Source: PDI
The Concepcion clan was on vacation in Tokyo when the earthquake struck. This is what they saw
IT WAS a wonderfully crisp, clear day in Tokyo. My husband John and I had just walked through Takeshita Street in Harajuku.
We went down to the metro station at Omotesando. The metro was three floors below ground. We took the train toward Hibiya, the metro stop right below our hotel. It was six stops to our hotel, The Peninsula. The train was quite empty at that time of day.
Just a few seconds after the train started toward its next stop, Azakaya, it quickly came to a halt. This left half the train in the darkened tunnel, and the other half, where we were, at the mouth of the tunnel, where we could still see the metro stairs and platform.
Then our train started bouncing, and rolling side to side. We were bouncing in our seats.
“Is it an earthquake?” I asked aloud. There was no reaction from the Japanese commuters in front of me and beside me—none at all! A woman outside the train on the platform was still talking on her phone. So how could it be an earthquake?
But it was. The shaking and rolling went on for four long minutes. I prayed for the quake to stop, and I was so glad my kids were not with me. I kept looking at the ceiling of the train station, waiting for things to start falling. It was surreal.
Not a normal tremor
The Japanese on the train finally realized it was no ordinary tremor. Two women stood and began to pace; the conductor was shouting on the loudspeaker—in Japanese so we could not understand, but fear is fear in any language, and we could hear the fear and panic in his voice.
We wanted to get off the train, but the doors were locked. That was the worst feeling, being trapped there. John stood up, looked at the windows, and started thinking of yanking them open. A station conductor paced outside the train, talking into his radio. I could feel my heart beating so fast, yet we were surprisingly calm.
When the quake finally stopped, the conductor made an announcement on the loudspeaker, which we could not understand. I looked at him questioningly, and he said in broken English, “safety, safety,” as he gestured for us to stay seated.
All I wanted was for him to open the train doors, but to our surprise, a few minutes later, the train started moving toward the next station, at a snail’s pace. Soon we were in the darkness of the tunnel, which started to feel like a coffin.
Finally, after what seemed like an incredibly long ride, the train stopped at Azakaya station, and the doors opened. We all rushed off the train and climbed three high flights of stairs to the ground level. I was panting when I reached the street. I kept wondering how strong the earthquake had been. I was sure it had been at least a 7.
The streets were filled with people. It seemed like everyone in the high rises had rushed out into the street. Many were wearing hard hats, a sign of how prepared the Japanese are for earthquakes. Many were looking skyward, watching buildings still swaying and electric lines rocking above them.
John flagged a taxi down. We would learn later that we were incredibly lucky to get that taxi. People lined up in the freezing cold for hours into the night just waiting for taxis. All trains would be stopped, and public transportation would come to a standstill.
As we made our way back to the hotel in Chiyoda near Ginza, people were everywhere. There was no shouting or panicking—they were just calmly holding each other. Many were crying, the only indicator that the earthquake had not been ordinary in a land of frequent earthquakes and tremors. Traffic was heavy, and at one stoplight our taxi started shaking again with a strong aftershock, electric lines swinging wildly.
Desperate for a taxi
When we finally got near the hotel, there was a sea of people around the Imperial Gardens across the street from our hotel. As we neared the Peninsula driveway, a young woman frantically grasped at our taxi, and followed us from the main road all the way to the hotel. She seemed desperate to get a taxi.
We entered the lobby, which was bursting at the seams. The huge chandelier in the middle was cordoned off, as we learned it had been swinging wildly with every tremor. We were not allowed to go up to the rooms, so we waited in the Chinese restaurant. We started trying to find our relatives.
Almost the entire Concepcion clan was in Tokyo together, so we started sending texts, trying to account for everyone, only to find out that phone lines were not working. Then we realized the Internet still worked. I logged on, and immediately, there were e-mails from my brother-in-law Bernie and his wife Liza, who had been in their room at the time of the earthquake. Their stories of their rooms swaying violently and things falling down sounded horrific! They walked down 17 flights of stairs and waited it out in the park across the street. We went back to the lobby, and found many of the family.
The Internet informed us of the tsunami in Miyagi prefecture, and how strong the earthquake had been—8.9! So many people died that day, and I said a silent prayer for all those who had lost their lives. The tragedy was beyond comprehension. The raw footage of the tsunami swallowing the whole town was so painful to watch.
Facebook became a lifeline between us and our kids that day. Michael, my son, started a thread, asking if I was okay. Soon all the Concepcion grandchildren were on it, and we were giving updates.
Little by little, as afternoon turned to night, we accounted for everyone’s whereabouts. Our cousin Ton and my sister-in-law Michelle were trapped at Disney Sea and could not come back to the city, but they were safe.
The Mt. Fuji tour group would have a long journey ahead of them; it would take them 12 hours to get back to the hotel, as the main road was not passable.
