Surviving The Tokyo Metro; Yokohama To Ueno

This would be me, as an North American Brontosaurus romping through the Far East

Elementary students in a Ueno park

I was cruising the World Wide Web when I stumbled upon a video that captured the Japanese insanity known as the Tokyo Metro system. I was immediately thrown back almost four years in time to the most memorable year of my existence thus far; 14 months teaching English in Yokohama with my wife. Yokohama is not as clustered as Tokyo, but it does boast the second largest population in Japan. Luckily for Teresa and I our commutes to and from work were civil in comparison to that of central Tokyo.
Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Art

On a fine winter’s day Teresa and I had gone to Ueno to see the Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Art. We arrived early and spent about six hours in Ueno, viewing the exhibit, strolling through the local parks and byways, and smiling at the stray cats the congregate around Buddhist temples for a free meal of compassion. We entered the Ueno train station close to 6PM on a week day, and to our surprise the station was extremely crowded with business folks, students, and house wives returning from shopping sprees. We nervously waited in line as two trains came and went with no room for the extended queue. Finally it was our turn, and like these films, we were pushed in and somewhat separated from one another. Praise the Gods and my genes for making me a foot taller than the rest of those sardines, and putting my head above the stench of sweat, blood, and tears; I could breathe! We must have been on that train for 25 minutes, riding from Ueno to Yokohama. I was paired with the fattest man I have ever seen on a Japanese train, and I could see and smell the sweat seeping through his jacket. A small woman, perhaps a solid 4’11” in height, was smashed into the same blob’s side, and truth be told she was gasping for air and did seem to pass out more than once. Because I stomp through Japan like a brontosaurus with all the black haired deinonychus running around under my stride, I was grasping the bars on the train ceiling that the locals had dreamed of one day touching (these bars are the cleanest by far, free of hand oils and cough spat spray). I could see Teresa’s buttocks mashed into another man’s groin, and despite her torture and my annoyance there was absolutely nothing either of us could do. At each stop a few people would exit the train only to have more enter, and by the time we reached Yokohama station we all emerged through the train doors like water flowing through a hose. After acclimating to the fresh air on the platform we dodged through the stairways to cross over to our local, comfy, quiet train line where the seats seemed to glisten like a misplaced quarter on a sidewalk.

Local art


Feline Refuge
The ride home


trains in Tokyo