With access to a computer for the 1st time in eleven days and a choice between sitting around patting my newly acquired ‘Asahi belly/hips/thighs’ or sharing stories, now may be an appropriate juncture to share little paradoxes and anecdotes from our Japan in July adventure thus far.
Bin watch…
Japan is renowned for its dedication to cleanliness and if godliness is next on the procession line we should really get cracking on expanding the Catholic population here. Pristine streets, trains, minds and hearts. However our traveling troupe has had troubled times when it comes to rubbish disposal, prompting thoughts about writing to the Japanese tourism board and suggesting a ‘bin watch’ program. Maybe a National Bin Day, bin awareness reference groups, even a Walk for Bins? It can’t be left to the hapless tourist any longer to navigate these bin-less cities. As rare as international ATMS and tshirt slogans that have not molested the English language, bins or anything resembling are nowhere. The Japanese commitment to packaging has complicated the problem by increasing the need for public bins further. Thankfully due to no evident national interest in curbing the surplus of plastic bags we have managed with creating bins in our handbags. No, you can’t have mine when I get back. And just in case we wanted to take the law into our own hands and start tagging (the street word for graffiti for those Gen Xer’s and baby boomers) there are the small and unobtrusive but omnipresent signs reminding us – ‘No Scribbling’.
From my cold dead hands…
Another paradox is the fastidious attention to hand cleansing. After living in the US of A where hygiene freakery peaks and having recently departed the swine flu capital of the world, the Place To Be, my dedication to personal hygiene could well be on its way to an OCD. So imagine by delight with Japan, a country dedicated to sating your hygiene desires with deliciously warm hand towels upon arrival in restaurants. Having suffered a bitter blow on our flight over, where NO hand towel was provided At ALL, I couldn’t ask for more of this nation than daily recompense. (Cress was equally disappointed when she realized that in economy class they don’t hand out socks. We are suing]. So the Warm Hand Towel Movement is alive and well here in ol’ Nippon and using this as a guide, doubled with the plethora of buttons on the toilets to maximize your experience AND heated toilet seats you would assume that there would be not just one but maybe several types of soaps when you come to that stage in the waste elimination process. Not so much. As the car insurance advertsiement sagely suggests – you can never assume. All you can do is know. And I know this. There is no hand soap provision in Japanese public toilets. Cress has a packet of soap leaves, an utterly useless item in everyday Western life that has quickly achieved stature of cakey gold in these desperate times.
The fried and the feared…
I was raised a vegetarian so I thought I’d seen it all. The highs and lows – the celery and peanut butter Cruskits, the eggplant and bean themed Christmas lunches, the nuances in pumpkin soup recipes and legume love. Vegetarianism in Japan took me on a new roller coaster ride and it hasn’t been without its thrills and spills. As Cress says, this country knows its tofu and the 101 ways you can stylize it for the palate. I could go as far as labeling it ‘extreme vegetarianism’. But I won’t. In line with our other Asian neighbours, the women here do not sport Asahi bellies or bellies at all really. However the dedication to fried food, and of most note – fried vegetables –is something else. Maybe we’ve exposed ourselves to the crass underbelly of this fine nation, the road stop style eating that studious Lonely Planet deliberations would have undoubtedly steered us clear of but if I eat another fried piece of capsicum… As I frequently say, when your plate of food is colour coordinated yellow you’ve probably made some unwise eating choices but this is the dilemma I am now faced with: can you feel consoled when you know underneath there is other colours of the rainbow and maybe a vague nutrient left in your eggplant/pumpkin/potato/asparagus/artichoke? They say never judge a book by its cover and I choose to look beyond the greasy layer of fat on what once were soul foods…My arteries love you too.
A procedural matter…
I don’t think I am pushing it if I say our traveling gang may have graduated with flying colours from the Type A School of Control Freakery and Detail Orientation. Japan is our wonderland. With trains you can set your watch to this country does not do ‘big picture’. We do of course because we’re amazing, but we also appreciate the finer (read ‘finicky’ if you like – I don’t mind) points to life.
Japan, once again, takes it up a notch. When I arrived at my 2nd ryokan at Koyasan and suggested that just maybe they could bend the rules ever so slightly, pretty-please-just-this-once and delivery my futon and neck-jarring bean bag pillow PRIOR to dinner, I may well have suggested they allow me to stomp all over their wooden floors with this seasons gumboots or roll around on the ground during morning prayer screaming ‘IS IT OVER YET?? (instead of what actually happened where I developed a condition I have termed ‘numb knee’ while weeping on the inside). Getting the bedding out before dinner would have been an extreme breach of procedure, in addition to supporting Western laziness with our weak inclinations for a nana nap. Some would sulk or demand their money back. I appreciated the dedication to procedure and management and hobbled some cushions together and took a nap all the same. I’m not smug about it; it’s just that I am smug about it.
Another predilection that falls roughly into the same category is the attention to you, and only you, when Japanese customer service professionals are working with you. Even though we may be involved in the Special Olympics of communication and not understanding a shared syllable they do not turn away. I noticed this when passing through one of the many railway gates, flashing my expensive JR pass to the attending uniforms. When they are not dealing with other clientele they nod, speak, smile, bow, nod, speak, smile and bow again as I pass through. I am their world for those brief moments and it can lift me up where I belong, no doubt about it. If however they are engaged with another client, I could walk through flashing pictures of Britney Spears nether regions and they would not lift a manicured eyebrow, let alone a gaze to acknowledge me. Customer service 101. As the crime rate is so low and nobody does anything devious like fare evasion (or evil like jaywalking as we’ve also discovered) you have to wonder whether they even care about the ticket or more the engagement – the nodding, the bowing, the smiling… the procedure.
Final thoughts. This tshirt slogan has left me with a lot to ponder…