The Pen lobby was opened to anyone who needed shelter. A whiteboard sign read: We will give you food and drinks as long as you are here. Amazing! The Pen staff kept serving all the people who could not get home since the trains had all been stopped indefinitely. Peninsula opened its ballrooms, where people slept on the floor. It was a sight to see.
As darkness fell, John and I walked around the Chiyoda area, looking for a place to eat dinner. We also wanted to see what was happening around the city. People stood in long taxi lines, and traffic was at a standstill. There was a public address system giving instructions. All the convenience stores were emptied out. Yet it was all so incredibly calm and organized.
When we finally decided to call it a night past midnight, we all made our way to our rooms, yet kept in touch via Facebook and e-mail. We slept uneasily, mindful of the strong aftershocks that made the room sway. Some of us slept fully clothed, ready to bolt should a new earthquake happen.
Strong aftershock
Then in the middle of the night, a really strong aftershock shook the building for six minutes. The next morning we learned it had not been an aftershock, but a second earthquake, this time nearer Tokyo. No wonder it had been so strong—three earthquakes in the span of a few days.
We woke up to a strangely silent city. It was a Saturday in Ginza, where normally tons of people roamed the street. People had not gotten back to their homes until early in the morning, because the trains started running only past midnight.
Some of us decided to walk down to Ginza and see if anything was open. Most of the stores were closed, except for the big department stores.
Toward the afternoon, we heard the Maihama line had opened, and that Michelle and family would be able to make their way back to the city.
By 5:30 p.m. we all met up at the hotel lobby, ready to ride the two buses that would take us to Mass before dinner.
It was a fairly big chapel in Ropponggi, and the church was full. I guess after surviving the “Big One” in Japan, everyone wanted to give thanks for being alive and to pray for all those who had not been as lucky. At the end of the Mass, a lay minister asked newcomers and visitors to stand up and say where they were from.
You can imagine his surprise when we all stood up and said we were one family on vacation from the Philippines. We were more than 40 people. “I hope you just arrived?” he asked. Nope, we said we had been there for the quake!
That was also about the time the nuclear situation in Fukushima worsened. Earlier in the day, an explosion had occurred at one reactor. Fears of a nuclear meltdown were all over the news.
Roads to the airport were apparently jammed, and it had taken people over four hours to get there that day. The first batch of family scheduled to go home the next day planned to leave many hours before their flight. And though they were lucky enough to get to the airport in an hour, the lines for check-in and immigration were incredibly long.
Last batch
I was part of the last batch to leave Tokyo. We had a full day before departure. John and I walked around Chiyoda and Ginza and rested in the hotel, though there were still big aftershocks. We tried to savor our last few Japanese meals before leaving. As we walked around, we saw many men dressed in blue jumpsuits. They were city inspectors checking various cracks on buildings.
On Monday, the morning we were set to leave, John had a business meeting in the lobby, as I walked around on my own. I looked inside the convenience stores and found the shelves still empty, two full days after the quake. When a delivery van arrived and the men started to stock a few things on the shelves, they were quickly bought.
At 10 a.m. a 6.5 tremor struck, shaking the building and surrounding areas quite badly. It was really time to go. The tremors seemed to be coming nearer and nearer Tokyo. The news on the nuclear reactors was also bad. A second explosion had occurred, and a meltdown was a real possibility. It was disturbing to think the people in Sendai had survived the tsunami, only to face the threat of nuclear radiation.
The huge aftershocks were bringing new tsunami warnings. How much more could Sendai take? The survivors were homeless in the freezing cold, with the weather forecast predicting snow in Sendai in the days to come. It seemed too unfair for words.
I went down to check out near lunchtime, and found myself in conversation with a young guest relations officer. I asked if he had concerns about the earthquake and the nuclear fears. He said he was more concerned about friends and family he and many of the staff had in Sendai, whom they had not heard from yet. Yet in the midst of their personal losses and tragedies, they continued to work and serve with a smile.
As a nation in turmoil facing tragedy, the Japanese people had shown us that they were calm in the face of danger, gracious in troubling moments, and concerned for others before themselves.
In the few times I have been to Japan, I have fallen in love with the country and its people. But never have I admired them more than in these last few days.
It was a bittersweet goodbye to Japan this time around. John and I spent the last hour in Tokyo at Hibiya Park across the hotel. It was like an oasis of calm in the middle of the city. But it was time to go home. We could only pray for the people of Japan, those who survived the tsunami, those who are missing, those who awaited word from their loved ones.
I’m writing this on the flight home to Manila. Every family member who was in Japan on this trip is either home already or on this plane with me.
I thank God for the blessings we have received the past few days. Many things could have gone wrong, many of us could have been hurt, but here we are, safe and sound. I don’t take for granted the fact that we are all alive and well, and that family and friends are waiting for us.
We are truly blessed.
