A Story of Water - In search of the purity of water

Publié par Sandrine Arlaud

April 2015 Japan #0 On the way to Japan - April 9, 2015

Ours was one of the few planes to leave. On that day of the traffic controllers' strike, Nice airport looked like a big fair where hundreds of people spent their time eating, drinking or sleeping. Our plane had left on time. When it arrived to Istanbul, it circled over the city for twenty minutes. Bad weather, no doubt. Suddenly, the plane had started its descent. It was the noise that alerted me. The vibrations of the cabin. It was dark, it was raining, but you could make out the city lights nearby. Too close. The passenger sitting next to me gave me the worried and embarrassed look of a person who measures the gravity of events without wanting to believe it. It's going too fast, she whispered to me. The lights were approaching at a startling speed. I couldn’t decide if I was terrorized or excited. My neighbor leaned closer to me. I could see sweat running down her neck. She mumbled: Oh fuck... Oh fuck! OH FUCK!!! It was at this paroxysm that the plane violently touched the tarmac. My badly fastened belt did not hold me back, I was thrown forward, my neighbor found herself in my seat, there were cries. The plane swerved on the ground, one side, then the other, before desperately continuing its infernal slide in the deafening screeching of the brakes. The crazy plane didn’t stop. Helpless prisoners, we awaited the final crash against another plane or a building. After an eternity, it stopped. The grateful passengers applauded.

Japan #1 Going to Tokyo - April 10

Going to Tokyo was not planned. Not thinkable. Not even imaginable. Ten days before I left, I knew nothing about it. I was unexpectedly invited. The journey was long, the night short. One night in broad daylight, the trajectory of the plane playing with the sun. Unless it was the opposite. I don’t know. I must have dozed off. Having arrived to Tokyo, the day lasted only two hours. Barely awake, I had to go to bed.

Tokyo - April 11?

I didn't understand everything, so today I don't know what day it is. Especially since the day has been so busy that I have the impression that three days have passed in one.

Tokyo Skytree had disappeared in low, gray clouds. It was raining. In the company of a small group, including a Japanese engineer leading us, there was a dreamy boat ride on the water of the Sumida River that winds between the glass office buildings. The makeshift huts covered in blue tarpaulin confirmed to me what I already knew: here the homeless of Tokyo survive.

Then a stroll in a park. One of those, you come out with despair. The desperation of never being able to reach this degree of perfection and harmony between sky, earth, water, plants and minerals. Perfection here has the appearance of natural. Except that nothing is natural. Everything is meticulously planned and shaped, often over several generations, with the greatest precision. At the exit of the park, we went to lunch at Tsukiji fish market. It was, before it closed in 2018, one of the largest in the world. We smelled it before getting there. Tide. Fresh fish. A gigantic chaos of cranes, utility vehicles, men and women. We walked there in odorous mud, which did not make the elegant Japanese women wearing wooden shoes or high heels, recoil. And we ate there divinely. After this, you will be forever unsatisfied with the sushi trend in Europe. The digestive walk in the luxury district of Ginza was beneficial. Just for the pleasure of looking at the beautiful boutiques, breathing the city air, entering the huge shopping centers.

At the end of the day, we followed with apprehension our Japanese guide to the theater. He had booked a four and a half hour Kabuki* evening for us. For travelers in the midst of jet lag, it was a gamble! Several one-act shows, performed exclusively by men. As women were banned from the stage in the 17th century for reasons of morality, male actors specialized in female roles. The costumes, make-up, the play, the voices are codified according to rules that escaped us, but the visuals were fantastic. Headset on the ear, we followed historical tales, tragic love stories played in Japanese, simultaneously translated into English, while drinking and eating right in the theatre, exquisite foods of which I couldn’t say if they were vegetable or meat. In Japan, the notion of a live performance takes on its full meaning. The brain was fully engaged. Each in our turn, we succumbed to briefly dozing off during the performance, but no doubt thanks to the headset, we didn’t lose track of the stories. When it was time to finally go to bed, the biological rhythm prevailed: no more sleeping! Everyone spent their sleepless night as best they could.

