A Family RTW Travel Adventure (2008-2009)

Leaving behind the colossal public spaces of Beijing and their complementary chaotic jostle of hutong walks, we headed for the tight spaces of efficient Tokyo.

Delightedly, we explored March’s springtime streets around our hostel in the Asakusa neighborhood.

We crossed bridges, breathed the aroma from delicate cherry blossoms, photographed shrines and gates, selected our favorite sushi from the conveyor belt, and at night, basked in the glow of a million neon lights. Always accompanied by an orderly abundance of people.

Many wore a common accessory: a spanking white surgical mask. Providing a sense of sanitary strangeness, Tokyo dwellers wore the masks with business suits, kimonos, t-shirts and jeans, or Harajuku frills. Even toddlers were in on the look.

Our new friend Michiko explained that besides being pollen season, people were sensitive to spreading germs since they’re living so close together. In fact, signs in the subways instructed riders on the etiquette for blowing noses. “Do it at home,” the cartoon chides.

Although I can’t really imagine tucking a surgical mask’s loops behind my ears as a part of my daily going-out routine and smiling at friends in the grocery store from behind my white safety square, once my awareness was raised, I must admit that the uncovered sneezer on the train seemed a threat to us all.

But: All journeys were return journeys.  The farther one traveled, the nakeder one got, until, towards the end, ceasing to be animated by any scene, one was most oneself, a man in a bed surrounded by empty bottles.

The man who says, ‘I’ve got a wife and kids’ is far from home; at home he speaks of Japan.  But he does not know – how could he – that the changing scenes… are nothing compared to the change in himself.”

–Paul Theroux, The Great Railway Bazaar

It’s hard to find a reasonably priced hotel room in Tokyo — especially when Japanese school children are on spring break and the cherry blossoms are in bloom.

There are plenty of hostels, but they tend to be booked well in advance. Brand name hotels can run US$500+ a night and independently owned hotels aren’t much cheaper.

The search for a room for less than US$200 led us to a ryokan – a traditional Japanese inn.  Our stay at the Homeikan Honkan made our visit to Tokyo truly memorable.

A ryokan room is a simple rectangle.  There is a straw tatami mat on the floor.  During the day, the room is set up as a sitting area, with cushions on the floor around a low square table.

In the evenings, the innkeeper comes to each room to make up the bedding – double-layer futons on the floor.

Each guest gets to use two robes – a light cotton robe and a heavier yakutura to use when its cooler.

What distinguishes a ryokan, though, is its public bath.

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We arrived at Tokyo’s Narita Airport with no guidebook, no map, no yen and no clue.  One thing became apparent right away — Japan does not yield its secrets easily.

Here’s what we learned in our first twenty-four hours in Tokyo:  Not much English is spoken.  Affordable Internet access is hard to find.  Few ATMs accept foriegn bank cards.  Credit cards are of limited use.

Yet the Japanese people are extremely helpful and gracious, even when communications barriers are insurmountable.

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A Shibuya street band, playing an energizing mash-up of 1970’s funk and old-school big band. Sounds crazy, but it worked!

Our Tokyo taxi was about to pull away from the curb when there was a rap on the window.  An older Japanese woman was standing next to the cab peering in.

When she had our attention, she began pointing to the rolling backpack on the sidewalk.

Our rolling backpack.

If there hadn’t been heavy traffic, we would have pulled away and left it behind.

Inside were two laptops, two Ipods, a video camera and a point and shoot camera.  One of the laptops held all our photos, our music, our videos — documentation of our life on the road.

For nearly nine months we had moved from place to place flawlessly, never once misplacing a piece of luggage.  Was leaving the backpack a sign, perhaps, that we were losing our travelers’ edge?

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We didn’t know exactly what to expect in China, but I can say this: China exceeded every possible expectation.

Our report on Hong Kong and Beijing is here.

As a former diaper changer, I have participated in the modern American debate over whether cloth or disposable is the best way to go.

Piles of smelly laundry confronting an already exhausted new mother is a drawback of cloth diapers but, of course, the ever-growing landfills can barely hold another string of plastic bundles from the Diaper Genie.

China provides a third option: Ditch the diaper altogether!

If you buy a snowsuit for your wee one in China, you can be sure that it will have a handy opening in the back. On the coldest days, babies hoisted up on a parent’s shoulder have their tiny bottoms out for the world to see and for, well, convenience.

We saw Chinese moms holding their little ones bent at the waist, tushie down, releasing. But these were toddlers. What happens when an infant needs to “go?” Never got a glimpse of that, but I think I’d rather clean a baby’s smeared derriere than my own winter coat’s sleeves.

For the older set, once you’ve mastered the art of using a toilet, there are still differences from our approach.

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