ryokan, and there were Sakamoto-san and someone, whom I assumed to be Takeshita-san, coming towards me. Sakamoto-san is a long term friend from the MESA group and she introduced me to Takeshita-san. As for Sakamoto-san and me, it was a great big hug. After the momentous events of the last three weeks or so, cultural reserve went out the window.

On the way to Asakusa to meet up with the other four MESA members who were travelling down from Mito and Tsukuba today, I heard about life now in Tokyo. In order to save energy, many but not all of the escalators at the train and underground stations aren’t running, although the lifts are still functioning. The lights are usually turned off too during the daytime on the overhead circular line. There haven’t been any aftershocks these last few days. At first they happened all the time.

When we surfaced from the underground at Asakusa, we caught sight of Tanaka-san, Maruyama-san, Ayako-san and Lian, who is Chinese. There were more hugs – I think we all needed it.

In Japan modern and traditional are juxtapostioned close next to one another and so it was today. We walk to see at close quarters Tokyo Sky Tree, a new broadcasting and observation tower, which is nearing completion and at a height of 634 m will be the tallest tower in the world. I’m intrigued that its name is in English – it’s hard to think of Europeans constructing a building and then giving it a name in another language. Tanaka-san explains that it is a triangular structure at the base to be strong in an earthquake. It isn’t an elegant soaring structure, but if it’s good in an earthquake, that’s where the priorities are.

We stroll down Nakamise-dori, the narrow street lined with souvenir shops leading to the temple, Senso-ji. This is an extremely popular tourist destination in Tokyo, and every time I come I always find my way here, as I love the bustling atmosphere. Normally you see lots of gaijin here – whether residents or tourist – but I only saw one. At Sensjo-ji, Ayako-san, Yoshi-san’s mother, shows me what to do at a temple. You place your hands together to pray, and do a single bow. No claps at shrines.

I gaze in amazement at all the wares in the small, compact shop - plastic models of sushi, with prawns, salmon, tuna, tamago (sweet egg) and other toppings, of soba (buckwheat noodles) and udon (wheat noodles) dishes, of spaghetti and pizzas, of ice cream and toast, of shredded salad. We are in Kappabashi, a nearby street full of wholesaler shops. It’s where restaurants get their plastic models of food dishes which make life so much easier in choosing what to eat. Many restaurants, and in particular those on the top floors of departments stores, have plastic models of all their menu choices displayed at the front. A few restaurants also have English menus, but most do not, and although a few dishes may be accompanied by a photo, most are not. This makes the plastic models invaluable. In the first few years when we were in Japan, I would get the waiter or waitress to follow me outside so I could point to the plastic model. Now with a combination of noting at least some of the kanji (Chinese characters) I recognise, or the hiragana (Japanese script) and the price, I no longer have to drag the poor waiters outside.

Over lunch I listen to all their stories about when the earthquake happened. Only it wasn’t just one huge earthquake, there were a whole series of them at very short intervals the first day. I heard how you couldn’t stand up at all, but had to wedge yourself holding the children. How in your dreams there is another earthquake. How you were in the swimming pool at Hitachi-naka and got yourself out during the earthquake. A handicapped person couldn’t get themself out quickly enough and was hit on the head by falling masonry from the ceiling. You’ve heard that they’ve just died from the injuries. You want to hug them all again.

‘Ohanami’ is woven into the life of Japanese people. ‘Hana’ means flower, and ‘mi’, watching, but now it’s just used for the cherry blossom (sakura) viewing. The first cherry blossom occurs in Okinawa, then Kyushu, the southernmost large island and it works its way up Japan. Exactly when the cherry blossom occurs varies slightly from year to year depending on the weather. This year it’s later than usual – and you think of all those images of the snow falling over the evacuees, and journalists in Tokyo huddled in anoraks. Normally ‘ohanami’ in Japan is quite a riotous occasion, with plenty of sake and beer drunk at parties on blue plastic sheeting under the cherry trees. This year is a more subdued occasion. Every other year the trees have been illuminated at night – this is called ‘yozakura’ (night sakura) – and groups hold parties under the trees. This year it’s been forbidden in Tokyo to illuminate the sakura at night in order to save energy. ‘Yatai’ – the stalls with all the different traditional Japanese take away foods – have also been forbidden.

At the Yasukuni Shrine the sakura has reached perfection, but there aren’t any stalls or party atmosphere. They show me a particular tree in the shrine precincts. An expert views this tree daily and decides when it has come into blossom and when it is ‘mankai’, in full blossom. This tree is used as the basis for declaring the Tokyo cherry blossom season. We look at the notice beside it – two dates are marked, one date that it was the start of the cherry blossom season, and today’s date to show that the tree is ‘mankai’, in full blossom. Over the years I’ve often heard Japanese friends describe how important sakura is to them – its beauty and its transience.

This has been my first complete day in no man’s land. A few escalators aren’t working, the lights aren’t on in the daytime in the overhead trains, there are scarcely any gaijin, there have been no aftershocks, the trains are all running smoothly – far better than in Britain, the ohanami is more restrained, but the sakura is even more poignant in its beauty. And it was so good to see my friends again.

It was a very precious day.

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