Edifice of the Week: LDS temple

This week's featured building is the LDS temple here in Tokyo. Completed in 1980, it is one of only two such temples in Japan. The temple is about a ten-minute walk from our home. Next door to it is the meetinghouse where we attend regular Sunday meetings.

For those not familiar with LDS temples, these are buildings dedicated to our faith's most sacred rites, such as marriage. Closed off from the outside world, they provide a haven for learning and contemplation. I appreciate the special, calm spirit I feel there. It has been many years since Cindy and I were married (in the Washington D.C. temple) and regular temple visits have been part of our life. So it's great to have a temple so close at hand.

Like most structures here in Tokyo, where acreage is at such a premium, the temple takes advantage of vertical space. It is built on a lot just under half an acre, but has a floor area of over 50,000 square feet. Because of its location, it is not easy to get a good photo of the whole temple. From across the street, its spire overlooks the lower portion of Arusigawa Memorial Park, a beautiful spot in the middle of Minami Azabu.

In the dedicatory prayer for the temple, LDS president Spencer W. Kimball remembered its neighborhood: "O Lord, we pray Thee to bless and sanctify the grounds on which this Temple stands, and with it, the fences, the walks, paths, the trees, plants, flowers and shrubbery that grow in this area. May they blossom beautifully and be pleasant for all and a haven of peace and rest for holy meditation."

Merry Christmas!

To all our friends, wherever you are: May the blessings of this season rest upon you and your homes.

Tom, Cindy, Sherry and C. J.

Sign of the Week: Police Patrol

This sign is at entry to the grocery store immediately across the street from our apartment. It's comforting to know police patrol here frequently. Actually, the sign is probably unnecessary. From its location, you can usually see at least two policemen on duty.
























The wording of signs like this often makes me smile. But actually, when you think about it, they do a pretty good job of communicating, for all their awkwardness. And I appreciate the effort. I mean, if I were asked to make a sign to put up at Timberline shopping center to help Japanese visitors understand policemen were on duty, I wouldn't do very well.

Edifice of the Week: "typical" apartment building

This week's selection is not a famous landmark, nor does it tower over its neighborhood. It is simply a typical apartment building in Azabu-Juban. Of course, as we've reviewed in earlier posts, "typical" in this neighborhood can mean it is somehow different from the other buildings on the block.
























Why did the architect choose this shape? It seems an extreme choice to me--I mean, wouldn't it generate a lot more useful floor space in this ultra-crowded city to have this building "normally" squared off at the top? Wouldn't that bring in more rent revenues, or at least be more efficient?

Maybe there's another reason, a practical engineering concern that is beyond my comprehension. I know nothing of such things. But it may be that this is simply an example of our neighborhood's aesthetic: making something different simply for variety's sake.

Vehicle of the Week: Nissan Cube

Here is the popular Nissan Cube, a small MPV that has been on the market here in Japan for years (2006 was the first year for this version, however). It looks sort of like a shrunken-down Scion.



Note the offset rear window which wraps around the left rear. The back door opens to the side, an interesting feature.


Smaller cars are becoming more popular in the U. S., and I understand Nissan is mulling an entry to the American market with this car. If that happens, remember...you saw it here first!

Doggies in the 'hood

As you might imagine, living in Tokyo has presented us with plenty of opportunities to experience "culture shock." On top of this, we are also dealing with a neigborhood that is much more exclusive than we're used to. When we moved to Cary, North Carolina a few years ago, I used to say that actually, we'd just moved from Sewell to Moorestown. Well, now we've moved from Sewell to Manhattan's upper east side. So we "don't belong" on more than one level.

Just how chichi is Azabu-Juban? One indicator is the high doggie factor. We're not talking about dogs, now--our neighborhood in Sewell has plenty of dogs--but doggies. Teacups and toys. Miniatures. Dogs with paws that never touch ground out of doors. Dogs coiffed and costumed.

