HERE'S MY latest column in the IHT/Asahi:
Salarymole emerges from underground to commute to work
For years, like a mole, I used tunnels burrowed under the city to get to work. A few minutes' walk from my condo I submerged, only to rise again at the steps to my office. What stood between, I had little idea.
Bored with the Yurakucho line, I searched for an alternative means of transport. First, over the summer, I rode my bicycle to work.
Good exercise and quick, but I felt uneasy on the sidewalks and on the streets. Trucks waited to squish me; oblivious pedestrians stumbled every which way--they might as well have had targets on their backs.
But it was summer, and though I arrived alive, the puddles of sweat that marked my path to the newsroom were unappealing.
I gave up and returned underground until the winter holidays. Around Christmas, I spotted a bus near my home. People were getting on it. I followed. The bus driver provided the lowdown. I handed over a 10,000-yen note. He gave me a pass good for 35 days.
Unlike a train pass that takes a rider from point A to point B, my bus pass allowed me to travel anywhere in Tokyo. What a deal. I fantasized about trips to out of the way places and how much money I would save. But over the next 35 days, I only rode to work and back. Anyone who knows me could have predicted this. Anyone but me.
The bus was a revelation. There were many buildings, canals and a big river between my home in Toyosu and my office in Tsukiji. And instead of being tunnel rat/salaryman, I rode on high. From my comfy bus seat I looked down on the squabbling masses.
At night, I viewed the Sumidagawa river in its glorious, slithering splendor. The holiday illuminations were marvelous and happy-making. The bus traveled less crowded roads: I had never seen many of the shops.
I even got a demographic lesson. I can remember (barely) when an ex-general named Eisenhower was president of the United States, yet on more than one instance I was the youngest traveler on the bus. I discovered what Japan would look like in the year 2050--wrinkled.
If everything was so great, why am I back riding the subway to work? It was all in the timing. Both of my bus stops were on major intersections. Often I watched, trapped on the wrong side of the road, as my bus approached. It was only a matter of time until I would freak out, race against a red, and end up a hood ornament on a dump truck.
Finally, while departure times are posted at every bus stop, they are merely wish lists. I frequently "just missed" my No. 10 bus. Trains may be boring, but at least they're predictable.
Last week, I was looking at a map. I discovered a route via rivers and canals that runs from my backyard to a pier just couple of minutes walk from my office...
