Thanks to Citibank and the competition presented by its 24-hour ATM machines, ATMs in Japan now provide money outside of regular banking hours. But this wasn't always the case.
Back in the early 1990s, ATM machines had limited hours. Although they were open later than banks, their hours were only slightly longer -- usually until 7:00 p.m. They were also closed on Sundays and holidays. There was many a time when I tried to withdraw cash after work or on a Sunday and found the doors to the bank locked, with me cursing the stupidity of ATMs ever being unavailable.
According to my Japanese friends, the reason was the need for maintenance. In the US, if you went to an ATM outside banking hours and it was out of money, you would go to the next ATM down the line and think nothing of it. Apparently, in Japan, causing a customer to go to the next ATM would cause a shame worthy of ritual suicide with a long, sharp blade. So, rather than inconvenience customers by forcing them to go to the next ATM if the first one was out of money, Japanese banks elected to deny their customers all access to their money after 7:00 pm on weekdays and all day on Sundays and holidays.
The lack of access to ATM machines nearly caused me to starve over the new year holiday in 1993. New Year's Day is probably the most important holiday on the Japanese calendar. It used to be celebrated on the lunar new year -- what we in the west know as "Chinese New Year." However, when the Japanese began to adopt all things Western in the late 19th century, they adopted the western calendar and the January 1st New Year's Day along with it. Most businesses throw in a couple of extra days off at the holiday, so with the weekend, you usually get at least five days off. During the 1992-1993 new year holiday, I forgot that the ATMs would be closed. I went to the bank and found not only that it would be closed that day, but that it would be closed for two more days after that as well. Having spent all my cash on hand in the expectation that I could just go to the bank, I literally ran out of cash.
My savior was the fact that doing laundry in Tokyo was so expensive. Each load of laundry at the local laundromat cost 600 or 700 yen ($6-7), so I got into the habit of saving all of my 100 yen coins for laundry. After striking out at the bank, I went home wondering how I was going to eat that weekend and discovered my stash of 100 yen coins. The bowl contained 2000 yen or so, which was enough for me to buy food at the supermarket for the next couple of days. Needless to say, the cashier was quite surprised when I paid entirely in coins.
Why it did not occur to me to borrow money from a friend until the ATMs opened again, I do not know. Perhaps it would have dawned on me eventually if I had not discovered my laundry coin hoard. Nevertheless, I would never found myself in that predicament in the first place if Japanese ATM machines didn't need holidays, too.
Showing posts with label New Year's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New Year's. Show all posts
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
My First Hatsumode
Hatsumode translates literally as "first visit" but means the first visit to a Shino shrine of the new year. New Year's is the most important holiday of the Japanese calendar. (Before westernization, it was celebrated on the lunar new year, like Chinese New Year, but at some point, it was switched to January 1.) It's customary to perform hatsumode during the first ten days of January.
My first hatsumode was with (girlfriend, not wife) Kaori on New Year's Eve 1991-92. Kaori and I had gone out for dinner together in the Harajuku area of Tokyo on New Year's Eve, and finished eating around 10:00 pm. We did not know of any parties and were sure that every hotel room in Hoteru Gai was already full by that time. We were not quite sure what to do with ourselves, when I suggested that we go to Meiji Jingu Shrine, the shrine to Emperor Meiji, who oversaw the modernization of Japan, which is located near Harajuku, next to Yoyogi Park. I had heard that Japanese people visit a shrine to mark the New Year, and since Meiji Jingu was nearby, it seemed like a fun thing to do. Kaori agreed.
It was a pleasant evening for December. A bit chilly, not freezing, a nice night for a quick trip to the shrine while we figured out what else to do that night. We walked up the fashionable, tree-lined Omote-Sando Street towards the Shrine. (Sando literally means "[humble] pilgrimage route" and omote means "front," so Omote-Sando street is literally the "front approach for making a humble pilgrimage" to the Meiji Shrine.) Near Harajuku station, we crossed over to the wide gravel path leading through the giant stone torii gate marking the entrance to the shrine. From there, we walked for five minutes along the gravel road as giant cypress trees towered above us on either side, blocking out the sky except for a little sliver directly over the very middle of the gravel road.
"No one here," we said to each other, smiling at our good fortune, as we made a left turn under another giant torii gate onto the road approaching the actual shrine entrance. Off to the right, through the cypress trees, we could see bright floodlights that lit up the Shrine for New Years visitors. We continued down the approach route, gravel crunching under our feet, and turned right to the actual shrine entrance.
There, in front of us, was a crowd of thousands of visitors, who had turned out at the single most popular hatsumode location in Tokyo, if not all of Japan. The crowd did not appear to be moving. We thought about leaving and turned around to find that we were already sandwiched by thousands more who had quietly come up behind us while we were enjoying our walk in the night air. We had no choice but to stay.
Every few minutes, the crowd moved up ten feet or so. We realized that the shrine officials were letting only a few hundred people through the main gate at a time to control the crowds. The progress was slow. The air was getting colder, and before long, we were freezing. Neither one of us was dressed for the cold, and we stomped our feet, clapped our hands, and clung to each other to keep warm. I wished I had a flask of whiskey or a One Cup sake to generate some heat from within.
