brothel-chic

A couple of people, over the past few weeks, have given me a wry smile as they've passed me on the bike, my crutches resting over the handlebars. I've resisted taking the train where possible because the amount of effort involved to actually support myself getting to those elevators, or the right exit, is so demanding. I knew it before but I now have hard evidence that building standards in Japan are a world away from those in Britain. This is good and bad. on the plus side you get nice looking interiors with funky, uneven details in Japan which find their way into lots of international design magazines. The blind are also catered for extremely well - organised crime having not only a massive interest in concrete but also in yellow, sensory floor tiles. On the down side though, you get stairs at dizzy angles with handrails that seem to be designed for that 5th percentile of hobbits.

I've also never really given that much thought to the infamous female only carriages before now. only that I got nervous if I went anywhere near one in case someone cried rape. Never before had I realised I was such a threat to others as I do in Japan - be it my hair colour, or now my gender. I never thought about how uncivilised such a civilised society must be where men can't keep their hands to themselves. Consider how bad the problem must be to actually have to segregate adults in a public environment. it speaks volumes about Japanese society. I do wonder though, if women dressing as provocatively as they do, has anything to do with it. Here, the uber-chic merge uneasily with brothel-chic.

In any case, the dainty, colourful set have their own sweet smelling carriage whilst the elderly, young and disabled just hope they can squeeze in amoungst the dreary, soulless, grey commute. Incredibly I continue to be inspired everyday by Osaka but I'm glad my venture into town was a one off.

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