* Kabuki: epic form of traditional Japanese theater. Centered on an acting that is both spectacular and codified, it is distinguished by the elaborate make-up of the actors and the abundance of strong visual scenes intended to underline the paroxysms and twists of the play.

Japan #2 Tokyo - April 12

The next day, I regained the sense of time. The morning was clear. Not my mind. I started the day by washing myself with conditioner. In my defense, I will say that it was difficult to tell the difference with the soap bottle, totally similar if it wasn't for the color of the liquid and the label ... written in Japanese. Alone in Tokyo this Sunday of April, I decided to wander around in the gigantic city. On my metro map, there was a large green spot right in the middle of the network. Rather than the city tourist sites that I already knew from a previous trip to Tokyo in 2009, I chose to visit the park. I discovered in my travel guide that the green spot corresponded to the gardens of the Imperial Palace. Like any big city in the world, the best way to get somewhere - and to come back! - can only be on the metro. It led me, with some initial confusion, to the wooden gates of the old fortifications. I spent several hours in this garden under the blossoming cherry and plum trees, the Sakura, to end up sitting on a stone at the edge of the pond, in full contemplation of the koi carps swimming around at my feet.

Around 3 pm, my stomach brought me back to more trivial considerations. I forgot to eat! I bought some indeterminate food in a small supermarket and went back to the hotel to eat while waiting for my travel companions. My group of five men had now a nine-year old boy and a fourteen-year old girl with them, both switching from Japanese to English, and vice versa, as they would have changed their socks. Together, we went to an Onsen* located on the artificial island of Odaiba in Tokyo Bay. The island seemed natural, the Onsen was gigantic, the hot water came from a spring 1400 meters below Tokyo Bay. Built like an old town from the Edo period*, with shops, restaurants, hotel, it had multiple hot baths, with essences of various flowers or plants, and even a rejuvenating bath with the mysterious name of Coragu bath, a word that made sense when I later found out that it was about collagen!

Bathing is a great Japanese tradition. Soaking in hot water is a way of life. For me, ecstasy. Like everything in Japan, the ritual is very codified. I scrupulously followed the instructions of my young companion, not wanting to make mistakes. We entered the establishment and, like everywhere else, we took off our shoes at the entrance. Men and women separated; we undressed. In a cozy, humid and warm atmosphere, under a subdued light, we washed and rinsed ourselves several times, sitting on a small wooden bench. Then we could soak, wander completely naked from one bath to another. Here, we do not speak to each other, or only in a low voice. Here, we relax for hours.

On the way out, after a cold shower, we put on a floral-patterned yukata* on our naked bodies. We found our companions, just as naked under their gray yukata. It all sounds incredibly sensual, and without a doubt, it is. But in Japan, when we understand that the wrapping is always more important and more beautiful than the content, the notion of sensuality gives way to the indifference of the body.

Anyway, it was time to devote ourselves to another extremely important activity: eating. We settled down, seated on cushions, around a traditional low table whose center was occupied by a grill. The children were delighted to take care of the gaijin, the foreigners, arranging various meats and vegetables on the grill and serving us without any intervention from their fathers. Relaxed and well fed, we put our clothes back on, and returned to our hotel, hoping to finally sleep, but like the night before, everyone spent their sleepless night as best they could.

*Onsen: pool fed by a natural hot spring.

*Edo period: from 1600 to 1868; also old name of Tokyo.

*Yukata: light kimono.

JAPAN #3 Koga - April 13

This early Monday morning, we left Tokyo for a destination that I would roughly call Koga, no one among my companions having given me the exact name of the place. Early in the morning, eyes swollen from the sleep we didn’t have, we had a breakfast that I couldn't say exactly what it was. All I know it tasted good. I would not be able to describe it accurately. So, I don't. And it was beautiful. The notion of beauty is very important here. My companions, dressed as salarymen*, were very elegant. The Japanese salarymen were wearing, whatever their hierarchical position, a black suit, a white shirt and a discreet colored tie, while my engineers were more creative. One wore a bright blue shirt, the other a light gray jacket, the third a vermilion red tie. After two hours of driving in the suburbs, we arrived to an almost deserted place where there was a sanitized research center with huge bay windows of remarkable transparency. Everything is always very clean in Japan. A somewhat secret place, far from everything. No coincidence, I thought, here they might fear industrial espionage.

