Japan Postcard 21 08 2009 Hospital Detail

The more regular readers of the Japan Postcard will be familiar with my observations of the Japanese Hospital Management System. This feature of a specific area of the economy and how it is managed
always fascinates, everything seems so sensible, everything seems to work well and leaves the English observer with the obvious question: Why are we so incompetent?

Before I hasten off to my latest observation of Hospital detail I would like to relate an incident in the Musashi-Koyama subway station. As you will remember, this is the subway line which only three years ago ran on the surface. The transformation is now complete and all work finished. The new line, built beneath the old one (as you could see when standing at the station as the rails were on props revealing the massive engineering going on below) has now been "dressed" on top with a smart taxi rank, bus station and state of the art and design toilet facilities whilst below a fantastic and spotlessly clean station has been completed.

Note: remembering that this construction project along 10 miles of railway did not once effect the train timetables and the transition was accomplished from above to below by the flick of a junction point last August.

On my journey to inspect the hospital facilities (and satisfy the Takayama clan that my heart is sound by being the subject of extensive checks) I came down the escalator into the new station to be greeted with a sight that was of the most shocking proportions. There on the platform before me I saw a discarded plastic coffee cup randomly abandoned. My first instinct was that this was some sort of error, perhaps someone had dropped it through accident or rush for a train. I walked over to this alarming departure from the required standards of hygiene and went to point it out to Takayama.

As I raised my accusatory finger and aimed it at the offending object a man in a smart uniform whisked past me and in a swift and deft movement flicked the wanton container with a brush into the open mouth of a dustpan mounted at the end of a handy length pole. One moment social disgrace the next order re-established.

All I can assume is that in the control room above there is a monitor system and it scans the platform with certain regularity for any deviant waste disposal. On being spotted a man is dispatched with the appropriate tool to apply corrective strategies. There was one down side to this moment and that was that I suddenly realised that I was the only foreigner on the platform. Surely no Japanese person simply threw their coffee cup to the floor!

On to the Hospital detail which I know is eagerly awaited by the medical readers of this postcard. Over the years the observations on the Japanese Health Service have drawn an enthusiastic audience from various doctors and design fanatics who frequently comment on how amazing the simplicity of the management is.

Myself, I love the Japanese Health Care experience, so much so I feel that I might have developed a bizarre form of hypochondria, a psychological need to manifest symptoms of illness so that I have the chance to study the fascinating workings of the Tokyo Hospital. Fortunately I am spared this obsessive condition as my very honourable wife is fastidious in keeping me alive and insists on extensive health checks whilst in Tokyo because: "You simply can't trust the NHS not to kill you."

So down to business and I first have to apologise. The system I am about to describe has been present at all other visits but for some inexplicable reason I lacked attention to this particular detail. I shall now correct this oversight.

As previously explained the architecture of the Japanese Hospital works as a sort of jigsaw. from the moment you walk in you are in a space that is for the "public patient". This space is threaded into the "medical professional space" in such a way that interaction between the applicant for services and the professional providers is managed in very specific locations and purpose built spaces. I know, I know, this sounds hopelessly difficult to imagine so here is a simpler description. Take your hands and place the fingers in between each other, interlace them so to speak. One hand is the public space and the other is the medical professional space. In such a structure it is possible for the doctors to come to work and move around the hospital all day without actually meeting a patient! On the other side patients simply can't wander about the professional space.

Now the entry point for this space is the front lobby which is a long corridor, a finger, with equally long and well staffed counters either side, two more fingers! I have written extensively about the speed of service and this recent experience was no less impressive. By my timing, a practice I insist on upon entry, from the minute we arrived at the general reception to the moment I was being dealt with by the cardiac testing department for my pre-arranged appointment was exactly six minutes and twenty three seconds. That included the lift journey. All in all from arrival to departure, including bill payment, I was in the hospital for twenty two minutes and fifty three seconds.

As I have said, all this efficiency is previously well documented but I do hope to release a book entitled "Timetables of Health Care, a detailed study of hospital appointments and their progress in Japan" sometime in the near future, no doubt a best seller! On this visit my key observation was of the management of the filing system. What brilliance, what design, what outstanding efficiency!

Everywhere in the hospital there is a railway track on the ceiling. This has three tracks, one for one direction, one for the opposite direction and another as a holding sideway into the administration desk of each department. On arrival at the main reception desk the clerk logs you in on the computer system. Your records are then placed into a document box which stands inside the reception area rail track. Along the bottom of the box is something akin to the holes in a cribbage board, two sets, A to J and 1 to 10. Pins are inserted into the relevant combination, say D7; cardiac testing department, and the box then begins its journey as you leave for the department of choice.

Above your heads all over the hospital dozens and dozens of boxes containing records and x-rays etc., are traveling in numerous directions to their exact and precisely required destination. Small junctions direct and re-direct, boxes pass each other, some halt in sidings, some jog on into administration centres, there is a veritable computer waltz of data going on above the heads of all concerned.

By the time that you reach the payment machines, all payments are through automated units much like cash point machines (and there are plenty of them) your detailed account awaits the swipe of your credit card or the injection of cash into the requisite slot. The thing is that everything is done immediately, by the time you leave your cardiac monitoring stats are already on the way to the relevant doctor for assessment and possible diagnosis, your bill is paid or credited to the relevant social security account and no-one has lost your records! More importantly the corridors aren't cluttered with trolleys full of lever-arch files and folders with bits of paper sliding off onto the floor here and there.

So as I left the hospital amazed by having spent most of my brief visit watching the comings and goings of data boxes I was left with one more observation: Does the fact that the floors are so highly polished and clean create a reflective index that saves on the electricity bill through not needing so many light bulbs?
Hmmm, perhaps another study is required!

As I entered the subway there was a man with a portable hoover strapped to his back in the style of a rucksack patiently and diligently hoovering the stairs from the main road to the ticket lobby. On his shirt across his shoulders was the legend "Clean Staff" and I bet they are!

12 Days and Counting

Sadly, on the 8th December at 19.00hrs I will be sitting on a plane leaving London and heading towards Tokyo. I say sadly because if it was happening tomorrow it would be 'happily'. God doesn't time drag when you would rather be somewhere else!

Before I go though I think it is probably appropriate to explain myself a little more. After all, I am a Londoner, a native born and bred, so such delight in a foreign land is almost treason, surely? I love London, I was born here, I have lived here on and off for most of my life but I just don't like what it has become and what England is heading towards.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I am a fifty-three year old man and we all know that once you pass that fiftieth birthday you suddenly turn into an old git. One moment I am off down the clubs dancing with my trendy pony tail, the next day I wake up and I have a comb over! Well, well, well, and now he just moans about the good old days.

