After having spent almost a month up north, I'm back in Tokyo. Holed up in my apartment, air conditioner on high, I'm avoiding people. Anyone I don't absolutely have to see I don't. I need space. I need to think about the benign. I want my weekend to be uninteresting. My sponge, body and mind and soul is full. Watching mindless television, doing nothing productive, I'm slowly wringing out my sponge. Which is why I have the luxury to contemplate the following.
With no need to dress up in Tohoku, I live in cut-off jeans and t-shirts. Make up is reserved for the days I see someone who hasn't seen me without. I walk around town in my sandals. Flip-flops, really. My feet are dirty at the end of each day, but I see this as a mark of where I've been, what I've accomplished, and not anything negative.
Walking on sidewalks, running around pre-school playgrounds with kids in sandals, a natural conclusion might be "your feet must be taking a beating." Not true. The conclusion of wearing flip-flops for a month? No blisters.
Which is why, after day three of being in Tokyo, I marvel in disgust at my feet. They're once again covered in blisters. I'm wearing the same sandals I've worn in Tohoku for the past month. What gives? Why do Tokyo sidewalks give me blisters when Tohoku sidewalks don't?
If this phenomenon were an isolated incident, if somehow I walk funny when I'm in Tokyo I might dismiss this. I am not, however, and I say this with a combination grin-grimace, the only woman in Tokyo who has "foot problems." Indeed, blistering feet is the norm here in Tokyo.
This begs the question...what are Tokyo sidewalks made out of that ruin our feet so? Is this why people in Tokyo walk fast? Is this why people seem to be busier? In a hurry? Do people get more done in Tokyo, walking fast from place to place so we can finish our days sooner, all in avoidance of the blisters we know we'll have when we get home? Is there some secret ingredient in the concrete concoction? I'm only half-kidding. Conspiracy theory anyone?
Freedom to contemplate the absurd doesn't stop here. I continue to be amazed at the price of food in the supermarkets. Do people really pay six dollars for two nectarines? Seven dollars for a mango? Do they taste better? Are they worth the price? The 100 dollar watermelons displayed at high-end shops aside, I've begun to wonder if I'm really that poor or if the average Japanese housewife really has managed to tuck away that much money for fruit.
Then there are the tomatoes. I've read the labels. I've looked at where they're grown. I can't seem to find the "secret" that makes tomatoes in Japan worth paying this much for. Simply put, they're delicious. Juicy, sweet, bright red balls of goodness they are. For these, I'll gladly pay four dollars for six small ones. Why do I not trust the mangoes to be as good? Probably because I can buy five of the same mangoes for five dollars back home. No one mango can be that good, and certainly not worth seven dollars. Tomatoes though, ah. For these, I gladly make an exception.
Evidently there's something to be said for a weekend spent doing nothing. The tomatoes I had for my afternoon snack clearly gave me fuel and inspiration. As did my new blisters.
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