The last four days: Part 1, Setsuden

The pilot gives an update before we land in Tokyo.  We hear about wind direction and speed, arrival time and gate but it's the temperature I want to hear.  Then it comes.

"It's 30 degrees Celsius."  Ouch.  When I left Boston it was a cool sixty-something.  In Tokyo it's tsuyu--the rainy season.  That means 30 degrees C (around 87 degrees F) contains a muggy, sweaty, rainy, humid mix to the higher-than-I'm-used-to temperature.  Let's just say I'm a fall and winter girl.  I melt in the heat.  My usual love for adventure and "bring it on" mentality is less attractive all of a sudden.  At least it's not August.  At least I came in June.

I don't really melt in the heat.  I get cranky but I mask that well.  Most of the time, at least.  What I'm dreading is the previously announced government policy towards the use of electricity.  Rather the lack thereof.  With the Fukushima Nuclear Plant disaster still very much on everyone's minds, there's an awareness this summer will be hotter than usual if for no other reason the use of electricity is to be limited.

Setsuden is the Japanese word, catchall word/phrase/abbreviation for saving electricity.  There are signs all over Tokyo proclaiming this is the summer for all of us to turn off our fans, use the air conditioner less often and not turn every light on in the house.  The conductors on subways and trains tell us every few stops that fewer lights are on in the trains and stations and not all cars are using air conditioning.  This is followed with a request for everyone's understanding and cooperation.  The stations and underground mazes smell not of body odor but of stale and stagnant air.  There is a distinct odor everywhere not of stinky bodies but of damp and heavy air that has not had a chance to circulate.  The heat emanating from bodies is palpable as we pass each other on the street, stand next to each other in the trains and move from place to place.

But, no one complains.  I've seen salarymen in short sleeves fanning themselves with round fans they picked up at strip clubs.  Women carry cloth umbrellas to block the sun.  I have to work hard not to look at a woman's make up (especially her foundation) as it starts to flake with her sweat.  Small hand towels regularly wipe off sweat from the nape of the neck and the brow.  Everyone is hot.  Everyone knows it's going to get hotter.  I have yet to hear anyone complain.  I have yet to see anyone snap.

Stations post signage saying fewer trains are running.  Building entrances have similar postings stating the air conditioner is turned off.  These same signs apologize for the inconvenience.  Fewer trains run because there's less electricity to go around.  Skyscrapers and department stores no longer give off that strong blast of cool air immediately upon entry.  There's less electricity available because the nuclear power plants that provide this area (and beyond) are inactive.  Short of going through scheduled brown outs this summer, everyone knows setsuden is now a way of life.  Complaining about it does no good.  It is what it is.

It's going to be a long summer.

The Kindness of Strangers: Part 2

In my most humble opinion I do believe I have the answer to why there was next to no looting or rioting after the multiple disasters that hit Japan last month.  The answer lies in taxi drivers.  Rather, it lies in what taxi drivers personify.  Let me explain.

I will admit I have a bias.  I have a thing for Japanese taxi drivers.  They're really nice to me and nine times out of ten we end up having phenomenal conversations.  Just last night a driver took me to an address and then stopped the car, killed the meter and asked me if I knew where I was going.  I actually didn't.  I had a sense of which way to go and was confident I could figure it out but I didn't know exactly where the place was.  He pulled over, typed in key landmarks into his GPS and took me to the nearest building I recognized and didn't charge me extra.  As I left the car he told me one last time to call my contact instead of wandering around.  Absolute kindness from a man I will never meet again.  I was just a fare.  Did he even know I wasn't Japanese?  I have no idea.  It was dark and we didn't really look at each other while speaking.

Since arriving in Tokyo I've had three drivers ask me if the temperature in their taxi was to my liking.  I've had three others ask which route they'd like me to take.  I usually leave it up to them at which point they ask whether I'd like to get there faster or pay less.

Their cars are impeccably clean.  The seats are covered with a tight cloth cover which has no wrinkles, tears, stains or marks of any kind.  Sometimes the head rests are covered in what I can only describe as doilies.

The drivers are always polite.  Always kind.  Always well mannered.  This, to me at least, personifies the Japanese sense of service, the importance placed on manners and in general, good social behavior.  Which is why I can understand why there was no looting or rioting, why people walked home for 7-12 hours on the day the earthquake hit Tokyo, and why standing in line for hours to use a pay phone was entirely orderly and normal.  Being kind to strangers isn't entirely a foreign concept here.  Good manners matter.  Being polite is an expectation.  I like this about Japan.

The kindness of strangers

I knew very soon after I started this blog I was reaching many people I knew I would never meet.  At the risk of a showing a bit of bravado, this blog has hit many, many, many countries and multiple times at that.  I'm thrilled with how you're all spreading the word and want to be sure you are all properly thanked and feel the gratitude I have for helping to keep those affected by the tsunami on peoples' radar screens.

Those of you whom I don't know are, for a lack of a better word, strangers.  I'll likely never know who you are.  We won't meet.  We won't go out to lunch.  There have been some, however, and we're still talking about "strangers" here, who have gone above and beyond what normally people do for other strangers (as in me).  Case in point:  I have yet to pay for a meal here in Tokyo.  The only thing I've spent money on is taxis and bottles of milk tea I buy out of vending machines.  Everything else (and I do mean everything) has been paid for by "strangers" who want me to have a relaxing time in Tokyo.

I have multiple homes I can stay at for free and with no strings attached.  People feed me.  People send food home with me.  People drive me around.  People make appointments for me.  People listen.  People cry with me.  People give me something else to think about by inviting me out to a movie.  People wine and dine me.  People give advice.  People ask good questions.  People care.  Of course not all of these "people" are strangers.  Some I've known for years.  Others, however, are friends of friends who have read this blog and make guacamole for me.  (JOY!!!) 

I went to Iwate and started this blog for very specific reasons.  I wanted to provide a first-hand, on-the-ground account of what I'm seeing, feeling, observing and hearing for those of you back home.  It was an easy way to hit all of my family and friends at one time with the same information.  That it has turned into my own little therapy tool where I can write to people I don't know with brutal honesty has been an unexpected and yet most welcome surprise.  That those of you who have read this show me the kind of generosity, kindness, support and friendship you have over the past several days--this, too, is an unexpected and most definitely welcome surprise.  I'm truly humbled and grateful.  Thank you so much.