Then there is the position that we are going to see all too often in our forthcoming election, the racist position: "London has been spoilt by immigrants.". Well if anyone thinks that's where I am coming from then they are going to feel the rough edge of my tongue. London hasn't been spoilt by immigrants, England has been ruined by desperately poor political leadership, corporate greed and the devastation of a disasterously administered benefits system that seeks to maintain a philosophy of idleness inextricably linked to social irresponsibility.

Empire in decline, the classic model and with global warming we have every chance of becoming the 21st century equivalent of Greece 100 years ago. Hey but then I am just an old whinger!

So here, to lighten the mood, is why I feel justified in my opinions. The highly esteemed and most honourable Takayama bought a coat at John Lewis two weeks ago. She paid in cash because of a crippling aversion to using credit cards and risking paying anything close to a bank charge (you should hear her going on about how her income tax should show deduct her share of the bank bailout we are all paying!) and then left the store with her goods.

She was then approached by a security guard because the alarms had gone off as she left. The security guard approached her and asked to look in her bag and on seeing the coat and the receipt for same that Takayama was waving in his face let her go on her way.

Now you may not understand this but for a Japanese person to be stopped in the street like a common criminal, especially when they have payed cash, is a dreadfully shameful position to be in. In Japan, any association with criminality is quite simply social death. If you have a society run on the principle that everyone knows their position, everyone is respectful of the laws not just of the legal system but also of complex social etiquette then any transgression immediately makes you socially unacceptable.

So Takayama has been falsely accused of shoplifting just by virtue of being stopped and checked, that is the Japanese mentality, and then comes home. When she gets home she tries her new coat on. What does she find; the security tag has not been removed by the shop assistant. That clearly is why the alarm went off. Takayama gets on the phone looking for customer service.

She is told to bring the coat in and the tag will be removed. Obviously there was an attempt to suggest that she removes it herself but she sternly resisted such a ridiculous suggestion as any mistake on her part damaging her new coat would leave her poorly placed in terms of compensation.

So, Takayama, on a Sunday, gets on the tube, returns to John Lewis in central London and gets the tag removed from her coat. She says that she needs to be compensated and they offer her £5 off. This is of course less than the tube fare that she has had to pay to come into town. This is also taking absolutely no account of the fact that she has to waste nearly two hours on a Sunday returning to a store so that they can correct their error.

Takayama fights for her position, a magnificent sight when she is in full flow.

They eventually, after a struggle offer £10 off. She accepts because she can't be bothered to fight for anything more, the effort is simply not worth the couple of quid she is likely to wrench from their guilty hands. Takayama returns home.

Now I started by saying that I can't wait to get to Tokyo and said that I would explain why. So here it is.

Jack: "So they didn't offer you any compensation for your time and being messed around because of their mistake."

Takayama: "No, it was a real struggle just to get my tube fair back and the price of a cup of coffee."

Jack: (provocatively) "Bet this wouldn't happen in Tokyo!"

Takayama: "Funnily enough the same sort of thing did happen to me a few years back in Japan."

Jack: "What happened?"

Takayama: "They told me to go to the post office, send the garment back using collect to their account. Then a week later I received the garment back by post together with a complimentary set of toiletries as an apology."

You see, as I have said before, the difference is that in Japan the customer is God. Without the customer nobody earns a living. In England, the shareholder is God and the customer is just an animal that is farmed for profit.

You know it's true.

More stories from Japan coming soon.

Postcard from Japan 12 12 2008: Professional Service

Meguro Post Office
(Notice how clean everything is!)

It was on our way to the post office that we saw them. Two octogenarian ladies with a gleam in their eye and the tell tale moisture on their lips. They rushed passed us and, indeed, had we not made way I am certain we would have been mown down.

Otherwise, we made it to the Post Office safely.

Now the Japanese Post Office is a treasure to behold. Release yourself from all your psychological defences for just a moment and imagine yourself in a British High Street General Post Office. Can you feel the length of that queue? How many of the 15 service windows are manned by staff, three, maybe four if it is a busy period but all fifteen if it is time to close.

Now walk yourself to that counter and imagine being 'served' by a 'helpful' member of staff. You look around the office itself. Is it clean, is the architecture sensitive to your emotions, do you feel cared for? These and many other questions I could ask of your imagination but enough of the mental torture, think nice thoughts and relax once more. Uncle Jack is going to tell you a story.

We entered the Japanese High Street Post Office and I took a seat whilst Akane obtained her ticket. Soft pastel colours, plenty of seats, all comfortable padded linen chairs arranged in sets of rows before each of the four different sections of counter.

I took the time to count the number of staff serving behind the open counters (no glass barriers, no cage mentality, no disfunctional microphone and speaker system), there were ten staff operating twelve possible positions. I settled back to watch the news on the 42 inch Sony flat screen television which had the volume set to off but the text service for deaf viewers switched on. Detail here, detail people, so much to observe beyond the casual glance.

I settled back to watch and luckily for me Akane's business was going to take some time as it was blessed with an interesting complexity. The longevity of process gave me ample opportunity to study but with so much potential it took a few moments to realise where the most fruitful subject of enquiry lay.

After a few moments it became apparent, as is so often the case in these situations, that my quarry was stood right before me. Whilst the counter staff numbers were miraculous by British standards the floor staff, yes... floor staff, were a vision of consumer heaven. Obviously, in order to be served in a proper manner it is not enough that there are counter staff but in an environment as complex and full of choices as a Post Office there is need for the valued customer to be assisted into the correct seated queue or guided to the actual service they need. For this purpose the floor was manned by a staff of three smartly uniformed men whose sole role appeared to be to intercept all incoming customers and establish what their needs are before guiding them to their required service.

My subject presented himself immediately as the uniformed man by the ticket dispenser. This dispenser was on a smallish table with tubular legs and was about the size of a good old black and white television set. The face was set to slope from the base back to the top and had eight buttons set in place with a description beside each. The individual buttons all produced a numbered ticket when pressed.

Our man stood by the machine and awaited the approach of a customer. As one approached he bowed forward slightly and held his left hand up in a very gentle but clear 'stop sign'. Then, without raising his slight bow, cocked his left ear towards the client and asked what service they required. The raised hand remained in place in order to prevent any independent action by the client. Once the service had been outlined a broad smile and a lot of nodding occurred before this consumer concierge pressed the correct button and presented the ticket to the client.

