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The experiences of a father and son struggling to communicate without a shared tongue. |
| What is it, beyond language, that is tested in the open, strained, by the stresses, the pushes and pulls of love? |
| Monday, 17th August, 10:30 pm. I had been loving the change of diet. In Switzerland and Belgium, breakfast has largely been a matter of bread, cheese and meats; so different from my usual diet in Japan; much hardier, for one thing. Unfortunately, the change of diet and, how shall I say...increase in fiber, caught up with me this morning. Nicole's house is very nice and clean, including the bathroom, which was a little smaller than I expected, and instead of having a handle for flushing had two oval buttons, a smaller one set partially inside a larger one. The increase in fiber created a cable (btw: "laying cable" is Australian slang for...well, you can guess) that was harder, stronger and more difficult to lay than anything I had produced in the last few years. Smellier, too, which wasn't so worrying given the draftiness of the bathroom and the large window which hung open above the toilet. Finished and slightly tired, and figuring that the large button meant large flush, I pushed that button and was gratified by the swirling rush of water--gratification, though, soon changed to horror as my cable showed no signs of disappearing, lodged as it was against the sides of the bowl. I pushed the button again, but to no effect. Again I pushed the button; again I was horrified to see that nothing was happening to my cable. Now, I considered my options: leave it there to be discovered by the kind, generous retired school teacher who is wife's friend, to stink up the room and disgust everyone; keep flushing, and draw the curiosity and possible strange imaginings of the people waiting downstairs to leave for sightseeing; swallow all my pride and push that brown sucker down with my fingers. Panicking, I seriously considered the later. Instead, I did what I always do when faced with a difficult choice: I waited; I procrastinated. I sat on the edge of the bathtub for five more minutes, face in my hands, considering what to do, my fate filling the bowl and the air around me with the noisome sign of my potential downfall. I pushed the large button one more time, hoping, praying, that the water had somehow softened the cable. The water rushed and swirled, but still my destroyer held his ground. In a country so full of church's and religiosity, I seriously considered praying--it was either that or enter the hell of dislodging that evil bast*rd with my fingers. I pushed the button again, drawing a loud, worried inquiry from wife at the bottom of the stairs. Hallelujah! As if ashamed of the mental torment it had caused, the cable, the soul destroyer, fruit of my own bowels, bowed out of sight, never to return again! I smiled, composed myself and the bathroom, washed my hands and face, and went to join the others, answering their questions with vague, noncommittal hints at dietary adjustments. |
| Monday, 17th August, 8:35 am. "Fur frietjes dankyou." That's Dutch for "Thank you for the French fries." Wife's friend tells me in the cafe, as the workers heap two large paper containers with golden fried deliciousness, "It's funny. French fries are very Belgian food, but people call them French." I teach son to call them Belgian fries from now on. So, after finally arriving in Antwerp and meeting Nicole's son, Tom, at the station, we drove about 20 minutes to Nicole's suburb (called a village here) of Braashaft, which is known as a rich village because of all the big houses, and got a couple large orders of Belgian fries at this cool little shop specializing in fries and meats; little place with three tables for dining in, big picture on the wall next to the door of some sort of bicycle team, about twenty in all, all of them dressed in blue and yellow uniforms with matching helmets, none of them below sixty by the looks of it. Was amazed by the beauty of Nicole's house. She'd just remodeled it, apparently, and wife, who hadn't seen it in over ten years, was surprised by the new floors and redesigned rooms. We at the one and a half packets of Belgian fries with ketchup or mayo (and in my case both), and then took a tour of the three stories. By bed time, though, I was too knackered to help with getting son to bed, and passed out. Tomorrow, we will go sightseeing at some popular town called Brugge. Today, we are going to go to a small market (flea market, sounds like) and look around Antwerp. Nicole is full of interesting facts about the city; even so, she gave me a tour book about Antwerpen from 1993 when it was chosen as the Cultural capital of Europe. Almost chocked when I was reading the section titled, "Who are the Sinjoren? Where does the name Antwerp come from?": "Antwerp came into being in paradise on earth. So much at least is attested by the undisputed fact that Adam and Eve spoke 