No Coffee, Just a Little Shake Instead
Hello friends, Samm Bennett here. The following is something I wrote a couple of days after the Great Tohoku Earthquake and Tsunami of March 11, 2011. A personal recollection.
The same story, stripped down to four verses of song form, a song that I wrote and recorded on March 11, 2014, may be seen and heard at YouTube HERE. |
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At 2:45 pm on March 11, 2011, I was inside a very large, new and gleaming shopping mall in the small town of Matsuyama, Saitama prefecture, Japan, moments away from receiving one of the small, complimentary cups of coffee that each shopper receives when entering the Kaldi coffee and imported foods shop. Kaldi shops are located in malls throughout the Kanto region, and though I rather despise malls, I do like a free cup of coffee now and again, and it just so happens that Kaldi carries a brand of Dijon mustard which is quite good and very reasonably priced. I was also expecting to pick up a small bar of Cote d'Or Belgian chocolate, which, along with the coffee, would be just the pepper-upper I needed to return (from the 20-minute break I was currently on) to a small classroom at the mall, where I would soon be making an appearance as a Bona Fide Native Speaker of English, for the delight and edification of a group of young children and their mommies. It was my job as teacher, you see ("entertainer" might be a more accurate descriptor, but that's another story), which had me at a shopping mall 50 kilometers from Higashi Nippori, Tokyo, otherwise known as home sweet home. The Dijon mustard was just a side benefit. But alas, there would be no mustard, no coffee, and no chocolate for me that day. There would, however, be, oh, let's see... one of the five largest earthquakes in the world, since modern record-keeping began.
Now, having resided in Japan for the past 16 years, I am no stranger to temblors, but this one (insert "duh" here) was no typical earthquake. The movement I felt underfoot was of a totally different order than I'd ever felt before. The fact that one could actually feel movement while standing was the early indicator that this was, as the song says, the start of something big. The curious, vibrating movement of the walkways of the mall's second floor, overhead, was like nothing I'd ever seen. And the ominous, rumbling sound that the structure and the earth itself was making was, well, apocalyptic. I stepped out of the coffee line and headed for the nearest mall exit, about 50 meters away from where I'd been standing.
I didn't run, which I'd always thought I would probably do in such a situation. Perhaps somewhere in the back of my mind there was the idea that one didn't want to induce group panic and start a stampede. I don't know. But I did walk quickly and with determination, faster than anyone around me. I passed about 25 or 30 people, I'd say, in the rather crowded mall. Many were still looking around and looking up, moving much slower than you'd think they would, considering the very real possibility that the building might soon come down on their heads. Some were frozen in their tracks: perhaps immobilized by fear? Again, I don't know. But I do know the last leg of the journey out of the mall was the scariest: an enormous, 2-story high glass atrium. The vibrating movement of the big plate glass panels was clearly visible. Here I did have to physically and verbally urge two people in front of me to get out. I didn't push them, but I firmly touched their backs and said GO! GO! They were moving way too slow, and were blocking the door!
The relief I felt upon getting out, and especially passing that glass deathtrap, was enormous. But by that time only about a minute, I'd estimate, had passed. There was still a whole lotta shaking going on. Standing in the parking lot, I saw the asphalt move like swells on the surface of some large body of water. It felt like standing on a raft. The lot was full of cars, many of them rocking back and forth on their wheels. Once or twice I knelt down to put my hands on the ground, for balance, and to better gauge just how the earth was moving under my feet (cue Carole King song here). Looking back at the mall building, I was amazed to see how much it was, well, rippling. The glass panes were bending, the whole structure was waving: again, as if it was liquid. It looked a bit like solid objects can sometimes appear when seen through heated air, like the air above a fire. Straight lines were curving. The "solid" world was in a state of flux, and it seemed that anything was possible.
By the time few more minutes had passed, lots of people were in the parking lot (probably about 150 to 200 souls, outside that particular exit) but there were still a surprising number of people inside. Incredibly, some people were stepping back in, when it was far from clear that the temblor was all played out. Perhaps they had friends or loved ones inside, whom they needed to locate. Myself, I gave it a good 15 minutes or so before going back in, and that was only to collect my things (including my camera, which, of course, I didn't have with me since I was only on a 20-minute break...) and get out of there. Found the young Japanese woman who was teaching the classes with me that day, she was outside the mall at another exit, nearer the classroom. Borrowed her mobile phone to try to reach my wife, but, of course, pretty much all mobile service was out. Useless effing things... I told her I was outta there, that the next two classes, if they were going to happen at all, would have to happen without me. Set off toward the train station (Ha! As if there'd be any trains until the next morning...) and found a pay phone along the way. Reached my wife, who was fine, and heard news that our daughter was also fine. This was how you spell RELIEF. Big, fat, shiny relief, wrapped up in wrapping paper that says "relief" all over it.
There being no hotels around Takasaka station, and learning, after some phone calls, that there were no hotel rooms available in any of the hotels around the next nearest station (already snapped up by people faster and smarter than me), I set out for a 24-hour "family restaurant" called Gusto, which my wife found out about and informed me of during another (pay)phone conversation. That's where I stayed the night. Had my own cozy little booth. Like a king in his castle. Ordered a salad, a plate of German sausages and a beer. Cancelled out the hideous J-pop they were playing as background music (no music is ever "background" for me: it's always "foreground") with Skip James and Captain Beefheart from my iPod. Dozed on and off throughout the night, woken now and again by general discomfort or the numerous aftershocks, some of which shook the plate glass windows of the restaurant. Trains on the Tobu-Tojo line resumed service early on the morning of March 12, and I grabbed one back home to Tokyo. There have been aftershocks consistently since returning, and we assume there will be plenty more in the days and weeks ahead. We've got our hardhats at the ready, emergency supplies and whatnot. This morning I enjoyed a delicious cup of coffee, and plan to take a walk to Ueno today with my family, where we'll buy some Cote d'Or chocolate, if the shop is open. Life goes on, for us. We are fortunate.