I was standing between two cars on the bullet train in Japan — probably on the way from Hakone to Kyoto — crouched in a corner holding my son and trying to keep him entertained on a ride of over two hours. Anyone passing from one car to the next would have had to turn their head quite a bit to spot my five feet tucked away there with a child just under two years old, quietly amusing himself with the door of the room reserved for phone calls — designed to contain the speaker’s voice. It had been just the two of us for a while, since almost everyone else was using the ride to sleep or work. Until, at one point, the door opens, the train conductor steps out — completely unaware of our presence there — the door closes behind him, he turns to face the door, which was fully closed with no windows, and bows to the car on the other side of that door, where no one could see him. He turns again and carries on with his routine toward the next car.
Once in Kyoto, we took a few more trains and a local bus used mostly by residents, with no tourists. There, despite being full, the only sound you could hear was the bus speaker reminding passengers of basic etiquette rules for public transportation in Japan and the name of the approaching stop — and at every stop, the driver’s gentle voice thanking each person as they exited the bus, in Kyoto through the front door. No one leaves that bus without receiving a thank-you and a slight nod from the driver.
A few days earlier, in Kanazawa, I took part in a tea ceremony — because I’m completely fascinated by several Japanese concepts like ma, wabi-sabi and, given my profession and the history of the companies I’ve worked for, omotenashi, which is so deeply felt in this ritual. During the ceremony, the host explained the meaning and the reason behind each small gesture that feels like choreography. Everything there has its place: the way the host enters and exits the room always leading with the same foot and never stepping on the edges of the tatami — in the past, the family name was written in those spaces, so avoiding them was a sign of respect —, the habit of turning the tea bowl twice so the most beautiful side faces outward, out of respect for everyone else, so they too can admire it, the bow of gratitude to the tea master upon receiving your cup, the reverence to the tea itself, and so many other layers of meaning that may go unnoticed by most but, because they are rooted in respect, continue to be cultivated.
Of all the “things not to do in Japan” rules I was bombarded with in social media videos — once the algorithm figured out I had a trip booked — the one that surprised me most for how hard it is to follow was not eating while walking. I realized how, when traveling with a child, this sometimes becomes nearly impossible. But we still made the effort to stop and plan when to eat the bread roll, the fruit, or the chocolate we’d grabbed “for the road” — understanding that this came from a deep respect for food and for other people’s senses.
What surprised me most about Japan comes down to one word: respect. For other people’s senses, for what nourishes us, for public space. From public restrooms with spaces to hold children accompanying their parents, to the absence of strong perfumes on people. From carrying your own trash all day long to avoiding conversation on public transport. From respect for food to airport staff bowing as the plane takes off. A respect that exists even when you can sense the rush and the irritation in someone, and that is practiced even when no one is watching.
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I’m writing this on my phone, straight from my own brain out of respect for those of you who also can’t take reading AI-generated text anymore, while my son snores on my lap with just under five hours to go before landing in Vancouver — unable to sleep, not only because of the lack of physical mobility in my current position as the mother of an almost-two-year-old who still flies on her lap, but also because of the sheer amount of inspiration and learning I’m bringing back from these two weeks that left me fascinated and wanting to understand how all this respect was born and has held its strength across so many centuries.
More to come soon.
Mafe