'Antwerps,' the dialect of Dutch spoken in Antwerp. A touch of chauvinism, perhaps? On the contrary, a case of established scientific proof. Joannes Goropius Becanus, humanist, doctor of medicine, philologist and associate of Christophe Plantin, had proved this thesis back in 1569. No one dared laugh, and linguists worth their salt refrain from doing so down to the present day, as this study had once and for all debunked the belief that Hebrew was the oldest language in the world. Becanus' achievement was nothing short of a revolutionary breakthrough in comparative linguistics." I kept reading, unable to believe anyone had gotten away with printing this in an internationally distributed publication, and then smiled: "The people of Antwerp have a very peculiar sense of humour, characterized by a constant, deceptive blend of self-sufficiency and disarming self-mockery. But this humour has not always been understood as such." Wife is still angry at me for saying too much, so am trying to say little, but it is difficult. Love talking politics with these people; they are surprised that I 1) was embarrassed/angered by the presidency of George Bush, 2) am not a rabid supporter of Obama, 3) believe the U.S. needs universal medical insurance (but not the Japanese system). I am not the typical American, apparently, and I, too confess a weakness of character, love it when people realize that about me. |
| (The next few entries will be from a journal I kept during the remainder of my European trip. They will not be organized, and very much reflect the state of mind I was in at that time. I will try to catch you up on other details of what happened when appropriate. This may take a few days. Sorry.) 9:30 am. After a brief bus ride to Wil, Switzerland, and a little confusion when we sat in 1st class, we are now on the train to Belgium. Wife has lost her hat and is depressed again. We searched everywhere. Maybe she left it at the station. We will buy a new hat in Belgium or London, I said. There is an American family in the seats in front of son and I. Children are loud sometimes, but not stereotypically so. (Somewhere in eastern France) Calico fields, some gone to weeds, and a brown stone farmhouse rising far away. Church spire rises like an angry hand over the neighboring houses, low-slung as if cringing. Expanses hedged by bushes and trees. A land long lived in. The wood, convoluted green, follows the stream and the train follows the stream a field's width away, while in between the industrious farmers prize neat corn rows and future time. Small suburbs and dirty yards. Dusty tracks and graffiti. Towering power lines stride like giant, Gallic, four-armed warrior robots, but never move, while white and yellow butterflies flit between and through their feet. A woman with two dreads, beaded, and a mass of blond hair sleeps, her head propped against the window frame, a book held in her curled, deeply veined fingers. Colmar. Red brick and gray stone station. Blue and red iron work handrails. Electronic billboards (Synchrosoft). Destination Finale 4. McDonalds. Selestat. Sky blue ironworks. Pale purple cement walls. Pink flowers hanging below windows. Strasborg. Home of European Parliament, apparently. Pretty big station. Lots of people getting on and off the train. A big, fat black woman hugs a big, fat white man. They smile and laugh. Note: Haven't seen so many cellphones. TGV: French bullet train, parked on the rails next to us. Very colorful. Outside Strasborg, the countryside opens up and becomes more farm-like...but when I look up from my notebook we're in the middle of a town and I'm looking at another church spire...look up again and we're back to green and yellow fields. Three police are on the train, checking passports. The shortest and darkest of the three looks uncomfortable, or is it just me, that they check only those papers of the black passengers. No. I was wrong. They are moving on to the other passengers, perhaps, though, to give it the appearance of randomness. The original officer, white, remains with the original suspects (for what else could they be), examining documents with some sort of magnifying glass, some optic shaped like a credit card, check veracity, apparently. Why so long? The other passengers mutter, turn in their seats, the interrogees (for I do not know the right word) are suspects, yes, by the simple fact that the police are questing them so long. Yes, they just checked a couple other passports, to put people at their ease. Whose ease? The people being questioned? Possibly. Maybe the other passengers. Maybe if they are checking other peoples' passports that means there is a more diffuse element of danger, not a concentrated one, the one the police concentrate upon. They passed me by. Didn't even glance at the passport in my hand. My suspicions are confirmed. People ease back into their seats, pull out books and magazines, their illusion of security reinstated, resuming their lives undisturbed--even