The Even Greater Tokyo Region

Life goes in cycles... or at least in cars.

We used to have a yellow labrador called Sandy. She was a sweet old lab, with the usual sappy deep brown eyes, a limitless supply of drool and undercoat, and a tail that wagged with such force it could send an elderly citizen flying across the room. She was far from a perfect dog. She came from the "zoo" in Nelson, which is so small they should probably add "petting" to it. It was mainly farm animals and birds, which you were allowed to feed rice bubbles(cereal)- available for a small charge. Naturally, Sandy was well pampered by the idiot visitors- and their idiot children- who sometimes emptied whole bags of ricebubbles for Sandy to lap up.

By the time our family decided this was enough and took her in, she was a big dog. We put her on a diet, which I don't think she was too pleased about. One time she raided a pantry and ate a few kilos of "super weight-gain protein powder". She also had arthritis, which was operated on by the vets. They accidentally had the X-ray back to front and did the wrong leg, so she had both done. However, she became visibly younger, and lived for much longer than anyone thought she would. But towards the end, it became sad to see her unable to get into the car by herself, struggle to stand up or even be unwilling to go outside.

One bright, sunny, New Zealand Saturday morning, I woke up to the sound of my mother putting the dogs in the car for a walk at the beach. I looked out the window, and I remember thinking that I hadn't seen Sandy look so lively in a long time.
She was to be put down after that walk.

Kelly, my beloved car for the last 11 months had been diagnosed as transmissionally deseased. It was terminal. Incurable. She would be fine for small trips, but anything slightly longer would have her screaming in 2nd gear for the rest of the trip. Sure, she no longer gleamed like all the other cars in Japan, and at 17 years old, is practically a Japanese vintage. But she was comfortable- I had formed the ass creases just the way I like them. She was big and strong- It's nice to know that if you are in a car crash with another Japanese car, you will win. She was an escape, a retreat, a special place. Sure she cost more to run than most cars, but that's what we do for loved ones.

But she was sick. As I drove her, for the last time, to be put down, I couldn't help but think of Sandy. I don't know whether it is dumbness, bravery or loyalty, but their final moments were their strongest in a long time. This made it harder to deal with. You know it is the right thing to do, but knowing doesnt affect feeling. What a waste. What a car. For all your imperfections, I'll miss you Kelly.

Rather than be excited to get a new (er) car, I was saddened to be downgrading. I decided that I will never truly understand the Japanese spirit until I own a box car. These things are everywhere. Tiny cars with edges so sharp, it looks like they were cut from a block of tofu. There is one model called the "Nissan Cube". These cars exist for a few reasons:

Japanese roads are the worst of any developed nation. It goes by the principle that narrow roads are best travelled through by narrow cars.
They are cheaper to run, cheaper to park and you pay much less tax.
They are cute.

No.3 is disputable, but of the box cars around, I feel that the Daihatsu Move is the least pathetic one, almost endearing in the right light. Basically, I was paying a lot of money to get a less powerful, slower, less cool car with a pathetic sound-system, but which is cheap to own and will not likely give me any more car problems. It seemed like a downgrade to me.

I felt wierd leaving, it was the longest hesitation of my life. I couldn't figure out why. As I pulled out onto the road in my new car, with the salesman bowing as furiously as a hungry chicken, it hit me. There was no handshake. This was the largest purchase of my life, and I cannot pinpoint the moment when it was made. I didn't even sign anything. Did I "buy" it when I said "i want this car", or when I gave him the money, or when he called me to come pick it up, or when stamped the form with my personal seal, and if so, I stamped numerous things on different days... I felt like I could turn the car around at any moment and save Kelly from the noose.

After that impulse passed, I became aware of the vastness of my new car. My first impression was: "it feels like a church". I wasn't meaning the handling; infact, since there is hardly a bonnet and the wheels are practically at the front, it handles like a fish. It's much smaller than Kelly, but so much more spacious. And the windows are huge, giving a panorama of the Japanese sub-urban clutter. However, the windows are 2-way, thus giving everyone else a panorama of a foriegner in a glass box. Hence, my Daihatsu Move got it's name:

"The Pope-mobile"