My story 20+

    Episodes 1-19 are  on the My Story page. 

Episode 20  is below Episode 21 on this page.

Episode 21 As if it did not happen 

Japan seemed like the logical first step for an around-the-world trip starting San Francisco primarily thanks to American President Lines’ direct connection at a good price. Of course, there was WWII in the Pacific, but  I was born in 1942 and have no direct memory of it. My father could not serve because he ruined his back while working on Great Lakes freighters as a young man. As far as I know, no other family member saw action. I don’t recall any conversations with vets growing up. My personal knowledge of the War consists of my mother’s stories about their Victory Garden and the feel of  the family ration card. Therefore, I had no reason to feel hostile toward the Japanese just as I felt no hostility toward the British for the Revolutionary War.

I have always enjoyed reading about history including WWII. Pearl Harbor. Iwo Jima. Midway, Guadalcanal. The Bataan Death March. The Relocation Camps for Japanese in the United States.  Hiroshima. Nagasaki. General MacArthur and the American Occupation which lasted until 1952. I learned about the fierce fighting between Japan and the United States and its Allies prior to the 1945 Surrender.

This information  raised two questions in my mind because each country inflicted horrific injuries upon the other: Are the Japanese openly hostile to Americans? Had Japan, and particularly Tokyo, repaired the damage incurred by the War? Other than reading some travel brochures while enroute, I knew very little else about Japan in 1964.

I realized that this adventure differed from my trip to San Francisco. Going to SF di not unsettle me. I knew the language and the food, and I traveled with a good friend. For me that adventure resembled rolling dice. If I had no luck, I knew I could call home and ask for bus money back to Colorado.  I felt way different about going to Japan. I was going to my first foreign country. I was a blank slate, an empty tape, awaiting information. I did not know the language or the food, and I knew my shipmates and I would go off on different paths.

I recall my that these concerns fermented in the pit of my stomach during the two weeks on The Wilson. Although I stayed optimistic throughout, I envisioned the possibility that that this trip might not work because it was only my fragile dream subject to demolition by a variety of  external forces. Truthfully, each day on board consisted of one-part joyous excitement and one-part fear of failure. But I was only 22.

As I left the hostel and headed downtown to meet my shipmates, I felt good because I had found my way to the hostel and to get breakfast giving me enough confidence to continue my adventure. My concerns had been lessened, in large part, because the Japanese had helped me overcome my ignorance about their country.Sufficiently encouraged, I decided to answer my question about physical damage to Tokyo by visiting the downtown. I love to walk, but my map of this city of eight million made it clear that I should not attempt to walk from the hostel to the main station.  Tokyo’s population far exceeded that of San Francisco and Denver, the only two large cities that I knew. I used the method of exploring without getting lost that I perfected in San Francisco.  I made the station the hub and I walked out and back on  streets leading from the station, treating them as spokes that did not end. After three or four blocks, I turned around.

I noticed that the number of people headed toward the station had intensified without looking in the stores. Inside the station, rush hour chaos. I grabbed a seat outside the river of people and watched them as they pushed  through the entrance to the trains. It was amazing. They bunched up at train doors, leaning on the people ahead of them. Sometimes,  uniformed men behind them assisted by boosting them into  train cars and closing the door on the tail end of the last passenger to board.

Rush hour in San Francisco was nothing like this.

Midori magically stepped out of the flow through the station with a bow to tell me so sorry that she had another commitment and could not join us tonight, but could I meet her at the Emperor’s Outer Garden next week? Naturally, I said yes and with a bow she disappeared into the flow.

After my walk, I believed that that the Japanese had rebuilt the physical damage and are leading their lives in the direction of the future, just like the people of San Francisco did after the earthquake and fire.  I believed that I would be alright in Japan, that my adventure lives on with a throbbing heart and expanded lungs. That called for a celebration. 

We had learned that the youth of Tokyo favored the Shinjuku District rather the more famous areas such as the upscale Ginza District. I understood why immediately. The neon light forests on the streets blew me way. All shapes. All colors. A few English words scattered among the Japanese. The bigger, the brighter, the bolder, the better. It reminded me of Times Square on New Year’s Eve, but more innovative.  And this was not a quiet forest. Loud music, much of it western rather than eastern, roared out of every establishment.  Bars and restaurants of all sizes, galleries, and small shops filled the streets. Japanese talked loud enough be heard over the loud music. 

There were five of us including Stefan, the drug couple, and a woman I did not know. We pushed our way into a random bar and ordered beers as if we were in the USA. I had my first Sapporo beer. It did not take long for our loud English to attract several young Japanese men and women. They became our guides for the rest of the evening. We had a universal good time clubbing thanks to their scattered English, some sign language, and the mutual enthusiasm of youth. To the amusement of others at the pachinko machines, I futilely played one game.  

No destruction nor hostility. On the surface, it was as if the War never happened. Instinctively, I vowed never to probe deeper. 

