Dateline: Tokyo
(A 15-minute read)

I flew into Tokyo at 11:30 p.m. on a November day in 1989 and scanned the crowds for the driver I'd asked the hotel to provide.

I hadn't been here since 1960 but the officious-looking immigration people were wearing the same serious-gray uniforms. I nonchalantly handed over my passport to be met with an imperious stare.

Where was my visa? Visa? I didn't need a visa!

Yes I did, I had a six-day itinerary planned—longer than the allowed three-day grace period. Pulled out of line (it was now well past midnight), I hoped that my intrinsic respect for Japan and the Japanese would somehow show and that I'd be allowed to stay the full six days.
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By way of background, I had been in the U.S. Army and stationed in Okinawa for two years in the early sixties. When I had only two weeks of my tour of duty left, President Kennedy embargoed Cuba and my tour was extended indefinitely. To fight the disappointment, I embarked on the organization of "The First Annual Okinawa Grand Prix" which I coordinated with the sponsorship of an Okinawan lad to the Soap Box Derby in Akron, Ohio. I had done a bit of SCCA sports car racing and like everyone at 20, felt I was the cat's meow.
Half way through all the preparations, the Cuban crisis eased and I was to be transferred back to New Jersey for my honorable discharge. Obviously I felt I couldn't desert my "magnificent obsession" in mid-stream, and, thankfully, the powers that were, agreed and I was discharged in Okinawa. Eleven months from conception, the Grand Prix took place: 250,000 spectators, 30 entrants (most of whom I had taught to race); and when I took the victory lap, the local hero who had arrived back from Akron that morning sat next to me, undoubtedly the happiest boy in the world. That was my effort for the “People to People” program.
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Now, real time at the Tokyo airport: I had learned enough of the language to be able to teach English to the Okinawans but standing rather forlornly in the immigration officer's office, I could only manage a deeply-felt bow. He looked at my tickets and hotel confirmation faxes, and soon a quizzical lift developed in one eyebrow. He informed me that he would shortly make a decision, to which I could appeal in three days.

"Do I have to appear somewhere for the appeal?" I asked.

I could hardly believe my eyes: he winked and smiled. Then, brandishing several intricate red stamps, he filled out a form written in both Kanji and English:

Thunk, thunk, thunk; the stamps made everything official. He stood and handed me the form, then sat down and...winked again! He handed me another form, this time for me to fill out. It read:

He smiled again and said, in perfect English now, "Dr. Carter, I have been in this position for over 30 years and have had to disappoint many visitors who were not aware of the requirements. Tonight however, is special because you are the last American to go through the procedure. From now onwards, the visa requirements of the governments of Japan and the United States are relaxed, and thus I present you with these documents as a souvenir of the Japanese government. Enjoy your stay and good luck."

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I had only been delayed for about 45 minutes and my luggage was on the carousel as I breezed through the passport control proudly waving my "souvenirs". Just beyond the barrier was a uniformed chauffeur holding a placard with my name on it; I chuckled when I saw the car. Whatever attributes you may have already awarded the Japanese, you can now add style—the car was a fully stretched Cadillac limousine! A little more than an hour (and $350) later, we pulled into the most sophisticated hotel in Japan and one of the finest in the world.

There really is nothing inscrutable about the Japanese, they just do everything with more care than almost anyone else and there is nothing inscrutable about why—it makes them proud, deservedly.

Everyone can understand that; remember German cameras, English motorcycles, and American cars? Everyone cared at one time or another, it's just that the Japanese care more today.

Therefore, you certainly shouldn't be surprised to learn that the one hotel in the world with the highest level of ultra-personal service is in Tokyo—the Japanese have been the most caring innkeepers in the world for centuries.

The Hotel Seiyo Ginza is an all-suite, 80-room masterpiece just off the Ginza in the middle of everything. It is owned by Seiji Tsutsumi, one of the world's wealthiest men. He knows what he's doing—Caroline Hunt's Rosewood Hotels (The Mansion, The Bel Air etc.) are handling the marketing and you know how much I respect that group.

