Pachipro
Apr 15, 2005, 01:54
For a great party town like Tokyo and Yokohama, it still amazes me that, in 2005, this great cosmopolitan megalopolis (and all of Japan for that matter) stops running their public transportation at about 1am. Therefore, if one wants to party with friends where a more than 15 or 30 minute train ride is involved, one must be prepared to stop at around eleven or eleven-thirty and head for home or else risk spending their time in an all night coffee shop or buying a hotel room until the first trains start again at about 4:50am. Hell, most partying has just started by the time you have to leave! What’s even worse is that, if your timing is off, your last stop may be out in the country somewhere where nothing is open and cabs are a rarity. Then you’ll have to spend your time sleeping on a bench at the train station or something if it’s too far to walk, or too expensive to catch a cab. This can be pretty bad if it’s winter time.
If you live in Tokyo, Yokohama, Osaka, or some other major city, and party there, you can probably catch a cab to your home for a couple of thousand yen. Unfortunately, if you live in the suburbs, your partying may take place about an hour or so by train from your home and you may have to take two or three different trains to get to your destination. In that case, you have to be careful and know the schedules well enough to know what time you have to leave your friends in order to get back home. This takes practice and precise planning.
Anyway, I had been out partying a little too long one night with some of my students west of Yokohama back in the day, and did miss my last train home. I had to catch three different trains and figured I had just barely enough time to catch all three. As I was having such a good time, I tried to time the last train and missed.
I arrived at Yokohama station via the Kehin-Kyukko line, stumbled up the steps and made my through the labyrinth of the massive station to catch the Sotetsu line to Ebina station where I’d then catch the Odakyu Line home. To my dismay, the overhead schedule informed me that the only train available was for Sagami Otsuka station and not Ebina as the last train to Ebina station had just left 10 minutes previously. “Oh well,” I thought to myself, “I’ll just have to take a cab home from Sagami Otsuka.” It wasn’t that far and would only cost a couple of thousand yen at most. No problem.
Most people who have had any experience riding the trains in Japan know the last train out of a station is filled with drunken businessmen and party people making their way home. If you’re lucky, or unlucky for that matter, you just may see someone spill their ramen out all over the floor in your car. Or you may have someone sitting next you fall asleep on your shoulder. Lord knows I’ve experienced both.
I bought my ticket, managed to get a seat, and settled myself in for the 40 minute ride to the end of line. As this was the last train, it was a local and would stop at about 12 or 13 stations. I crossed my feet at the ankles, tucked them back under the seat, folded my arms across my chest, lowered my head till my chin was almost touching my chest, closed my eyes, and assumed the position of a typical commuter. Believe it or not, one can really catch up on one’s sleep on the trains. I didn’t worry if I fell asleep as the conductor would wake me up as he would most of the other stragglers.
I did fall asleep and woke up just as the train was pulling into the last station. By the time the train arrived at its last stop it was a little past 1am. I, and about 20 or so other drunk passengers made our way up the stairs, through the ticket taker, and down the stairs to our destinations. Me, I headed for the cab stand.
There were about 4 other people standing there and I was the last in line. The cabs came at irregular intervals and ferried their passengers to their destinations. Soon I was the only one waiting. I waited for about 10 minutes and finally a cab came. The driver slowed, took one look at me and sped up again not even stopping. “What the fu.....” I thought to myself. I figured he was just another cab driver afraid to pick up gaijin late at night.
Then it dawned on me that Sagami Otsuka was the area where US Navy personnel from Atsugi Naval Air Station partied. It was similar to the strip near Yokosuka base, but not as big or busy. Quite small as a matter of fact compared to the size of the base. “I’ll probably never get a cab now,” I said to myself. Anyway, I waited patiently.
That’s the problem being a foreigner and living out in the suburbs near a military base (and maybe all of Japan for that matter). Most Japanese, store owners, cab drivers etc. are leery of you and rightly so. A few American servicemen have been known to cause trouble; not want to pay their bills; want to pay in US $; shoplift; and basically make it rough on the 99.9% of others who don’t cause trouble. Today, it is a problem with foreigners other than US servicemen also. But it only takes one or two, or a bad story in the newspaper to screw it up for the rest. I was feeling that effect now. If I were in Tokyo or Yokohama maybe I wouldn’t have much of a problem catching a cab as they were cosmopolitan towns and the cabbies were used to picking up foreigners. However, it's just another form of discrimination a foreigner faces in Japan no matter how you try to justify it.