Episode 20    The Enormity of the Unknown

On this trip, I intended to prove my mettle to myself. To succeed, I needed four elements: good health, cheap eats, cheap transportation, and cheap accommodations. I do not know how I learned about international youth hostels. Perhaps someone suggested I check it out, or perhaps I saw it mentioned in a magazine. Regardless, this reliable organization  providing a clean bed in a safe place for $1 or $2 per night satisfied the fourth essential element of my trip. 

The hostels differed in size and age. Most were dormitory style, but a few had single rooms. Some sold food and non-alcoholic drinks. All limited the number of nights you could stay and, for the common good, forbid alcohol, drugs, and excessive noise. Almost all offered these necessary amenities: showers, drinking water, and a common room for chatting with other travelers who represented all the continents. Most were men and women under 30 who spoke some English as their traveling language and carried backpacks. For these travelers, the hostels furnished a place to sleep, and to converse with others like the hotels in the past provided along train or coach lines and in seaports.

We shared a common interest in trading stories about where we had been and gaining information about where we were going.  In Tokyo, for example, I wanted to know about safety in Saigon, restaurants in Bangkok, transportation in India, and hostels everywhere on my route. As an American, I did my best to answer similar questions from travelers headed to the States.  I wrote the new information carefully in my Notebook. We also discussed world news and  topics of mutual interest. I gladly joined these international exchanges full of positive energy with young people leading lives full of the thrills and challenges of backpack travel. They increased my tolerance and respect for those raised with different values. 

Primarily we travelled, going our own ways in search of new experiences in new places. We said goodbye to each other easily. Chance spawned our relationships, and we parted without regret and without exchanging contact information. Remember that we had no internet, texts, or phones; television rarely; and often no available English-language newspaper.

My first morning in Japan, the hostel manager answered the phone as I walked into his office to get a recommendation for a place to eat breakfast.

“Moshi. Moshi.”

What a great start to the day! The first thing in the morning, I learned that the woman used the proper words to answer the phone.

I sat at a table in the restaurant three doors down from the hostel.  I saw Japanese men at their tables and Japanese art on the walls. I heard the server and the cook speaking Japanese and smelled Japanese cooking. The server gave me a short Japanese bow as he handed me a menu entirely in Japanese. Unless I spoke it, no English word existed in this establishment. 

I recall that I had no good option. I had not eaten since the sushi. I believed that searching for food elsewhere would result in greater hunger. I was like a ship in the open ocean without a compass. I knew that I must not abandon my table.

I would have memorialized the moment by writing something like this in my Notebook:

How did I know what dish would suffice for breakfast? I didn’t. I knew I needed to solve this problem because it likely would recur, especially in the cheap eats cafes that fit my budget. I also realized that the time I spent onboard the Wilson trying to learn Japanese did not pay off here. 

So, I must build a solution.  First, from my phrasebook, I found the word for “breakfast” –“CHOH-sho-koo’ ah-SAH goh-hahn”. Second, for backup, I located the phrase meaning “Í don’t understand Japanese.” – “nee-HOHN-goh wah” Third, I approached the server holding the menu and phrase book. Fourth, pronouncing the Japanese for “breakfast” as best I could and lilting the last syllable to present a question, I ran my finger down the menu items. He did not understand. Fifth, I showed him the word written In Japanese from my phrasebook. He smiled and pointed at the top four items. Fifth, I placed my index finger on my sometimes-lucky 3. 

Having placed my order, I could hardly wait. Within minutes, I had a aromatic, good size bowl of rice topped with a raw egg and soy sauce. I did not hesitate and learned that  severe hunger makes it easier to learn how to eat rice with chopsticks. The Japanese favored Tamago Kake Gohan (tah-mah-gon-kah-keh-goh-han), also known as TKG, as a breakfast dish and as a snack food because of its high nutritional value. It became my go-to breakfast eliminating the future need to request a menu. After copying the name of the dish for reference and practice, I slipped my Notebook into its designated space deep in a zippered front pocket of my backpack and exchanged sayonaras with the server.

On the way back to the hostel, a man about my age confronted me asking if I spoke English. I confess that I rudely dismissed him because this was the third or fourth time that I had been similarly approached, I mentioned it to the hostel manager. He explained that the government encouraged students to practice their English on tourists to prepare for the 1964 Summer Olympics in Tokyo in the fall. I had no idea that Tokyo would be hosting the Olympics, However, I found the government’s plan to be mutually beneficial.  On most days, the students became good companions. I helped them with their English by discussing the wants of tourists, and they taught me plenty about Japan and Tokyo. 

We never mentioned WWII. Bombs had seriously damaged Tokyo, especially the downtown and surrounding neighborhoods. The area near the hostel, comprised of small businesses and residences, looked unscathed. It would blend easily into an Asian community in San Francisco or LA. 

As our small group of shipmates parted yesterday, we agreed to meet late this afternoon at the train station to explore Tokyo’s nightlife. I decided to go early to check out the rebuilding of  downtown and, if I was lucky, meet up with Midori if she arrived early.