Have you got a dog hospital in your neighborhood? You may. What about a dog cemetery and memorial park? A dog boutique? A dog salon? Dog spa? Dog aromatherapy? Dog massage? We have all of these and more within five blocks of each other.

It's fun to see the doggies--they're cute, even if the doggie culture is a little surreal to us. But we miss our Fritz, as I've mentioned before. Still, if he were here, he would probably feel as much culture shock as we do.

Proxy grandparents Christmas party

The Tokyo 1st (English-speaking) LDS Ward, our church congregation, has a number of senior couples who are here as volunteer missionaries, working at the Tokyo temple. Most of them are grandparents, far away from their grandchildren during this holiday season. On the other hand, the congregation also has young families, with children whose grandparents are far away in the States.


This being the situation, some of the grandparents decided to hold special Christmas party for the children. As long-distance grandparents ourselves, Cindy and I were happy to be invited to help out. We had a sit-down breakfast for all the families, then some Christmas carols, and finally, a visit from Santa. (By the way--it's a small world sometimes--Santa was Dr. Ames, a former business school professor of mine who is now here as a consultant).

Cindy and I really enjoyed ourselves, and C. J. avoided missing his annual conversation with Santa. The adopted grandchildren seemed to have fun, too, and had fun singing with them. But we do miss little Marigold.

Meet me at Hachiko

Friday night is date night, and Cindy and I met in Shibuya for some shopping. I understand weekend nights are usually pretty busy in this neighborhood, but with gift-buying season at its peak, it was particularly crowded. Pictures don't really do it justice; imagine Times Square in Manhattan, only bigger and more crowded (and more polite).

We decided to meet at the statue of Hachiko. Hachiko was a dog born in the 1920s--an Akita. The story is that he would come to meet his master at Shibuya station faithfully every evening. After a few years, the master died while away. The little dog kept coming to the station to wait for him every evening for years. He became famous as a symbol of loyalty. After the dog passed away, citizens commissioned a bronze statue to be placed at the station entrance. The statue was melted down for weapons during the austerity of WWII, but re-made in the years following. Since Hachiko is so well-known, and Shibuya station is a real labyrinth, the statue has become a favorite landmark and meeting place.

There is just one problem with a well-known meetingplace--you're not going to be the only ones using it. As the picture below shows, actually finding each other at Hachiko might not be as easy as it sounds.

But after a little searching, we linked up fine. We also met a group of youth from the Tokyo South Stake of our church. They were meeting to go carolling. C. J. was en route to join them.

We shopped for Christmas decorations at "Tokyu Hands," a large arts and crafts store, then strolled around looking at the decorations and getting to know the area a little.

In a remarkable coincidence among such throngs, we came across C. J. and some of the rest of the youth on their way to get something to eat after caroling. Cindy and I realized we had worked up quite an appetite ourselves. We wanted something we could sink our teeth into, so we tried a Kentucky Fried Chicken we came across.

The chicken was about what you'd expect from KFC, and certainly filling. One slight difference from the states was that they leave the chicken's foot on, connected to the drumstick. Cindy didn't care for this. The biscuits were interesting. They had a hole in the middle, like a doughnut. I don't know how to describe their texture well, but they were only vaguely like stateside biscuits. They came with maple-flavored pancake syrup to drizzle over them.

Things were still hopping in Shibuya when we left. We caught the Ginza subway line up to Aoyama Itchome ("Blue Mountain First Street"), changed for the Oedo line to our station, Azabu-Juban, and walked home. The trip only took about 30 minutes, even with the crowds.

We wonder if our Fritz is looking for us to come home, like Hachiko all those years ago...we miss him, and we're looking forward to seeing him in May.

Building wrap

In one of my first posts, I touched on the fact that our apartment building is undergoing renovation, and that the part being worked on is all wrapped in a barrier that prevents anyone from seeing the construction taking place. The building in blue in the picture below is another example. In the weeks since, I've noticed that this seems to be a Tokyo-wide phenomenon: building renovation, demolition, or construction only takes place behind curtains.


