By Dr Mick Le Moignan
The pandemic casts a long shadow. World travel still feels unreal, like a dream from a long-lost, golden age, but they were selling tickets, so we bought a couple.
The idea of spending a week touring Japan on the way to Europe seemed an extravagant fantasy but here we are, sitting comfortably on the Shinkansen, whistling past rice paddies, hamlets, tower blocks and mountains at 150kph. It’s actually happening.
I was last here in 1975, so both Japan and I are 48 years older. Japan is ageing more graciously. It’s more open to foreigners than it was – but the ubiquitous signage will still baffle those of us who are illiterate in Japanese.
Menus are challenging: the photos in menus and plastic models of dishes in restaurant windows do not convey flavours, so you have to take an occasional stab in the dark. You may be disappointed by a cold bowl of noodles or a dish of pork belly with very little meat, but 95% of Japanese food is more delicious than you expect. It’s a fair trade-off.
Long ago, I taught English to Japanese businessmen who aspired to go on sales trips to the USA or UK. All had studied the written language since early childhood, so they understood English pretty well but were shy about speaking it. If I was lucky, a ‘lesson’ could be an hour or two of conversation in a bar. The most difficult thing for them to learn was how to shake hands (firmly, but not too firmly) without bowing.
In those days, Japan was an economic marvel, having shed its militaristic past and risen like a phoenix from the ashes of the Second World War. Everything was expensive and every westerner in Japan gave English lessons. Even the BBC correspondent eked out his meagre British salary in this way.
I spent three months in Nagoya, one of only 12 to 15 foreigners (gaijin) in a city of three million. Parents would nudge their children and mutter ‘gaijin’, so they wouldn’t miss the exotic sight. If the children made rude faces, I’d wait until the parents were not looking and whisper to the kids that I was no ‘gaijin’, but a ‘kaiju’ (dragon) – but only if I felt they deserved a fright.
It was tiring to be on display all the time. Being fairly tall, when I stood on the top deck of buses, I’d gouge my scalp on the uncapped bolts that protruded through the roof. Seeing me react to the pain, the other passengers giggled – probably out of nervousness, rather than malice, but it was hard to stay cool.
I learned that the Japanese ideal is a placid expression of ‘shiran-kau’ or calm equanimity. This doesn’t come easily to gaijin: we’re used to expressing our emotions. They also hate saying no, so asking whether this is the correct way to a destination can be hazardous.
All these tiny barriers to an easy life seem to have disappeared. Japanese people are eager to converse with foreigners, whether from a desire to welcome us or just to practise their English, I don’t know.
Stagflation and an ageing population have blunted the edge of their economic miracle, but most seem well-off and happy with their lives– and there are so many people. Tokyo is the most populous city in the world, with a population of 37 million. Most of them seemed to be in our monorail carriage from the airport to the city centre.
The cultural highlight of our visit to Tokyo was Kabuki theatre – an art form almost as old as Shakespeare, but rarely seen outside Japan. The plays are stylised but spectacular, packed with special effects to delight the audience. The actors, who come from family dynasties going back many generations, perform with astonishing expressiveness and grace.
Japan is an extraordinary mix of respect for tradition and cutting-edge modernity.
The technology is from the next century, the courtesy and kindness the residents extend to strangers recalls another, more civilised time. The streets are impeccably clean because people deal with their own rubbish.
Everything works perfectly, from high-speed rail to the drink machines that appear like magic on a hilly hike, from the gears on your hired bicycle to the bidet attached to your toilet seat. If you’re game to press the button on the latter, you’ll find its aim is startlingly accurate.
Ancient and modern Japan live side by side, especially in our second destination, the old capital, Kyoto, where one steps instantly from city hubbub to the sanctuary of a Shinto shrine or a traditional garden. The beauty of old Japan is breath-taking – and even the young seem mature enough to appreciate it.
For visitors, it’s worth learning a little about how Japanese people think, and the best book on that subject is still The Chrysanthemum and the Sword, by Ruth Benedict.
The key concept is ‘giri’, which translates as ‘social indebtedness’. Every interaction with another human involves giving or receiving, be it help, advice, material goods or knowledge. Japanese people keep a mental record of such transactions and try hard to maintain a giri balance with all contacts. They regard them in the same way as we keep track of monetary debts and loans.
The giri owed by a pupil to a teacher or a child to parents and grandparents is immense and hard to repay. The giri owed by all citizens to the emperor is colossal. During the Second World War, kamikaze pilots paid their giri debt to the nation and their families were respected and cared for accordingly.
The third city we visited was Matsumoto, for a private homage to Dr Shinjuku Suzuki (1899–1999), the innovative music educator who developed the Suzuki Method, where children as young as three start learning to play violin, piano and other instruments. The Suzuki Museum is an oasis of calm and a fitting tribute to a visionary teacher.
Suzuki believed children should develop a love and understanding of fine music in the same way as they learn their mother tongue. His legacy lies not just in spectacular child prodigies but in the lives of millions of music-lovers all over the world.
Japan is still an amazing country. I feel very fortunate to have had the privilege of renewing my friendship with it.