The presentation of the ticket was accomplished by sweeping the 'stop' hand towards the machine, thus maintaining the space between the machine and client, and as it swept back holding the ticket, the right hand was extended out to indicate where the correct counter position was located. This movement was accompanied with a brief description of the subsequent process to be undertaken by the client in order to achieve their end and finally the client was directed to a comfortable chair.

The High Street Post Office Japanese style. But that is not the end of the story only the stage on which the most interesting part of the play I witnessed took place.

After about ten minutes Akane asked me if I wanted to go home rather than wait with her as "you look bored". Naturally I informed her that there was no way I was leaving and that I wasn't bored but completely absorbed by what was going on.

The man by the machine made strenuous efforts not to be dragged away from it and appeared to be uncomfortable when more than thee steps distant. When by the machine and no customers present he would rest his right hand on the top of the device and, whilst I cannot be certain about this, I think he may have patted it occasionally. His actions tended to conjure up in my mind a type of fish that guards a patch of coral. I believe they are called cleaner fish and they await 'clients' who come to be cleaned of parasites. These fish establish a favourable patch of coral and guard it jealously. There was something in this man's movement that was reminiscent of the way the cleaner fish hovers around their place of trade.

Eventually what I am certain could be termed a 'difficult' customer appeared. I say difficult but in Japan I am sure this has a different connotation than in England. You see, in Japan it is impossible for the customer to be difficult, rather it is the member of staff who has difficulties in serving the customer to their satisfaction. In this case the difficulty appeared to be that the customer needed to go somewhere beyond the counter and this required our man to guide them there. The discomfort in his body language was plain but never for a second did his face reveal anything but a smile.

As the conversation with the difficult client progressed there came a moment when our ticket guardian had to lead them off to a booth at the other end of the Post Office. Once installed in the booth he then clearly had to go and bring what appeared to be a more senior clerk to deal with this customer in the booth. As I was watching this movement I noticed out of the corner of my eye that another of the floor staff had slipped himself in beside the ticket machine!

Once his tasks had been completed our original ticket machine man returned and stood about three feet away from the new guardian of the ticket giver. He shifted his feet nervously and waited a few polite moments before smiling, bowing slightly (to which the new guardian is required by manners to reply with a bow) and then engaging in what I could only assume to be very general pleasantries.

Now I can't speak more Japanese than is required to order a beer and find out where the football is on so I cannot be an authoritative source on what was being said but..... I do feel I know the sense of what was happening here and the outcome, I believe, supports my feelings.

I think that on his return the man who had lost his place at the ticket machine asked the other man, who was much older than he, how he was. The older man said he was fine and thanked him for his enquiry. This exchange of pleasantry allowed the younger man to ask a technical question of some sort regarding, maybe, the intricate workings of the floor concierge duties. There led on from that a moment where the younger man clearly suggested that the older
man move back to his former position. In all the conversation that followed there was a clear meaning that the younger man was happy to stand in the menial position of ticket machine guardian and an enthusiastic encouragement to the older man to move back to the more important role of 'door greeter'.

The older man tried to resist but the younger man was very skilled and perhaps highly practised. Ultimately it appeared that the older man was placed in a position where the younger man had offered to take on the onerous task of standing by the machine in respect of the older man's age seniority. In such a position the older man could not refused without appearing rude and so was dislodged from the machine position. All of this took place in moments with quite skilled language and a series of bowing rituals in which the older man's status was recognised.

It was magnificent and the smile on the younger man once he was back beside his machine was like the sun in a clear sky.

This piece of social theater led me to think about the nature of what had occurred. The ticket machine was a resource and the nature of that resource was 'status giver'. The status derived from the fact there were eight options of ticket type and four counters at which different services were performed. This amounts to complex information. The uninitiated client knows the outcome they desire but do not necessarily know the process by which that outcome can be achieved. Therefore a knowledgeable person is required to match the need to the outcome by deciphering the process.

This creates status and that status is as a 'professional'. Granted it takes more effort and skill (questionably) to spend the four to six years to train to be a doctor or a lawyer but the underlying process of the skill is the same. Acquire a resource which is encoded with a specialist language (preferably encoded by the profession the language serves) and be the guardian of that resource. Make sure you protect that profession with a firm 'stop sign' so that the uninitiated don't fiddle with the machine. There you have it, our ticket guardian is a professional, admittedly his profession confers a very low social status but hey..... when you are walking the floor amongst a team and there is only one machine best be the one that controls the machine!

Japan, it gives you a different slant on things!

Postcard from Japan 30 12 2008: Pocket Billiards

Whilst at a station waiting for a train, at Atami I think, I was amazed by a very large billboard that was on the building immediately adjacent to the platform. This was obviously a games arcade of some sort and had taken the opportunity to try and attract customers from the many salary men as they stood waiting for their train.

"Why not enjoy a game of
pocket billiards whilst you wait"

...................the sign encouraged.

Comfortable pizza all round I think!

This relationship with the English language is a very odd phenomena and, as with most things, I like to blame the Americans! The reasoning behind this guilt is that the dominant use of English in Japan is in advertising, corporate branding and superlatives.

"Oh tee nako har a kan nee sashi ta golden opportunity si tik na kano.."*

As a football commentator said about the recent Gamba Osak's miss of an open goal against Manchester United in the World Club Championship.

This leads to a hotel chain called "Big Week", you sort of know what they mean but it is a parallel universe of English in which the words are strangely recognisable but the context seems flawed in a hard to define manner: much like American culture.

Then there are words which give an impression of something they are not. For example, what is a "Pocari"? I thought it was a small wild pig that snuffled about the dank undergrowth of the Amazon rain forest. You see the problem here, we associate ideas with sounds and then compile imagery within our grey cell silver screens. A missed vowel, an extra consonant, it doesn't matter, it is the sound that flashes an image into our consciousness.

Pocari Sweat.

So to with the artist who appeared on a programme I can only describe as "wholly incredible". I found myself in an idle moment (no pocket billiards hall available) transfixed like a rabbit caught in the glare of the lights of an articulated lorry as I observed in horror a "light entertainment" programme.

The performers who drew my disbelief were a singing 'combo'. The men were wearing those turquoise velvetine jackets with long black velvet lapel collars, the type favoured by music acts in the 1950's such as Albert Allstar and his Palm Court Roof Top Quintet. They all had the white shirt with a sea of ruffles leading up the chest to crest nicely into the sparkling bow tie. Drummer, bass and guitar players discretely in the background whilst the singers, a man and a woman, took front and center.

