#1392. Learning About Japanese Culture The Hard Way

Travel Photography

Dec 22

It was my second day in Tokyo. It promised to be a great day. I was meeting the photographer, Lukasz Palka, and others later that evening. For three hours we explored the lanes and by-lanes of Shinjuku, Kabukicho and Shibuya. Half an hour later, I lost my wallet and passport.

I had been on my feet since the morning and my legs were ready to give way as I limped back to my APA hotel from Shinjuku station. I made a brief stop at a FamilyMart in Kabukicho. I got one of their cold noodle preparations, selected a lemon drink Lukasz had recommended, paid for the lot and left. Ten minutes later outside the hotel doorway I reached into my pant pocket for the room card only to find my wallet missing.

With all pain of blistered feet having suddenly vanished I was back at the FamilyMart in double quick time. The chap who attended to me was still there, busy attending to a customer. There was no sign of my wallet on the counter where I had put it down ⏤ a momentary, fateful slip on my part ⏤ to pay for my noodles and drink. My feet began to hurt like hell.

Rahul, the chap at the counter, asked me where exactly I had left the wallet. I had left it on the shelf below the counter top. As I took out my wallet to pay he’d inquired if I had any change to pay with instead. Yes, was my reply, I had. I placed the wallet on the shelf and fished out the coins from my pocket. And that’s when as I recalled this sequence of events to Rahul, the second cashier popped his head around the counter and in his hand he had what looked like my passport.

Shinjuku is sheer photographer heaven⏤specially at night

I was told that if you’re single in Tokyo it’s cheaper to eat out at an izakaya everyday

One can spend an hour watching chefs, sous chefs and cooks at work.

And one can spend many more hours catching diners at their tables

It’s difficult to describe the effect this second shock of the evening had on me. Until I recognised my passport in the second chap’s outstretched hand I had not realised that it had been missing too. Shock and relief, I guess, is the closest mix of emotions that could describe that moment.

With the passport now secured, Rahul asked me to wait while he went into the back office to check on the CCTV. Fifteen minutes later, he had the footage of the culprit downloaded on his mobile which showed a person picking up my wallet and pocketing it before leaving the store. I could see he had on a white coat or jacket and a bit of his face was visible but not much else.

Shibuya, Shinjuku, and Kabukicho, are popular nighttime spots, attracting tourists and locals to their neon lit lanes lined with cafes, bars and restaurants. Thousands upon thousands from all nationalities live, work and pass through every day. Chances of recovering the wallet looked slim at best. At least the chap hadn’t taken the passport. About a ten minute walk in the direction of my hotel was the Kōban to which Rahul directed me to lodge my complaint. Even so late in the evening, or maybe because of it, there were half-a-dozen or more policemen behind a long desk at the police box in Shinjuku. They were very courteous and attentive as I translated the events of the past hour. Back and forth it went on our respective translation apps as the policeman assigned to my case inquired about the colour of the wallet, the material it was made of, the make, its contents, the amount of cash it had, until the final question, ‘Did I want to catch the culprit or did I want the wallet recovered?’

On the streets of Shinjuku

I limped back to the hotel and made a call home. Both wife and daughter were in agreement that this was the last trip they’re letting me do on my own. I blocked my cards as the last act before turning in for the night.
The following day I had planned a morning visit to the Tokiwaso Manga Museum in Toshima-ku and an 8pm reservation for teamLab Planets. It was late in the evening when I passed by the FamilyMart on my way back to the hotel. I spotted Rahul behind the counter and pushed the door to go inside. I wanted to thank him for his help the night before and tell him about my visit to the police station. But he cut me off asking why I hadn’t come back to the store last night. He’d found my wallet.

Faded blue leather had never looked so wonderful to my eyes before. After I had left the store the previous night, Rahul, bless him, took the CCTV video on his mobile and showed it around to the chaps in neighbouring shops. They recognised the person in the white coat as someone who worked in the area. Rahul then went looking for this chap. And when he found him he theatened to take the CCTV to the police if he didn’t return the wallet. Though most of the cash in the wallet was gone everything else was there.

So, here’s the thing. A guy who clearly was not Japanese had imbibed Japanese culture to an extent that he felt it his duty to help someone in need. He didn’t have to, but he chose to. Like Lukasz said, when I met up with him again, ‘Only in Japan’.

On the streets of Shinjuku