A. Vela

In Japan, you can expect something unusual at every step, something that is hardly known or entirely strange in other parts of the world. Anticipating lovely spring weather and a warm summer, you come upon gloomy clouds that mercilessly dump their payloads while the south-westerly wind creates a melancholy atmosphere full of dampness and mist. This is the opposite of our weather in the same season. However, as unsuitable as this is for navigation, it is beneficial to these lands. The people are happy when it rains as much as possible, because rain and moisture mean a fruitful year and, consequently, life. To be sure, these inauspicious climatic conditions mostly upset us seafarers, so we are often dependent on electronic aids as a result. In contacting this country via radio-goniometer we learn that these Japanese are specific even here, because their signals are different than those from other countries. Traffic in the coastal belt and in ports is quite brisk. They certainly have the highest number of small wooden and iron-hull boats for near-shore navigation in the world. Many years ago they were the first to introduce navigation routes for access to larger ports and thus managed to establish order and discipline at the most frequented spots. This greatly facilitates safe and more reliable navigation. A reserved attitude is noticeable already in the first contacts with the port authorities, which is reflected in the poor knowledge of foreign languages and suspicion and fear of any foreigner. It is difficult to understand them, but since they know their jobs so well, these bureaucratic formalities are quickly handled without any complications. Their pilots are mainly older people and their bearing and expertise are impressive. Japanese tugboats are their own phenomenon. In their apparently unwieldy innards they contain strength and mobility, balanced to perfection. They methodically do what they set out to do and they are very helpful in manoeuvring. Many ask how it is possible that this island country, overpopulated and impoverished, which lacks any mineral and natural wealth, has achieved a level of production that has created an economic “miracle” in the Far East. When observing them at work, one quickly comes to the conclusion that this inexhaustible strength and prosperity spring from their specific system of labour based on exemplary organization. Here everyone knows exactly what to do and who has to listen to whom. Every task is prepared in advance, there are no improvisations or hasty decisions. That is why all of us find it somewhat odd and surprising that the cargo loading plan at all Japanese ports must be compiled upon arrival, before a single package is unloaded. However, I should stress once more that the trends that have taken root at more or less every port in the world have not bypassed Japanese ports. (…)
Since we sailors rush through Japanese ports, we have neither the time nor inclination to become familiar with the country, full of contrasts and historical sites. We have even less occasion to learn about the specific customs and mentality of these quiet and industrious people. Nonetheless, sometimes an opportunity arises to see something from their inner lives, and we can see this in their large department stores, where geishas teach those present how to serve tea and how to perform what is to them actually a ritual. The geishas are enchanting with their picturesque costumes and manners. It is only a pity that I cannot understand a word of what they say, to at least perceive what they are saying and what they are talking about: a small pastry that must be cut with chopsticks and then eaten according to their instructions, or preparation of tea without sugar, or even how to approach the table and how to sit on the low mat with legs crossed? I watched and observed how everything is done with gravity, with nobody uttering a single sound. When one is finished, another sits and so it continually repeats. Then one hears the light tapping of wooden slippers and the high-pitched voices of visitors who then mill around the counters filled with all manner of goods.
In the case of another custom I observed, I had the good fortune of learning to whom it is dedicated and its purpose. Completely by chance, I happened to be in our agency in Moji just before the beginning of a ritual which would be considered entirely foreign and odd to us. It was a religious rite dedicated to safety and protection of employees from injuries on the job. I was told that it is repeated on the first day of every month in the pre-noon hours. The rite is performed by a Buddhist monk wearing a long brightly coloured toga and a black latticed headpiece shaped like a mitre. When the ceremony began, everyone lined up in front of their desks in hierarchical order and remained standing the entire time. A large bottle of saké (Japanese rice wine) is set on a table for this occasion, followed by small candles that are placed on a shelf on the wall, several twigs similar to laurel decorated with paper, a bundle of long sliced paper on the shelf and, of course, the monk’s baton similar to an oar. These implements are used during the rite, one then the other, waving them toward the candles and addressing the employees with customary prayers. At the end he pulls out a long roll of paper, similar to a medieval royal parchment, and begins to read. When he is done, he claps his hands facing the burning candles, expecting them to flicker and thus confirm his address. This is repeated several times, because this was done by the heads of the agency one after the other and they received twigs which they then placed on the shelf. Upon finishing, the monk turns to everyone and bows deeply, to which we all bowed to him in turn. Then he left and entered a luxurious limousine waiting for him at the front door. I thought that we would then all sit at the table where that large bottle of saké stood, but nobody even came near that table and the bottle remained there, open and untouched.
Since I clearly heard the agency’s name and also the name of our ship, I asked if our vessel had indeed been mentioned, and they answered that I had heard well, that he had wished us a good journey and calm seas. “No typhoon this voyage.” I thanked them and then went to the ship soon afterward. We set off for Hong Kong the next morning. As we departed, we were sent off by the sharp horns of the tugboats which, knowing that we were leaving Japan, wanted to thank us in that way for our sojourn in their country – wishing us a safe voyage and hoping for our return to this distant and to us still too unfamiliar country.