I spent the last night of 2011 attempting to fish stuffed animals out of a Plexiglas box. With a claw crane, no less. Spending a fortune in hundred-yen coins just so my brother, sister, cousin (and eventually uncle) and I could win a damn plush toy.
And yes, while most people chose to spend a leisurely night partying or enjoying a nice drink with friends, my family and I chose to subject ourselves to the dog-eat-dog world of claw machine games — clinging to those flashing glass boxes while other players circled the premises like so many sharks, waiting for us to yield.
It’s been three years to the date since we last spent our New Year’s Eve in a multi-floor gaming arcade; neurotically inserting coins into slots, manipulating levers, mashing buttons and, incidentally, screaming like maniacs every time we actually won something. That night marked the second time in my life that we celebrated Dec. 31 away from home, the second time that we braved the pandemonium that was Club Sega, and the fourth time that we returned to visit the bustling, spectacular landmass that is Japan.
How to describe Japan? Every guidebook will tell you that it’s the epitome of the ultra-modern and traditional rolled into one; but you’d have to visit to really feel it. Meanwhile, when it comes to major cities, I’d pick Tokyo over New York any day, even with the language barrier. Because the food is better, the shopping quirkier, the streets cleaner, the people nicer (seriously, “Sumimasen!” even when I’m the one who accidentally bumps into them on the subway), the city sights more interesting (a huge Meiji temple in the middle of downtown!), and the air, well, cleaner, somehow. Which is probably totally false, but I don’t care, because by the time anyone stops to take note, the Japanese will have invented something to filter their air and suck out all the nasty from it. But I digress.
Even my dad, who spent most of his time during the insane Black Friday sale in the States sleeping and staying home, was the embodiment of joie de vivre in Japan. And from this, I have to say, there’s just something in the air.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. I love Japan for many reasons, sure, but most of these are founded on respect and awe for the kind of system they’ve created for themselves. This was the system that allowed them to rise from the ashes of World War II; the system that ensured their continued adherence to discipline and order, even in the aftermath of both an earthquake and a tsunami. So yes, whatever it is, it really, really works. And after four trips back, I’ve come to observe that it’s the little things that make the difference, something from which we could all learn from as well.
No. 1: They have toilet paper everywhere.
You would expect this from a first world country, of course. But Japan (or at the very least, Tokyo), has them in their train station toilets, their gas station toilets, their waiting shed toilets, their bus toilets, their public park toilets — everywhere you’d think too public to care about hygiene and properly wiping one’s butt. And that’s not all. Unlike in most places (our lovely country included) where there will always be the signboard saying “Please don’t throw your toilet paper in the toilet bowl,” nothing of the sort pops up in Tokyo. Instead, what you have is paper so thin that you can actually flush it down the drain. Thin, yet surprisingly durable. My guess is some recycled material converted into toilet paper, because you can literally find them in almost every bathroom you enter. Even our swanky hotel was using them.
No. 2: They make their machines work for them.
It’s Japan, the mecca of everything and anything that has to do with technology. You knew that already, but again, it’s a different thing altogether when you’re actually moving in the thick of it.
Somehow, I knew in my guts that the subway ticket machine couldn’t be cheated, but I attempted to do so anyway. The thing is, you purchase your tickets from machines, and enter and exit the subway by inserting your tickets in slots where a bar will swing up to let you through. There’s only ever one supervisor on duty, and he or she is usually stuck safely behind a booth. But the machines know when you scrimp on transportation fare, and will subsequently not allow you to pass when you get off at the “wrong” station. And of course, that is when the supervisors come out, hand extended for the remainder of your fare.
No. 3: They care for their disabled.
You would think that Tokyo is way too fast-paced to give a hoot about the disabled, but this isn’t so.
In a nondescript part of a walkway, bridge, or subway platform, you might notice the off-putting yellow rubber streaks, embossed with some kind of circular pattern. Lest you think that the city’s planners simply put them there for decoration, these things actually serve a purpose — the blind can make their way around town, simply by stepping on these streaks. You can imagine our surprise: while waiting for the express train to the airport, my brother spotted a blind man making his way unescorted around the area. We were all afraid he might fall onto the tracks… but nope, he remained safe and sound, following a yellow rubber road.
No. 4: They utilize space brilliantly.
And here I leave you to imagine how, in a city of roughly 13 million people, living, breathing and aesthetic space is manipulated in such a way that the Japanese don’t just die of suffocation.
In fact, they thrive.