When the quake struck I was in a taxi. I felt the sort of camaraderie with the elderly driver that only crises seem to allow.

I was on the way to a tasting and met my colleague and mate at the locale. Bottles were broken and the tasting was not to be. I was evacuated from the toilet when the second rumble began. We waited outside before commencing the long walk to the nearest transport hub, Shibuya. The place was teeming with people, neither panicking nor pushing or shoving. Many were lining for public phones. This conformist yet cooperative behaviour is the sort a people versed in natural disasters are wanton to, I suppose.

Pining for wine, we began to discuss what we would like to drink. Sherry or something slaking like Pigato or Gruner or Riesling….walking, walking. Then the goddess appeared. Somebody called my name from afar. She had a bottle bag slung across her shoulder with two bottles in it. It was Michiyo, a distributor and wine importer!  7-Eleven had plastic cups, I had an opener and a vending machine in a car-park served as a table.

Alas, the wines were not the fresh whites we sought but rather, Brunello and Ghemme. They were perfect in the moment though and encapsulated the sort of humanity that so many large cities seem to lack until moments like these, when it is better to be around people than not.