The male singer wore a crystal blue velvetine jacket to distinguish himself from the lessor members of the band. He also sported the type of hairdo that attracts women of a certain age in droves as their grey cell silver screens recognise a pre-elvis style icon. The female singer was a triumph of smile over sincerity.

She wore a pink flowing ball dress resplendent with hugely excessive bows and managed to retain a fixed Hollywood smile continuously throughout her singing. This was either the product of some disasterous plastic surgery or the misplaced belief that somehow it made her look professionally attractive. My silver screen kept flashing up the image of a great white shark moving in for the kill.

This is a type of "light entertainment" (big issue with the word 'light') that is very popular with the ever growing senior citizen population of Japan. A stream of highly dubious looking entertainers appeared on the set which resembled a 1950's car sales showroom without the cars. Yes, hard to imagine eh! Anyway, these drifting minstrels were only the entree, a titilising taster for the pleasure yet to appear.

On walks the main act. Come on now, have a guess.... you wont forsee this I guarantee you. I was absolutely shocked, gobsmacked, bamboozled, completely stymied. I almost dropped my beer!

Onto the set walked a 25 - 26 year old black American in full rapper dress code. The high domed baseball cap emblazoned with NYJ and set at an angular disposition as it sat on the white head scarf tied neatly at one side. An oversize base ball jersey and the gravity defying low slung jeans completed the look which was liberally decorated with chunky gold jewelry on every available digit and neck space. This was the baddest boy of bad boy rappers or so it appeared to be until he began to sing.

With the voice of a marmoset and in perfect Japanese our man from the projects then laid out a heart rending ballad that brought a tear to the eye of the octogenarians in the front row. I can't speak Japanese, as you know, but I am sure that the song was about a young man, wrongly and maliciously accused of such a terrible crime that he had to leave the young girl he loved lest he brought shame into her life. After years of wandering trying to prove his innocence he eventually commits suicide as the only way to prove his love is true.



To a standing ovation he was then joined on stage by the velvetine army and a spontaneous karaoke session appeared to be the closing number with the audience joining in.

Fortunately my sanity was saved when the programme following highlighted the progress of an orchestra touring the country trying to promote their instrument of choice: a spade.

Yes, row upon row of 'musicians' playing spades guitar like and using a bottle opener as the striking implement. We were all treated to the 'orchestral' version of "Tie a yellow ribbon around that old oak tree."

Anyone for pocket billiards?

*of course this is not real Japanese (but then you didn't know that did you) but an example of how English is used within Japanese speech.

Life and Death in Japan

The following is a media release by Amnesty International. Personally I think it is very difficult to be lecturing other cultures about their societies when so much is wrong in ours. I am against the death penalty but I simply wouldn't be so rude as to lecture Japanese people about how their culture should be managed. This is what makes me feel uncomfortable about some western based organisations, the feeling that somewhere in there, buried within the morality, there is something questionable. I am not sure what the question actually is and, as I said, I am personally against the death penalty however, it does exist in Japan and I believe it should be for Japanese people to change that situation.

Amnesty International Press release
31 July 2009

Three men were hanged in Japan on Tuesday, bringing the total number of executions carried out in the country this year to seven.

Hiroshi Maeue and Yukio Yamaji were executed in Osaka and Chen Detong, a Chinese national, was executed in Tokyo.

Increasingly countries are moving away from using the death penalty as the ultimate punishment. More than 70 per cent of countries have a moratorium on executions or have abolished capital punishment but in Japan executions have continued to rise.

"In South Korea there have been no executions for more than 10 years. In Taiwan there have been no executions for three years. But in Japan executions continue to rise bucking the international trend away from the death penalty,” said Martin Macpherson, Amnesty International's Director of the International Law and Organizations programme.

"Many countries have demonstrated that serious crime can be combated without resorting to capital punishment and that there is no compelling evidence that the death penalty is more of a deterrent than life sentences," Martin Macpherson said.

Japan recently introduced a new lay-judge system that will include citizens in serious criminal cases, including death penalty cases. Lay-judges will sit with professional judges to determine guilt or innocence and decide on sentencing. The first trials under this new system are due to start on 3 August this year.

"With the introduction of the new lay-judge system Japan should seize the opportunity to review its laws on capital punishment and immediately halt all executions in accordance with the UN General Assembly resolutions calling for a moratorium on the death penalty," Martin Macpherson said.

Executions in Japan are by hanging and are usually carried out in secret. Prisoners are typically given a few hours notice but some may be given no warning at all. This means that prisoners who have exhausted their appeal options spend their time on death row knowing they could be executed at any time. Their families are typically notified after the execution has taken place.

Chen Detong's defence argued to the Supreme Court that he was mentally-ill ("quasi-insane") at the time of committing the crime. Japanese law requires a reduction of punishment where an accused or convicted person has a diminished capacity or competence at the time of the crime, during the legal process or at the time of execution.

However, the Supreme Court upheld his death sentence on Monday. Maeue and Yamaji both withdrew their appeals at the High Court. Maeue and Yamaji were the subjects of an urgent action issued by Amnesty International on 27 February 2009.

Amnesty International opposes the death penalty in all cases, as a violation of the right to life and the ultimate cruel, inhuman and degrading punishment. The organization says that as the death penalty is irrevocable, there is always the risk that an innocent man or women will be executed. Furthermore the death penalty is inherently arbitrary and discriminates against those who are poor, marginalized or belong to minority communities.

Postcard from Japan 28.08.09: Fried Puffer Fish Ovaries

Perhaps it has been too long since I last provided you all with an insight into the challenging area of the delicacies of Japanese cuisine. This is an area of my research that yielded magnificent examples of the genre only last night. Those with a feint heart or queasy stomach are best advised to move on to another e-mail at this stage, what follows will not be advisable for those with conservationist attitudes or who regard animals as "our friends". The Japanese culture of eating has never been infected or perverted by the western association with and foppish sensitivity towards the essential suppliers of fine dining!

Having spent at least half an hour sitting on a hard wooden stool as the preferred option to accompanying Takayama around the bead department of Tokyu Hands department store I was expecting my usual reward of a visit to Kirin City. This is a marvelous emporium of beer brewed with an unusual Japanese reference to German brewing techniques.

