Monthly Archive for March, 2011

Do you know what it’s like after a really good snow storm, when the roads become passable but everyone still stays at home, because they’ve loaded their fridge and they feel safe there?  Tokyo was that way Saturday and Saturday night to me.  The city continued to return to normal after the earthquake (see Another earthquake, an eerie silence, and the Japanese people and The City Awakens), yet the streets were much less crowded than a normal Saturday.  Many shops were closed.  Having completed my business mission here, and departing on Sunday, I wanted to venture out and tour—the 5AM fish market receiving the most recommendations. Only on Saturday it was purported to be closed.  Okay for me, for as much as I wanted to get out, I also wanted to talk home and Tokyo morning is best for speaking to the US.  Even asking my Guest Attendant Marika about touring, she was concerned for me venturing out—not for my safety, not even for appearances (which are so important in this culture), but I think for my “mental health.”  Even though Tokyo was “okay,” the city was clinging to its own.  People were with family.   People were staying home.

But for me, sanity was getting out.  Too much Skype, Facebook, and Outlook can cause other mental health issues.  Besides the day was beautiful and I needed some exercise.  So I took off.  I visited a few traditional sites.  I believe this is Senso-Ji and Asakusa-jinja, peacefully coexisting Buddhist and Shinto temples.  The crowd in the markets around the temple were thick, though many of the hawker stalls were closed.  I also had traditional food at Diakokuya, a “famous” tempura place, with only three other diners, but I enjoyed sitting and watching the chefs at work, experts intensely focused on their tasks at hand.

Next I ventured two subway rides away to Kagaruzaka, formerly a vibrant geisha quarter, now an incredibly “San Francisco-esque” neighborhood, with hilly alleys, great shopping, tons of restaurants and cool little bars.  Again, I’m told the streets on a Saturday afternoon are usually packed.  Shopkeepers were courteous, though many had TVs blaring, and their conversations subdued.  I finished my afternoon visiting the Imperial Palace.  I debarked from the subway a few stops too early, but walked the mile or so to the palace grounds, only to find the palace closed.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t read the signs to find out why—to me the gates were just closed.  I had run the palace grounds my first two days here, and skipped the opportunity to enter then, and now I would not have that opportunity.  I did get to enjoy the gorgeous grounds and moats and fountains around the palace, and even helped a couple take a picture, and got this one in return.

Throughout the day, I enjoyed my sightseeing, but I also realized that between early that morning and midday here, I had called every single member of my family.  I needed to connect to people, and there was no one here to connect to.  I felt like I too was clinging to the conversations, however normal they were.

I ended the day on a more social note, visiting the Roppongi section of town, the least Japanese part of Japan, because of its mixes of government and businesses, and Japanese and gaijin.  Through my Lonely Planet guide, I found Bernd and Bernd’s Bar, a German pubeatery (like that word!).  Bernd’s was a bit off the beaten path, down a quiet alley, us a set of stairs, the opening into what could easily fit on the Charlottesville corner.  I met Bernd and his wife and bartender, all three of whom spoke perfect English.  A very interesting development:  I also ran into an independent Spanish photo journalism team (journalist Ofelia de Pablo), working in Japan for a German magazine, first to cover something about German tourism in Japan, but suddenly reassigned to get people’s (particularly German’s) reactions to the earthquake. Ofelia interviewed me—I directed her to my blog from the day’s events.  The bar, the interview, the Spanish-only speaking photographer, Bernd, the German beer, the few Japanese patrons, the TV covering the earthquake and nuclear reactor meltdown, and even my last Japanese meal:  a scene in which I too could cling to something—a ragtag group of new friends in a familiar setting, not needing to say much, but enjoying being together.

Now, I think I see what Marika was insinuating this morning—that I shouldn’t go out because I needed to bond with others that touring cannot allow, even though of course staying in my hotel room would also not have accomplished much.  But what I discovered was that what I needed to find was a group to which I could cling, at least for a few hours.

Early this morning I started another post, entitled “The Japanese People,” but in the last few hours, my perspective has changed.  A couple of hours ago, we had our second earthquake in as many days here, or 400 miles from here.  Somewhere between 8.4 and 8.8 if CNN is to be believed.  When this happened I was with a new friend, a Darden alumnus, Shin.  We were just arriving at Tokyo train station, buying our ticket for a one hour train ride, when the ground started shaking.  As it continued, and progressed, we decided to walk, then run, to the exits.  As did thousands of others.  It continued to shake.  We made it outside.  My friend’s reaction was not comforting—I hoped he would say “oh, no worries, this happens all the time.”  His comment was not so encouraging.  I saw the worry in his face, and in the faces of those around us.  You could see the buildings shaking, literally.  The light fixtures and the curtains.    Books fell off the shelf at the bookstore. Construction workers rushing off the construction site.  But what struck me most was the silence.  Just silence.  Tokyo is a bustling city.  No matter where you are, you hear trains, and traffic.  But not now.  Trains stopped.  Cars stopped.  No one spoke.  We all just looked around.  We looked up.  I took this picture of the hundreds of people in the distance outside—if only I could have captured the looks on faces.  Looks of concern.  Looks of sadness.  Looks of wonder. Within minutes of cessation of the quake, people started moving slowly, but the silence remained.

