It is fascinating to watch as Japan merges its thousands of years of tradition with its present and future. So far, it has been able to do so with some mystery intact. The language barrier has helped, although that's slowly dissolving with bilingual signs and Japanese students learning English. For a while at least, the language, like Japan itself, will remain an intriguing challenge for visitors.
At Tokyo station, waiting for the bullet train (shinkansen), many passengers buy boxed lunches (bento). They are inviting: The map on the cover suggests each of the foods inside has been harvested in a different part of Japan—white radishes from the far west, salmon roe from the far northeast, eel from the south coast.
These boxes are comparable to Japan itself: They have the same sense of order—each food in its own little compartment, carefully thought out and arranged.
They are also standardized, like the "salarymen" in their dark suits—yet, like their splashy ties, they had a container of sauce to spice things up. They are wrapped—everything in Japan gets wrapped. They even have a moist towelette—almost every restaurant gives you one.
The boxed lunch does not, of course, come with a state-of-the-art smartphone and a miniature camera. It does not open to a karaoke tune. It offers no hint of the passion for ice cream or mayonnaise, for the trendiest fashions, for manga, pachinko and cigarettes. And although its packaging reflects modern design, it says nothing about the bold, exciting architecture that is slowly changing the face of Japan.
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