The suburb I lived in was odd in that there were 3 different US military facilities located within about a 5 or 6 mile radius. There was the US Army base at Camp Zama, along with their hospital and the 406th Medical Lab, Pacific, at Sagami Ono station, the Atsugi Naval Air Base, and the small Naval Intelligence base at Kamiseya where they used to (still?) eavesdrop on the Soviet Union, North Korea and China. Even with three bases, I don’t think the total personnel added up to a third of what were stationed at the Yokosuka Naval Port or theYokota and Tachikawa Air Force Bases near Tokyo.
After about 15 minutes another cab came by and didn’t stop. Maybe they thought I wanted to go to the Atsugi Navy base as it was only a short ride away and minimum fare of about 280 yen. I was really getting frustrated now. I waited about another ten minutes and started to walk to the main thoroughfare. I thought for sure I’d be able to hail a cab there. No such luck. Four or five cabs passed me by.
Now I was getting angry. Here it was almost an hour since my train arrived and I’m the only one unable to catch a cab. I began to understand how Afro-Americans feel in the US when they are unable to catch a cab late at night. I personally never faced any discrimination until I came to Japan and really never gave it much thought. I guess one has to actually feel discrimination firsthand to really understand it.
Anyway, I tried to hail three more cabs but to no avail. I thought about walking home, but calculated that it was too far and would probably take me about two hours. I contemplated going to one of the snacks or something till the first train at 5am, but I didn’t feel much like hanging out all night. I was tired, still a little drunk, and had to be at school later on in the afternoon.
I walked back to the cab stand at the station as I figured that would be my best bet. Maybe some brave cab driver in need of a fare might stop. Since it was a little past 2 am I figured my chances were slim as there were no more trains.
As I was standing at the dark cab stand I glanced over to an area where there were about 20 or 30 bicycles parked. My mind started to spin. “Hmmm,” I said. “What if I just 'borrow' a bike and ride it home? Screw these Japanese for not picking me up.” I banished that thought from my mind quickly as that is not my nature. But as I stood in the lonely darkness, with not a single cab coming by and my anger rising, that thought began to fester until I decided that yes, I will abscond with a bicycle.
Note: Back in the 70’s, and today also, the bicycle was the main means of transportation for most Japanese to travel to the train station, do shopping, or basically just get around within an hour or so from their home. Every home has at least one. I remember I was amazed at the literally hundreds and hundreds of bicycles parked at train stations and in front of supermarkets back then. Practically everyone owned a bicycle but me, as I preferred brisk walking.
Anyway, I walked over to the dimly lit area and began looking at the bikes. Just as I thought, they were locked. I walked down the row and looked at each bicycle individually until I came upon a bike that wasn’t locked. As luck would have it, it had the owners name written in magic marker on the fender as do most bicycles in Japan.
Also, in Japan all bicycles sold come with a small lock located on the front frame near the spokes. All you have to do is push a small lever so a rod enters the area of the spokes and remove the key. The bicycle is then unrideable.
I continued walking down the rows of bicycles until I came upon one that had neither a name nor was it locked. I checked it out and it was your typical okusan, housewife, bicycle. It was small with a basket in the front; had no flat and was completely rideable. It was more than likely ridden by a salaryman. I looked around and the area was empty of people. But my conscience got the better of me and I decided to walk back to the main road and see if I could catch a cab again as I really didn’t want to steal someone’s bicycle.
After about 10 minutes another cab passed me by pretending he didn’t see me. It was then that I decided I would steal this bicycle. I walked quickly over to the area where the bicycle was parked like I wasn’t doing anything wrong, put my bag in the basket and peddled away like it was my own bicycle all the while keeping a sharp eye out for the police. I was also sure to engage the light on the front wheel as it’s a law in Japan that all bicycles being driven at night have a light.