One reason this makes sense is that buildings are crowded so closely together. The dust and paint from a project would threaten nearby structures and public areas. And this is a city that washes its sidewalks by hand.

Something else must be at play here, hoewever. Even large building projects, set off by themselves, are completely wrapped until finished, apparently. For example, we passed this site on the train the other week. Imagine the additional expense this cocooning involved.


Maybe the construction wrapping is as much a bow to visual aesthetics as anything else. Rather than show something to the world that is unfinished, messy, or unsightly, they present a barrier that sends an acceptable signal: work in progress.

Thinking about this, I remember my experience bringing gifts to my co-workers when I first came here (an important ritual). I was told that the wrapping was as important as the gift itself. Thank goodness I had Cindy's help. Sure enough, when the gifts were passed out, there was much admiration of the paper, and how each present was wrapped.

So, maybe building wrap in Tokyo is more than just a dust shield, and more than just a visual screen. Perhaps it even functions to heighten the anticipation of something new--like a present under the Christmas tree.

Edifice of the Week: DoCoMo Tower

This week we salute the DoCoMo Tower in Shinjuku. It rises to 492 feet. To put this in context, it is only about a third of the height of the Empire State Building. Still, it is one of the five tallest buildings in Tokyo, and towers over the other skyscrapers in its neighborhood. Aside from its height, this building has a number of features which make it memorable.

I see this building every day at work from this vantage point (the south). When I first viewed it, I thought something looked odd, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Later, I realized that for such a large building, it had very few windows. A colleague told me that the reason for this is that very few people work in the building--much of it is filled with computers and machinery. NTT DoCoMo, the building's owner, is the largest cell phone company in Japan. The entire top part of the structure is a cell phone tower.

From the north side, the building looks down on Shinjuku station, the busiest train station in the world. Every day 3.5 million people commute through it. A few years ago, DoCoMo installed a large clock near the top of the north side of the tower, so commuters could easily see the the time. The clock face has a radius of about 60 feet. When the clock was installed, the structure became the tallest clock tower in the world.

I understand that there is a lighting system that tells commuters whether or not they'll need an umbrella when they leave work--you just look to see what color the lights are on the top. I've just heard about this, and haven't yet got the hang of which lights represent which conditions.

Sign of the Week: Don't Cross Against the Light

This sign is at a busy pedestrian crossing at one of the major Tokyo streets, the Meiji-dori. I've mentioned before the distinct absence of jaywalkers, and attributed it to public virtue. At this intersection, at least, maybe people just don't want to get killed. The car in my photo helps make the point.

I'm not sure if the lightning bolts emanating from the car in the picture represent a blaring horn, squealing brakes, or just the sheer power of the car's momentum. There's no mistaking the look on the hapless jaywalker's face, however. He knows he's a goner. If only he hadn't been so impatient! Notice further the little beads of sweat springing from the car. The driver is panicking: "Where did that little man come from? I'll never be able to stop in time!" When you cross against the light, you are not only hurting yourself, you're playing havoc with the lives of unsuspecting drivers. So please--it's just not worth it. Even if you don't care about yourself, wait for the light.

Vehicle of the Week: the Yakimo truck

Some vehicles are fast. Some are sporty. Some are roomy. Some are luxurious. Some are tiny. But only one in our neighborhood can make your mouth water before it's even in sight. It's the pick-up truck that belongs to the yakiimo man.


In the bed of the truck is a wood-burning oven. No kidding--in the picture, you can see the firewood stacked next to it. The white pipe is the chimney.

Yakiimo are roasted sweet potatoes. While they get piping hot in the oven, the yakiimo man slowly cruises the neighborhood, stopping now and then to make a sale, or tend to the taters.

The first hint the yakiimo man is nearby is the distinctive cry "yaki-iiiiiiii-mooooo," delivered in a slow, deep-register sing-song. Speakers atop the truck's cab broadcast the welcome news. The second clue--if the wind is right--is the delicious aroma. C.J. can testify that I have, on occasion, altered course while out on a walk in order to intercept this vehicle.