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The Concepcion clan was on vacation in Tokyo when the earthquake struck. This is what they saw
IT WAS a wonderfully crisp, clear day in Tokyo. My husband John and I had just walked through Takeshita Street in Harajuku.
We went down to the metro station at Omotesando. The metro was three floors below ground. We took the train toward Hibiya, the metro stop right below our hotel. It was six stops to our hotel, The Peninsula. The train was quite empty at that time of day.
Just a few seconds after the train started toward its next stop, Azakaya, it quickly came to a halt. This left half the train in the darkened tunnel, and the other half, where we were, at the mouth of the tunnel, where we could still see the metro stairs and platform.
Then our train started bouncing, and rolling side to side. We were bouncing in our seats.
“Is it an earthquake?” I asked aloud. There was no reaction from the Japanese commuters in front of me and beside me—none at all! A woman outside the train on the platform was still talking on her phone. So how could it be an earthquake?
But it was. The shaking and rolling went on for four long minutes. I prayed for the quake to stop, and I was so glad my kids were not with me. I kept looking at the ceiling of the train station, waiting for things to start falling. It was surreal.
Not a normal tremor
The Japanese on the train finally realized it was no ordinary tremor. Two women stood and began to pace; the conductor was shouting on the loudspeaker—in Japanese so we could not understand, but fear is fear in any language, and we could hear the fear and panic in his voice.
We wanted to get off the train, but the doors were locked. That was the worst feeling, being trapped there. John stood up, looked at the windows, and started thinking of yanking them open. A station conductor paced outside the train, talking into his radio. I could feel my heart beating so fast, yet we were surprisingly calm.
When the quake finally stopped, the conductor made an announcement on the loudspeaker, which we could not understand. I looked at him questioningly, and he said in broken English, “safety, safety,” as he gestured for us to stay seated.
All I wanted was for him to open the train doors, but to our surprise, a few minutes later, the train started moving toward the next station, at a snail’s pace. Soon we were in the darkness of the tunnel, which started to feel like a coffin.
Finally, after what seemed like an incredibly long ride, the train stopped at Azakaya station, and the doors opened. We all rushed off the train and climbed three high flights of stairs to the ground level. I was panting when I reached the street. I kept wondering how strong the earthquake had been. I was sure it had been at least a 7.
The streets were filled with people. It seemed like everyone in the high rises had rushed out into the street. Many were wearing hard hats, a sign of how prepared the Japanese are for earthquakes. Many were looking skyward, watching buildings still swaying and electric lines rocking above them.
John flagged a taxi down. We would learn later that we were incredibly lucky to get that taxi. People lined up in the freezing cold for hours into the night just waiting for taxis. All trains would be stopped, and public transportation would come to a standstill.
As we made our way back to the hotel in Chiyoda near Ginza, people were everywhere. There was no shouting or panicking—they were just calmly holding each other. Many were crying, the only indicator that the earthquake had not been ordinary in a land of frequent earthquakes and tremors. Traffic was heavy, and at one stoplight our taxi started shaking again with a strong aftershock, electric lines swinging wildly.
Desperate for a taxi
When we finally got near the hotel, there was a sea of people around the Imperial Gardens across the street from our hotel. As we neared the Peninsula driveway, a young woman frantically grasped at our taxi, and followed us from the main road all the way to the hotel. She seemed desperate to get a taxi.
We entered the lobby, which was bursting at the seams. The huge chandelier in the middle was cordoned off, as we learned it had been swinging wildly with every tremor. We were not allowed to go up to the rooms, so we waited in the Chinese restaurant. We started trying to find our relatives.
Almost the entire Concepcion clan was in Tokyo together, so we started sending texts, trying to account for everyone, only to find out that phone lines were not working. Then we realized the Internet still worked. I logged on, and immediately, there were e-mails from my brother-in-law Bernie and his wife Liza, who had been in their room at the time of the earthquake. Their stories of their rooms swaying violently and things falling down sounded horrific! They walked down 17 flights of stairs and waited it out in the park across the street. We went back to the lobby, and found many of the family.
The Internet informed us of the tsunami in Miyagi prefecture, and how strong the earthquake had been—8.9! So many people died that day, and I said a silent prayer for all those who had lost their lives. The tragedy was beyond comprehension. The raw footage of the tsunami swallowing the whole town was so painful to watch.
Facebook became a lifeline between us and our kids that day. Michael, my son, started a thread, asking if I was okay. Soon all the Concepcion grandchildren were on it, and we were giving updates.
Little by little, as afternoon turned to night, we accounted for everyone’s whereabouts. Our cousin Ton and my sister-in-law Michelle were trapped at Disney Sea and could not come back to the city, but they were safe.
The Mt. Fuji tour group would have a long journey ahead of them; it would take them 12 hours to get back to the hotel, as the main road was not passable.