It was only after five minutes of peddling that my heartbeat began to return to normal as I was afraid that someone had seen me. All in all it took about 40 minutes to peddle home and I was in my apartment by 3am.
I thought about returning that bicycle, but never did. It would’ve been so easy to peddle back to that station and leave it, but my girlfriend told me that I would be better off keeping it as it didn’t have a name on it and the owner, thinking that it was stolen, would probably not look for it again.
I kept it and it became my main means of transportation. Instead of walking the seven minutes to the train station everyday, I now rode “my” bicycle. Instead of taking a train to and a cab home, to party with my friends a few kilometers away, I now rode “my” bicycle. Instead of walking to the supermarket to do my shopping and walking home again with bags of groceries, I now rode “my” bicycle. And I made sure to lock it every time.
One summer’s night a few months later, about 9pm, I was riding it towards a bar a few kilometers away to party a little when a police car came up behind me and put on its red light. (I had forgotten to engage the light when I started out.) I stopped and was approached by two policemen. One of them asked me why I didn’t have my light on and I told him that I forgot. They asked me what I was doing and where I was going and I told them. They asked if I was from the base and I told them that I was a student. They then asked for my Gaijin Card and I showed it to them. After they were satisfied that my “papers were in order,” they asked me if this bike was mine and I told them that yes it was.
One policeman shined his light at the front and rear fenders and noticed I didn’t have my name on it. He asked me why and I told him that I didn’t know it had to be on there. (False!) They asked me where I bought it and I said it was given to me by a friend who moved out of the area. (False! I congratulated myself on my quick thinking.) They then asked me if I had it registered and I answered that I didn’t know it had to be registered. (True! I didn’t know that and no one told me.) Through it all I was polite to them and speaking polite Japanese and they even complimented me on my Japanese.
To my utter astonishment one policeman asked me in a real polite way if I wouldn’t mind getting off the bicycle so he could check the registration number. He apologized and said that there had been a rash of bicycle thefts and he just wanted to check. I answered in the affirmative and got off. Now I was really scared and thought I was done for. A thousand thoughts went through my head in a second and I was sure that the person I stole it from had registered it. He flipped it over and shined his light on the frame to where the number was imprinted. He wrote the number down and got back in the police car where I heard him calling it in.
I tried as best I could to remain real cool while his partner engaged me in conversation such as how long I lived there, what I was studying, did I like Japanese food, you know, the usual 20 question routine. (If they were seasoned at interrogation, I was sure they knew I was nervous and lying.) I answered him as coolly as I could while keeping an ear out listening to the conversation of the other policeman with dispatch. I knew I was failing as I could feel the sweat beginning to build on my forehead this hot, humid night.
There was a lull while dispatch checked the number and, after a minute or two, I heard them responding: “No such number is registered anywhere in the area.” I wondered if the policeman I was talking to noticed my relief at hearing this. The other one got out of the car and apologized again for checking and asked that I register it so that, in case someone stole it, it may be recovered. He also said that it’s a law to have the light engaged when riding at night. I apologized to them and they got back in their car and left.
Man was that close. Thank God the person I stole it from never reported it or registered it. I don’t know what would’ve happened, but I do know I would probably have ended up getting arrested and having to appear before a judge. Even though I knew I was “profiled” and stopped because I was gaijin, it didn’t bother me as I was accustomed to it living near a base. I understood why they did it and their reasons for doing so. After all, there were very few, if any, servicemen riding bicycles outside of base. Besides, the only times I was ever asked for my gaijin card (and I could count those times on one hand) was while living near the base. It was only later, after this experience that I was more alert and noticed that the policemen did stop even Japanese who were riding without their light on. I did end up registering it and putting my name on it though.
The only other time I was stopped on that bicycle was when I was riding with my girlfriend on the back. We were told that it was dangerous and not allowed even though everybody did it. They didn’t ask for my Gaijin Card either.
After all these years do I regret stealing that bicycle? Yes I do. But considering the circumstances, and my age, I guess I justified it in my mind at the time. I doubt if I would ever do it today, but I can’t say for sure what I would do if no cab would pick me up in the middle of nowhere just because I was gaijin. Maybe I would just find a place to hang out for the rest of the night.