We inched our way forward, until after an hour or so, we got close enough to see the roof of the shrine. And here, we saw one of the prettiest sights I had ever seen. In Japan, it's customary to deposit money into a collection box when saying a prayer at a Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple. Although the really devout and desperate give bills, most throw a coin or two into the box. (My wife always says I am giving too much when I throw a 100-yen ($1) coin into the box. The going rate, apparently, is 10 yen.) Because of the size of the crowds that night, it was not possible to get to the actual shrine and throw money in the box. Instead, officials had roped off the area in front of the shrine and spread out tarps onto which people could throw their offerings. And, as each successive group of several hundred was let through the gate, a hail of coins, many of them handfuls of silver one-yen coins saved for the occasion, flew into the air, were illuminated by the flood lights, and fell like glistening snow.
Every few minutes, as each group entered, we watched thousands of coins twinkle as they sailed through the cold night air. Finally we were let in, and we, too, threw our coins into the night sky. A group came in behind us and launched their handfuls of coins into the air, many of which fell on us and around us. I later found a one-yen coin in the collar of my jacket.
Having paid our respects to the dead emperor, we were directed to exit to the right, by a path that led back to the main approach and Harajuku Station. The last trains had already left, and so we found a taxi back to Oshikawa-san's dormitory. Since my room was very close to the never-locked back door, and everyone seemed to be asleep, I was able to sneak Kaori into my room and sneak her back out the next morning before anyone was the wiser.
Had we known better, we never would have gone to Meiji Jingu on New Year's Eve. It's the Japanese equivalent of going to Times Square to freeze you ass off amongst the drunks on New Year's Eve -- the kind of thing that only kids and wide-eyed out-of-towners do -- only better organized and more respectful. I will never do it again. But I am really glad I did it once.
My first hatsumode was with (girlfriend, not wife) Kaori on New Year's Eve 1991-92. Kaori and I had gone out for dinner together in the Harajuku area of Tokyo on New Year's Eve, and finished eating around 10:00 pm. We did not know of any parties and were sure that every hotel room in Hoteru Gai was already full by that time. We were not quite sure what to do with ourselves, when I suggested that we go to Meiji Jingu Shrine, the shrine to Emperor Meiji, who oversaw the modernization of Japan, which is located near Harajuku, next to Yoyogi Park. I had heard that Japanese people visit a shrine to mark the New Year, and since Meiji Jingu was nearby, it seemed like a fun thing to do. Kaori agreed.
It was a pleasant evening for December. A bit chilly, not freezing, a nice night for a quick trip to the shrine while we figured out what else to do that night. We walked up the fashionable, tree-lined Omote-Sando Street towards the Shrine. (Sando literally means "[humble] pilgrimage route" and omote means "front," so Omote-Sando street is literally the "front approach for making a humble pilgrimage" to the Meiji Shrine.) Near Harajuku station, we crossed over to the wide gravel path leading through the giant stone torii gate marking the entrance to the shrine. From there, we walked for five minutes along the gravel road as giant cypress trees towered above us on either side, blocking out the sky except for a little sliver directly over the very middle of the gravel road.
"No one here," we said to each other, smiling at our good fortune, as we made a left turn under another giant torii gate onto the road approaching the actual shrine entrance. Off to the right, through the cypress trees, we could see bright floodlights that lit up the Shrine for New Years visitors. We continued down the approach route, gravel crunching under our feet, and turned right to the actual shrine entrance.
There, in front of us, was a crowd of thousands of visitors, who had turned out at the single most popular hatsumode location in Tokyo, if not all of Japan. The crowd did not appear to be moving. We thought about leaving and turned around to find that we were already sandwiched by thousands more who had quietly come up behind us while we were enjoying our walk in the night air. We had no choice but to stay.
Every few minutes, the crowd moved up ten feet or so. We realized that the shrine officials were letting only a few hundred people through the main gate at a time to control the crowds. The progress was slow. The air was getting colder, and before long, we were freezing. Neither one of us was dressed for the cold, and we stomped our feet, clapped our hands, and clung to each other to keep warm. I wished I had a flask of whiskey or a One Cup sake to generate some heat from within.
We inched our way forward, until after an hour or so, we got close enough to see the roof of the shrine. And here, we saw one of the prettiest sights I had ever seen. In Japan, it's customary to deposit money into a collection box when saying a prayer at a Shinto shrine or Buddhist temple. Although the really devout and desperate give bills, most throw a coin or two into the box. (My wife always says I am giving too much when I throw a 100-yen ($1) coin into the box. The going rate, apparently, is 10 yen.) Because of the size of the crowds that night, it was not possible to get to the actual shrine and throw money in the box. Instead, officials had roped off the area in front of the shrine and spread out tarps onto which people could throw their offerings. And, as each successive group of several hundred was let through the gate, a hail of coins, many of them handfuls of silver one-yen coins saved for the occasion, flew into the air, were illuminated by the flood lights, and fell like glistening snow.
Every few minutes, as each group entered, we watched thousands of coins twinkle as they sailed through the cold night air. Finally we were let in, and we, too, threw our coins into the night sky. A group came in behind us and launched their handfuls of coins into the air, many of which fell on us and around us. I later found a one-yen coin in the collar of my jacket.
Having paid our respects to the dead emperor, we were directed to exit to the right, by a path that led back to the main approach and Harajuku Station. The last trains had already left, and so we found a taxi back to Oshikawa-san's dormitory. Since my room was very close to the never-locked back door, and everyone seemed to be asleep, I was able to sneak Kaori into my room and sneak her back out the next morning before anyone was the wiser.
Had we known better, we never would have gone to Meiji Jingu on New Year's Eve. It's the Japanese equivalent of going to Times Square to freeze you ass off amongst the drunks on New Year's Eve -- the kind of thing that only kids and wide-eyed out-of-towners do -- only better organized and more respectful. I will never do it again. But I am really glad I did it once.
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