We were expected at the high security checkpoint where passports were exchanged for numbered badges. At this point, I was wondering what I was doing there, with my backpack, walking shoes, polar jacket, and loose hair. But, since morning, I had given up asking questions to these too busy men making the world of tomorrow in search of the purity of water. I was as discreet as possible as I entered the meeting room where six coffees had just been served. The count was quickly made, I was not scheduled in this meeting for chemical and environmental engineers. But now, I knew it: what I was wondering about was why nobody ever wondered about it. Suddenly I saw the embarrassed gaze of the Japanese host on me. And immediately, the others looked at me. Surprised. Suddenly, they were aware of my presence. My engineers just forgot I was with them. There were discussions, arguments, suggestions in Japanese and English. Obviously, they weren't sure what to do with me. It was decided that I would go as quickly as possible to the booked hotel in the nearest town, the name of which I still did not know. No big deal. The car stopped in front of the hotel, the driver got out to open the door for me, and bowed. The degree of inclination is variable. The lower it is, the more important the person it is intended for. I got an in-between one.

Here I would definitely find a city map and could find out information in my guidebook. I found myself dumped there, but I was very confident in front of the hotel reception desk where charming young Japanese women were smiling at me. Check in? Yes. The document that was put under my nose was written in Japanese. I presented my passport. A friendly receptionist filled out the document. I was told with a few English words that it was too early to go up to the room. I made myself understood that I wish to leave my suitcase at reception. I asked for a map. There was none. A young woman gave me a very nice leaflet with pictures that I supposed were the highlights of the city, but everything was written in Japanese. I asked for the name of the city. They didn’t understand me. I had the idea of going to the station. There, at least, I would find the name of the city written in Roman letters, and maybe a map. But how to get to the station without a map? So, I found myself in a town whose name I didn’t know, whose inhabitants, given the level of English at the hotel reception, probably didn’t speak a word of English, and without a map looking for a station to find a map. Maybe. At the hotel, I was told that the train station was close to the hotel. Anyway, that's what I thought I had understood. I left in the rain, congratulating myself on bringing an umbrella in my suitcase, and buying plastic boots from the Tokyo fish market. I went in the direction I was given. Approximately. And I found the station. No plan there either, but I had taken a leap forward. This city was Koga.

Satisfied, I roamed the streets at random. Nothing remarkable. When my pants were wet at knee height, I decided to walk into a shopping mall. I stopped by the tea department, amazed at the variety of them. Tiny elderly ladies offered me to join them in a tea tasting, at a table close to the tea stall. The conversation revolved around the qualities of the various teas in the form of onomatopoeias and gestures, sighs and giggles. I have no idea what I drank but it was exceptional. The teas on the shelves were unfortunately not for my purse. Tea in Japan is like wine in France. There are famous teas and great harvests.

I had to leave these ladies to go in search of food. It wasn't going to be easy. Going to a restaurant was unthinkable, I couldn't read the menus. Buying a box of bento* seemed the most accessible to me, but there were dozens of them in the food section, each of which was more mysterious than the last one. Choosing was difficult. And after that, what? It was raining, I haven't seen a single park. I stood there, in the center of an endless movement of rushed customers. I was able to observe that a place was reserved for the picnic inside the store, with tables, chairs, microwave, sink for washing hands. Japanese pragmatism! The bento, unsurprisingly, was delicious.

It was already 3 p.m. Time to go back to the hotel. My men were coming soon, I had to take care of their check-in, have a bath, and be ready for dinner in a smart outfit. Our American host was taking over that evening. Fluent in Japanese, he took us to a traditional restaurant. Kneeling or sitting cross-legged on cushions, we tasted both discomfort from our kneeling positions, and delight from delicious foods, without still knowing what we were eating. We were once again in the game of guessing. That evening we returned to the hotel with expectation for sleep. We slept better than the night before.

*Salaryman: non-executive worker of a company, anglicism.

*Bento Box: Contains rice, meat or fish, vegetables cooked or preserved in vinegar to eat away from home.