I do feel sorry for the person I stole it from though. Maybe it was a student, a salaryman, a housewife, a single woman or guy, and they were really inconvenienced but, if it was locked, I never would’ve taken it. If you live, or do eventually live in Japan and own a bicycle, make sure you lock it or someone may just “borrow” it if they are inconvenienced.
By the way, I did get hit by a truck once while riding it, but that’s another story.
If you live in Tokyo, Yokohama, Osaka, or some other major city, and party there, you can probably catch a cab to your home for a couple of thousand yen. Unfortunately, if you live in the suburbs, your partying may take place about an hour or so by train from your home and you may have to take two or three different trains to get to your destination. In that case, you have to be careful and know the schedules well enough to know what time you have to leave your friends in order to get back home. This takes practice and precise planning.
Anyway, I had been out partying a little too long one night with some of my students west of Yokohama back in the day, and did miss my last train home. I had to catch three different trains and figured I had just barely enough time to catch all three. As I was having such a good time, I tried to time the last train and missed.
I arrived at Yokohama station via the Kehin-Kyukko line, stumbled up the steps and made my through the labyrinth of the massive station to catch the Sotetsu line to Ebina station where I’d then catch the Odakyu Line home. To my dismay, the overhead schedule informed me that the only train available was for Sagami Otsuka station and not Ebina as the last train to Ebina station had just left 10 minutes previously. “Oh well,” I thought to myself, “I’ll just have to take a cab home from Sagami Otsuka.” It wasn’t that far and would only cost a couple of thousand yen at most. No problem.
Most people who have had any experience riding the trains in Japan know the last train out of a station is filled with drunken businessmen and party people making their way home. If you’re lucky, or unlucky for that matter, you just may see someone spill their ramen out all over the floor in your car. Or you may have someone sitting next you fall asleep on your shoulder. Lord knows I’ve experienced both.
I bought my ticket, managed to get a seat, and settled myself in for the 40 minute ride to the end of line. As this was the last train, it was a local and would stop at about 12 or 13 stations. I crossed my feet at the ankles, tucked them back under the seat, folded my arms across my chest, lowered my head till my chin was almost touching my chest, closed my eyes, and assumed the position of a typical commuter. Believe it or not, one can really catch up on one’s sleep on the trains. I didn’t worry if I fell asleep as the conductor would wake me up as he would most of the other stragglers.
I did fall asleep and woke up just as the train was pulling into the last station. By the time the train arrived at its last stop it was a little past 1am. I, and about 20 or so other drunk passengers made our way up the stairs, through the ticket taker, and down the stairs to our destinations. Me, I headed for the cab stand.
There were about 4 other people standing there and I was the last in line. The cabs came at irregular intervals and ferried their passengers to their destinations. Soon I was the only one waiting. I waited for about 10 minutes and finally a cab came. The driver slowed, took one look at me and sped up again not even stopping. “What the fu.....” I thought to myself. I figured he was just another cab driver afraid to pick up gaijin late at night.
Then it dawned on me that Sagami Otsuka was the area where US Navy personnel from Atsugi Naval Air Station partied. It was similar to the strip near Yokosuka base, but not as big or busy. Quite small as a matter of fact compared to the size of the base. “I’ll probably never get a cab now,” I said to myself. Anyway, I waited patiently.
That’s the problem being a foreigner and living out in the suburbs near a military base (and maybe all of Japan for that matter). Most Japanese, store owners, cab drivers etc. are leery of you and rightly so. A few American servicemen have been known to cause trouble; not want to pay their bills; want to pay in US $; shoplift; and basically make it rough on the 99.9% of others who don’t cause trouble. Today, it is a problem with foreigners other than US servicemen also. But it only takes one or two, or a bad story in the newspaper to screw it up for the rest. I was feeling that effect now. If I were in Tokyo or Yokohama maybe I wouldn’t have much of a problem catching a cab as they were cosmopolitan towns and the cabbies were used to picking up foreigners. However, it's just another form of discrimination a foreigner faces in Japan no matter how you try to justify it.
