As some of you may have known, this past weekend Typhoon Hagibis blew through Japan, specifically the Kanto region where Tokyo is. It had the grim distinction of being the strongest/most deadly storm to hit the region since Typhoon Ida in 1958. Typhoon classification scales are confusing (and, interestingly, the only difference between a "typhoon" and a "hurricane" is the naming convention of the region in which it occurs), but at one point Hagibis was classified as a "violent typhoon," the strongest category the Japan Meteorological Agency has, roughly the equivalent of a Category 5 hurricane. Fortunately it didn't make landfall at that strength, downgrading to a Category 3 equivalent storm.
Personally, although Typhoon Hagibis (which means, appropriately, "speed" in Tagalog) was not the first typhoon I've (pardon the pun) weathered here in Japan, it was most certainly the most extreme. Most typhoons don't directly hit Kanto, instead passing west through Kyushu and Okinawa. In 2018 Typhoon Trami also passed directly over Tokyo, disrupting transportation, but carried none of the same panic of Hagibis.
The day before (Friday), announcements started trickling in about what trains lines in Tokyo -- and which bullet train lines -- were shutting down and when. Narita and Haneda also cancelled flights in advance. By the late afternoon, people were sharing post-apocalyptic photos of completely empty store shelves, first of the 2 liter bottles of water and, increasingly, of all the bread, instant noodles, eggs, and other foodstuffs. On the way back from work I immediately headed down to the convenience store in my office to withdraw a significant chunk of cash and, since I had a friend staying with me that weekend (poor, but unintended, timing on their end), bought a few extra bottles myself just in case water supply was cut off. Someone else compared it to the panic immediately after the 3/11 earthquake and reminded everyone to fill their bathtubs with water. Again...just in case.
Expat Facebook was no less comforting, with people trading the best tips on how to secure your belongings, whether or not certain vents should be left open or shut, and how -- or even if -- you should tape your windows. People advised getting the Tokyo Bosai (Disaster Prevention) app, which would push warnings and evacuation notices directly to your phone and give you color-coded indications of how safe your immediate area was from flooding. I downloaded it.
Given the fact I also felt responsible for the safety and well-being of my friend (who was considerably more chill about Hagibis than I), I also felt compelled to double check the contents of my evacuation kit.
This isn't something I'd ever had until I moved to Japan. Took me a long time to set up, too, until reading "Dry" by Neal and Jarrod Shusterman quite literally terrified me into it. Fifteen servings of no-cooking-needed food, a 10-liter water bottle, gloves, poncho, breathing masks, 15-ounce water bottle, flashlight, bandanna, duct tape, lightweight shoes, first aide equipment, spare batteries, toothbrush, pocket knife, whistle, a pack of my medication, and a filtration straw.
Saturday dawned predictably wet but not overly windy. The rain drummed on endlessly. We made mosaic cat pictures with stickers, chatted, watched several TV episodes on Netflix. Got bored. I was anxious, but it was manageable. Our area was listed as "blue," aka perfectly safe, on the Bosai app's map.
As the day wore on, however, my phone began to buzz with increasingly urgent evacuation notices for areas near rivers in Tokyo.
It became a form of self-torture, whether I kept checking the news and freaking out or if I tried not to, but then worried I'd miss a crucial piece of information. I alternated between this and checking the progress of the storm on satellite. A magnitude 5.7 earthquake off the coast of Chiba Prefecture to the east made me (and likely countless others) worry about a tsunami.
Between 7 and 9 p.m. the wind picked up, howling eerily outside and occasionally rattling the cheap walls of my Leopalace apartment.
But by 11:30 p.m. it was largely over. The rain and wind completely stopped; it was the first time it had been silent for hours. We didn't have to evacuate. I let us drain the bathtub to shower.
I was lucky. Many others were not.