through that's not true, life being a long series of disturbances upon our unconsciousness. Sign in the train toilet reads: "Don't use toilet when train stops at station." Why? I press the "flush" pedal with my foot and the bottom of the toilet falls away, sprinkling the blur of gravel beneath the train with urine. I imagine all the tracks of France are littered with the dried turds of humans and the occasional wandering dog. At the station. The three police walk past the window, leading a man away. He wears a purple shirt and is unshaven. He was not in the same compartment as us. His hands are behind his back and, though concealed by a black jacket, are obviously cuffed. I'd note him before as a fashionable man. Passing through the Great Dukedom of Luxemborg. I wonder why no one bothered to take over this country. Son is deeply involved in his origami. Wiltz, Luxemborg. Nondescript. Shabby. Saw three stocks of a nuclear power station in France. Couldn't get a picture in time before hidden by a hill. Did I feel dread? No, not really. just annoyed I couldn't get a picture. T-shirt at station: "F*ck you. I'm drunk." Wonder if he knows the English? Surprised if he didn't. The scenery leaves me with no impression, so I read a good chunk of Beckett's Molloy. Wife and wife's friend sleep. Son is watching a Pokemon movie on my Walkman. The landscape is largely flat where it isn't gently slopping, and where it's slopping it is interrupted by stands of trees. On the whole, it looks too much like Oregon, Washington or Idaho. Humans have too long stamped their feet feet here, stamping the group into paths and roads so that to get lost you'd have to close your eyes and your ears, and maybe even your nose, too, before setting out to find something new. Pulling into a station, the dusty streets and cracked buildings remind me of Normal, Illinois, and I hated that place. We've seen graffiti all along the rail lines this entire trip. Big buildings fail to impress me, for making something big is not as difficult as making something deep, for making something big all you have to do is keep adding and adding, so long as the structure survives. There is a sense, when pulling away from stations, that you cannot be away quickly enough. Perhaps they designed the areas to be so ugly, so industrial, so dead, for that purpose. The stations are little better, but a bit more welcoming, nice tubes through which people are shunted along properly respectable paths towards the great stomachs of the cities, to consume and be consumed, the great cycle digesting life, dreams, the future. It is so beautiful. No, that's not the right word. But what word is there for human, the terrible things humans do to themselves? Lacking any better nomenclature, and stuck with this English, I say beautiful or horrible. Whichever tickles your fancy. 7:30 pm. In Brussels-Luxemborg station. Three more stops and we change to the local trains. Soon be at friend's house in Antwerp. |
| has become extremely limited. headed to London tomorrow, and then the following day on a plane to Japan. will catch you all up on what has happened; what I have seen, said and done (a lot) once I get more computer time, maybe at Singapore airport. Thanks for reading and wonderful support. many funny stories to tell. I promise. |
| Catching the bus to the train station in the morning. Watching a bit of Swiss TV--too awake to sleep. Had a quiet day with just son and wife today while others went to a wedding. We found a quiet spot and had a picnic. Son and I played in the pool a bit and had fun around the house--his attitude towards me hasn`t improved overly much, and he likes to mouth-off a lot, but still we are having a good time. Ten hours by train and we will be in Belgium for what promises to be a couple of days of me sampling a sorts of famous Belgian beers. Should be interesting. :) |
| Saw the bed where Napoleon slept. Looked down at the frame and wondered why anyone would care. Big flare up from wife. I`ve been too honest about our life in Japan, too free divulging details of our stressed life and lack of family time. "You are giving them a bad image of me." But, dang it, I tell everyone everything. It`s just easier that way, isn`t it? Or is that just American naivete speaking? Visited Stein amd Rhein ("stone on the Rhine"), a little village popular for its ancient buildings, many of them more than three hundred years old. Beautiful place, again. Son loves the public fountains. He climbs up on their edges, dips his hands in the water and washes his face again and again, smiling and sputtering. Since every place here seems to be on a steep hill, he runs down the cobbled streets full bore, swining his arms wildly and shouting for help, smiling all the way. Ate lasagna for lunch and then went souvegner (yes, it`s a novel spelling, but there is no spell check on this computer) shopping. Wife misread my signals and left the store angrily, not buying anything and blaming me for the lost