Zoo blues

Sunday 30th July
Due to yet another late start to the day I had not given myself enough time to do what I had planned for the day. I almost called the whole thing off, but decided instead just get on a train and salvage what I could of the rest of the day. It was 2.30 by the time I boarded a a Chuo line 'special rapid service' to Shinjuku, and 3.45 by the time I had changed trains and made my way to Ueno. I had been to Ueno in the early weeks of my arrival in the country but was unfortunate enough to go on a Monday when all of the galleries in the area are closed. So, I had finally made it on a Sunday but was foolish enough to arrive only an hour before the sights closed. My plan had been to visit the National gallery to see the Jakuchu exhibition and then go to the zoo. However, I only had time to see one. I figured that it would be a shame to rush around the gallery so opted for the zoo. I don't know why but I was actually in the mood for watching animals. I think it was because of a short essay by Alain de Botton that I read just days before.

He described going to the zoo one Sunday afternoon in spite of the fact that his nephew could not join him as planned. He recommended an afternoon alone in a zoo, for it is usually something one thinks of as a children's activity, yet for adults it can be just as fulfilling. If nothing else, it gives one the chance to stock up on witty and informed fodder for 'after-dinner' conversation. He recalls a number of occasions when he has been confronted by questions such as "well, if you were an animal what would you be?" (He decided he was most like the tapir or the llama.)

De Botton went on to remark on the great differences there are between humans and animals - how strange they look. I had to agree; the long snout and shuffling gait of the anteater; the peculiar, shriveled head and limbs that emerge from the turtle's shell. They couldn't be more different. And yet, there were such likenesses to be found. I saw a Panda who sat beyond a glass screen on a tiled floor, next to a pile of eucalyptus branches. He looked so forlorn I couldn't help but feel empathy for him. He was hunched over and picking at the leaves so slowly, it was just like watching a person in the depths of despair or a miserable child alone in the corner of the classroom.

One could argue that animals are not like humans at all and do not experience emotions in the same way as humans do; that we simply project certain emotions onto them that correspond to certain kinds of behaviour. However, one only has to watch the apes to know for sure that there is little to divide us and them. It may be just luck and a degree of intelligence that keeps us from being the ones behind glass and them being the gawping audience, licking ice-creams and laughing on a Sunday afternoon. I felt sorry for these creatures. One Gorilla had covered himself with a grubby Japanese flag and was loping around the enclosure. Another sat just inches away from the faces of tiny children and stared back with soft brown blinking eyes. I read once that "similarity is the shadow of difference. Two things are similar by virtue of their difference." When it comes to apes this can be uncomfortably true. Queen Victoria as described apes as"frightful and painfully and disagreeably human." In all honesty it made me sad to see such intelligent creatures placed there for our delight and amusement.

Perhaps apes are more recognizably human because of the small differences that we share physiologically. Yet one only has to watch an playful otter or a polar bear for a few minutes to see they are not so dissimilar either. Their needs are not so different to ours. I saw two polar bears pacing back and forth on plastic 'ice-berg' in the sweltering July heat. They were not restful or content - they were thousands of miles from their natural habitat, and suffering from what we might describe as 'cabin fever' 'boredom' and 'frustration' because of it. Actually this is an understatement. They were probably out of their minds. The condition of some of the monkeys certainly pertained to this. 'Monkey mountain' was another plastic abomination upon which scampered disheveled, balding apes, without a blade of grass or a tree in sight. As for the elephants, well, that really was sad. These magnificent giants stood in cages that they could not turn in if they wanted to. It was awful. My afternoon in the zoo did not fill me with philosophical ponderings as it had De Botton. Instead it left me feeling sad and resentful of the Japanese for keeping wild animals in such poor conditions.



As the sun was going down I headed for Ameyoko market, I prowled around the stalls and shops. A little later on I came across a grotty shop window selling vials and jars of medicinal looking substances. (Please see video below.) My faith in the Japanese sense of 'humanity' was not restored by what I saw. On the contrary. On a stone pedestal were coiled a number of small live snakes for which I realised were also there for 'medicinal purposes' - snakes blood being a valuable source of 'alternative healing power'. Well it was almost as bad as buying a turtle's blood and orange juice cocktail I thought. How revolting. (This is true by the way. I have met numerous people who have been served this drink.) Give me a gin and tonic any day!



Although my day did not go as planned, in a way it was a good one. Sometimes things do not work out the way we want them to or imagine them to. But if one is not disappointed by this, then one can gain unexpected experiences and thoughts that no amount of planning can provide. I thus travelled back for Toyoda feeling strangely comforted.