Mysterious bento lessons

by Stephen Bocking (Australia)

A leap into the unknown Japan

The life of the travel writer seems too glamorous to be real. For us meagre travelers, the idea of being paid to waft and flit from one exotic destination to another is a dream. Given the chance, we mere mortals would constantly dine on barely pronounceable delicacies in far away and exotic places while casually taking notes with the pad and pen stolen from our ritzy accommodation. Casually we’d take breathtaking snap-shots of ourselves lounging in luxurious surrounds while we gaze wistfully into the middle distance at fabulously beautiful people meandering around seemingly just to make the place look good. No wonder these writing vocations are so sought after, it’s a dream. Dreams and reality however, only ever meet in that dusky confusing twilight just before we awake. And it is only then, when we sit up and wipe the sleep from our eyes that we start to consider just what on earth was going on in that mysterious other-world? Dreams are funny like that, they’re baffling things, full of hidden meanings and life lessons but somehow both important and completely nonsensical. And that is where you find the writer of this tale. Our story, like many others takes place onboard a speeding train. This particular train is the 9:15 Shinkansen bullet train out of Tokyo headed for Osaka. As with so many things Japanese, the train is absolutely on-time, spotlessly clean and joy to be on. The Shinkansen is an experience everybody should try at least once. A modern technological miracle that hurtles you across the landscape at terrifying speeds, and yet on the inside of the train everything is calm and beautiful, as if nothing could ever go wrong. There’s even a stewardess who politely bows as she enters your carriage pushing a trolley of those delicious and colourful Japanese snacks that look like little artworks. A tad unsure as to what to do when the stewardess arrives I watch the Japanese businessman across the aisle. He purchases a small bento box from the charming young lady, so I follow suit. It’s a confusing little thing to open but I watch the businessman for clues and very soon I have 12 delicious little mysteries before me to eat. I’m in heaven. I smile at the businessman who smiles back, a little confused, but polite as is commonly the Japanese way. One after the other I savour the little masterpieces. Each one slightly different from the one before, but all are delicious until I get to the last little cube. This small, off-white square sits quietly in the corner of the box, and I attack it with the same gusto as the 11 before. This one however is slightly different. It’s sort of watery and tasteless, and it’s a bit tough to chew, but I soldier on. Sometimes you have to learn to love new flavours and sensations and I’m quietly proud of myself for pushing my boundaries a little further with my new found culinary delight. I sit back as I swallow my last tasty morsel with something approaching pride. I remained chuffed with my efforts, quietly applauding myself for being such a man of culture and experience, until I look across the corridor towards my businessman mentor. I was fully expecting to be greeted with quiet approval by my sensei. In my mind he would smile and nod at his young pad wan, but I got something different, very different. He wasn’t smiling. He had on his face a look that was somewhere between horror, bemusement and confusion. He then pulled out his own little white cube from his bento box, unfolded it and proceeded to wipe his face and hands. I had eaten the hand wipe. I turned towards the window and watched the beautiful Japanese scenery serenely slide by, quietly trying to ignore what I’d just done. I never did see the businessman get off the train. I was also trying to come to terms with the fact that I actually sort of enjoyed eating the hand towel. I image that somewhere out there, there’s a Japanese businessman with a bizarre tale of this guy he met on the train who eats hand towels. With love Stephen Bocking