Bullet Train Views

Three steps back to a reality all foreigners can identify with if they spend any decent length of time in Japan. Firstly, asking for directions at Wakou Station the young man leapt sideways a full metre, totally ‘freaked’ by my approach to ask a polite question in passable, not perfect Japanese about departing trains. Then jumping on board the soon to depart Fukotoshin line train to be greeted with suppressed giggling by passengers – a bearded gaijin (foreigner), like a circus novelty. Finally, on the full carriage with many people standing but two seats, one either side of me, empty all the way to central Tokyo. No one wants to sit by the alien in their midst. To observe one is okay but a close encounter of that sort is not welcome at all. Having spent many years in Japan, these experiences grounded me in the all too familiar and sad reality of the way most (though thankfully not all) Japanese relate to outsiders. Was I to be feared and avoided? Intrigued by but not related to in my full humanity? Racist compartmentalizing is probably part of the answer in a country that still requires fourth generation Japanese of Korean descent to have special registration cards for their residency. Also, it’s not like foreign residents and visitors are a new or uncommon occurrence so why after so many years are gaijin so difficult to relate to? Well, you need to ask. And so I did. But a trusted Japanese friend, although aware of this phenomenon, couldn’t really explain. The vacant seats next to me matched the knowledge gap in this matter. Perhaps even among friends such personal, pertinent questions are too uncomfortable. Later that day a lady, old enough to have lived through World War Two, happily walked with me as we chatted happily in a equal sharing of stories about where we were from and going to that day. Her openness and humanity were markedly different from earlier encounters. Seeing how little things have changed since I lived in Japan makes me wonder whether more exposure to the world outside its borders has actually hardened Japanese perception of others and my view of them. Perhaps it is not unlike my perspective from the shinkansen (Japan’s bullet train) which bends houses (pictured above) as I hurtle at high speeds of 186 miles per hour taking photos through still, raindrop-beaded windows. Neither image nor understanding can be captured adequately.

The Shinkansen is impressive. Invariably it is on time to such an extent that you can set your watch by the departures. I travelled on the ‘nozomi’ service from Tokyo to Nagoya which took a mere 110 minutes to cover 160 miles. I paid 10,360 yen (65 GBP) which considering the efficiency combined with comfort and style is good value for money. It’s like an aeroplane on tracks which blasts through the low-lying and densely populated landscape cities of Japan’s Pacific coastline which were on the day of my journey grey and grim. Contrast this with the train track I spent hours happily building for a friend’s son. It was colourful but equally stressful to keep only two model bullet trains running on the tracks without crashing. Real life takes it to another level. No wonder suicide rates among train operators are disproportionately high (or so I am reliably informed). The birthday boy seemed intent on causing collisions at what I came to call Wakou Junction where four intersecting, multidirectional tracks came together. Even the plastic carnage was immense, especially when combined with an infantile ‘Foot of God’. Five year old boys love a bit of destruction. I remember vividly one of my nephews stomping on the head of an unsuspecting doll’s head for no apparent reason. Good to know Japanese lads are no different. I guess. I spent hours playing but never for a moment wanted to be responsible for any aspect of Japan’s train network. Eventually the stress of trying to keep trains from colliding and failed attempts to cultivate a more merciful, smooth and humane approach to the endeavour led me to flee the wreckage and wander to a nearby shrine in search of some peace of mind.