Buy a yakiimo, and it's too hot to hold. The vendor puts it in a bag for you. A little salt, a little butter, and there's not much better, particularly on a chilly night. And the nights are starting to get chilly. So, for this week, hats off to the yakiimo truck!

Edifice of the Week: Azabu Tower

For the first installment of Edifice of the Week, I've chosen a building just a couple of blocks from our residence. It's called Azabu Tower.


Since much of the city was destroyed in WW II (the neighborhood we live in now was totally demolished) few buildings are over fifty years old. Some (like Azabu Tower) seem to have been built with a sense of whimsy. I was going to say it is incongruous with the rest of the neighborhood, but I haven't really noticed a prevailing style among these newer buildings. Maybe doing things differently is the aesthetic. Regardless, it obviously takes great engineering to build something like this.

Vehicle of the Week: Toyota Ractis

Welcome to the first edition of Vehicle of the Week. There are plenty of cars in the city I've never seen before. Some are just variations of vehicles the Japanese companies make for the American market. Others you can only get here or in other parts of Asia. They tend toward smaller models than we're used to, which makes sense because the streets can be tiny, and the people who drive the cars are smaller than most Americans.



This model is the Toyota Ractis, and you can only get it in Asia right now. There are lots of teensy SUV style types around; I think this is the most sporty-looking. Note the location of the rear wheels. They drive on the left here, so the steering wheel location is the reverse of ours.

Sign of the Week: Watch where you sit!

This week we'll begin posting items of the week. The first is the Sign of the Week. The only qualifications are that the sign be different from what we were used to in the U.S., and entertaining in some way.

In that spirit, here is a sign from the town square of Azabu Juban, just down the street from us. A translation? It seems to say something about the "time of the berries." OK, I don't really know, but you'll probably get the gist of it easily enough.



We'll post the Sign of the Week each Monday. Join us tomorrow for the Vehicle of the Week.

An oasis of nature

Not everything in Tokyo is hustle and bustle. We stopped briefly Saturday in the large park around Meiji Shrine. The shrine and land were donated by the family of Emperor Meiji, who re-opened Japan to the West in the 1800s, and passed away in the early 1900s.


Most of the park is wooded. It was relaxing to walk along under the trees, and interesting to see so many species with which we are unfamiliar. The pavement on the path was the only hint that we weren't deep in the wilderness. Our route paralleled the north boundary of the park.

After some time, we came to an open area surrounding the "Treasure museum," a large structure housing the personal effects of the emperor and his daughter. It was closed, but we spent some time at some nearby koi ponds. The fish were as large as the ducks.

There were a number of people about, but it was not at all crowded; just a few folks enjoying the pleasant day. I realized that one of the buildings in the distance was my workplace.


Another day we'll come back here. This is a big park, and there's much more exploring to do.

Waxing philosophical on public virtue

Before coming to Tokyo, I had heard something about the high level of public virtue that exists here. My Japanese teacher (a Tokyo native) had described her initial surprise at the unwieldy chains and locks used in Philadelphia to secure bicycles against theft. In Tokyo, most people don't lock their bikes; if they do, they use a small key-lock that keeps the back wheel from turning, but would do little to hinder a determined thief.



Our little time here so far does not qualify me to speak about lower crime rates, but I can say it certainly does feel safer here. Maybe this is because I have seen very little evidence of any sort of public wrong-doing. For example, two misdemeanors easily noticeable in most U.S. cities--trash dumping and grafitti--are conspicuously absent. Even jaywalking--a Stateside term that has become synonymous with petty wrongdoing--does not happen here. Seriously, hordes of pedestrians stand and wait, not just for the green traffic light, but for the green "walk" sign. And not just at the busy, dangerous intersections, but at small intersections, with no traffic in sight. I have yet to see a Japanese jaywalker.



