Chapter 1: Counting

The acceptance of cash payment, on a platter and with two palms facing the customer, is an iconic ritual of Japanese merchants.

Contactless transactions, although present in big cities and big chains, have not yet caught on in the Land of the Crimson Sun.

And this is not because retailers are fumbling in the deep-fried till.

I realise I want to game every system I encounter for my own convenience. That’s not the default setting here, in one of the highest trust-based societies on Earth.

Legal tender notes and coins are honoured in Japan because they are tangible, personable, dependable signifiers of a real exchange. It helps that carrying cash comes virtually without risk, as one is unlikely to be robbed blind by a bloke on a horse with no name.

But Japanese coinage is not so intuitive. I have difficulty in knowing what’s what. The most often used coin – 100¥ (€0.58) – looks too modest and demure for its value; in contrast, the sexy 5¥ (€0.03) acts like it owns the joint and is buying drinks for everyone.

(The only thing 5¥ can afford is a plastic bag.)

For day-to-day purchases, I have taken to presenting a fistful of coins to the cashier, and letting him figure it out.

The act transports me to early childhood.

I see my Aunty Catha, a shopkeeper, helping me buy a treat with pocket money she has just given me. I am young, and cannot fathom why the large copper coins, with chickens, are worth less than the small silver ones, with fish.

I feel her fingers now, colder than mine, as she separates the pence from the half-pence, naming each as she does so. All the time, I hear the clinking of the charms on her gold bracelet. She is beautiful to me.

Into my free hand she places the money I need for the treat.

“Did we count that right?”, she asks. And when I agree, I proudly hand the money over to the shopkeeper, who is my Aunty Catha.

***

Chapter 2: Expecting

Floating for a few days about Kobe’s streets, a distraction from soul-emptying jet lag, made me notice the absence of pregnant women.

As toddlers were fully in evidence, I guessed there was something cultural afoot, and consulted my favourite travel buddy, Mister Internet.

On this occasion, I particularly searched sociological research. No matter how nerdy the niche, there’s an academic who has dedicated years to its elucidation.

My life experience has taught me to treat those deans, dons and fellows with more caution now than before. Being human, their work is too often shaped by the cultural zeitgeist.

I find some well-executed social science research from 2003 – a time when scientists still knew what makes a woman, a woman.

Pregnant Japanese women are motivated by ‘social assurance’ of those nearest them, which amounts to a quasi-withdrawal from regular life as they prepare for childbirth. In contrast, American women (the study was binational) pursue ‘adaptive strategies’ when expecting, which centres on being accepted and fitting their pregnancies into everyday life.

That accounts for it.

I have the feeling that the Japanese people uploaded software entirely different to my own. All of the richness of travel lies in observing our differing strategies in moving from A to B.

***

Chapter 3: Walking

Yesterday morning, as I sipped stewed filter coffee – a fact which left my barista’s pride undiminished – a group of toddlers on a supervised, urban nature trail passed me by.

The kids walked in pairs, holding one of fourteen loops on a walking cord. The result was that of a gay, meandering caterpillar, wearing fourteen sun hats.

The remarkable order brought about by the walking cord helped the singing to take flight, gently conducted by the teachers to the front.

Using ‘Japanese walking cord’ in Google search, I then listened to the most famous Japanese kiddy walking song of all. The premium-grade motivation of the lyrics made me chuckle.

“Let’s walk, let’s walk,

I’m full of energy!

I love walking,

Let’s keep on going!”

The comments under the song were full of Japanese adults sharing their nostalgia. Many had returned to the walking song after decades in the adult world.

“I miss those days. I had so much fun. Thank you teacher!” said one.

And thank you Aunty Catha, too.