Essay

A small price to pay

By Steve Ford

The time has come for a fine whine about Japan. You might not know it, but foreigners who live in Japan often complain of the country's perceived imperfections.

My big gripe is the noise level of daily life. Today for instance, the apartment above mine was undergoing refurbishment, which meant lots of hammering and smashing on the ceiling. That was only the first level of many layers of noise.

The ceiling noise was overlaid by a symphony of jackhammers and backhoes that were excavating a nearby parking lot to prepare the foundation for a new apartment complex. The street that runs by my home has been dug up so many times I'm beginning to wonder if pirates haven't buried some treasure there.

To this we add the junkman's truck and his amplified plea for old televisions, computers and of course your radio-cassette player. (Does anyone still actually own a radio-cassette player in this age of the iPod?) About that time, a scooter came roaring down the street sounding like an atomic chainsaw. And I guess I'm lucky, I hear that in some areas they even have small airplanes with loudspeakers that blurt out completely garbled messages from on high.

The noise bugs me and it goes on without regard for weekends or holidays. You can call me a grumpy old codger, but I'm not the only one. The people in Okinawa are a little bent out of shape about the noise too, I hear -- but at least my whining about the din doesn't threaten to bring down the government.

Still I have to admit that the infernal racket of Tokyo is a small price to pay to live among some of the most wonderful people in the world.

Whenever I feel down, the smiles I get from the cashier at the grocery store or the courtesy of shopkeepers is bound to lift my spirits. And simple human kindness is abundant for such a huge city where people live in such close quarters.

I'm always amazed at how gracefully the old guys at my local watering hole adjust to drinking with visitors from around the world. I'm in awe of the volunteers who spend their precious time teaching my stepdaughter Japanese and the care and effort they put into the task.

But if pressed, I have to admit the part of Japan I like most of all is a sushi bar. There is magic in fresh raw fish, rice and wasabi. Add a cold beer and a bit of banter with the chef and even an inveterate complainer like me can find nothing to gripe about.

Shukan ST: June 18, 2010

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