And yet, I think it is more than just an absence of petty crime that makes me feel secure. Tokyo adds to the equation a sense of proactive public goodness that is hard to ignore. The other day I was walking to lunch with a couple of colleagues when a pick-up truck went slowly by, a message blaring from speakers on its roof. I thought perhaps the driver was selling something, but there was nothing in the back of the truck. A political campaign? But there were no posters, no names on the truck. I asked my companions what the truck was doing. "Oh," said one, "It is giving reminder to be nice to people and do good thing...like recycling, to be good..."


For a moment I tried to picture this happening in the States. A speaker truck weaves through Manhattan at noon: "Remember, citizens, be nice to each other, and to visitors! Recycle properly! Be polite! Be good citizens!" About the only way I can picture this happening would be if it was part of a sketch on David Letterman. We Americans are too jaded, too individualistic, and would rather not be lectured on public virtue. "Politeness-man" is a comic figure.


Should American city-dwellers adopt this sense of public virtue? The potential benefits are compelling. After all, here we are in Tokyo, living in the middle of one of the largest cities on earth, walking around at night in complete safety. What if New York was like this? My guess is that we'll never know. I think it's a matter of culture; less a question of "should" than "could." Too bad, in a way...

Thanksgiving

The Thursday of Thanksgiving Day in the U.S. is, I was surprised to find out, also a holiday here in Japan. It doesn't show up on any calendar I've seen, but I understand that is the way with holidays here. The official name of the holiday, according to my colleagues, is "Giving Thanks for Labor" Day. Some companies (mine included) give their workers Friday off as well. So it ends up much like Thanksgiving in the States.

Another similarity is that Christmas shopping is now officially in full swing. Christmas displays are in shop windows, and Christmas songs are playing (in English) in the restaurants. "Santa-san" is everywhere. Very few Japanese are Christians, but they love shopping and giving gifts, so this is a popular holiday in Tokyo.

The three of us spent Thanksgiving at the home of Joel and Michelle Johnson from the LDS Tokyo 1st Ward (English), the church congregation we attend. There were a number of ex-pats there. We had turkey, stuffing, pie--all the things you would get at a Thanksgiving dinner in the States. Everything was delicious, and best of all, we got to know some really nice folks. It was the first chance we had to really converse with others in English since we got here.

Today we went to explore the Shibuya shopping district. It was very crowded, with malls and stores in abundance. Cindy says this is the Tokyo she had been expecting before we got here.

Sticker shock, too, was in abundance. It seems that we leave for a shopping trip knowing everything is going to be expensive, but when we see the prices, we are somehow still shocked.

Plumbing pix

We've had so many requests for a picture of the magical toilet that I'm going to post one here. You can see the washbasin atop the tank. On the left are the electrical controls for the various functions described in the earlier post.

I feel funny spending so much time on the topic, but you know--bathrooms are something we can all relate to. In this spirit, I just had to include a shot of the amazing urinal I visited yesterday. The basic idea seems to be to create the illusion that you're camping in the woods. The picture may be a little hard to figure out; let's just say that the blue circle is the target. As one does one's business, sensors trigger fountains on either side to rinse the glass. Outlined footprints show you where to stand.

Neighborhood street

Here is the street leading through Azabu-Juban to our place. It has lots of shops and restaurants.

Our building is the one in the background with the scaffolding. When buildings are being worked on here, the scaffolding is wrapped with some sort of material. Our scaffolding is due to come down before the new year.

View from balcony

This is our view. The compound with all the trees is the Korean embassy.

Our new residence

Our new home is an apartment on the 7th floor of a 12-story high-rise. We're getting to know our way around a little. It's in a great neighborhood, though nothing like any place we've ever lived. It is called Minami Azabu. "Minami" means "South"; "Azabu" seems to be a reference to silk cloth, so perhaps they once produced that kind of thing around here. Now the area houses many embassies. The Korean embassy is visible from our balcony, and we have also come across the Bulgarian, French, German, Iranian, and Qataran embassies.

Across the street to us on the north is Azabu-Juban ("Tenth" Azabu). There are many shops and restaurants there, and it's where we've done most of our exploring. Last night, on our date night, Cindy and I found a tiny noodle shop. We liked it and will be returning for more.

