I missed the earthquake in Japan by a mere 36 hours. On Wednesday last week, I was in an office building in central Tokyo when the earth shook so much the entire building swayed from side to side. I could see the building we were in and the buildings outside, swaying like trees in strong gusts of wind. All day, there were little tremors, a warning of the devastation to come.
My Japanese friends, who were used to earthquakes, brushed aside my fears and comforted me by saying: 'Jeannie-san, this is normal. We have such earthquakes and buildings swaying all the time. Be patient, the shaking will pass.' For about 15 minutes, the building shook so much I considered running down the stairs to 'safer' ground. Glasses were shaking on the table and I was starting to experience motion sickness. What if the building collapsed? What if the ground beneath us split in two? Would I be safer on the streets or inside this 10-storey building?
Unfortunately, these unsettling tremors were not part of just another 'normal earthquake'; they were a prelude to the devastation to follow and in South Korea I watched it unfold in the subsequent days. Everyone was glued to the television set, watching with horror as people's lives and livelihoods crumbled in minutes. Nearly every restaurant was tuned into the latest news and the horrifying aftermath.
Even now, six days after the earthquake, my friends in Tokyo report hourly aftershocks with limited provisions and electricity. From initial reports, it seems most of the Japanese wine producers who are located inland suffered minimal damage. The damage to sake producers is much greater; many are located near the coastlines of Japan. I received a list of nearly 30 sake producers who suffered serious damage from the earthquake and tsunami, and the list will likely get longer as reports from those whose status is currently 'unknown' become available.
Alongside the tragic video clips are images of Japanese people lining up for most of the day to buy basic provisions, sitting patiently in their cars for hours to fill up their fuel tanks and helping one another in large makeshift shelters. There are no riots, no chaos and no hysteria. One woman interviewed by CNN recounted how she watched her daughter snatched from her arms by the tsunami and swept away; she cried softly but still exuded a sense of calm. I watched with tears in my eyes, far less calm than the woman on television, unable to imagine or fathom such a loss. I thought of something my mother once told me, 'One's true character surfaces in times of tragedy.'
When I look back at the many wine and sake tasting notes I recorded in my notebook over the past 12 months, I see traces of this serenity, this restraint and repose in my tasting notes for Japan's best crafted beverages. Through simple, small steps - an appreciation for Koshu, a sip of sake, fondness for Japanese cuisine - I feel a little bit closer to a culture that I deeply admire, one that can face tragedy or death with dignity and poise.