Tens Of Thousands Still Missing After Japan Earthquake Tsunami

It's hard to reconcile the terrible images with the serene coastline we knew. As the distressing - frankly unbelievable - images of the devastated city of Sendai flooded in last Friday, my thoughts were cast back to just a month ago. It was the last couple of days of a five-week family holiday that took us to the US and then on to Japan. Making every moment count, we ran our boys (Steve, 20, and Ben, 18) into the ground. So much so, that my wife Josie and I were forced to cast off our tour-guide alter egos in favour of a more relaxed, family-friendly approach. Fewer forced marches and museums, more holiday. It was this rejuvenated little group that flew into Narita for the second half of our one big overseas trip together. Advertisement: Story continues below While perhaps not the most beautiful of the world's cities, it's hard to beat the drive, pace and excitement of Tokyo, and so our commitment to slowing down was always going to be difficult to realise. Staying at the Shinjuku Prince, a 25-storey landmark hotel in the heart of the busy nightlife district, put paid to any suggestion of a quieter time. And so it was, for the next two weeks, frenetic sightseeing, eating and shopping. Shibuya, Harajuku, the Ginza, Akihabara - in every district something to marvel at, every area teeming with people. Our last such excursion, on Monday, February 14, was to Matsushima Bay. One of the ''Three Views of Japan'' - each known for its serenity and beauty - it's a magnificent body of water upon which some 260 tiny islands covered in pine trees appear to float. Matsushima is directly east of Sendai - a 40-minute train ride through a flat, densely populated landscape. A series of hills surrounds the bay and its township of tourist shops, temples and restaurants. Think Apollo Bay. We decided to take a tour of the islands, but there was an hour's Rosetta Stone German wait. Directly across the road from the ferry terminal was a restaurant. We ventured in to find a dining room divided into Western-style tables to the left, tatami mats to the right. Three groups of locals were seated Western-style. There were more tables there, but, much to the alarm of the boys, and the amusement of the sushi-chef, we removed our shoes and sat in the traditional manner, on the floor. The cultural tables were turned. Ben is 193 centimetres tall. Steve, 191. Legs went everywhere, backs and necks craned, elbows bore inordinate weight and feet grew numb. But we ate, and it was delicious. I made eye-contact occasionally through the meal with the chef. We shared knowing grins. His was, ''I can't believe you're putting yourself through that''. Mine was pretty much, ''I know, I know''. As the meal progressed, more kitchen staff arrived behind the counter, and a lively commentary ensued. While we were obviously the topic du jour, it was nonetheless a lovely moment - one of our happiest meals together. I don't understand how it is, but Japanese can rise from a tatami mat and don shoes with the grace of a ballet troupe. We, however, must have looked more like a rugby scrum, and as we walked over to pay the bill, everyone in the place was smiling. A small woman, the proprietor, came over, beaming. With, first, a customary bow, she extended her hand and took mine. Talking all the time, she then turned to Ben and lifted her hand as high as it would go (around his shoulders). Her eyebrows raised in mock horror - it wasn't hard to guess what she was saying. We responded with awkwardly demonstrative gestures, agreeing that, yes, he is tall isn't he. We shared no language, but there was such warmth and understanding and enjoyment. And where are they now? One can cling to some hope that those hills behind the town afforded these lovely people some safety, somewhere to retreat quickly. The meal we had in Matsushima had remained with us as one of those stories you trot out at dinner parties. How ungainly and inelegant we had been. How funny they found us.

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