Thoughts on adopting Tokyo’s model in Penang

NOBODY experiences another country in a vacuum.

We leave home to see something new. We come back understanding home a bit more.

On a recent 12-day trip to Tokyo, I found myself wondering why the simple acts of buying food, paying for goods and navigating as a tourist feel so much more taxing in Penang.

Japan is an increasingly easy destination for non-Japanese speakers and introverts alike.

I bought train tickets from machines and paid for meals at self-ordering kiosks, all through well-designed systems that offered multiple language options including English and Chinese.

They required little or no conversation, yet worked with remarkable efficiency.

In Penang, we must trust our hawkers entirely.

More chilli. No egg. Extra sambal. No spring onions, please.

You must tell them and study their faces for half a second to make sure they heard you, and then hope for the best.

At eateries in a historic underground shopping street in Tokyo’s Asakusa, customers first interact with self-ordering kiosks of multiple languages to customise meals exactly as they want it, sit down and wait for the food.

The machines are not especially fancy, but they save labour and reduce errors.

But small businesses in Penang may find difficulty adopting it, so perhaps the state government could help to bring in partners to help eateries here.

Japan’s vending machines are tourist attractions in their own right.

There are about 2.6 million of them, roughly one for every 30 or 40 Japanese.

If you are even mildly thirsty or hungry, there is likely already a vending machine looking at you, ready to serve red bean or corn soup, ramen, eggs and any kind of beverage you want.

Most of the items are around RM2 to RM4 after conversion.

But I found the red bean soup way too sweet and a bit stingy with the beans while the hot corn soup was bland.

It can fill tummies, but cannot beat the red bean soup from George Town’s Lebuh Kimberly night hawkers.

Yet what leaves the deepest impression is not Japan’s technology. Honesty and courtesy seem deeply woven into everyday life.

I once left my camera in a restroom. More than an hour later, I returned to find that a cleaner had handed it in to the lost-and-found counter.

On another occasion, I left my purse behind. When I rushed back about 20 minutes later, it was still there, untouched.

Perhaps the most memorable moment came on the subway.

After an announcement in Japanese prompted many passengers to get off, I followed them and asked a nearby man for help.

He suggested an alternative route, then returned a few minutes later to guide me in the right direction before hurrying off to catch his own train.

During an earlier trip, a university student I asked for directions spent two hours walking with me until we found the shop I was looking for.

I suspect this culture is what makes Japan’s 24-hour unmanned bookshops possible.

Near Kuramae Station, I visited one such shop early in the morning. I was the only human inside.

I scanned the books’ barcodes, tapped my card and the purchase was done.

Can there ever be a shop with no staff in Penang? Maybe. Or probably it will be the shortest social experiment in town.

Visiting Japan feels like pressing pause on life for a while.

And each time I come home, I find myself wondering how much of that orderliness and efficiency we might one day bring to Penang.