Hello Mother. Hello Father. I am writing, underwater.

A trip to Tokyo
We started late, my friend Ryan and I, on our trip from Yokosuka in the Kanagawa Prefecture of Japan to the nation’s capital of Tokyo. There was some work to be done and, jealous mistress that she is, the submarine would not let us leave until it was complete.
After a moment’s pause at the mini-mart on base to purchase the outlet adaptors that we were certain we had packed in our seabags but now cannot find, the next stop was Tsunami’s Navyburger for the “GW” with the fried egg on top that we both had been craving since our last visit. If you find yourself in Yokosuka you simply must have at least one burger at Tsunami’s. There must be sushi, of course, and sampling of the local fare; but if you’re an American that can see fit to pass up a quality burger, then I’m not sure we can be friends.
Having thus sustained ourselves for the journey, Ryan and I walked to Yokosuka-chuo Station. Here is where the trouble began. Or, perhaps challenge would be the better word.
To say, “The first thing you notice about Japan is . . .” and then presume to tell you, would be to overly simplify a country whose people and culture are infinitely complex and vastly different from ours. What I will say is this: there are things about Japan that cannot escape one’s noticing.
The language of Japan, particularly in its written form, screams to be noticed. More a series of simple drawings as characters than the groupings of letters that Germanic, Celtic, Romantic, and other such language families use and are so familiar to our eyes; Kanji uses a series of picto-characters to express a thought in sentence form. While an English speaker may get around decently well in any European country wherein they can at least sound out words on signs, the ancient Chinese symbols used in Japan only look like so much scribbling. While it is fashionable and quite common to place English words next to Kanji, pronunciation remains a solid challenge.
As such, Ryan and I stood at the automated ticket kiosk trying valiantly to make heads or tails of the train system map for much longer than either of us might care to admit. Our manhood firmly intact on account of having not asked anyone for directions, we purchased our tickets and entered the train station. Only then did we realize (just as we had when we made this same trip back in 2014, for crying out loud!) that we did not know which platform we needed to be on.
It wasn’t until we had been seated on the train for a few stops and watched the station numbers get smaller, which we knew indicated closing range to Tokyo, that we allowed ourselves a moment of congratulation.
As the Local Express (curse it all, we wanted the Limited Express!) churned along from “Yoko” through Yokohama and on to Tokyo, two more aspects of the culture presented strong evidence.
The first was the size of things. Namely, how small everything is. Businesses are tightly packed next to each other and only as wide as is truly necessary for their function. Vehicles are small, simple conveyances and with the exception of major thoroughfares, even the roads they drive on are quite narrow. As an island nation with rather sudden and intensely varying topography, Japan had to make good use of precious little real estate as her population ballooned following World War II. Perhaps my favorite bit of ingenuity are the parking lots in which cars are placed on racks and stacked, in some cases as high as five decks tall.
The second aspect that stood out was the efficiency with which the Japanese are truly obsessed. I had already known that a commuter train, if arriving early at a particular station, will sit and wait until the appointed time to depart rather than disrupt the schedule. Such is their dedication to timeliness.  The episode we observed on this trip was of singular interest.
Unannounced and without warning, a group of train officials of various ranks (denoted by their uniform or suit as appropriate) boarded the train at a station along our route. Fully four of these men crammed themselves into the conductor’s cabin along with the conductor himself. A man in a white shirt with a clipboard and another in a blue uniform and wide brimmed hat with a walk-along measuring device with a digital readout stood in the cabin at the first passenger door and two more blue uniformed men stood at the second just behind Ryan and I. At each stop for about ten or so, Mr. Clipboard and Mr. Measuring would disembark and the second would run out the distance between the first door and the intended stopping point. The measuring done, he would board and Mr. Clipboard would wave to indicate all was ready to continue. Boarded once again, the Measurer would show his findings to the Writer and give the smallest of bows before resuming his station two or three steps to the side. After this inspection was completed, the conductor and his relief disembarked and stood face-to-face. Words were exchanged, a turnover of some sort is my guess, each bowed to the other, then the relief boarded the head of the train once more and signaled that the train was departing. As the train pulled away, the off-going conductor was speaking and bowing to the one man of the inspection team wearing a suit.
Not a single other passenger gave the slightest bit of notice of all these goings-on but Ryan and I sat transfixed by the entire series of events. The inspection of the off-going conductor’s performance and his turnover to his relief smacked of military precision. For a simple commuter train from one metro to the next, it seemed more than a bit excessive.
This is the way of things in Japan that leaps out at the foreigner. The entire culture is based on a quasi-military system the root of which is avoiding the slightest possibility of bringing dishonor on one’s family name.
In a formal setting, bows are exchanged often and deeply. In an informal setting, bows are exchanged quickly and slightly but exchanged non-the less. One gets the feeling that, were there no pressing matters to attend to, a pair of people might go on bowing ad infinium.
In many ways, Tokyo is much like any other capital city. Once again, a pair of cultural aspects were immediately evident.
The first was the cleanliness of the city. Trash does not seem to exist in this country. The odd thing is that trash cans are rather difficult to find. It’s hard to know what citizens do with their refuse but they certainly do not litter.
The second I am certain can be attributed to the Allies. The Japanese military was almost completely dismantled following the surrender on the deck of the USS MISSOURI (BB 63) in Tokyo Harbor.
Without an expensive military to man and maintain, the Japanese were able to focus funding on infrastructure. One of those items is a rather sophisticated and attractive system of elevated walkways. Not only do they allow pedestrians to avoid crossing roadways in high traffic areas, they present expanded space for small businesses and interconnect with the commuter train system. It is brilliant in it’s simplicity.
 Japan is, far and away, my favorite foreign country to visit. The people and the culture are fascinating and charming and I always find something new to be impressed by. If you want a country to see, the Japanese would love to show you their homeland.
This column is not endorsed by the US Navy and any opinions herein are my own.
STS1(SS) Aaron B. Skellenger, USN
USS OLYMPIA (SSN 717)

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