The Tokyo Imperial PalaceNikko—two hours’ train ride from Tokyo in the heart of Tochigi Prefecture; the retreat of ascetics, mentally ill emperors, and city-weary Leahs. But I get ahead of myself.
Before coming to Japan, I was able to receive the Boren Scholarship—a year abroad funded by the National Security Education Program (NSEP) of the U.S. State Department, in return for a year of service in the government after I graduate. About a month before arriving in Japan I received a very surprising email, from Mrs. Suzanne Basalla, the senior advisor to the current Ambassador to Japan, John Roos. “In my last job at the Pentagon we hired a former Boren scholar,” she wrote to all Boren scholars currently studying in Japan, “And I was so impressed I took the liberty of getting your email addresses from NSEP. If any of you ever come up to Tokyo, let me know and we’ll get together for coffee.”
It’s not every day I get invitations to coffee by the Ambassador’s senior advisor, so I decided during Spring Break to make a special trip up to Tokyo again to meet with her. To be honest, I really dreaded it. I heartily dislike Tokyo. I’m not quite sure why; maybe it’s the sheer amount of people and lack of greenery that get to me. It was when I returned from Tokyo the first time that I realized how rather than Japan in general, my heart was given to Kyoto.
Having seen all the sights I had wanted to see in Tokyo back in November, and since my Tokyo friends were busy, I thought I would just go up on the overnight bus, meet with Mrs. Basalla, and then head back to Kyoto the same day. It would be exhausting, but I didn’t feel like exploring the city alone again. But then an idea came into my head. “Nikko. I could stay there. I’m going all the way to Tokyo; I might as well make use of it!” I ran a search of Nikko hostels and in the process found some great deals on a 4-day train and bus pass. I remembered reading somewhere a Japanese proverb “Never say ‘magnificent’ until you have seen Nikko.” The name brought to mind images of dark forests, cold, clear air; mountains. Yes, I was very much in need of some mountains. I was a bit nervous about traveling alone. “You never know,” said my friend Stacey, “You might meet some cool people.” I almost snorted. “I’m not going there to meet people, just to get my mountain fix and tree-worship in,” I laughed, though when I said it I thought how I’d never done something so utterly self-indulgent as traveling alone someplace with the sole goal of relaxing. It felt a bit selfish. Oh well, I defended myself, I’m in Japan, I have to be a good exchange student and step out from time to time and explore.
This time I was rather less nervous about traveling to Tokyo. I’d done it before; I was more confident and more sure things would run smoothly. Someone very important was deigning to meet with me; and I had visions of towering cedars dancing in my head. I leaned back as far as I could in the narrow seat of the overnight bus as the driver walked the aisle counting us, the polite motion of his white-gloved hand recalling a priest bestowing some kind of blessing. In the morning in Tokyo the train to the Embassy arrived and opened its doors with a chime of cheery-sounding music to commemorate the small miracle.
Mrs. Basalla was very kind and accepted my tardiness (I had gotten a little lost in Shinjuku after all) and my dress, which admittedly was foreign-tourist-walking-all-day wear and not interview-with-the-Ambassador’s-advisor dress. Our conversation was very nice. Talking with her was like talking with a kind professor from back at Linfield. She was interested in my studies and told me stories of her own experience studying abroad in Japan as a college student. She also explained the best ways for a Boren scholar to get hired somewhere. It turns out position in Japan are rare—especially because a typical beginning salary often isn’t enough to cover housing—but that my best bet might be the Intelligence community, since they hire young people and give the coveted and tricky security clearance needed for so many government jobs. She also sprung an interesting question on me. “It’s really dismal how few young Japanese are studying abroad to the U.S. A lot of the current business and government leaders in Japan now studied in America, and that gives them if not a positive view of America at least a balanced one. The Ambassador and I are really trying to brainstorm creative ideas for attracting more Japanese students to the U.S. Do you have any ideas?”