As I sat trying to re-adjust my buttocks every few minutes in compensation for the unyielding discomfort of the hard wooden stool which is the only seating option in the beading section, I was treated to an unexpected pleasure. There before me was a row of sewing machines and in masterful attendance was a man who clearly had taken time, and possibly many training courses, to familiarise himself with every detail of every machine on offer. He was about 45 years old, around 5 feet 4 inches tall, of compact frame with a well combed head of hair that successfully hid the underlying thining from all but the trained observer on a wooden stool. In a very crisp white shirt conservatively endowed with pens in the breast pocket and the green apron that is the trademark of Tokyu Hands staff dress code, this knight of customer service stood sentry over the two shelves of consumer white sewing machines.

Ever attentive to even the slightest movement of an individual towards his goods of sale, his eyes darted around this way and that with a concern that no opportunity should be missed. Within moments of my casual observation of this servant of the thread a woman had been drawn in close enough to the machines for our man to come smartly to attention. For a few moments his brightly shining eyes flashed a desperate anticipation for interaction but something seemed to be holding him back. I wondered what precisely would be the sign that the social codes had been correctly observed and he could legitimately intercept the potential customer. She stood with a finger on her lip casting her gaze across the full range. He watched her discretely standing just comfortably outside of her line of vision. The tension was pressing and it wasn't just the hardness of the stool.

In a sudden movement the whole situation transformed and communication was established. The change of relationship was so sudden I had to think quickly about what had happened. In an instant there was an exchange of bows, a few pleasant words and then with that semi servile arch of the back which is the specialist move of the Japanese department store professional our man opened up with an encyclopedic knowledge of all the technicalities and extensive detail of
the working components of his sewing machines. In my memory I realised that the stimulus which released the interchange was the moment the woman actually leaned slightly forward and touched one of the machines. I continued to observe.

Obviously, as you all know, I do not speak Japanese myself but I am fairly certain that our man was interjecting within the technical descriptions a full and comprehensive history of the art of sewing. This was truly a master at work. Such was his command of his subject, so practised was the theatre of his description that even I began to feel the need to own a sewing machine. This man lived for the guardianship of those two rows of consumer goods.

For at least fifteen minutes he responded to enquiry with knowledgeable looks and amazingly detailed hand movements that described sewing patterns, moving parts and material workmanship. To the western eye some of these digital demonstrations could be seen as suspect, note the insertion of the right index digit into an 'O' made by the left hand thumb and index finger with the right index then performing the action of the machine sewing needle to the amazement of the female customer, but such thoughts are only to diminish without true cause the work of an artist!

After suitable thanks and appreciation for the information imparted, a series of appropriate bows, the lady left and the consumer assistant turned his attention to the packing of a box. This box was placed besides the sewing machine shelves and therefore, one assumes, gave more space for all the other assistants behind the counter where they all packed their boxes. After a short while four women in a retail therapy shoal floated up to the sewing machines to the obvious but constrained delight of the box packing assistant.

The shoal wriggled and glided around the sewing machines like angel fish hovering above a gilded coral reef. They talked amongst themselves, they changed position and they pointed from distance and whilst our man watched intently I could see that he was far too experienced to exhibit any signs of pre-demonstration stress. No, he was making continual assessment, looking for opportunity, listening intently without listening at all (the Japanese art of zen salesmanship) and all with a deep inner calm clearly based on an absolute certainty that his moment would come.

This group of white goods predators didn't seem to be edging any closer to the kill so our man took matters into his own hands. In the most matter of fact style, casually and with seamless intent, he went behind the desk and procured a leaflet. This he then took to the sewing machines and placed underneath one of them in the style of a person simply performing an everyday task of counter management that surely had no relationship at all to the other matters of the moment.

In placing himself sensitively between the eye line of the shoal and the reef of machines he then responded with surprise and delight, in that order, when the inevitable question came from one of the ladies: he was in and the game was on! Four women of a similar age and social status dressed in department store chic were then were treated to the performance of a lifetime. I am not certain but I believe it started with the hunting of buffalo and their skins subsequently being sewn together for rudimentary clothes sometime in the paleolithic. At this point I made an observation that could be badly misinterpreted by the cynic.

As our man's hands waved around the history of sewing I saw that he did not have a wedding ring. Now there can be many reasons for this deficiency and there is no need to jump to rash speculations regarding territorial space, expertise in domestic machinery as a glowing asset in peacock practices or sexist insinuations about the gender audience of any one type of commodity. No, clearly the absence of a wedding ring in a man of middle age with a stylish sweep of hair merely tells us that he has spent a life devoted to the higher art of sewing rather than fritter away his energies in the much over rated activity of the mating game. By this time Takayama came to relieve me of the hardness of the stool and take me for my just and fitting reward, a glass of "Half and Half" in Kirin City.

Kirin City is a franchise operation bar and eating house run by the Kirin brewery, a sort of Starbucks of the Japanese beer world. There are three draught beers: lager, beer and stout, which are pored with a technique that provides a large foamy head in each glass. you can sit at the bar or take a table and table service. People come into this facility to drink a few beers and nibble at the offerings on the menu. You can get German wurst, fried chicken, pizza, garlic bread and a range of Japanese standards such as noodles, tempora or curry and rice. All are small portions which are meant to be eaten in number rather than individually
satisfy a need for a meal. These are essentially snacks to go with social beer drinking.

We sat at the bar and ordered our favourite, "Half and Half", a glass of beer and stout in quantative relationship I will leave to your imagination, and sat back to enjoy the ambiance. All around us people were tucking into their snacks, smiling and laughing. We pulled out one of the menus to consider what delights we would partake of when an unexpected supplemental fell from between the folds entitled "Delicate Eating Fare". Perhaps this was a summer traditional addition? I glanced around and a man eating what looked like white butter with salad between gulps of beer looked up and smiled at me with greasy lips.

"Oh, you will like this!" Takayama said, "Look, you can have Smoked Pork Face Skin, that's really tasty, a delicacy!"

Now regular readers of the Japan postcard will already feel uneasy with the introduction of that word delicacy. This is a term applied to elements of Japanese cuisine that the sensitive pampered western stomach may, unjustly, consider "difficult to digest with enthusiasm".

"...or you could have Fried Puffer Fish Ovaries"

I looked at the short speciality menu and yes, there it was in English: "Fried Puffer Fish Ovaries"

Nervously I glanced again around the bar. Everywhere people were getting stuck in to what I now perceived to be items of 'food' that were not readily recognisable to me. They all waved and smiled, the man next to me turned and seeing me looking at the menu pointed out his suggestion with a broad grin and a thumbs up sign. I smiled and nodded but decided to give Raw Whale Meat a pass. I just didn't feel that I could classify chewing through the red flesh of a Minke whale as a scientific experiment though I am sure that a few psychologists I know would consider measuring my responses if I did chose to do so.

