Sitting comfortably on a rush-hour subway train I became suddenly aware of the lack of sweaty odour and grey suits around. In fact, the atmosphere was oddly serene for 6pm on a Wednesday. There wasn't a single man in sight and when I looked around at the adverts lining the carriage they were mostly pink, beaming enthusiastically about wedding dresses and facial routines. This was a 'Women Only' carriage; another example of the many phenomenon particular to Japan. Such an unexpected oestrogen overload reminded me of a particular night out last year in Cologne when the gang and I wandered into a lesbian club by mistake. Rather than leave, we bought a drink and proceeded to initiate an impromptu dance-off to 'Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me' by the Pussycat Dolls. A finer moment for women's rights I think.

Anyway, back to the point.

The reason why the Japanese city metro system is subject to this kind of gender division is that, despite the emphasis on respect and honour in this culture, public groping of women has become a bit of a problem. Especially on packed commuter trains. My guidebook warned me that if such an event occurs, one tactic (proved successful) is to bite down on the offender's hand. Hard. Unfortunately, I have already had my own unpleasant run-in with an inappropriate Japanese male. Sitting low on the pavement waiting for my dinner to be cooked I noticed a ten-year old boy lurking about with his mate, trying to get a glimpse of whatever was under my skirt. Telling him to b***** off (that my skirt, in fact, had shorts attached and he couldn't see anything) didn't seem to deter him. For the first time in a long time I really resented this damn language barrier. Next thing I knew he'd pulled out of his shorts what was definitely not his pair of chopsticks. Needless to say I quickly lost my appetite. Pervy little sod.

Despite the odd 'body-in-bath' news story, I'm told this is a very safe country. Perhaps this has something to do with the subservience of females to males. The gentlemanly tradition of holding a door open for a woman is a concept that doesn't translate here. Kate has often pointed out to me how older Japanese men claim right-of-way at her expense in supermarkets, lifts, pedestrian crossings, sometimes barging straight past her. This hasn't happened to me yet, but then I've got a few inches on the average Japanese man (if my public status is height-related, so be it, I'm just happy not to be barged through like a doorway).

Traditionally the Japanese woman's role is to serve the man; as wife, mother, geisha or - more recently - secretary. I'm told that promotion for women in the workplace used to involve marrying a work colleague and then staying at home. But things are changing. I sat with a bunch of Japanese ladies in their fifties who defiantly told me that they themselves held the power in their marriages (men just think they do). I've also met educated women in their early twenties, working long hours to maintain equal rights in the workplace and succeeding. I suppose the influence of Western society in this department is no bad thing.

Having said that, there are advantages to gender inequality in this country, and not just for men. Upon arriving at hotels on our travels, Matt and Alessandro have looked on longingly as Kate and I have been presented with complimentary beauty packs, containing face masks, scrubs, hair clips, etc. Only last night we were sitting in our hotel bar when the barman gave us both ice-cream treats for no apparent reason other than to reward us for having ovaries. The boys looked on with sad resignation, once again denied the treats that are solely to be enjoyed by those with boobs.

Is there a part of me that wants to share my face packs and almond ice-cream sweets? Admittedly, no, there isn't. And do I feel sorry for the rush-hour men squeezed into their over-crowded carriage on the subway, as I recline in the next one along, calmly enjoying the breeze of the air-conditioning? Sadly not, no.

Maybe being a woman in Japan isn't so bad after all… :)