opportunity. Dinner: potates, green beans covered in tomato sauce, meatballs. Chocolate cake for dessert. Friends are attending husband`s brother`s wedding tomorrow, leaving the three of us the run of the house tomorrow. Day after tomorrow we catch the train to Belgium. Ten hours through Switzerland and France. "Good scenery," I asked wife`s friend. "Don`t know. I always take the night bus." Son is at karate training again, this time by himself. Husband here asked him if he wanted to go without wife or I. Son seemed quite happy with the option. I saw no reason to argue. Husband seems aware, more than I, that son needs something separate from parents, something his own, to feel independent and gain self-confidence. Today is Friday. Freitag. Tomorrow is Samstag. Ich bein Americaner. I am an American. Das ist Americanish. That is American. Four languages slip and spill around us; awash in the linguistic flux, son says "danke" and "bitte" (thank you and your welcome) without seeming to realize it. Daughter here now says "arigato" (thank you) and makes everyone smile. Really, these kids do soak up languages. Americans really should be required to learn a couple of languages. Maybe then this embarrassing nonsense of posting "English Only" signs in shop windows and opposing bilingual public notices will fade into the obscurity they deserve. In the few minutes of quiet we had to ourselves, wife and I talked about buying a house in Europe. We both like the idea. What about America? The houses are cheaper there and I could probably get a descent job. Well, the bad food culture, the lack of universal health care, the overblown sense of self-importance and the frighteningly rampant consumerism do not lend to a positive sense of attraction. That is for sure. Man, this is weird. I looked down at the wooden frame of this bed, hundreds of years old, a place where a famed killer slept, and wondered why anyone would care. I think I know the answer, but it says too much about the bad parts of our human psyche for me to listen to now. Good night to all of you laying down your heads. Good night. Don`t let the bedbugs bite. |
| Pronounced "Vil", it`s a small small city about 20k from our friend`s house, and like everything in Switzerland, is built on steep slopes commanding majestic panoramas of distant farmlands, forests and mountains. Every cobbled street is decorated with Swiss flags and the flags of either the city or sections of the city. All the buildings are three or four stories with high, steep roofs, many of them with small outcropt towers, windows all around and many with murals painted on their facades. We went shopping, and son choose a "Find Waldo" book in German: "Walter" (I don`t remember the rest of the title). Spent 10 minutes at the supermarket just drooling over the selection of breads and cheeses, and laughing at the Wasabi chips (for those who don`t know, wasabi is a spice, not unlike horseradish, used in Japan). Here, you put two francs in the supermarket trolley to release its lock, and when you return it, you get your money back "to encourage people to actually return them to their place." Everything is so clean. "Are the Swiss conservative?" I asked our Belgian friend. "Oh, yes. Very. But maybe not so much as the Japanese. They do believe that there is a way to do everything." Furniture stores with gorgeous, hand-crafted furniture. Omega stores with incredible watches (found one my eye liked at a mere 3,100 francs). Lots of clothing stores which, given my lack of taste, I would call fashionable and trendy. Bought another package of gummy bears--the real kind--putting son and I`s consumption up to nearly a kilo in three days. Back at the house, we ate a leisurely (every meal has been outside, leisurely, with lots of conversation) lunch of salad, bread and cheese, played a few games of foozball with son, took a nap lying in the grass listening to music, vacuumed the house and washed the dishes. Luigi, the husband, came home around six, and then we had a barbeque. Wonderful food. He speaks English fairly well, and I am constantly amazed: everytime we all sit together, the husband and wife switch effortlessly between Dutch, German and English. At night, we had another campfire in the barbeque pit, lots of talking and a little alcohol. Their house is so beautiful, and the neighborhood so perfect--I just can`t stop complimenting them. They know they are lucky, they said. Lightening storm came in over the horizon but never really came close. Went to bed around 10pm. Wondeful, deep sleep. This climate is perfect for me. Not for the first time, I asked wife is she was ready to move here. She gave me her half smile and non-commital "hmmmmm." Today we will go to some big lake or visit an old village or go to the top of some mountain. Nothing is decided yet. It is perfect. Son is having a great time, and we had no flare-ups yesterday. |