If this whole account sounds melodramatic and overdone, well, that wasn't my intention. I don't necessarily have the proper barometer to know when to panic about a typhoon and when everything will just blow over, so to speak. But in this case, although I, personally, was fine, I don't think I'm overreacting to how serious this was. How unusual Hagibis' fast intensification and 1,400-kilometer diameter were. How this is the second major storm to hit Tokyo in under a month.
I was lucky. Others were not. And I'm never taking that for granted.
#climateemergency
Personally, although Typhoon Hagibis (which means, appropriately, "speed" in Tagalog) was not the first typhoon I've (pardon the pun) weathered here in Japan, it was most certainly the most extreme. Most typhoons don't directly hit Kanto, instead passing west through Kyushu and Okinawa. In 2018 Typhoon Trami also passed directly over Tokyo, disrupting transportation, but carried none of the same panic of Hagibis.
The day before (Friday), announcements started trickling in about what trains lines in Tokyo -- and which bullet train lines -- were shutting down and when. Narita and Haneda also cancelled flights in advance. By the late afternoon, people were sharing post-apocalyptic photos of completely empty store shelves, first of the 2 liter bottles of water and, increasingly, of all the bread, instant noodles, eggs, and other foodstuffs. On the way back from work I immediately headed down to the convenience store in my office to withdraw a significant chunk of cash and, since I had a friend staying with me that weekend (poor, but unintended, timing on their end), bought a few extra bottles myself just in case water supply was cut off. Someone else compared it to the panic immediately after the 3/11 earthquake and reminded everyone to fill their bathtubs with water. Again...just in case.
Expat Facebook was no less comforting, with people trading the best tips on how to secure your belongings, whether or not certain vents should be left open or shut, and how -- or even if -- you should tape your windows. People advised getting the Tokyo Bosai (Disaster Prevention) app, which would push warnings and evacuation notices directly to your phone and give you color-coded indications of how safe your immediate area was from flooding. I downloaded it.
Given the fact I also felt responsible for the safety and well-being of my friend (who was considerably more chill about Hagibis than I), I also felt compelled to double check the contents of my evacuation kit.
This isn't something I'd ever had until I moved to Japan. Took me a long time to set up, too, until reading "Dry" by Neal and Jarrod Shusterman quite literally terrified me into it. Fifteen servings of no-cooking-needed food, a 10-liter water bottle, gloves, poncho, breathing masks, 15-ounce water bottle, flashlight, bandanna, duct tape, lightweight shoes, first aide equipment, spare batteries, toothbrush, pocket knife, whistle, a pack of my medication, and a filtration straw.
Saturday dawned predictably wet but not overly windy. The rain drummed on endlessly. We made mosaic cat pictures with stickers, chatted, watched several TV episodes on Netflix. Got bored. I was anxious, but it was manageable. Our area was listed as "blue," aka perfectly safe, on the Bosai app's map.
As the day wore on, however, my phone began to buzz with increasingly urgent evacuation notices for areas near rivers in Tokyo.
It became a form of self-torture, whether I kept checking the news and freaking out or if I tried not to, but then worried I'd miss a crucial piece of information. I alternated between this and checking the progress of the storm on satellite. A magnitude 5.7 earthquake off the coast of Chiba Prefecture to the east made me (and likely countless others) worry about a tsunami.
Between 7 and 9 p.m. the wind picked up, howling eerily outside and occasionally rattling the cheap walls of my Leopalace apartment.
But by 11:30 p.m. it was largely over. The rain and wind completely stopped; it was the first time it had been silent for hours. We didn't have to evacuate. I let us drain the bathtub to shower.
I was lucky. Many others were not.
If this whole account sounds melodramatic and overdone, well, that wasn't my intention. I don't necessarily have the proper barometer to know when to panic about a typhoon and when everything will just blow over, so to speak. But in this case, although I, personally, was fine, I don't think I'm overreacting to how serious this was. How unusual Hagibis' fast intensification and 1,400-kilometer diameter were. How this is the second major storm to hit Tokyo in under a month.
I was lucky. Others were not. And I'm never taking that for granted.
#climateemergency
This is nice article. Keep it up.
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