My first morning in Japan began with a rude awakening around 3:30am when an enthusiastic Kato pounded on the side of my head. He was decidedly awake and wanted me to join the fun. I was suddenly reminded of why we keep him caged at home. It took some convincing to get him settled down again, and just when he fell back asleep, Alden awoke and decided that she, too, was ready to take Tokyo by storm. All Robbi and I wanted to do was sleep. It wasn’t in the cards. We felt like weeping and then did weep. Eventually, the sun rose, and we gave up.
Mornings usually begin officially with my first cup of coffee. Robbi’s aunt, Reiko, doesn’t have a drip pot, but handed me this attractive little item, kind of like a teabag with a cardboard apparatus at the top.
Seiko showed me how it worked. First, you separate the cardboard to create an opening.
Then, by folding down some clever flaps, you can create a little platform so that the bag is suspended over the lip of a coffee cup.
Pour some boiling water through the coffee, and a few minutes later, you have a steaming mug of instant morning.
However, given the ordeal of our travels and our unfulfilling, abbreviated sleep, I found myself in need of more than one installment of caffeine. Fortunately, Japan is the land of vending machines. Seemingly everywhere you look, there are gleaming machines full of soda, water, and cans of coffee, warmed to the perfect temperature, and served as you like (with sugar, with cream and sugar, black, etc.).
On the occasion of my first morning in Japan, I was interested in the blackest coffee I could get. Now, I’m no expert in Japanese canned coffee, but this can of Black Boss seemed to offer the perfect antidote to what ailed me.
I popped the lid and had my meeting with the Boss.
I was not disappointed.
After I was somewhat refreshed, Seiko asked me to do a few chores. Namely, taking out the trash and recycling. I was ushered to a small pantry beside the front door, where I found these carefully wrapped packages of paper, which I was instructed to place in a stack by the gate.
Under the watchful guidance of the Boss, I cheerfully did my bidding. But I was confused. Where was the recycling? As it turns out, these lovely bundles were the recycling. Apparently, the Japanese neatly wrap their recyclable paper in these appealing packages before putting them out. Thinking of the unslightly heaps of paper that Robbi and I leave haphazardly by the curb back home, I felt a pang of shame.
Then I took out the trash, which, continuing a theme of rational order, the Japanese place behind protective netting, to keep it from being scattered by birds, animals, or the wind.
What a rational people. What clean streets. What outstanding cans of coffee.
Having dispatched my various morning obligations, I was ready to take on the day. As were Robbi and Kato.
More to come.