The accommodations include simple basics like perfectly shaped wooden hangers whose cross-bar is covered with velvet to keep the trousers from sliding off. The marble bathrooms (the largest in Japan) have separate walk-in showers, a very deep tub, TV, and mirrored walls that are constantly heated so as not to fog. Each suite has a large separate dressing room with a beveled-mirrored make-up alcove. There's a TV programmed to turn on to CNN and a DVD player for viewing any of the library of over 200 CDs. The air conditioning is also humidity controlled; there's a “do not disturb” button that illuminates the warning outside in the hall, and the curtains open and shut at the touch of a button.

But all this and the beautifully-co-ordinated, internationally-contemporary, absolutely top-of-the-line furnishings fade to insignificance in the face of the personal service that will knock your socks off.

A personal concierge is provided for every guest. She will greet you in your language and will be at your disposal throughout your stay by the touch of a button on your phone. Mine was Mrs. Momo Ohno who lived in New Zealand for three years to learn English, was a flight attendant for JAL, and now takes great pleasure in looking after her clients. I wondered about doing some sightseeing. I explained I didn't want a big tour and while she emphasized that this wasn't a regular service, she would see what could be done. Remember, I always travel incognito and as far as they were concerned, I was just another guest (not someone who was going to write about the place).

The next day, Mrs. Ohno introduced me to Shigeyo Mackawa who had managed to free herself for three hours, organized a car and driver, and showed me some of the nearby shrines. Typical of the caliber of the staff here, she was educated in Switzerland, cared about her responsibilities, and was proud to assist. I asked her about some new department stores that weren't on our route. By the time we returned to the hotel, I'd already forgotten I'd asked. But five minutes later, one of the many gray-suited bellmen brought me a map on which Shigeyo had marked the best walking routes to the stores I'd asked about!

The next day I was going to visit Kyoto and was a bit concerned about getting the bullet train. When I went down to get my taxi, Mrs. Ohno had already hired one, got in herself and escorted me to the station. These are but two examples of the level of service at The Seiyo. No matter what your request, the response is always a polite bow and a sincere smile, and immediate action.

There are several alternatives for dining: Répertoire is the main restaurant, Kitcho may be the best Japanese restaurant in Tokyo; Attore is a terrific Milanese restaurant. In addition, Members Bar G1 is a cozy hideaway for hotel guests and members.

There are only so many elements that contribute to perfection in a hotel and the Seiyo has them all. In any event, any hotel whose lobby gift-shop is Harry Winston can't be all bad! But be warned, while this kind of genuine personal attention may spoil you for anywhere else, no one can afford life in Tokyo for very long.

Hotel Seiyo Ginza

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I’d heard all sorts of things about trains in Japan, but the Bullet Train is really something…

I really couldn’t get over our arrival at the station. As our car pulled up, three gentlemen bowed; the youngest opened my door. Mrs. Ohno had arranged everything to ease my way in this very foreign environment…as anyone would for a cherished house guest but not the way any hotel has ever treated me before. The Customer Service Representative of the National Railway and his two assistants who had met our car, acknowledged bows on all sides as Mrs. Ohno breezed ahead leading the way and making a path through the scurrying travellers. Astounded, I was carried along in their wake.

We arrived on the platform just as a phalanx of uniformed stewardesses stopped, turned, and bowed…at me! I was expected to inspect “the troops;” I bowed.

The platforms have two parallel lines painted perpendicularly to the track at even intervals; a short queue of passengers stood in each set. As the rain slid to a silent stop, each queue was precisely in front in front of the car’s doors.

I was shown to my window seat on the upper level of car 8—a “green” car reserved for First Class. Downstairs were private rooms and a sparkling stainless-steel cafeteria with video-screened cash registers.

A whistle sounded, and looking out to wave goodbye, all I could see were the tops of the heads of Mrs. Ohno, the Railroad official, and his two assistants bowing. I tried to bow as deeply in return; Mrs. Ohno peeked up and waved; my heart welled.

I put my head back on the starched, white, linen antimacassar, and looked for my seat belt. The car’s interior was seamless, like a shiny, carbon-fiber, executive jet. There was absolute silence and immaculate cleanliness.