All of this revelation of eating delicacies rather set me on edge but I could never have been more toppled over that edge by anything as compelling as the next item on the menu.

"How about Raw Horse Fat taken from the juicy bit on the shoulder?" Takayama asked.

I looked away and the man eating the whitish butter like substance winked at me and wiped his lips with a paper napkin.

Hmmm a delicacy!

Tell us something we don't know!

Article on BBC website:

"Tokyo has leaped ahead of Paris as the city with the most Michelin three-star restaurants, confirming its status as the "world capital of gastronomy".

Tokyo now has 11 three-star restaurants compared with 10 for Paris, according to the latest edition of the Michelin guide to Tokyo.

The Japanese capital also has more of the coveted stars in total than Paris - 261 shared by 197 restaurants.

New York, by comparison, has four three-star restaurants.Tokyo has leaped ahead of Paris as the city with the most Michelin three-star restaurants, confirming its status as the "world capital of gastronomy".

Tokyo now has 11 three-star restaurants compared with 10 for Paris, according to the latest edition of the Michelin guide to Tokyo.
Tokyo has leaped ahead of Paris as the city with the most Michelin three-star restaurants, confirming its status as the "world capital of gastronomy".

See rest of this BBC article here.

The next trip to Japan commences on the 8th December and I will be happy to focus on food and the Japanese love of all things edible (sometimes a word very much lost in translation!).

13 Aug 2009: Back to Japan

As I stood at the check in queue at Heathrow yesterday I had to smile and that smile led me to a realisation. Normally the week before traveling is occupied by administering emotional first aid to the growing stress levels of my esteemed and most honourable wife. On this trip I didn't have to change all of the internal locks on the doors in the house or turn back more than twice after we had set off to re-check any possible insecurities.

Yes, on this trip the stress levels were very much reduced and even when I explained that the chance of burglars finding our spare set of keys in the chosen hiding place was extremely remote, not overlooking the fact that they would already have to be inside our bedroom, there was a strange acceptance of an obvious truth.

O.K. so we can laugh but as I stood at the check-in desk I saw something that reinforced my understanding of Japan and the Japanese. If you have been to that palace of the god of queuing which is Heathrow then you will be familiar with the row after row of check in desks. Bland bare metal counters which can change identity between airline brands at the flick of a switch. Boring booths of certainty wherein you deposit your own personal belongings to the impersonal process.

But wait, what is this? As the switch is flicked from Thai Airlines to JAL, the Japanese national carrier, something different appears! On each desk there is placed an ash blue vase containing the most beautiful blue paper flower arrangement you could imagine, quite a bloom within that desert of conformity which is Heathrow. Yet how is this possible? Surely the Japanese culture is the epitome of conformity?

I had to ask why would JAL deviate from that which appears to be the absolute standard of check in desk presentation. JAL and JAL alone had placed flowers on their desks, not as could be expected, just for the first class sultans or for the corporate trough snuffler in business class but for all of their desks including us in cattle class. Every desk had the same blue vase with the same beautiful blue paper flowers arranged in the same manner! So uniformity wasn't thrown out of the window!

This uniformity within the existence of the irregular led me to the clue as to what was actually going on here. "Ahh, still Japanese!" I thought, no real sign of individuality so the purpose cannot be for the sake of differentiating JAL from another airline in the sense of check in desk territorial politics, no, this had to be about something quintessentially Japanese. This was all about customer service and the Japanese cultural need for certainty.

As those regular readers of my "postcards from Japan" will remember, there is one thing that distinguishes the Japanese above all others, that is the concept, belief in and delivery of customer service. In Japan the customer is god. This is a very striking difference to the UK where the shareholder is god. These two different cultures produce very different commercial societies. My honorable wife will often describe our version of customer service as "customer nuisance". For the Japanese the customer is the source of revenue and therefore is to be treated with respect and even care. In Britain, serving the profit needs of the shareholder is more important and therefore customer becomes an analogy of the word 'cattle'. We are farmed by the corporations and given all the attention required of the heffer in the slaughter yard. Those with real money, the shareholders, can afford to pay for first class or business class service and buy those standards of customer service that the Japanese accept as normal.

This standard approach to Japanese customers recognises the cultural element of stress. If you have a large population, crammed together with little opportunity for the expression of true individualism then stress is the last thing you need in the social kettle. The cultural anti stress delivery is one of certainty, by providing certainty everyone feels secure, everyone feels safe and the society just ploughs on even in the face of a global recession. Uncertainty is something the Japanese do not like, it makes them feel stressed, it makes them feel uneasy and it definitely makes them feel uncomfortable. That is why the trains run on time, not because they can but because they must. Japanese people need to know with absolute certainty that when they arrive to get their train for work, to go on holiday or to visit relatives, their train is certainly going to be on time. Any other outcome will cause stress and then you have the danger of a huge population panicking.

So that is why the vases with beautiful blue paper flowers are on the JAL check in desks. Not to set JAL apart from other airlines in that administrative territory, not to be different from the other check in desks but to say one thing to the queuing Japanese customer:

"It's ok, relax, you can leave your personal luggage here because now you have returned to the world of Japanese customer service. We think you are important and we will treat you with respect, politeness and attention at all times. You are safe, you are home from the moment you check in and we will look after you."

Later on the plane I felt that care first hand. We have flown with Virgin and B.A. to Tokyo before but this was our first time with JAL. I cannot condemn B.A. enough quite frankly, Absolutely shocking attitude and behaviour by the cabin staff towards those in cattle class. Virgin look better and feel better but only after you have flown B.A. not after you have flown JAL.

During the journey with the British customer nuisance carriers the staff literally hide from you for most of the trip. If you want something you have to go and get it because if they do respond to the steward call they make it pretty plain that you have disturbed them from their slumbers. On the JAL flight, almost every twenty minutes the steward team would wander up the isles checking to see if everyone is alright. If you need anything you only have to ask to obtain a smile and a polite response. An hour from Tokyo I asked a stewardess if I could have a landing card.

"Please may I get that for you after I have served this customer." She asked with a smile and I even had the sense that if I had said "No, I want it now." she would have gone and got it. About fifteen minutes later she appeared at my seat with the landing card and said, "I am sorry for the delay thank you for waiting patiently."

Not for a moment were we treated like cattle but then the blue vase and flowers promised that the moment I saw them. There was no uncertainty about that, it is a matter of principle if you are Japanese!