The suburb I lived in was odd in that there were 3 different US military facilities located within about a 5 or 6 mile radius. There was the US Army base at Camp Zama, along with their hospital and the 406th Medical Lab, Pacific, at Sagami Ono station, the Atsugi Naval Air Base, and the small Naval Intelligence base at Kamiseya where they used to (still?) eavesdrop on the Soviet Union, North Korea and China. Even with three bases, I don’t think the total personnel added up to a third of what were stationed at the Yokosuka Naval Port or theYokota and Tachikawa Air Force Bases near Tokyo.
After about 15 minutes another cab came by and didn’t stop. Maybe they thought I wanted to go to the Atsugi Navy base as it was only a short ride away and minimum fare of about 280 yen. I was really getting frustrated now. I waited about another ten minutes and started to walk to the main thoroughfare. I thought for sure I’d be able to hail a cab there. No such luck. Four or five cabs passed me by.
Now I was getting angry. Here it was almost an hour since my train arrived and I’m the only one unable to catch a cab. I began to understand how Afro-Americans feel in the US when they are unable to catch a cab late at night. I personally never faced any discrimination until I came to Japan and really never gave it much thought. I guess one has to actually feel discrimination firsthand to really understand it.
Anyway, I tried to hail three more cabs but to no avail. I thought about walking home, but calculated that it was too far and would probably take me about two hours. I contemplated going to one of the snacks or something till the first train at 5am, but I didn’t feel much like hanging out all night. I was tired, still a little drunk, and had to be at school later on in the afternoon.
I walked back to the cab stand at the station as I figured that would be my best bet. Maybe some brave cab driver in need of a fare might stop. Since it was a little past 2 am I figured my chances were slim as there were no more trains.
As I was standing at the dark cab stand I glanced over to an area where there were about 20 or 30 bicycles parked. My mind started to spin. “Hmmm,” I said. “What if I just 'borrow' a bike and ride it home? Screw these Japanese for not picking me up.” I banished that thought from my mind quickly as that is not my nature. But as I stood in the lonely darkness, with not a single cab coming by and my anger rising, that thought began to fester until I decided that yes, I will abscond with a bicycle.
Note: Back in the 70’s, and today also, the bicycle was the main means of transportation for most Japanese to travel to the train station, do shopping, or basically just get around within an hour or so from their home. Every home has at least one. I remember I was amazed at the literally hundreds and hundreds of bicycles parked at train stations and in front of supermarkets back then. Practically everyone owned a bicycle but me, as I preferred brisk walking.
Anyway, I walked over to the dimly lit area and began looking at the bikes. Just as I thought, they were locked. I walked down the row and looked at each bicycle individually until I came upon a bike that wasn’t locked. As luck would have it, it had the owners name written in magic marker on the fender as do most bicycles in Japan.
Also, in Japan all bicycles sold come with a small lock located on the front frame near the spokes. All you have to do is push a small lever so a rod enters the area of the spokes and remove the key. The bicycle is then unrideable.
I continued walking down the rows of bicycles until I came upon one that had neither a name nor was it locked. I checked it out and it was your typical okusan, housewife, bicycle. It was small with a basket in the front; had no flat and was completely rideable. It was more than likely ridden by a salaryman. I looked around and the area was empty of people. But my conscience got the better of me and I decided to walk back to the main road and see if I could catch a cab again as I really didn’t want to steal someone’s bicycle.
After about 10 minutes another cab passed me by pretending he didn’t see me. It was then that I decided I would steal this bicycle. I walked quickly over to the area where the bicycle was parked like I wasn’t doing anything wrong, put my bag in the basket and peddled away like it was my own bicycle all the while keeping a sharp eye out for the police. I was also sure to engage the light on the front wheel as it’s a law in Japan that all bicycles being driven at night have a light.
It was only after five minutes of peddling that my heartbeat began to return to normal as I was afraid that someone had seen me. All in all it took about 40 minutes to peddle home and I was in my apartment by 3am.
I thought about returning that bicycle, but never did. It would’ve been so easy to peddle back to that station and leave it, but my girlfriend told me that I would be better off keeping it as it didn’t have a name on it and the owner, thinking that it was stolen, would probably not look for it again.
