We survived the quake with no damage. My wife's family is fine and everyone back home knows we're safe. It's been a very long and strange weekend. I just wanted to try and talk with you all about what it's been like in Japan in an area that escaped by the skin of its teeth.
What Came Before: I’ve lived in Japan for nearly a quarter of my life. I first came in 1997, more or less on a lark, looking for something to do after college and before I settled into a “real” job. I was only going to stay a year. I fell in love with teaching in public schools and stayed nearly six, got married, and came back to Michigan. In 2008, the economic crisis forced us back to Japan, where we lived for two years in Toyota City, and now we’re in the tiny mountain town of Kawanehon in central Shizuoka Prefecture. It’s a town of 8000 stretched along twenty miles on two roads and a train line that run next to a nice clean river. Mountains are all around, covered with cedar. Carefully-tended tea bushes line the terraced slopes. Natural hot springs bubble up here and there. Deer and monkeys run along the streets sometimes. Steam locomotives still ply the main rail line, hauling in two six-car trains full of tourists per day. There are few restaurants and no large grocery stores. The closest sizable town is an hour’s drive away, and the city of Shizuoka is an hour and a half away along a tiny mountain road full of hairpin turns and 15% grades.
The Day Of: Where were you at 2:46 PM Japan time on March 11? I’ll always remember that I was at the smaller of my two junior high schools, in an assembly. The 7th and 8th graders were bidding farewell to the 9th graders (28 students), who are moving on to high school next week. I was tired and suffering from hay fever. I stood in the darkened assembly hall, leaning against the trophy case.
The windows began to rattle. No biggie there. The school is old and it was a windy day. Suddenly I started to feel unsteady on my feet. My first thought was the hay fever medicine was messing with my head again. I braced myself against the wall, and felt the whole school shaking.
Earthquake. Well, that’s no big deal in Japan. Except this one was different. All of the earthquakes I’ve felt so far here are one or two seconds, a jolt or two or three, and that’s it. This one kept going. And going. The students were looking around now, a bit apprehensive. I exchanged glances with the other teachers. It felt pretty much like standing up in a small boat on a lake. Rolling, rocking, unpredictable. I expected to hear cracking concrete. Nope. I watched the acoustical tiles on the ceiling to see if they were coming loose. Fine there. I waited for the principal to say something like “take cover”, in which case I’d help the students to get out of the room, but he didn’t. About a minute later, it was over. I and two other teachers dashed downstairs to the office and flipped on the TV. The automated tsunami warnings were already out on the news, the map lighting up. 7.9 on the Richter scale, it said. I was shocked to see how far away the epicenter was. I called my wife to make sure all was well at our apartment, a 15-minute walk away. She was teaching a private student, and they’d definitely felt it, but no problems. My wife’s family lives in Ogaki, in Gifu prefecture, even further away from the epicenter; they’d felt it too, but no damage. I hung up and went back upstairs, whispering the news to the other teachers.
Then the first aftershock hit. More rolling, only a few seconds this time. The students were absorbed in their assembly, which concluded a half-hour later. They filed out, and I helped to break down chairs and take down decorations. I headed back to the office.
The first footage was coming in, live, of the tsunami hitting. You’ve all seen the images a thousand times by now. Cars jumbled together. The wall of mud swallowing fallow rice fields. A boat floating across the tarmac of Sendai airport. The magnitude was revised upward to 8.4, then 8.9. We all watched in shock. This was big.
I went home, a bit nervous about the long pedestrian bridge across the river, but everything seemed intact. At home, my wife had dinner on the table (she'd wondered if it was okay to use the gas range; I'd told her sure, but turn it off if you think it's leaking). We don’t have a TV, so we plugged in my computer and tried to find some news.
We ended up staying awake until 2 am, just watching, feeling stunned. I called friends and family, waking them up so that they wouldn’t turn on the news and panic. Amid fears of more aftershocks, or perhaps of another quake being triggered closer to us, we slept with all the doors wide open so we could escape easily if need be.
The Day After: After a few hours of sleep I went back to making phone calls and watching the news. Aftershocks constantly hitting, though we hadn't felt any more. Biggest quake to hit Japan in 1000 years. I reflected that this was not the sort of history I wanted to be a part of. Then I walked around outside a bit.
Our prefecture, Shizuoka, is the “cut-off line” for trouble in this crisis, it seems. We were just far enough south and west to escape any damage. In Chiba, maybe 150 miles in a straight line, was the burning oil refinery. There were a few deaths in Kanazawa, the next prefecture over, from the tsunami. 300 miles away were the troubled nuclear reactors in Fukushima. 500 miles away were places where whole towns had disappeared, where there were people without food or water, possibly trapped under rubble, struggling to survive. And here I was, listening to the birds chirp under a blue sky on what was quickly becoming a beautiful spring day. I walked along the river. The water was blue and clear as always. In the park nearby, old people muttered and laughed as they played gateball. Some kids, my students, played by the river. I waved to them. It all felt very, very strange.
