Capsule Hotels and Rebel Calligraphy in Tokyo

I am surrounded by beautiful words I cannot understand. Vast canvasses of inky black shapes. Brushstrokes. Lines. Squiggles. I see thin, scrawny marks which bloom unexpectedly into dark splotches. Others were painted heavily with a fat brush allowed to run dry partway through a word, as though alternating between shouting and whispering. Characters descend rapidly down long strips of paper as though falling to the floor. They all appear to be penned with great confidence. Stark black on white. Some look as though they are blowing in a windstorm.

I am at a calligraphy exhibit at the National Art Center in Tokyo. I study the museum-goers enjoying the art. "Can they read the pieces?" I wonder. Some of the Japanese characters seem so abstracted, it's hard to imagine they can be deciphered. If they can, then the art would be half painting, half poetry. If not then they are experiencing the same things I am.

The longer I examine the canvases, the more certain I am that this is modern Japanese calligraphy. The old conventions have been broken. These artists have eschewed neatly ordered characters painted in uniform strokes. This is rebel calligraphy. Suddenly I am desperate to talk with someone and find out more.

After a few false starts, I manage to find a young Japanese man who speaks English. Excitedly, I ask him if he can read the paintings. "Not really," He tells me. "I can read a little but mostly no. You have to be a calligraphy expert to really read it." He gestures to the elderly women at the ticket counter suspecting they fall into this category. I learn that these pieces I've been admiring were painted at a local calligraphy school by teachers and their best students. Only after they master the traditional methods may they develop their own personal style with unique flourishes. I thank the man and he hurries to catch up with his group.

This calligraphy strikes me as a fitting metaphor for Japan. In our nine days in the country, we have seen white gloved bus conductors help old ladies. Bicycles are left unlocked and our umbrellas are still waiting for us when we come out of shops. People are astoundingly polite. They offer gifts for minor inconveniences and bow constantly. It is so foreign yet it's a little familiar because our own societies used to be a bit like this.

But on the other hand, Japan is more modern than home. Commuters watch TV on their mobiles. Phones convert 2D barcodes on posters into web addresses which can then be visited while waiting for a bus. In fact, our mobiles don't even work here. (The system is G3.) There are vending machines on the street everywhere, dispensing Asahi beer, green tea and the best ice cream we've had in months. In Hiroshima, we encountered a group of American tourists visiting the city as a daytrip from Kyoto. The two cities are almost 200 miles apart, but that's only two hours on the bullet train so why not?

Here in Tokyo, we're staying at a capsule hotel. Space is at a premium in this sprawling metropolis and consequently, stacked private pods make sense when all you need is a place to sleep. Considerably more spacious than a coffin, each capsule is tall enough to sit up in which makes it a lot more comfortable than plenty of sleeper trains. There are lockers to stash your things and Japanese baths upstairs. For 3,000Yen a night (about US$30), these hotels are popular with Japanese businessmen who have stayed out drinking and missed the last train home. They're also a hit with foreign travellers like us, who enjoy drifting off feeling like we're on a spaceship.

The country is so traditional and so modern. In Tokyo we've seen women walking down the street in kimonos and teenagers dressed as manga characters. But my favourite so far has to be the Kyoto shrine with a UV sterilizer for its ceremonial water scoops.

At the Art Center, delicate lines bleed into thin rice paper to form grey inky starbursts.

- Tokyo, Japan