Running Dead: A Japanese Vision

Running Dead is a complaint against the lack of freedom of expression in Japan. The role of the individual, the individual life, does not really have any space in Japanese culture in the same way that it does in the west. However, it has to be remembered that in all cultures there are benefits and disadvantages. Equally, when we approach another culture sometimes we are too ready to criticise what we consider to be lacking simply because it is a feature of our own culture.

The important thing to always remember is that culture is a response to environment. Cultures grow and form to give structure to large scale human interactions in specific places, specific locations or specific ideas of place. They evolve to be appropriate to the environmental conditions within which that society exists.

If you have an island with limited resources in terms of agricultural land, millions of people and distinct regions separated by blockading mountains then you need order or you will have continual conflict. If everyone is singing from the same hymn sheet than you have a chance but if you allow diverse ideas to fracture and render apart your fabric then chaos will come to everyone. Being Japanese is about belonging to one club. There are no new members, people cannot 'join' and everyday you know who you are, where you are and what your social obligations are.

Look closely at this video and notice how clean this place is. This is one of the busiest tube/metro stations in Tokyo. The floor is spotless and glistens. Notice the people, see the clothes they are wearing, realise the amazing level of conformity: department store chic.

I love Japan, it is clean, it is tidy, the people are polite and I don't walk in fear of physical violence when I am on the streets. I couldn't live there though because even most English people think I am a bit strange. In Japan they tolerate me as a visitor but if I stayed, even though I would be respected as a visitor, my ways odd because I am not Japanese, I would in time be expected to observe more and more the Japanese way of doing things. If I did not make that effort I would simply be considered rude and ignorant.

Actually I don't have a problem with any of that.

See HumanRightsTV

Jack Adams

Japanease

Japanease is a short film I made in Meguro in September 2007 at the time of the harvest festival. One of the amazing things about the Japanese people is how they retain their old culture, their sense of being Japanese. They appear to be truly at ease with their identity.

Most western people have absolutely no idea about Japan and the Japanese and whenever I listen to people talk about them I am staggered at how they can present their ignorance as fact.

The other day someone said to me, "Well of course the Japanese have become American since the Second World War".

This sort of idea sounds to me the same as someone saying, "Well London is exactly the same as Mexico City." In other words, complete nonsense.

The underlying characteristic of the Japanese, as far as I can see, is an enormous capacity for pragmatism. The Japanese people I know will do whatever suits them best in all situations. If there is no advantage, that is to say that the individual sees no personal advantage, then there is no benefit and if there is no benefit then no Japanese is interested. If they are going to bend over backwards it is because they have just walked past a 5000 yen note.

Here we have a real example of the difference between western and Japanese thinking, the western mind will look at this statement I have just made and think either "How mercenary" or "How rude towards the Japanese." but the Japanese person will think "There is no way I would have walked past a 5000 yen note in the first place. There is never any need to bend over backwards unless you are stupid."

This fundamental pragmatism is best illustrated with religious belief. Another person only last week made the statement, "Well most Japanese practise Shinto."

I say rubbish. You think, "Ah, they are Buddhist then." and I say "No, wrong again."

For the Western mind, wedged nice and firmly into monotheism thanks to our Judaic heritage, the idea of being able to hold two separate beliefs at the same time appears untenable. For the Japanese the idea of only having one faith seems to be putting all of your eggs in one basket!

The Japanese mostly practice Buddhism and Shintoism, simultaneously and without the slightest sense of conflict. At the most pragmatic level, Shintoism is about making sure the spirits are with you in this life time, they guard you against illness and protect your good fortune. On the other hand Buddhism is about re-incarnation and the life beyond this one. Therefore it makes perfect sense to practise both. Funerals are conducted by Buddhist monks, marriages and life ceremonies are held by Shinto priests. Both religions conduct festivals throughout the year and the Japanese attend them all.

This attitude was a great problem, and still is, for the Christian missionaries. You see it is quite possible for a Japanese person to practise Christianity but they practise it Japanese style. This means that they attend to the duties and requirements of three religions.

In August 2009 I was talking to an elderly Japanese woman who told me that she was a Christian. I smiled and nodded politely knowing that she would go on to say more.

"You see they have a really nice lunch after mass on Sundays, the food is really very, very good."

If the menu changes or the chef is replaced by someone of lessor ability there could well be a fall in the congregation! Nothing insincere, nothing disrespectful just enormous pragmatism on a scale the western mind struggles to deal with.

The "Japanese are now Americans", GOOD GOD NO, they lost a war, were burnt to the ground and so did whatever was necessary to re-build Japan. They took American investment, they learnt American techniques, they bought American products, they wore American clothes but they never sold Japan and they certainly never lost their culture, it was what makes them what they are: Japanese.

Jack Adams

Snow Monkey

Breakfast near Nagano

Jack and Akane enjoying breakfast in a Ryokan near Nagano, Japan. We travel to Japan twice a year for a break from everything that is media, work and western civilisation. Gandhi was once asked what he thought about western civilization. His response was: "I think it would be a good idea."

From my own personal perspective as a comparative mythologist and inveterate traveller, Japan offers the very best in 'getting away from it all'. I have only a scant knowledge of the history, I understand a little of each of the primary myth streams and know enough Japanese language to apologise when inadvertently rude, order a beer and enquire when falling off of a bar stool if it was on account of an earthquake.

As you can see from the picture above, we like to travel the country and stay in traditional Japanese hotels, Ryokans. This style represents the best method for cultural immersion especially when moving away from traditional tourist trails. As with all adventures there is a cost to be born and for this type of activity your western stomach will need to be strong enough to deal with a truly traditional Japanese menu. Whilst at the place pictured, in addition to raw fish I was fortunately clued up enough to also recognise raw horse meat when I saw it! Even my own sense of culinary adventure baulked at this dish.



Ryokan YU-YADO SEKIYA

E-Mail from Japan 11 09 06: Pacific Ryokan

You will all have to excuse the poverty of my writing in this message from the Japans but I am very tired at this moment having just returned from the coast. My mother-in-law, the redoubtable Mariko-chan, wanted to take us to a volcanic hot spring last time we were here but time and events were not blessed by the gods so it didn`t happen. As a result we took a train at 10 yesterday morning, the coastal dancer (not as fast as the Shinkansen but equally as impressive especially over mountains), and arrived at a hotel on a beach somewhere on the southern peninsula by 1.30.