Overhead, three big helicopters passed. From the direction of travel, I figured out that they must have come from Hamamatsu, on the coast on the west end of the prefecture, and they were headed northeast, toward the trouble. I wanted to hitch a ride. I wanted to do something. But what? I suppose I could dig through rubble. But how to get there, and would I just get in the way?
So this is what it’s like to feel helpless.
An announcement, over the town address system. A town meeting, cancelled. Whether due to the quake or not, I’m not sure.
We made breakfast. We watched the news. All of it terrible. We took a nap. We held each other. We woke up and checked the news again and decided we needed to get out of the house. We went to the local hot spring and had a soak. Sitting my naked gaijin ass in lovely hot mineral water, trying to release the tension but failing. Washing at the washing station, thinking about all the water I was using, while millions had none.
We filled up the microvan, the local gas station guy polishing our windows. They hadn’t raised prices or anything.
We went to the convenience store and got some bread. When we got home, I was happy to see one of the helicopters I’d seen that morning had actually made the news- “Hamamatsu” and Mt. Fuji painted on the side, assisting in a rescue. On AJ we watched a bizarre performance by the Prime Minister as he shot out a speech full of strange platitudes while the poor interpreter struggled to keep up. At one point she lapsed into confused silence as the PM actually said “This is actually good for Japan, because we can make a better tomorrow”. Good for Japan? The translator skipped that line and went on.
We went to bed, worrying about the nuclear reactor.
Day Three: I couldn’t sleep well again. More phone calls and e-mails. Making coffee, washing dishes, doing a load of laundry. Thinking about the water I was using, swirling down the drain. More news. Was the reactor melting down? I posted a few comments on Kos. I suggested we make the long journey into Shizuoka City to go shopping and just try to do something normal. My wife was worried about the nuke plant. I shared her fears but in the end, we decided it was worth the risk.
We drove the tiny winding mountain road, up up up through cedars and grasses still dried from the winter. At the apogee of the trip is a turn-off where you can see the peak of Mt. Fuji. There it was. Somewhere on the other side, all the trouble in the world. On our side, business as usual.
Now down the mountains, into the suburbs, then into the city. What struck us immediately was how normal everything was. People walking about. Laughing. Shopping. The pay parking lots were full. We found one a little way away and went to the mall. We bought water filters and ate at our favorite Italian buffet, which was packed. It was a strange and guilty meal. How many people were without any food, while I sat here stuffing my face?
We stopped in at the electronics department to find a TV to watch for any updates. Same footage, only in HD, which just made it all worse. The quake was now bumped up to a 9 on the Richter scale. We watched the bureaucrat in charge of disseminating nuclear information hem and haw and not get to the point. My wife clenching her fists in frustration, trying not to punch the TV. At least the reactor hadn’t melted down. A lot of people were watching with us, concern creasing their brows, but all around life was going on pretty much as before. I watched a girl of eight or nine carefully count out coins to buy a pack of pencils. At the next register, a woman was having a video game gift-wrapped for someone’s birthday.
We shopped at our favorite bookstores. A street performer juggled in the intersection in front of the building. People milled in and out of a Starbucks. How normal life was here. How carefree.
Heading back to the parking lot, I couldn’t help but imagine all the cars I saw jumbled together, caked with mud, dented and destroyed and flipped over, hanging on poles and guard rails and wires. I imagined fishing boats floating down the streets, houses ripped from their moorings. Shizuoka is on the coast. It could just as easily have happened here.
We drove home, back up into the mountains, listening to the radio. A calm female voice, reading messages to any who could hear them. Tanaka Kaori from Aomori prefecture, looking for Sato Kenichi from Sendai City. Please call if you can. Yamada Shinji from Chiba prefecture, looking for… on and on and on.
Back home again. Officials say the number of dead will probably reach 10,000, which I knew was coming, but still was hard to take. A police official saying the deaths in his prefecture alone could reach 10,000.
Me writing this diary. My wife tucked into bed next to me, reading a novel. Earphone in my ear, listening to BBC. Still trouble at the reactors, but the news is getting better. 12,000 people rescued. Red Cross on the ground. Citizens clearing rubble. U.S. aircraft carrier acting as a refueling station for rescue choppers. Everyone pitching in.
Why were we so lucky? Why were others not? What will it be like tomorrow, when I go back to work? Did any of my co-workers have family or friends in harm’s way? If so, are they safe and sound?
Graduation ceremonies, later this week. Will they go on as normal, or will they be subdued?
What does the future hold?
Keep Japan in your thoughts. Donate if you can. Peace to all. I’m off to bed.