Thursday night we walked over to the LDS Temple to see it (we are LDS, so this is an important place for us). It's about a 15-minute walk. I'll try to get a good picture of it to post. In the building right next to it are housed the LDS meetinghouse, Japanese MTC, and housing for temple workers and patrons who come from out of town.

Getting back to our residence: Thursday we moved in and had our orientation. We took a taxi from our hotel, and a fellow from the property management group met us at the apartment. He showed us how to operate the place. That may be a funny way to express it, but there were a number of things to learn. We have a key that lets us into the apartment building downstairs. Then up the elevator and down an outside (but covered) walkway to our door. There we use the key again.

There is a very small foyer with a marble floor. Here we remove our shoes (custom, and it's in the lease agreement) and put them in a small built-in cabinet. Leaving the foyer, we enter a short hall. A door to the right is C.J.'s bedroom. A door to the left is the powder room.

The only thing in the powder room is the toilet. Japanese toilets are really something. We Yankees lag behind in this department, I'm afraid. In the first place, the seat is heated to a toasty temperature. Then, after one finishes one's business and flushes, one has the option of an array of buttons which will direct mists, sprays or streams of water in various directions--with varying degrees of force. Finally, there is a "drying" button. There are even buttons we haven't figured out yet. They are all helpfully labelled, but of course the labels are in Japanese. Oh, yes--there is another feature. On top of the toilet's tank is a small, built-in basin with a tiny spigot. When you flush the toilet, the fill water comes out of the spigot and into the basin, then drains into the tank. So you can wash your hands in clean water without the need for a separate sink. This is good, because there's no room for a sink.

Continuing into the apartment, there is a sliding door on the left which leads to the kitchen, and door straight ahead which divides the hall from the living room. The kitchen contains a small refrigerator, a gas cooktop with three burners, the smallest oven you ever saw. Cindy has seen toaster ovens larger. She says the oven can only broil. There is also a very wide, very deep sink, and cupboards. We keep our trash cans in the kitchen, too. We have to separate trash into "burnable" and "non-burnable."

The kitchen also has an opening into the living room. The first thing you come to in the living room is a small dining table with four chairs. Behind them is a sofa, coffee table, chair, and entertainment center. Beyond that are the sliding glass doors to the balcony.

Out on the balcony is the clothes dryer--the smallest I've seen, though our agent said it was out on the balcony because it was so large. Our view faces west, so we get the sunset.

Also opening onto the balcony is our bedroom, through similar sliding glass doors. Our bed is not as large as queen size, but seems a little larger than a double. There is a nightstand with a lamp and clock, and a closet. Our room also opens onto the living room.

Between our bedroom and C.J.'s is the bathroom complex, which is different and interesting. It consists of two rooms. The first has a sink and mirror on the right, and the washing machine--tiny but new and hi-tech. Through a tightly-sealed door is the bath. The forepart of that room has a shower hanging on the wall. You take a shower there--the water goes all over the room. A gutter runs through the room to take away the water.

Before you shower, you fill the bath (you can do this by hitting a remote button in the kitchen, if you wish. The bathtub is short, but very deep. I can't lie in it; I can only sit. But I can fit almost entirely inside it because it's so deep. So the concept is: take a shower to clean off, then sit and soak in the tub. The whole system is ingenious because one person can be bathing while another shaves or brushes teeth, and yet the toilet is still available for use.

The Japanese like wood. All the floors except for the room with the bath are of wood, with a high polish. All the doors are of wood, stained to a deep brown.

Welcome to our blog!

Dear Friends:

Here we are, settling into our new surroundings. We've started this record to share our experience in Tokyo with friends and family. "We" includes Cindy, my wife, and C. J., our son, and me. I have been assigned to my company's Tokyo office for a six-month rotation, and Cindy and C. J. have come along for the adventure. We will all take turns posting items, and welcome your comments. Thanks for visiting!