As we gained speed, there was no sense of motion and clickety-clack from the tracks; the outside just slipped by like a rolling Hollywood background. Soon we were whooshing through the suburbs banking more steeply around the curves than any plane. On the front bulkhead, just like on Concorde, a digital read-out gave our speed—216 km (135 mph) was the highest we reached. There was also a rolling display of Kanji characters—I could only guess what it might be announcing.

The head stewardess bowed forward, “Dr. Carter, would you like anything to eat or drink?” Imagine remembering my name!

We had left Tokyo that morning as the second hand moved off 11:12, precisely on time, and arrived in Yokohama at 11:28. As we pulled out of the station, the stewardess came by again. She asked if I had a camera with me. Explaining that while one rarely gets a clear view of Mt. Fuji—one of the most revered spiritual guardians of the Japanese, it was due off to the right in 16 minutes. Fuji appeared at 11:44 in all its glory; not a cloud in the sky, and unlimited visibility. The stewardess said that it was a remarkable sign of good fortune.

From 11:45 we were in tunnels nearly all the time, just popping out every now and then to take a breath of air, and each time, Fuji was reassuringly watching over us.

A recorded announcement in Japanese was suddenly followed by the rasp of a hand-held microphone and the English translation followed. I looked around; there were no other occidentals on the train…at the rear of the car, the stewardess put down the mike, smiled, and bowed.

Just think about that for a while. Where in the world would a foreigner traveller receive such treatment? Many places fifty years ago maybe; only in the Orient today. We’ll have to regain the ethics of our heritage and our sense of values before the west will compete successfully again.

We shot through bamboo forests, and past acres of crops being grown under plastic. In the valleys, the houses were locked in mortal combat with the fields for space, while the hills were totally undeveloped.

I immersed myself in a guidebook of Kyoto which Makiko Hirai, another of the Seiyo’s brilliant personal secretaries who can usually be found at the information desk on the first floor, had, on her own initiative, especially photocopied for my trip.

“Blessed with land made fertile by the Kamogawa and Katsuragawa Rivers, the Kyoto area has been inhabited since the prehistoric era. Emperor Kammu chose it as his capital in 794 and had the city laid out in a Chinese-style grid with broad streets running east to west, and avenues north to south.
In the 15th and 16th centuries, the period of Japan’s civil wars, Kyoto was the scene of almost constant violence and many of the city’s cultural treasures were destroyed.
When Hideyoshi Toyotomi finally succeeded in unifying the nation at the end of the 16th century, Kyoto was rebuilt.
Modern Kyoto retains many of the structures and much of the charm of that era and is today the home of more than 200 Shinto shrines and 1500 Buddhist temple...”

The guidebook recommended six one-day itineraries...I was here for two nights!

I poured through the book and selected seven representative sights. I was to be met at the railroad station by a chauffeur that Mrs. Ohno had arranged from the Seiyo; I’d see what he thought of my choices.

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We arrived at 13:59 precisely. As I stepped onto the platform, Hiroyuki Ito, resplendent in an all-white uniform with brass buttons, was holding a placard with my name on it. We exchanged bows, smiled, and immediately he was “Ito-san” and I was “Ted-san.”

On the way to the hotel, he proved to be much more than a chauffeur. He was an expert on Kyoto’s history, a bit of a philosopher, and full of fascinating trivia as well…all in a well-honed, east-coast, American accent. I asked him why the Japanese drive on the left.

“The first cars were imported from England.”

As we passed the Holiday Inn, he said, “that’s the economic inn, for foreigners; they can’t afford what we can.

“Cremation is the law, but they save the ‘Adam’s Apple’…it looks like Buddha.”

We passed some school children. Ito-san said, “My country has the happiest children in the world. No one is starving; boys and girls have clean school uniforms; all the cars are shiny.”

He went on, “The Japanese may appear western but inside they are the same as always. They resent the war no for the obvious but because so many traditions were obliterated.”

As we drew up outside the little heard-of but most renowned, 300-year old ryokan—my home in Kyoto, we arranged to meet early in the morning for our selected tour of Kyoto.

Without being condescending, The Tawaraya allows one to experience and appreciate the sense of tradition of Japan and, in a mystical and gracious manner, gives one the opportunity of probing the spiritual depth of a race…that doesn’t. In ignoring the modern bustle that is the million-plus city of Kyoto, The Tawaraya eases one’s understand of the essence of relationships Japanese—the serenity of individuality. I felt humbled and honored to be there.