The Pen lobby was opened to anyone who needed shelter. A whiteboard sign read: We will give you food and drinks as long as you are here. Amazing! The Pen staff kept serving all the people who could not get home since the trains had all been stopped indefinitely. Peninsula opened its ballrooms, where people slept on the floor. It was a sight to see.
As darkness fell, John and I walked around the Chiyoda area, looking for a place to eat dinner. We also wanted to see what was happening around the city. People stood in long taxi lines, and traffic was at a standstill. There was a public address system giving instructions. All the convenience stores were emptied out. Yet it was all so incredibly calm and organized.
When we finally decided to call it a night past midnight, we all made our way to our rooms, yet kept in touch via Facebook and e-mail. We slept uneasily, mindful of the strong aftershocks that made the room sway. Some of us slept fully clothed, ready to bolt should a new earthquake happen.
Strong aftershock
Then in the middle of the night, a really strong aftershock shook the building for six minutes. The next morning we learned it had not been an aftershock, but a second earthquake, this time nearer Tokyo. No wonder it had been so strong—three earthquakes in the span of a few days.
We woke up to a strangely silent city. It was a Saturday in Ginza, where normally tons of people roamed the street. People had not gotten back to their homes until early in the morning, because the trains started running only past midnight.
Some of us decided to walk down to Ginza and see if anything was open. Most of the stores were closed, except for the big department stores.
Toward the afternoon, we heard the Maihama line had opened, and that Michelle and family would be able to make their way back to the city.
By 5:30 p.m. we all met up at the hotel lobby, ready to ride the two buses that would take us to Mass before dinner.
It was a fairly big chapel in Ropponggi, and the church was full. I guess after surviving the “Big One” in Japan, everyone wanted to give thanks for being alive and to pray for all those who had not been as lucky. At the end of the Mass, a lay minister asked newcomers and visitors to stand up and say where they were from.
You can imagine his surprise when we all stood up and said we were one family on vacation from the Philippines. We were more than 40 people. “I hope you just arrived?” he asked. Nope, we said we had been there for the quake!
That was also about the time the nuclear situation in Fukushima worsened. Earlier in the day, an explosion had occurred at one reactor. Fears of a nuclear meltdown were all over the news.
Roads to the airport were apparently jammed, and it had taken people over four hours to get there that day. The first batch of family scheduled to go home the next day planned to leave many hours before their flight. And though they were lucky enough to get to the airport in an hour, the lines for check-in and immigration were incredibly long.
Last batch
I was part of the last batch to leave Tokyo. We had a full day before departure. John and I walked around Chiyoda and Ginza and rested in the hotel, though there were still big aftershocks. We tried to savor our last few Japanese meals before leaving. As we walked around, we saw many men dressed in blue jumpsuits. They were city inspectors checking various cracks on buildings.
On Monday, the morning we were set to leave, John had a business meeting in the lobby, as I walked around on my own. I looked inside the convenience stores and found the shelves still empty, two full days after the quake. When a delivery van arrived and the men started to stock a few things on the shelves, they were quickly bought.
At 10 a.m. a 6.5 tremor struck, shaking the building and surrounding areas quite badly. It was really time to go. The tremors seemed to be coming nearer and nearer Tokyo. The news on the nuclear reactors was also bad. A second explosion had occurred, and a meltdown was a real possibility. It was disturbing to think the people in Sendai had survived the tsunami, only to face the threat of nuclear radiation.
The huge aftershocks were bringing new tsunami warnings. How much more could Sendai take? The survivors were homeless in the freezing cold, with the weather forecast predicting snow in Sendai in the days to come. It seemed too unfair for words.
I went down to check out near lunchtime, and found myself in conversation with a young guest relations officer. I asked if he had concerns about the earthquake and the nuclear fears. He said he was more concerned about friends and family he and many of the staff had in Sendai, whom they had not heard from yet. Yet in the midst of their personal losses and tragedies, they continued to work and serve with a smile.
As a nation in turmoil facing tragedy, the Japanese people had shown us that they were calm in the face of danger, gracious in troubling moments, and concerned for others before themselves.
In the few times I have been to Japan, I have fallen in love with the country and its people. But never have I admired them more than in these last few days.
It was a bittersweet goodbye to Japan this time around. John and I spent the last hour in Tokyo at Hibiya Park across the hotel. It was like an oasis of calm in the middle of the city. But it was time to go home. We could only pray for the people of Japan, those who survived the tsunami, those who are missing, those who awaited word from their loved ones.
I’m writing this on the flight home to Manila. Every family member who was in Japan on this trip is either home already or on this plane with me.
I thank God for the blessings we have received the past few days. Many things could have gone wrong, many of us could have been hurt, but here we are, safe and sound. I don’t take for granted the fact that we are all alive and well, and that family and friends are waiting for us.
We are truly blessed.
