Trash bins are impossible to find in Japan. The streets, public buildings, some bathrooms, homes — all devoid of trash receptacles. The most reliable place for disposing of my waste is the kitchen at my homestays’ house. I have resorted to amassing a pile of trash (used tissues, cotton swabs, syringes, etc.) in my room before sneaking in the dead of night into the kitchen in order to avoid a session of bowing furiously to my hosts and muttering Japanese phrases (all learned from watching far too much anime) far too long to be said quickly, as I awkwardly sort out my trash into 23 different categories of waste/recyclable materials.
I considered the good ol’ American method of littering, but we were in Minamata City, where, 50 years ago, an Erin Brockovich-type story of water source contamination took place. Several decades of lawsuits and billions of tax yen later, the citizens of Minamata became the hippest of all hippies. Indeed, we were dropped off in the crotch of environmental awareness with our empty green tea bottles and assorted candy wrappers.