| We had a small campfire in our friend`s backyard last night, sitting around drinking a Belgian beer (8.8%) called Duvel (Devil), counting shooting stars and airplanes (near Zurich airport), but having trouble with a hyperactive son. Our friends are very understanding and cool. They think he`s a normal boy with lots of energy. They do, of course, recommend he take karate classes. They are kyokushinkai karate instructors and world competitors themsleves. The husband has been doing karate since he was seven, and the wife I believe has been doing it since at least high school. They love speaking Japanese, and they use Japanese in their classes. Son loved the class, and they say he has some talent--plus the energy release, the discipline and learning to respect others as part of the training would help. I have felt the same way for a long time now, but their words have given wife and I some encouragement. Wonderfully, Belgians and Swiss have political opinions and are willing to express them openly, unlike the Japanese who view such expressions as taboo, threats to the group harmony. We have talked a lot about multi-language and multi-culture families, the difficulties and rewards of raising children in such environments; immigration, and the differening problems and attitudes between Europe, America and Japan; the problem of aging societies in Europe and Japan and their differing approaches to solutions. It has been great (I would put an exclamation point here, but can`t find it on this keyboard, and keep mistaking the z for a y). Yesterday we went to Rheinfall, the biggest waterfall in Europe. Beautiful place. I tried speaking German to the souvegneir shop lady, but quickly and foolishly realized that she spoke perfect English. Strange, for me, to be doing tourist things in a Caucasian population. A bit disorienting, really. Most of the people we saw were tourists from Germany, and I have to say their waistlines are distressingly American in girth. Son played a lot with some rude boy from the Netherlands, proving once again you don`t have to know the words to play together. After Rheinfall, we visited a local large village to see the architecture. Beautiful place. Lots of people walking around the shops, lots of younger people which surprised me, having lived in an elderly part of Japan for so long. Lots more energy, beautiful people, lots of character, carts selling ice cream, fruit and vegetables outside high class clothing stores and bookstores selling German translations of Bob Ross how-to-paint books. A bit of sunburn and a few arguments with the son who just couldn`t stop acting like a silly fool every step of the way. At the campfire, I asked the husband and wife if their practiced with weapons in their style of karate. "My body is a weapon," the husband said, leaning close to me. "In karate, you learn confidence." I have no confidence in my physical self, only in my mental self. 8:30 am. time to eat breakfast. No idea what we`re doing today. |
| This is beautiful country. Rolling green hills carpet by pine trees, interspersed by farms; fresh air tinges with the smell of cow manure and grass. This is the morning after the first day, and I think we have succesfully gotten past the jet lag. Wife`s friends are wonderful, friendly people, and a real education in multi-culture, multi-language living. The wife speaks four languages; Dutch is her mother tongue and she uses that to speak to her daughter, who understands Dutch but speaks Swiss-German just like everyone else around her, including her father who understands Dutch and must use Italian to speak to his father--everyone speaks some level of English; and we have entered the mix speaking English and Japanese and a smattering of German I learned on the plane coming in. They live in a tiny village of 400 people; the houses are big and beautiful; there are many children running around; groups of houses organized into little 15-house communities with shared playgrounds and underground garages. Ate real cheese, real bread, chicken, pork and ostrich for dinner last night, some wine, and then passed out while talking. These people are wonderful. I am happy. Still need to find a hotel room for London next week. Without a credit card, it is impossible to make a reservation, so hopefully our friends will be able to help us. Son is doing remarkably well. He is trying to use more English. He is excited to join the karate training tonight--he has flown all the way from Japan to Switzerland to try karate. Funny, that. I am not sure what the plan is today, but I hope it involves sight-seeing and chocolate. |