I caught in her voice the anxiety of the U.S. government over a Japan growing more independent—or more insular. I decided not to voice my opinion that WWII was years ago and Japan was its own country after all, and instead simply complained. “Part of the problem might be Japanese attitudes towards college. In America it’s like your time to blossom intellectually, but in Japan it’s just a 4-year break from the rigorous high school before and the rigorous working life afterwards. Basically Japanese college students just play with friends. They’re not interested in thinking or learning or expanding themselves.” I tempered my rant with, “It might depend on the discipline…I hope Japan’s future doctors and scientists aren’t skipping classes! But anyway when the Japanese college students come to America they have a hard time adjusting to higher expectations I think.” Whew, I’d managed to sound slightly articulate. Mrs. Basalla seemed to think it might just be the problem. “That’s very true I suppose,” she said, “The hard thing is how to change that system.” “Yeah…the Japanese adopt a system and then that’s the way it’s done properly, and no one thinks of changing it.” I thought of the uniforms of schoolchildren that Americans might be appalled to learn haven’t changed terribly since the Meiji Era. Mrs. Basalla didn’t seem to like my reply quite so much. “But we need to come up with something,” her attitude suggested. I realized how difficult her job must be, appeasing the pressures from Washington to advance national interests in the face of a foreign country not really interested. Ugh, I thought. Did I really want to go into government? I might be forced to do things that run against my personal opinions. The world suddenly looked too big and serious for me. Mrs. Basalla concluded the conversation and went off to her office, and it was almost time for me to escape to Nikko.
I decided on the way to stop by the Imperial Palace, which was close by. I found right subway exit and climbed up the smelly dark stairs to a vault of broad blue sky, with only the tiniest bit of yellow smudges on the horizon to remind one it really was a city sky. The Imperial Palace was fronted by a wide expanse of withered grass and stately pines, and under each one it seemed there was a homeless person sleeping wrapped in newspapers. I thought someone like Charles Dickens would have had something to say about a country in which the poor sleep on the Emperor’s doorstep. Oh well, at least they are allowed a safe place to lie down. There were signs warning not to sit on the grass, and a police box and security officers everywhere, but they all seemed to turn a blind eye to Tokyo’s less fortunate. I continued past the immobile forms to get a few photos of Niju-bashi, the bridge to the inner palace grounds. The blue sky reflected in the moat, in which a pair of swans dallied, was deeper and purer than any real sky. And then something wonderful came along—mounted Imperial guards! My 14-year-old horse-crazy self awoke slightly at the sight of the beautiful floating trot of one of the horses, and the perfect posture and balance of his handsomely uniformed rider. I could tell both were very accomplished; they really did seem to live and move as one creature. Two of the guards were letting tourists pose with them for pictures. I went near wondering if it was alright to touch the horses; it wasn’t, but a cute little obaa-chan taking photos for a group of high school girls offered to take my photo with the guards. I thanked her and the guards, grinning happily in spite of myself. The youngest guard made a surprised sound at hearing my Japanese voice. “How lovely…” he breathed. That was nice. Probably most blonde and blue-eyed tourists at the palace didn’t thank him in his native language. I’ll admit it was also nice to be admired by a man in uniform on a white horse!
I continued on to wander through the East Gardens of the Palace, which are free and open to the public, but being mid-winter much of the gardens were brown and withered, though I did find a few early trees blossoming. There was a tiny museum showcasing some Imperial household treasures—gifts from heads of state of foreign countries. I picked out the American gift right away. It was a glass etching of trees that reminded me of an Ansel Adams photo. Definitely in better taste I thought than the gift from Brazil—a hideous pair of silver flamingos sporting chunks of raw pink crystal stuck on their rear ends—but obviously not in the same price range as the 18th-century diamond-encrusted saber from Saudi Arabia. The museum made me think some part of diplomacy is state leaders exchanging art. I wondered whose job it was to pick out or suggest such presents. That would be a fun job.
Worn out already from walking, I decided to start heading at last for Nikko. I ended up at the wrong station; I didn’t realize so many train lines each had their own Asakusa stations. At last I found the Tobu line and bought my pass. The girl at the ticket counter was very friendly and, for the first time, rather than “Nihongo ga jouzu desu ne,” (‘Your Japanese is very good’; what Japanese say when my Japanese is crap or when they don’t know what else to say) she asked if I lived in Japan! I was pleasantly surprised. Maybe at last my conversational Japanese was getting somewhere.
I got on the train and watched the city, and urban outskirts, and farmlands, whiz by for a few hours. People were more relaxed on this train; eating snacks and lounging in the seats. The man next to me took off his shoes and propped his feet on the empty seat across from him; I did the same and yawned in the sunshine streaming into the windows. I began to get a little worried after an hour and a half of flat Kanto plains with not a single mountain in sight. I watched the horizon expectantly, and all the sudden the mountains were there looming out of the haze.
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