A fireproof hat is on my 2011 Christmas list. Just so you know. Either that or a good helmet. They say this kind of earthquake is a once-in-a-lifetime thing, but still, I'd rather have the hat and not use it than be at the epicentre next time without one. But we were lucky, so incredibly lucky, here in Tokyo. I cannot begin to imagine if 8.9 had struck off Tokyo Bay. Odaiba would have sunk. Artificial islands have a tricky habit of doing that. And how Japan would have dug itself out, not just physically, but financially as well, is beyond me. As it is, they're already estimating that it will cost $10 billion. Japan doesn't have that kind of money. Who does these days?
The day started off as usual, as so often happens. I headed to work, my husband to our karate dojo. I was scheduled to finish at 3pm and was just wrapping things up (and putting off using the washroom, which would become annoying) when, at about 2.46pm, things started to shake. This being Japan, no one really was too concerned. There were no immediate dives for cover by any means. Earthquakes happen. They're usually short and sweet (or at least small). The people walking around the office didn't even notice. But then things started to shake more and people began to stabilize the loose objects close at hand - water bottles, computer monitors, magazines, etc. I choose to grip my desk in a white-knuckle fashion, as is my habit during little earthquakes.
The shaking didn't end at moderate, however, and soon people were leaning up against cabinets to keep doors shut, or else half-way under their desks with free hands stabilizing what they could. You'd think things couldn't have gotten worse, but they did and our floor manager gave the order to cower. He didn't have to ask me twice, although some people stayed standing to try to protect expensive equipment. I chose to yell at my neighbour, who was still leaning against a cabinet: "Get under the Goddamn desk, C.!" I think that's what I said anyway.
After the shaking, and ignoring the piles of stuff on the floor (apparently, we lost a rather nice TV...), our manager, N., thought it might be an idea to locate our emergency evacuation area. That's why N. is in charge. We were only on the fourth floor, having moved from a tenth-floor office in January (thank GOD. Even minor earthquakes feel like the Big One when you're that high up), so the trip to outside wasn't so daunting. We found the area (a cemetery, how morbid) and headed back to the office just in time for a rather unsettling aftershock. That kept us outside, and eventually sent us back to the evacuation area. We waited and waited and waited, with sirens blaring every once in a while, and muffled loudspeaker announcements that no one could understand.
Me: So, um, does that siren mean that we're all clear, or does it mean something else?
Co-worker: um, it means that another 'quake is coming.
Me (starting to walk a heck of a lot faster to clear the tunnel): uh-huh, um, tunnels...
Eventually, N. let us know that the building was being locked up, and we were free to go home, if that was a possibility. I was late to meet H. and luckily had a co-worker heading in the same direction to meet his wife (and he knew the way to boot), so off I headed. Now, S. had been using the washroom at the time and said that his first thought was "Man, this is NOT how I wanted to go." But I have since been told that Japanese washrooms are incredibly well-built rooms and if you lack a good table to hide under, they are the go-to place. I guess some things are the same no matter where you are. Still, I can't get the image of the bathtub from upstairs crashing through my ceiling out of my mind.
I decided, though, to give it another go, after moving to a more western and less traffic-filled area of Tokyo last year. However, procrastination and nerves kept me out of the saddle until just last week. Partially motivated by H.'s assertions that I was leaving my bike to rust (which he had very kindly fixed up for me on two separate occasions), I hauled out my Tokyo maps and figured out how to get from my apartment to the Tama River Cycling Path (not to be confused with the Tama Lake Cycling Path).
Despite some super-speedy cyclists who seem to have a hate-on for anyone who can't go as fast as they can (and pass, from the oncoming direction, at the most inopportune times), and scads of baseball-playing youth who weave all over the place on their little mama-chari bikes overflowing with equipment, the Tama River path makes for some nice cycling. I've been out twice, the first time going a bit further than Yotsuya Go-Chome (not the one in central Tokyo), and then this morning making it to Fussa-shi in Mizudori Park (round-trip=50km give or take) out Musashi-Itsukaichi way. By the end, it was greenery galore and, I'll wager, a degree or two cooler than the rest of the path. Pure joy! And the even better part is, I wasn't scared at all. Boo yeah!
Morning glories are called "asagao" in Japanese, which translates as "morning face". They are all over the place. These are from a house in our neighbourhood. 
I believe these to be rhododendrons, although I may be mistaken. I'm always forgetting. In Japanese (if I'm right...) they are called either "shakunage" or "tsutsuji" (which is also one of the words for azaleas, my other guess, but as they're from the same genus, this isn't surprising). According to eHow, rhododendrons have ten stamens, while azaleas have only five or six. I counted the stamens in the picture of the white flowers, and there appear to be ten, hence my guess.
First up: Last week, H. wanted to look at some camping supplies (another new hobby), so we headed to Ochanomizu and Kanda (the sports districts, I suppose they could be called. Also, musical instruments). They're neighbouring areas of downtown Tokyo. Apparently, once upon a time, you could see the Imperial Gardens from the area, but now, not so much. Thank you,development.