I kept it and it became my main means of transportation. Instead of walking the seven minutes to the train station everyday, I now rode “my” bicycle. Instead of taking a train to and a cab home, to party with my friends a few kilometers away, I now rode “my” bicycle. Instead of walking to the supermarket to do my shopping and walking home again with bags of groceries, I now rode “my” bicycle. And I made sure to lock it every time.
One summer’s night a few months later, about 9pm, I was riding it towards a bar a few kilometers away to party a little when a police car came up behind me and put on its red light. (I had forgotten to engage the light when I started out.) I stopped and was approached by two policemen. One of them asked me why I didn’t have my light on and I told him that I forgot. They asked me what I was doing and where I was going and I told them. They asked if I was from the base and I told them that I was a student. They then asked for my Gaijin Card and I showed it to them. After they were satisfied that my “papers were in order,” they asked me if this bike was mine and I told them that yes it was.
One policeman shined his light at the front and rear fenders and noticed I didn’t have my name on it. He asked me why and I told him that I didn’t know it had to be on there. (False!) They asked me where I bought it and I said it was given to me by a friend who moved out of the area. (False! I congratulated myself on my quick thinking.) They then asked me if I had it registered and I answered that I didn’t know it had to be registered. (True! I didn’t know that and no one told me.) Through it all I was polite to them and speaking polite Japanese and they even complimented me on my Japanese.
To my utter astonishment one policeman asked me in a real polite way if I wouldn’t mind getting off the bicycle so he could check the registration number. He apologized and said that there had been a rash of bicycle thefts and he just wanted to check. I answered in the affirmative and got off. Now I was really scared and thought I was done for. A thousand thoughts went through my head in a second and I was sure that the person I stole it from had registered it. He flipped it over and shined his light on the frame to where the number was imprinted. He wrote the number down and got back in the police car where I heard him calling it in.
I tried as best I could to remain real cool while his partner engaged me in conversation such as how long I lived there, what I was studying, did I like Japanese food, you know, the usual 20 question routine. (If they were seasoned at interrogation, I was sure they knew I was nervous and lying.) I answered him as coolly as I could while keeping an ear out listening to the conversation of the other policeman with dispatch. I knew I was failing as I could feel the sweat beginning to build on my forehead this hot, humid night.
There was a lull while dispatch checked the number and, after a minute or two, I heard them responding: “No such number is registered anywhere in the area.” I wondered if the policeman I was talking to noticed my relief at hearing this. The other one got out of the car and apologized again for checking and asked that I register it so that, in case someone stole it, it may be recovered. He also said that it’s a law to have the light engaged when riding at night. I apologized to them and they got back in their car and left.
Man was that close. Thank God the person I stole it from never reported it or registered it. I don’t know what would’ve happened, but I do know I would probably have ended up getting arrested and having to appear before a judge. Even though I knew I was “profiled” and stopped because I was gaijin, it didn’t bother me as I was accustomed to it living near a base. I understood why they did it and their reasons for doing so. After all, there were very few, if any, servicemen riding bicycles outside of base. Besides, the only times I was ever asked for my gaijin card (and I could count those times on one hand) was while living near the base. It was only later, after this experience that I was more alert and noticed that the policemen did stop even Japanese who were riding without their light on. I did end up registering it and putting my name on it though.
The only other time I was stopped on that bicycle was when I was riding with my girlfriend on the back. We were told that it was dangerous and not allowed even though everybody did it. They didn’t ask for my Gaijin Card either.
After all these years do I regret stealing that bicycle? Yes I do. But considering the circumstances, and my age, I guess I justified it in my mind at the time. I doubt if I would ever do it today, but I can’t say for sure what I would do if no cab would pick me up in the middle of nowhere just because I was gaijin. Maybe I would just find a place to hang out for the rest of the night.
I do feel sorry for the person I stole it from though. Maybe it was a student, a salaryman, a housewife, a single woman or guy, and they were really inconvenienced but, if it was locked, I never would’ve taken it. If you live, or do eventually live in Japan and own a bicycle, make sure you lock it or someone may just “borrow” it if they are inconvenienced.
By the way, I did get hit by a truck once while riding it, but that’s another story.