Japan #4 Koga- April 14

Tuesday. Wake up at 6:00 am. The engineers left to work, I had to return the hotel key. It was still raining heavily; I no longer had a room. An hour in the lobby gathering my belongings, and my ideas was just enough! Just before leaving, I managed to set off an alarm in the toilet by confusing the buttons on the remote control. There, I owe a little explanation. Japanese toilets should come with pages of user manual, but I'll make it short. There is a remote control usually located on the side of the toilet seat, with buttons marked in Japanese corresponding to various attractions: soothing music, seat heating, seat adjustment, various water jets and showers to various private parts, water temperature and, most importantly, the OFF button, usually in red for illiterates (I mean foreigners who cannot read Japanese). That morning I was in utter confusion: no remote control, but a wall panel of buttons, and inscriptions. It was when I got impatient knocks on my toilet door that I realized I must have done something utterly stupid. I opened the door, the receptionist rushed inside, looked suspiciously at me, asked: Alarm? Then mumbled to herself in front of the control panel. I just understood that I had pushed the alarm button. I experienced a long moment of solitude. It was time for me to get some fresh air on rainy streets.

I chose adventure out of town. I didn’t find the town of Koga in my travel guide, which proved that it was not a tourist destination. Before leaving, I checked Google map on my computer. The old town and the park were in the opposite directions. No particular assignment today, so I had plenty of time to explore. My first walk towards the old town didn't get me anywhere significant. I went the other way in search of the park. Approximately, if I walked in a straight line, I would arrive at the park. I entered small winding alleys, the houses were cute, the small gardens amazing. From house to house, from alleyway to alleyway, I soon found myself in the fields, having completely forgotten my goal, and lost my sense of direction. No one, not a single car, no trace of the city. I realized that I wouldn’t be able to find my way back. It was still raining heavily. I was lost. I had a moment of panic, thinking about the meeting with the engineers at 3:00 pm at the hotel. It was almost one o'clock ... A little lady appeared, I approached. Sumimasen, Koga station? Excuse me, Koga station? She was frightened. She ran away. I went on. I saw a utility car, and its driver. I asked him the same question. He explained to me, in Japanese, which direction I should go. With my basics of the language, I roughly understood that I had to walk to the direction of a tower, Tawā in Japanese. Arigatōgozaimasu! Thank you! After a few steps, I actually saw the tower. Reassured, I headed straight for the tower, but still going through the winding alleys. I concluded that in Japan, it doesn't matter which straight line you take as long as you arrive to your destination by roundabout routes. I had to have faith because I had no GPS on my phone, and no hotel address. Seeing a young man coming, who could be a student, I thought he had learnt English. I asked him again about my direction, and he confirmed in English. As the urban density increased, I was reassured. Soon, I recognized the area around the station.

At 3:00 p.m., I was at the hotel. That evening, we were travelling on the Shinkansen* to a new destination. Kameyama, in Nagoya Bay.

* Shinkansen: High speed train, put into service in 1964, which made Japan the pioneer of high-speed rail. Aesthetically superb, its top speed is 320 km/hour.

Japan #5 Kameyama - April 15

Having arrived late the day before in Kameyama, the night had been almost normal. It was still raining with strong gusts of wind that would flip any umbrella. I was about to spend a lazy morning, read with a good soak in hot water, when the engineers invited me to visit one of the most efficient wastewater treatment plants in the world in terms of the technology used. Not very glamorous, we will agree! But my curiosity was stronger than my laziness. Like my companions, I put on an elegant outfit. For the credibility of my presence, I had to look like a perfect secretary. Actually, this was a preamble since, a year later, I was hired by this French company, which was visiting the Japanese factory that day.

The factory stood in the middle of the countryside, a gigantic block of concrete and metal. After a presentation on how the factory works, we had to put on overalls, and a hard hat to enter the building. Here, no women. I have read enough books about Japan to know that here the women remain discreet. So, I took my place: I stayed at the rear behind the engineers, walking in a maze of huge tubes, pipes, and tanks, machines, and running up and down metal ladders.