My friend and I decided we should wait to see if the trains would resume.  We sought refuge in a nearby coffee shop.  After just moments, the shaking started again.  The building (a tall skyscraper) public address system announced that we should evacuate.  I grabbed my chocolate and ate it as I hurried out the door (I’m not quite sure what that says about me).  The shaking stopped after what seemed like minutes—just an aftershock I guess, the first of many.  My friend, and it seemed everyone else around, was on his phone, or trying to be on his phone, but no one could get through.  I guess everyone was trying to call someone.  I thought of calling, but everyone I care about was sleeping.  I looked up and took a picture of the swaying crane on top of a nearby building.  Was I the only one worried that it was coming down?  The silence of the streets continued, only interrupted now by a helicopter, canvasing for damage.  My friend and I went back in and again tried to drink our coffee.  After a few minutes discussion, we decided that our train trip would probably not occur, so we started our walk back to my hotel, only about 20 minutes walk away.  Down the road from us this window was shattered.  The roads were packed with people—all the buildings were evacuated and the trains were not running.  This was not the devestation of recent wars and natural disasters.  It was just eerie silence, even as thousands of people filled the streets.  My friend and I made it to a pub near the hotel, as no one was being allowed in my hotel yet.  We drank  Guinness and stared at the TV.  Only I understood nothing.  I could only watch the faces of those around me.  Now the big concern, and the actual event unfolding before us on TV, was the tsunami.  Ten meters, the height of a three story building, heading toward, and hitting land three hundred miles away.

My friend finally walked me to and dropped me in my hotel lobby, with thousands of others.  I learned that I could take stairs to my fourteenth floor room.  For some reason I thought I would feel safer there—alone in my room.  My instinct is to pack and head for the airport.  As I arrived on my floor I was greeted with great concern by Mariko Fujiwara, the fourteenth floor concierge.  I had passed her many times in the past few days, only to say a quick hello, and thank you.  But now I asked her about her.  And about her family.  I learned she was educated and learned to speak English in Canada, and that her family was a few hundred miles away on the coast. And phones were not working. Yet, she hurried around helping the people on the fourteenth floor, concerned for their well fare, not her own.

Even as I sit here, I have felt several aftershocks, my dresser drawer opening on its own, the curtain swaying.  On instinct I grab the desk to hold on.  After five to ten seconds it stops. In the background the TV blares the concerned voices of the newscasters, though I understand nothing.  But I see the tsunami moving across the land on the screen.  I turn if off.  Somehow the silence seems more fitting.

I can’t help but reflect on the Japanese people.  Before the quake I was going to write about their friendliness, their formalness, their respectfulness, their cleanliness, their patience with me.  But I knew none of them.  Now I write about Shin and Mariko and the other new friends I have made during this silence.  I write about the hundreds of faces I observed as people poured out of the buildings.  I’ve observed their humanity, their worries about their family, their fear…and their concern for me, the foreigner.  It seems genuine, and warm, and real, yet respectful and patient and kind.  This wasn’t (isn’t yet) a natural disaster of epic proportions, but it was (is) scary for me.  But at least it has given me a glimpse of the character of the Japanese people…a character that I can appreciate and respect and, well, love.

My first twenty-four hours in Tokyo, and I have eaten sushi three times, consumed four latte’s from Tully’s and experienced my first earthquake (7.2 on the Richter scale).  Now I’m smoking my first Winston—well, not really, but sitting at Tully’s in the lobby of Japan Tobacco is a similar experience.

I’m going to use my blog this week to chronicle my trip to Tokyo and Seoul.  I’m traveling for Darden, calling on companies, as we launch the new Global Executive MBA (GEMBA).  A few observations:

1.  Darden alumni around the world shared the same experience I did in 1987, and that the Class of 2011 experiences today—and that shared experience is an immediate bond for us.

2.  Jefferson is an immediately recognizable symbol for Darden/UVA and the associations are positive.  We need to leverage this more.

3.  If my first visits are indicative, our new GEMBA shows great promise.

And I just bought mini-Oreos at the 7-11 for dessert (sushi is really not very filling), so I’m really beginning to feel at home.  Now if I can only sleep tonight…