From Job to Job around the World

by Alfred C. B. Fletcher

The Asia proved to be a good ship and lazily ploughed her way across the Pacific in a manner to indicate that this trip was simply one in the cycle of many more to come. But this was her last, for on her return from Manila, she encountered a heavy fog off the coast of China and went head on into a large rock and anchored herself securely with her nose in the air and her stern submerged in the sea. Her passengers and crew were all saved and, after being pillaged by Chinese pirates, she was whipped off by the waves and sank into the water, a total wreck.

Ten days of ocean travel spent with educated Japanese returning home, with United States Government employés bound for Manila and other human beings of assorted sizes and miscellaneous occupations, and we reached the shores of Japan.

From one of the Japanese on board we obtained a prospective itinerary. We made arrangements with Mr. A. Miyawaki, a young American-educated Japanese, who was returning to his native land after an absence of eight years, to accompany us for ten days. Miyawaki was a charming little fellow and had been assistant in dairying at the Kansas State Agricultural Experiment Station. We figured that with him as a travelling companion we had acquired a valuable guide. Although Japan was nearly as strange to him as it was to us—for he left when a boy—he knew the language, the lack of which knowledge we soon found to be a great obstacle.

There are two ways to travel—one in luxury as a tourist, the other in discomfort as a tramp. What on earth is there so vulgar as the affluent, loud-voiced, inquisitive, lazy, coin-displaying American tourist? He splashes through Europe or the Orient with a Baedeker in one hand and a ten dollar bill or its equivalent in the other, glances at the cathedrals and temples, eats a near-native meal especially arranged by Thomas Cook and Son, puts up at the expensive European or American hotels and flits from country to country—and imagines that he has seen all there is to see. Nearly every tourist on arriving in Japan goes directly to an Occidental hotel where he lives in Western fashion and luxury at Western prices and seldom, if ever, comes in contact with the natives.

Richardson and I were not tourists but refined tramps. We decided to religiously avoid the American and European hotels for two reasons—first, for economy, and second, for the interesting things we would see and learn. The man is fortunate who can get off without paying eight yen (four dollars) a day at the average Western hotel in an Oriental city, while around the corner at a Japanese inn it is possible to get a room and two meals for from one to three yen a day. There is not the same amount of comfort and luxury as is offered by the Occidental hotel, but there is a thousand times more interest.

The Asia arrived in Tokyo Bay and the city of Yokohama loomed up before us. After a short customs examination, through which I managed to smuggle some American tobacco—for I had learned something of the inferior qualities of this commodity in Japan—we took a rickshaw each, from among the hundred or more that were waiting at the pier, and were off up the street.

Miyawaki, our Japanese friend, accompanied us. Our rickshaws drew up to a Japanese inn and Miyawaki soon made arrangements for our rooms. We sat down on the little porch and took off our shoes, leaving them on the sidewalk along with a score of others, and put on a pair of slippers. After we were robed in kimonos, a dainty little maid pattered in with a tray load of provisions. She knelt down and spread before us the evening meal. Rice represented the bulk of the food and there were raw fish, a bowl of soup with one egg in it, a dish of boiled bamboo shoots, a plate of sweetened beans and a little receptacle containing some black flavouring sauce. The meal was concluded with several small bowls of tea. Richardson and I flew to this assortment almost like animals, we were so hungry. The little maid was much amused at our awkward efforts to manipulate the chop sticks. Rice was especially hard to handle with these two strips of wood.

Richardson and I became so fond of rice before we had lived long on that staple that we thought we could never again eat a meal without it. The Japanese understand how to prepare it and cook it in such a way that each grain is dry and separate from the others. The average dish of rice in America tastes and looks like a mass of Library paste.

Life in a Japanese hotel is a continual round of novelties and interesting experiences to the uninitiated Western traveller. Before entering the guest must remove his shoes—a more sensible custom than that of the Occident of removing the hat—for which tracks in the dirt? With a pair of house slippers to replace his shoes, the guest is ushered into his room, a compartment without any furniture except a Japanese screen and a picture or two. In winter there may be a stove, which consists of a small circular receptacle resembling a jardinière and containing ashes—in the centre of which are a few live pieces of charcoal. As soon as the guest is in his room the proprietor enters with a blank form which is to be filled out and which gives a complete record of the new arrival—his age, occupation, home, reasons for being away from home, destination, etc. This information is turned over by the inn-keeper to the chief of police and thus a close tab is kept on every visitor to a Japanese city. After this formality, the maid enters the room with a kimono and if you give her a chance will completely disrobe you. There are no chairs; nothing but a little mat upon which you coil in tailor fashion. There are no beds; retiring appliances consisting of a thin mattress and quilts which are spread out on the floor at bed-time each night and taken up again in the morning to be placed in compartments in the wall of the room. There is no dining table but in its place is a little tray, sometimes elevated on legs, brought in from the kitchen at meal times. There are no knives, forks and spoons, nor plates. In fact, everything that one would expect to find in an hotel is missing and some other device is in its place. Probably the most unusual feature to the western traveller is the accommodation for taking a bath. This generally consists of a fair-sized room in which are a dozen or more little round wooden tubs where men, women and children all gather at the same time and perform their daily ablutions.

This, briefly, is the lay-out which a traveller finds when he stays at a Japanese hotel. As much of a novelty as it was for Richardson and me to experience the sensations of this kind of inn, it was an equal novelty for the Japanese to have us as guests. We often encountered considerable difficulty in convincing the proprietor that we really wished to stay at his hotel. In addition to the handicap of carrying on a conversation without the use of a language, for we knew nothing of Japanese, we frequently had to overcome the hotel man's notion that we were trying to play a joke on him. Once in the hotel we were constantly the centre of attraction and source of interest not only to those employed about the place but also to the other guests.