We all use water without ever wondering what happens next. This was the subject of the presentations that followed, the techniques, biological and chemical processes of wastewater treatment. We had moved into the meeting room, leaving our shoes outside. We had put lovely slippers on that matched the color of our suits, ridiculously small for my western-footed companions. There were several presentations made in English by my engineers, simultaneously translated into Japanese, in the presence of Japanese engineers, and operators as well as their superiors. I must have been falling asleep for a few seconds around ten o’clock, but otherwise, to my surprise, the show was exciting. And what a pleasure to see my engineers in the spotlight! There was a final presentation made by our Japanese host. When the electronic Big Ben sounded its first blow - yes, the Japanese like Big Ben, there's one ringing in Tokyo at noon - our host exactly, precisely, closed the meeting. Boxes of bento were delivered into the meeting room, quickly eaten in silence.

We had free time in the afternoon. Abandoning our host to his Japanese life, mainly revolving around work, we, my three engineers and I, rented a car to go on an adventure. It was a dark stormy day; we had no goal except to be on vacation. Based on my experience the day before, leaving is good, yes, but knowing how to come back is even better, so we had a GPS. Out of the city, we drove at random through bamboo forests, and tea fields, sometimes lakes riddled with raindrops spread out before our eyes, rivers or waterfalls appeared around a bend, blue roofs shone in the rain, the blossoming sakura* gave the landscape the appearance of a cottony painting that the European Impressionists painters wouldn’t have denied, in the distance dark blue mountains rose in the mist. A Japanese print! Sometimes we would stop, free to run and laugh in the rain. We were like children, happy.

The Indian engineer having the same passion as me for chocolate, joined me on a hunt. But where to find chocolate in a small traditional Japanese village deep in the countryside? We walked into a grocery store run by an elderly lady. From her look, I could tell she was worried. How not to be worried in front of these three gigantic foreign fellows? I immediately found the few rare chocolate bars on the shelf; I have a sixth sense for that. Japanese chocolate! I bought a stock of it. The old lady was reassured, but not the two dogs that began to growl, and bark under the counter. They were ugly. The dogs must have thought the same of us, they've probably never seen non-Japanese people. We entered into a discussion, as much as possible, with our basics of the language. She wanted to know where we were from. We were able to answer until then, but afterwards she had to be satisfied with her monologue. Leaving her with the regret of not being able to communicate, we were on the road again.

We found ourselves on a switchback road, climbing a mountain. At the pass, we got out of the car. Stationed on the edge of a pine-strewn cliff, in the darkness of the storm, we contemplated, while eating chocolate, the distant appearance of Nagoya in the sun. Here we were touching the sublime. We had to shake ourselves up to leave. Our Japanese host was waiting for us at the hotel.

That evening, he took us to a popular tavern, a favorite place for men to drink sake. No women here. The noise level was already very high when we arrived. It would only amplify over the course of the evening. We were there at my request. I wanted to drink hot sake. Never offer to drink sake to a Japanese! By the third glass, I realized that the degrees were on the rise. Our host was ordering stronger, and stronger sake. The Indian engineer and I were the first to be out of the game at the third sake. The Hungarian engineers kept going, I don't know how much they drank with the Japanese engineer, I completely lost touch along the way. I couldn't say what we ate either. We were hungry. Was it the effect of the sake: the dishes landed on the table like rain on the sidewalk, we dove in. It was exquisite. As the levels of alcohol, and body temperature increased, the noise level in the room increased too. The Japanese engineer was competing with me on facial color. Dark crimson, he won. There were laughs, and giggles. The languages mingled in the ethylic confusion, English, French, Japanese, Hungarian. Fortunately, the hotel was not far away. We returned on foot. Two Hungarians took charge of the Japanese, each holding him firmly by the arm. That night, no insomnia came on anybody.

* Sakura: plum and cherry blossoms.

Japan #6 - April 16

If I had to keep only one image of Japan, it would be from that night in the Onsen. I was lying naked in a pool of very hot water. Water vapor rose to the sky. Night was falling, a light breeze was blowing through the nearby bamboo forest. Birds were still singing in the dim light. One by one, the candles were lit in the candle holders placed on the ground. The women were silent. On the other side of the wall, I could hear the men. I recognized the laughter of my companions. I closed my eyes. I have no more words...

Thank you to our hosts for making our stay in Japan such a wonderful time. Arigatōgozaimashita!