| It wasn't funny that Japan said goodbye to us in her usual way, with gray skies and rain. It wasn't funny that wife and I slept only a couple of hours last night making sure that we had everything ready to go. It was funny that at 11pm the night before we leave, a friend contacts me on Facebook and says we can stop over with them in Singapore--thus starting a mad rush to make new plans outside the airport. It wasn't funny that as we boarded the final shuttle bus to the terminal that wife realized she'd forgotten her bag on the subway--the bag with all our cash, credit cards and flight tickets--thereby threatening to cancel our vacation and strand us in a city far from home with no means of getting home with three huge suitcases. Well, actually, that was funny as hell! It was also funny that, with 45 minutes to board the plane, the subway authorities find her bag, with tickets and nearly $2000 in cash still inside--but the purse with her credit card missing, undoutedly stolen by some extremely dim-witted opportunist. And I am still giggling that this same woman, who gave me two weeks grief for my mistake of missing two lessons, lost $200 cash and her credit card, and started crying when I told her I loved her. "How could you love someone who does something like this?" she asked, blinking back tears. "Because you're human." And because I'm off the hook for a while, as far as mistakes are concerned. 11pm, Singapore airport. Wife and son sleeping on chairs. I'm loving the sounds of all these languages around me too much to sleep. Next stop: Switzerland, the land of neutrality and home to a couple of karate instructors we know. |
| 2 hours until the taxi comes to take us to the bullet train station. 30 mins by train to the airport. Take a plane to Singapore where we will meet an old friend of mine who, coincidentally, texted me last night to find out why I was up so late on Facebook--I hadn't even made the connection that we could meet up, she living in Singapore as she does. So, her husband and her said they would pick us up at the airport and take us on a tour and out for dinner at a park where we can relax, watch the fireworks (National Day in Singapore), and let the kids run around like crazy--so much better than waiting ten hours in that airport. Good people. But even before that hasty gathering of half-plans, wife and I were already looking at each other and saying, "This is crazy." We've got no money and no jobs. She's got three more semesters of school before she can start working again. This trip is ill-advised and expensive as anything. This is crazy. Fun, in other words. Next possible blog will be from Switzerland. |
| A couple more days until we get out of Japan for two weeks. Son wakes up in the morning: "Moo ni kai?" Two more sleeps? Yes, two more sleeps and then we hurry to the train station at 6:00am, ride the bullet train for an hour, hustle through to get the 8am flight out of Japan, waste about 10 hours in Singapore airport, and then we are on our way to Switzerland! So confused feelings, between anxiety and happiness. We have no money, marriage on the rocks, but doing this totally unnecessary thing. Not sure why, but the usually reticent wife is all for it. Ashamed to say it's all her money. Credit card company canceled my card the other day; no warning. Something about not handling overseas accounts and my late payments. Argh. I am so totally irresponsible, yes? I need recharging, revitalizing, revamping. Hopefully this trip will do that. Can't imagine it won't. Happy, sort of. |
| Son is in the room, reading joke book after breakfast. Five minutes until we start our study period together. Wife is at kitchen table putting on makeup. The calm. We reached an understanding last night. Things will continue, with improvements, hopefully. Watching. Wary. Vacation in three days. Slight panic there as we haven't really prepared much for it. Should be interesting. Great to get out of Japan for a while. |
| Thankfully, due to the stress, the busy schedules, the exhaustion and what might very well have been a bit of a cold, neither wife nor I have missed son overly much, but he is returning tonight and we are really looking forward to that with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. This must be the guilt all parents feel when they realize they have been breathing just a bit easier when the kids are away. Anyway, wife is busy writing a thesis, so I've had to ressucitate an old computer in order to write this blog entry. Boring, isn't it? |
| Had a fun morning this morning doing homework together. I wanted son to see that I am studying Japanese (albeit not enough) so while he was doing his summer homework, I sat across the table from him and worked on my vocabulary and kanji. He seemed happy, and even corrected me on my penmanship of the phonetic characters. To get him to finish his homework, though, I had to bribe him: I bought him a small toy, which he'll get when he comes home tonight with his mother. Overall, a pleasant day, I hope. Hot today. Humidity is on the rise as the rainy season recedes. Have to go to night job in an hour. Trying to be productive, but just don't have the energy. Summer is not a good time for productivity here in Yamaguchi. |
