Spouting Cave

Thro ughout the day, multiple renditions of “Irasshaimaseeeeee!” (“welcome”), “sumimasen” (“excuse me”), and especially, “Arigato gozaimaaaaaaasu!” (thank you very much), ring out effusively and as a matter of course by any number of shop-servers, waiters, train conductors, and members of the general public. Leaving a fancy bar, you might be escorted to the lift by a tuxedoed barman, still midway through his head-below-waist bow as the doors close. Weary bus drivers keep passengers constantly informed of the next stops, final destinations and upcoming sharp turns, punctuated with the soft whisper and hush of “mairimaaaas…kudasai…gozaimaaaaaaas”. As the mighty Shinkansen, or “bullet train”, hurtles along at 200mph (and sometimes you do feel the speed), the conductor courteously announces his arrival and gives a dutiful bow upon entering and leaving each carriage. The train scampers through the boxed utility of the endless sprawl; economy of space in seemingly perfect organised chao