I've discovered a game. Possibly a little cruel, but funny nonetheless. The Japanese have a national obsession with bowing; shop keepers bow to customers, friends and strangers bow to each other on the street, and instead of the little "cheers," wave that drivers give to each other in the UK when someone lets you into a queue, drivers bow to each other repeatedly at the wheel (it's a wonder they don't hit their head on the horn).
I'm actually writing this entry on the Shinkansen, Japan's answer to British Rail. We're currently cruising towards Kyoto at a mind bending 200 miles an hour. A speed so fast, that it takes us around seven minutes to accelerate up to it, and makes the view an epileptic blur of lampposts, trees and heavy industry. Every time the woman comes in with the trolley service, she thanks everyone for being on the train, and then bows to the whole carriage. At the station, everything is exactly precise. When Japanese trains are scheduled to show up at 1403, they bloody well show up at 1403, and there are lines painted on the platform to show you exactly where the doors to each carriage will stop. On the platform opposite us, the train was "delayed" by 30 seconds, and the guard on the platform apologised personally to as many people as he could, bowing profusely and thanking them for being patient. And the game I've been playing is rooted in the custom of bowing.
There's a hierarchy of bowing and an etiquette to observe in every situation. The person of lower status should bow both first and lower. Shop workers will bow lower than customers for example. And if the person of higher status bows lower, then you bow again, lower than they did. Though it's very bad form for the person of higher status to bow a second time. So the game is, how low can you get someone else to bow?
Japanese politeness has another quirk to it too; that of welcoming people. I've already mentioned that the trolley woman thanks everyone for travelling on her train when she enters the carriage, conductors on buses do this too, personally thanking every passenger for choosing his bus when they get on. Volume is everything. I think the feeling is that, the louder you holler your thanks and greetings, the more you meant it. Invariably on entry into a shop, there's some woman who shouts "Gozaimas!" in your direction. If you consider that, many stores will have hundreds of customers a day, that's quite a pair of lungs that woman's got to have. Even in a supermarket, you pass any member of staff and they thank you for being there.
Yesterday, I climbed Mount Fuji. Far and away the single hardest mountain I have ever climbed. Relentless in it's elevation gain, there is no, literally no flat sections on the climb, and no respite from the descent either. The other problem with Mount Fuji is that it's a tourist mecca. I have no problem with other people on the mountain, the thousands of people who opt to drive further and climb the easy route are welcome to it. But I do draw the line at the souvenir shops at the top, and the caterpillar tracked tractors that chug up and down the mountain to resupply the shops and cafes dotted around the mountain.
The actual summit of Fuji is relatively little visited. It's on the far side of the crater to the top of the trails, and it's home to the very un-picturesque Mt. Fuji weather station. Just before the top, as a final "screw you!" the trail climbs a final steep section, covered in deep volcanic ash. Akin to walking on dry sand on a beach, this stuff isn't easy. I arrived at the bottom of this, looked up to the weather station, and there's a fell runner stood next to me, dressed in nothing but running shorts and a t-shirt to my two layers on top, trousers and walking boots. He looks at me and said "I am Yamato – you speak English?" I confirmed his suspicions that, yes I do speak English, so he carried on "Fine – what your name?" I told him. "Okee Mike-san, I race you to top. Ready, set, go!" And he shot up off this incline. I attemped a run after him, and arrived at the top gasping for oxygen and water. Yamato-san was waiting for me. "You very good Mike-san. You race much?" No. "You do altitude much?" No again. "Fine Mike-san. We now race back round crater!" No. Really no. "Okee, please to meet you Mike-san, goodbye!" And he ran off into the mist.
The inhabitants of the weather station had seen me by now, and were welcoming even me, in my unkempt hiker state to their windswept, cloud covered, freezing corner of Fuji's spectacular crater. I suppose life's not that exciting recording rainfall at 13,000 feet.
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