| We started the day with breakfast with mom: toast, wieners, grapes, banana, yogurt. After breakfast, homework: diary entry, picture drawing, silent reading, poetry recital (form memory), addition and subtraction flashcards, counting new buds on the Morning Glory. Get dressed and then got to park to play frisbee and soccer, only to be interrupted after 15 minutes by the rain. Then to 7-11 to get the special Pokemon lunchbox (packaged lunch) only to find that they'd discontinued it two days before. Back home to play a for ten minutes inside, and then to the grocery store to buy a regular packed lunch. Walk to daycare. First thing you see when you walk in in some kid pointing at your son and shouting "American!" Feel a little mullified when teacher pinches his lips together (hoping for a little pain there). Feel a little horror when another teacher basically smashes the lips together of another bratty kid (still, I can understand the teacher's actions; some of these kids are neglected by their parents and are out of control). Worried if I should leave son here, ask him if he's okay. He says he is. Walk away feeling guilty as hell and needing, just needing, praying, hoping, for a productive day, a better job, a way out of this mess I am in. |
| Asked a couple of my students yesterday to make a list of 10 things they think anyone should know before they decide to live in Japan for an extended period. Please understand that these people are around sixty years-old and have had relatively extensive contact with a large number of foreigners in Japan. Here are their suggestions: 1) Learn the laws and rules specific to Japan (For example, register your bike, even if it is a gift from someone, at the city office so that the police don’t assume you have stolen it, and don’t drink alcohol and ride your bike). 2) Join your community group. 3) Learn the garbage system. (This is an item of such importance that debates in Japan concerning immigration routinely focus on it; it’s more about preserving social harmony than preserving the environment.) 4) Learn Japanese. (Why this was not #1 I will never understand) 5) Don’t have noisy parties, even if your neighbors all say it’s okay; or, if you are going to have a party, make it small and don’t play loud music 6) Don’t worry if Japanese people stare, point fingers and talk about you behind your back; we are an island people, and we are curious. 7) Learn about Japanese food as much as possible. 8) Please understand the differences in attitudes towards tattoos in Japan; do not tell people you have tattoos unless absolutely necessary. 9) Take off your shoes before entering the house. 10) Walk on the right side of the sidewalk. Now, those are all well and good, but as a long-term resident of Japan, I would like to add these frustration-saving preparations: 1) Be aware that all the shops open at 10am, and, depending on which town you live in, close two or three days a month for cleaning on a weekday. 2) Public hot springs and swimming pools will ask you to cover up your tattoos or refuse you service. 3) Be aware that sometimes cars will drive on the sidewalk for a short distance and that drivers only look in the direction of on-coming traffic before pulling out of an alley or intersection. 4) Eventually someone, somewhere, is going to make a surprised comment that you can use chopsticks. Let it slide. 5) Be aware that Japanese people and the Japanese media like to make broad generalizations about people based on a few bits of information, so that when one foreigner does something incredibly stupid, obtuse, socially-backward, or just plain retarded, all foreigners are assumed to do the same things. So, basically, if you like to do stupid things after drinking, please don’t do them in public. Please. |
| It rained so hard yesterday that the roads flooded, water above the tires, and some of the roads closed. That was cool; son and I drove slow. listening to Phish or Pokemon music, taking our time, running errands. We did homework in the morning after breakfast, watched a bit of TV. In the afternoon, he went with his mother to get some teeth pulled--and it didn't hurt. Adult teeth were impatient to come in, and so the dentist had to pull the obstinate baby teeth still lodged in place. So strange to me that it didn't hurt. We had dinner with mother (after lots of arguments between her and I, because I forgot to eat a piece of bread or buy a strap for a plastic bottle), and then I taught a lesson. My work in another town was canceled by the rain, because the trains weren't running. Son is selfish and spoiled, though: we went to a bookstore to look around, and I said he could have a book if he found one; but after 45 minutes of looking, he still hadn't chosen, so I said we had to go. Boy, did he let me have it! I said nothing to him all the way home. He railed at mother; she locked him on the balcony for a couple of minutes so he could think about what he did--luckily the rain had paused at this time. Yet, by the time we went to be at 9pm, the rain was falling hard again, the world beyond the curtains sounding like the memory or video of static on a TV. |
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