For eleven generations the same family has nurtured those wise enough to pause to seek their own sense of being, their own moment of place. The timelessness of this true ryokan, Kyoto’s oldest, certainly gives one pause to reflect.

One reads there are nineteen rooms; one would never know. Slipper-polished corridors pass lanterned pools; hand-laced bamboo, a ladle’s rest. Silent sliding shojis open to tatami tradition—this is a place preserved for rituals of respect.

Your individual kimono-ed maidservant will help you acclimatize. No language need be spoken, this is a shrine of perfection guardianed by intelligent sensitive souls—everything is understood. You will be guided by the graciousness of the bows; slippers will appear as you instinctively leave your shoes and…your ego, at the door.

Since, at first, there are no visible concessions to recent centuries, you will be surprised to find a television set hidden beneath an obi cloth cover; a telephone is similarly concealed. There is a modern sink and a western toilet (with a heated seat!), sterilized glasses and toothbrushes, even bathroom scales; but soaking in the steaming cedar ofuro will quickly recall why you’re here.

After your bath, select from the immaculate stock of folded kimono, and with paper and pen, gazing out at your lantern-lit garden, you too might phrase a few surprising thoughts.

Dinner is a six-course masterpiece of one exquisitely presented dish after another—a celebration of Japanese classics:
I was presented with delicious tidbits on teeny lacquer trays, and a tall bottle of Kirin beer.
Sashimi, from pale transparent slivers, to deep carnelian slices, was the freshest and most tender I had ever had; even the shrimp was delightful in its rawness.
A poached fish was followed by a bowl of tofu and broth…not normally my choice, it was exquisite.
A tempura of shrimp and vegetables made every Japanese restaurant I’ve enjoyed, a disappointing memory.
A small, square hibachi, glowing with charcoal so pure as to be translucent, was placed on the low table along with a flask of sake.
Bowing out backwards, the mama-san left me alone on the tatamis to grill the wide slices of perfectly marbleized, Kobe beef that virtually evaporated on my tongue.
Mangos and tea completed the ceremony.

Now the lacquered table and brocade armrests move down-stage as your maid unfolds the foam futon and the tatami becomes bed.

The garden lantern calligraphs a maple branch on the shoji; serenity approaches. In all things, luxury is simplicity; at The Tawaraya, simplicity is sublime.

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Ito-san picked me up the next morning. Kyoto is worth many days of study but we visited some of the most important that should be part of everyone’s itinerary:

We started at the Nazen-ji Temple. Kyoto’s most important Zen temple was built in 1264 and has a wonderful Zen garden and the famous “Tiger Drinking Water” by Kano Tanyu.

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Ginkaku-ji Temple. The Silver Pavilion was built in 1472 as a counterpoint to the Gold Pavilion; it remains one of the most beautiful temples in Kyoto.

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Kiyomizu-dera Temple (below) is supported over a cliff by 139 giant wooden pillars. There is a “love garden” here whose walls are covered with talismans. I chuckled on seeing one signed by Bruce Weber, the great photographer who was my neighbor in the Adirondacks.

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In the 390-foot long Sanjusangendo Hall there are 1001 statues of Kannon-Bosatsu.

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I lunched on tempura at the Yoshikawa Inn in the center of town. It is a less costly, less mystical version of The Tawaraya, and the shrimp bore little resemblance to the night before. Nonetheless, it is an attractive traditional-style, alternative.

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Ito-san and I then went to Ryoan-ji Temple with its famous Zen garden.

While much smaller than it photographs (11 yards by 32 yards), the garden is awe-inspiring. Only 13 of its 15 much photographed rocks can be seen at any one time as, wherever you move, at least one blocks the view of another. Ito-san said this illustrates the frailty of humanity.

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Our last stop was Kinkakuji, the Golden Pavilion. It sat on the far shore of an absolutely still pond that perfectly reflected the shimmering temple. Unforgettable.

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The next day, I bulleted back to Tokyo; changed forever.

Best wishes,
Uncle Ted-san

The hand-drawn sketches are by Sue Hunter.

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