Setsuden

Up until three weeks ago all of Japan’s 54 nuclear reactors were cooling their atoms in the ‘off’ position. However, faced with the prospect of brownouts as the summer heat and humidity advances, the government blinked and reauthorized the restarting of two reactors in Kansai, Japan’s industrial heartland. This has met with surprisingly large public criticism. A rally in Tokyo protesting against the restarts attracted 170,000 people while all this week anti-nuclear activists have been staging nighty noisy demonstrations outside the prime minister’s residence.
The primary reason for the unseemly return to nuclear energy is, as for so many things here, economic. In order to make up for the energy shortfall since all the reactors were turned off, Japan has been importing vast amounts of oil, coal and gas to keep the country’s electrical grid up and humming. The bill for this is estimated at $100 million a day. Plus there is all that capital intensive nuclear infrastructure just sitting there idly in the summer sun.
Yet, the restart of only two reactors is unlikely to reduce that bill by much. So, in tandem, the government has initiated a nationwide campaign of ‘setsuden’ or ‘power saving’ over the summer. This involves a myriad of approaches from turning off traffic lights, installing LED lightbulbs in street lights, badgering people to unplug electrical appliances at home, to setting air conditioner units to kick in only above 28 C (and that’s with 85%+ humidity). Even this may not be enough and so the various regional electrical utilities have drawn up plans for rolling electrical blackouts should demand swamp the available supply of electricity.
To the more cynical observer like, well, myself, it seems that there are a number of issues here. One is the economic cost of powering Japan versus the human cost of scrimping on same.  Last year, when similar power saving measures were in place, a record 1,718 people died from heatstroke. According to yesterday’s Japan Times, just last weekend saw 8 people die from the broiling summer heat while another 2,500 had to be hospitalized for same. Even the government acknowledges that many of the fatalities were elderly people who switched off their air-conditioning in response to the ‘setsuden’ campaign.
A more subtle issue is the framing of the ‘setsuden’ in terms of the disruption (and deaths) it causes to people’s lives. Essentially, the government and the electricity utilities, who have invested billions in the nuclear power industry, are saying ‘without nuclear power, these are the hardships we have to endure. Do you want this to continue?’ The ‘you’ is the people of Japan as a whole. The implied contrast here is with the minority (population wise) of those displaced because of the meltdowns and radioactive dispersal at the Fukushima power plant. What the government is trying to do is switch the point of focus; instead of news reports about the ongoing (and potentially terminal) dislocation of the residents around the plant, the nightly news is filled with reports of the heatwave affecting all parts of the country and the suffering it is inflicting on a power-starved country. In other words, Fukushima is a local disaster whereas ‘setsuden’ is a national problem. And in a bitter irony, such a problem can easily be solved by putting also those expensively idle nuclear reactors back online.

A summer stroll

After the full on white-water tube floating adrenaline rush in the morning, I decided to calm myself down with a post lunch stroll.

There were trees. But of course. Soaring green sentinels standing watch on our human folly.

 And snakes! Or rather a dozy snake, spread across the gravel, enjoying the sun. (As an aside, I am seeing a lot of snakes this year, hither and thither. I am not too sure what is going on, but it could soon be time to invoke St. Patrick and pack a water pistol filled with holy water).

 And somewhat more unsettling, fresh bear shite.
At most two, two and a quarter hours old. You can tell from the taste.

 And so my stroll became a brisk walk and after some rustling amongst the soaring green etc., etc., a bit of a quick jog. 
All in all, too much land and water based excitement for one day.