The hotel was a ryokhan which is a traditional Japanese establishment. Our accommodation was a sumptuous 14 tatami mat lounge, 6 tatami mat dressing area, full Japanese bathroom (Toto was there), lobby and a full picture window giving a magnificent view. We were on the 9th floor, over the local fishing village, the beach and the pacific beyond. Inside our lounge we were furnished with absolute full on Japanese furniture and the full monty in tea ceremony kit. All that was missing was the woman to serve the tea. She duly arrived within minutes of us settling in and on her knees she began to slide across the tatami mats pushing a tray of green tea before her.

I was busy putting my kimino on, supplied in the room, and practising my gruffest samuri lord of the manor voice. With absolute authority I said "Woman, hurry up with that tea or your children will be orphans tonight".

Akane later told me that what I had actually said was " How many fresh turtles should I wear on my head". That would account for Mariko`s giggles and the bizarre look the serving woman gave me.

I should have remarked earlier that Mariko was in full kimono and trimmings from the moment we left home. She likes to travel formally and when she stayed with us two years ago she even went into London dressed to the nines in her traditional garb. Amazing for a senior lady who speaks no English, she tottered off on those funny shoes that look like a piece of a Chinese puzzle cube and negotiated London by the tube and still made it to Harrods! Not suprising as she is a cutting edge shopper, never come between her and a bargain unless you want blood spilled.

Anyway, back to the Pacific coast and the green tea. Swallowed that and was off down the beach. This involved getting the lift from outside our suite, dropping down nine floors, letting the doors open and walking straight out onto the beach. Absolutely no fucking around on any level.

I have to report that the day was sunny, that perfect sort of heat for a beach day, baking with a light offshore breeze bring fresh cool air straight to your lungs. The ocean was as warm as a pleasant bath, that perfect bath temprature, not a chill in it and yet nothing to sweat over, just peachy. So with the verdant green covered mountains behind, the text book quaint fishing village to the side and the turquoise blue, coloured fish filled water before me, I dived in and didn`t come out for nearly two hours.

I must admit I did try to send Akane back to the hotel to bring me a beer back but she said something short and sharp in Japanese and I didn`t get my beer. I think what she said was "Jack darling, I am quite happy floating in liquid heaven at this moment in time so if you want a beer my love please feel free to get one yourself" or words to that effect.

Whatever the beer situation we were both having a wonderful time in the Pacific however that was not the reason we had come to this hotel in this particular spot. That reason was the existence of hot mineral spas rising up from the volcanic vents below. This water had been pumped into the third floor of the hotel and formed two seperate hot spring bathing areas, the male side and the female side. You will of course allow for the fact that I cannot speak for the female facilities being at all times a gentleman but I will be describing the spa facilities for men in my next mail together with the delights of a traditional evening meal in the hotel. I can give you a clue as to where this story will lead, it has to do with fish and how very little the hotel must spend on fuel bills.

E-Mail from Japan 09 09 06: Irrigation and Sushi

Having just fitted my mother-in-law`s irrigation system for her garden I went for a bath. A Japanese bath is a pleasure that is not difficult to describe. The bathroom is tiled throughout and there is a small stool to sit on so that you can wash thoroughly with the hand shower before entering the bath tub.

You see Japanese baths aren`t for cleaning yourself they are for complete relaxation and an enjoyment of the sensory indulgence of water. First you sit, low to the floor, on the little stool and shower and scrub yourself clean. The water system is fully controlled from the toilet to the bath by Toto, some sort of computerised wizard that hides behind the wall and makes sure everything is exactly right. I keep thinking of Kansas but I am not sure why, anyway, Toto is just brilliant.

Look away now if you are of delicate disposition because I am going to describe the toilet. This is just an instrument of hospitality that is difficult to imagine, the seat is carefully warmed to a comfortable tempreture, thankyou Toto, and to your left, just above the toilet role holder, is a small panel with touch buttons. Above each button is a discrete logo describing the function touching it will provide, a gentle spray of water, a good sloosh or the complete Trafalgar Square fountain, all can be provided once nature has taken it`s course.

At the touch of a button a tube extends from underneath the toilet seat to position its nozzle perfectly beneath your sitting position (I do hope I am being delicate about this). The small hum and the efficient movement rather reminds me of something emerging from a Thunderbirds pod. Then your nether region is treated to a cleaning jet of water which is at a rather relaxingly warm tempreture until you press the off button. For those of you under Freudian annalysis you may never get to the moment when that off button gets pushed. However, once you do then you get to press the other button, the one that sends a warm air jet to sensitively dry you off.

Toto thinks of everything. On standing Toto performs its final act of total care by issuing forth a puff of air freshner around the toilet rim. Maybe this all seems a bit anal, and in truth it is, but the real point here is the attention to detail. As I sat in the bath tub, once I had finished cleaning of the dirt of the irrigation installation, I thought about this attention to detail that pervades Japanese society and makes me feel like I never want to leave.

Toto quietly and efficiently kept my bath water at exactly the tempreture of choice, I set the control panel above the taps at 40 degrees and Toto measures the tempreture of the water and everytime it drops by a margin of 5% the pump sets into action and draws water out of the bath, through the heating element and back into the bath in order to maintain the correct level of comfort. So there I was sitting in the depth of water, not a shallow trough but a deep basin in which you are immersed up to your neck, and thinking about returning to London. Streets covered with litter and rubbish, the all pervasive atmosphere of tension, stress and violence, the pollution, the noise and most of all the wailing sirens that scream into your nervous system day and night.

Yes, as I sat in the bath, enjoying a beer and listening to the comparative silence and peace of Meguro, London seemed to me to be something to suffer not to enjoy. The streets around here are connected with small walkways between incredibly compact houses. The main street across the road is comprised of all sorts of traders, the men wearing small hand towels, rolled and wrapped around their heads in a band, the women, small but tough, fast hands and fingers that feed yen to the hungry tills.

Everyone stares at me as I walk down the road, they look, see me return their gaze, look quickly away and then try to sneak another look thinking I haven`t noticed. Children dismiss manners and just stare, mouths wide open, as their mothers drag them along the street. What more could you want when you go shopping, I just love it. So now I need to go and stuff some sushi... down my mouth. Hmmm, sushi, that smell of raw fish, so beautiful and yet so deadly. I went to the best sushi bar in the world the other day... but that is a story for next time. Love Jack

Welcome

I cannot claim anything less than being in love with Japan and the Japanese. I visit there twice a year and spend two months of my year living in Meguro, Tokyo. This blog contains my observations and anecdotes about the life I live and see there.