All Aboard the Bullet Train

Perhaps no iconic aspect of Japanese life has been more shaken by last week’s earthquake and tsunami than the nation’s reliance on a timetable-pure railroad network of local subway service and intra-city bullet trains. As precise as a fine Swiss watch, rail service epitomized the country’s dedication to fine workmanship, reliability and modernity.

During our family visit to Japan in 1991, we traveled several times on the Tokyo subway, but not during rush hour so we avoided being pushed and scrunched by huge paddles into train cars like human sardines. The rides were efficiently comfortable, though at the time we had to count stops as there were no English subtitles identifying any of the stations.

More exciting was our venture on a bullet train between Tokyo and Kyoto, some 300 miles, just 2 hours 30 minutes in transit. By comparison, Amtrak’s high speed Acela train traverses the 225 mile Washington to New York run in 2 hours 48 minutes.

As we were traveling on a busy national holiday, we couldn’t secure first class tickets. Second class meant we wouldn’t have reserved seats. No problem. We couldn’t imagine it would pose a challenge to seasoned New York commuters. As you can suspect, we were dearly wrong.

Our mistake was anticipating the patient Japanese waiting on line would remain calm and orderly once a train pulled next to the platform. We were about 15 people from the front of the line. As soon as the doors at either end of the cars opened bedlam ensued. We were easily pushed aside in the wild dash for seats. We didn’t even make it into the car before the doors shut in our faces. As bullet trains left for Kyoto every 15 minutes, we weren’t too worried about having our timetable messed up. Until it happened a second, and then a third time. Clearly we needed to adopt a more Japanese mentality. Or maybe we just had to show the locals how New Yorkers respond to adversity. We regrouped and planned strategy for the next train.

This time we were stationed closer to the front of the line. Gilda and I locked arms to block the entry, allowing Dan and Ellie (13 and 10, respectively, at the time) to scoot in and secure seats four seats. It worked, to a point.

We found Dan and Ellie in a verbal tug of war over two bench seats with two teenagers acting as an advance party for their family. They didn’t speak any English. We didn’t speak any Japanese. But New York sign language clearly conveyed our message that we were there first to claim the prize. It didn’t hurt our chances that I was bigger than either of the teenagers.

We settled in and waited for the inevitable arrival of their family. To say the parents were disappointed and angry with their scouts would be an understatement. The boys obviously lost face with their parents who rode atop their suitcases in the aisle the whole way to Kyoto.