The River

 I come from down in the tani

Where Mister when you're young

They bring you up to do just like your Mammy done

We'd go down to the river

And into the river we'd gingerly step

Oh that damn river was  ever so cold

Then I got a hollow tube

And man did it ever float

And for my fifth birthday I got a red helmet and a life-jacket

We went down to Forest Kozan

And the guide put me in the water

No wetsuits, no thermal underwear

No way to stop the hollow tube

Oh we went down to the river

And into the water we'd go

And man was it ever cold

But I remember us riding in my daddy's Mazda,

His stereo on and my mamma complaining

About the Thunder Road and the Wrecking Ball
And as I lie awake in my bunk at night
I still feel the cold and the water white

 Now I spend my days down at the nursery school
Where all we ever do is play inside
But sometimes mister when its nap time
My dreams of floating come alive
And send me back down to the river
And into the river we'd dive (kind of)
Down to the river
My hollow tube and me 
Oh down to the river we'd go

Tokyo

 

A couple of weeks ago I was down in Tokyo for a conference. One of the things that immediately struck me about the city (besides how warm it is), is the relative affluence of the place. Though that impression was undeniably influenced by the location of my hotel. It was in Akasaka, close to the Diet (Japan's weight conscious parliament), various ministries and government agencies, and the Emperor's Palace (and no, I didn't meet him. He was allegedly 'out' when I called). 
Yet, even further afield in the more nondescript parts of town where the conference was held, there is a distinct difference in the degree of urbanity between here, in Muroran, and there.
"Well, duh", I hear you say, but to the casual visitor to Japan, who inevitably passes through the capital at some stage of their journey, the impression would be of a quite, orderly city with a subtle air of reserved affluence. Clean streets, orderly citizens, dull, functional but undeniably modern buildings, excellent public transport, an amazing variety of restaurants, and a beguiling variety of shops, large and small, enticing you to part with your yen.
No rusting, shuttered shops, faded discount stores or cavernous empty buildings in imminent danger of collapse. 
And on the trains and buses, as many if not more young people than old. Riding the subway back to my hotel I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a tunnel-darkened window. In comparison to the besuited young man beside me watching TV on his mobile phone, and the young mother scolding her daughter on the other side of me, I looked distinctly middle-aged.
In Muroran, on the exceedingly rare time I ever take the bus, I feel positively spring-chicken like; life - vigorous, active, walking cane-free life still stretches before me. Down in Tokyo though, I'm already an oji-san, an auld fella. 

Lake Toya

The week prior to my sublime paddle across the grey, molten waters of Lake Shikotsu (and Cian's as yet unbeaten record haul of 7, count 'em, 7 fish), we had made our way to Lake Toya. Avid readers will recall a previous post or two about this lake before - we tend to head that way a couple of times each year.
As an aside, do I actually have any 'avid readers'? Methinks not. I think I have some 'occasional readers' and Barry Keane. Hallo Bazza.
Anyway, up to Lake Toya we went, jumped on the ferry and steamed across to Nakajima Island in the centre of the lake. This was more of a hiking through the bush than encountering the aquatic sublime, hence all the tree photos. 
Yes, I know, I like my tree photos. But, you have to look up once in a while. The glory, as by now you all know, is all around us. Unfortunately, we can't touch it. There's something stopping us. But we don't know what.
Sorry, I'm just riffing tonight - it's gone hot and humid in this part of the world and my mind is succumbing to the heat.
Time for another 'anyway'.
Anyway, we trooped off the ferry, ate lunch and headed off on the trail that loops around the island with the intention of completing the loop. But first we stopped to take some more pictures of trees.

And leaves.

And squirrels.

And the slightly unsettling remains of a cicada's exoskeleton.

And snakes.

A lot of snakes as it turned out, all of them out basking in the strong spring sunshine that flooded across the southern part of the island. 
This was a little too much for Sanae and Cian - the snakes, not the sunshine. They refused to go any further and so back to the relative serpent free safety of the dock area.
"But what if they attack?!"
God, I hadn't considered that possibility. So we commandeered a ferry, told the captain to fire up the boilers and make a dash for the mainland.
Where, of course, there are no snakes whatsoever, they being an island loving race of reptiles.
Cian and I were somewhat distracted by the 'wearing method of the lifejacket' notice and the time and age spanning hotness of the model.