The Ex Pats Abandon Ship

Posted on June 12, 2011 by Emily Cannell

The last day of school. A year for the record books ended at noon today. On my walk home I pondered that age-old question,”Just how late can I sleep before a long-established caffeine addiction bulldozes through REM?” when an eye-catching swarm of activity buzzing around my apartment building grabbed my intrusive nose and led it along for a gleeful snoop in to the business of my neighbors. Sweating husbands were frantically loading suitcases, tents, hockey equipment, trunks, and any other minutiae needed for the summer minus furniture, in to a stretched line of patiently idling cabs.

One neighbor stuck her head out of a half rolled down window.

“Ouisar-san- you’re here until July right? I put our keys in your mailbox- have Offspring #1 take care of Kitty for us while we’re gone! Thanks! See you in September.”

The cab screeched off her hand still waving good-bye, blonde hair slapping against the roof top, a weary husband left sagging on the curb.

A mass Exodus not seen since Moses duplicated in every apartment building in downtown Tokyo.

By 4:00, the swarm of ExPats had descended upon Narita airport, eaten all the strange variations of KitKats available, boarded dozens of planes bound for LA and NY, and vacated Tokyo for the summer.

This reminded me of a conversation held at a Christmas party:

Man-  “What are you doing this summer?”

Ouisar-san “Traveling around Japan.”

Man- “WHAT? WHY would you do that? ALL the wives go home for the summer. You’ll be by yourself.”

His violent response to my summer plans caused a thought to run through my mind, and in a rare show of self-restraint not straight out of my mouth,

“At least I’ll have your girlfriend to keep me company.”

The idea of leaving for the summer seemed disjointed as if abandoning our new home for the summer signaled it wasn’t really home, but just a temporary landing pad until the next assignment. Something akin to having one foot in each country. The Clampitts have been known to pull up stakes quickly, in fact, it has been suggested that tents should be our housing choice due to ease of transport. The Offspring are quite facile at handling questions regarding our multiple moves not associated with military assignment or tax evasion. Our homes always reflect a certain “just moved in look,” as drapes are never hung until year 2 which upon completion  guarantees the appearance of a “for sale” sign in the front yard. But, when one moves from Seattle to Houston, does the family return to Seattle every summer?

When I’m absolutely honest with myself, leaving for the summer isn’t all that attractive. I’d have the two Offspring plotting their dastardly terrorist activities without the balancing yin of Spouse to help block and tackle. I’m a firm believer in “two heads are better than one” and “all hands on deck” when dealing with the ruthless extremism of terrorists. Although a staunch supporter and advocate of  the “no negotiation” strategy- by the end of an extended time frame of lone prolonged exposure, I fear a weakened state leading to severe negative consequences including a total loss of control throughout the remaining teenage years.

Of course, there are other reasons to stay.

It has been proposed by some of my more cynical compadres, that the prolonged summer vacation of the family sans Dad leads to the addition of a new family member – his summer girlfriend. Being pragmatists, Spouse and I agree divorce is just too costly. We concur that any girlfriend should be young, healthy, and very energetic as I will greet her with open arms, two loads of laundry and a grocery list. She’ll be earning her keep. Spouse is optimistic regarding the shoe being on the other foot and is confident I can land a younger someone still capable of pitching a baseball. I on the other hand think some up front investment will be required including the expertise of a surgeon willing to give me Size D boobs, Size C lips and another inch between my eyeballs and eyebrows for the arched “come hither I’m really only 3o” look.

Girlfriend Chore: Clean Around the Couch

Of course, the Offspring and I do have friends outside the ExPat community who don’t join a cavalcade leading out of central Tokyo not to be seen again until September 1st. A concept has emerged in the Clampett household which advocates spending time with local friends doing activities such as swimming, visiting Fuji Q Highland and skateboarding. All seem to be reasonable filler for the months of June, July and August.

Fuji Q Highland

The school year has been filled with sports, homework, and activities other than enjoying the country in which we currently reside, so now is the time to really get to know her. We’ll be staying- and seeing a lot of this:

In this:

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A Walk Through Yoyogi Park

Posted on June 6, 2011 by Emily Cannell

Apparently, “enjoying the scenery” along the way is a life lesson still yet to learn as somewhere between my 10k training days 8 and 10, on loop 46 or 47, I noticed the roses in full bloom at Yoyogi Park. During a break in the rain, I took the camera on a Starbuck’s run to see what else I’d missed.

Below is one of the entrances to Yoyogi and the Homeless’ favorite cooking spot. The Homeless keep Yoyogi Park spotless while the authorities look the other way in exchange for their “invisible village” in the back.

Just beyond is the Rose Garden. Whenever I just don’t feel like putting on my running shoes I remember these folks in the vests, one member of each pair is blind.

This man is not looking for a lost child or cultivating medicinal marijuana plants; he’s grooming the roses.

Heading out of the park toward Harajuku station and the Meiji Shrine, the crowd starts to get more entertaining. The women in the back left is a pink “Lolita”- she’s dressed as a doll.  The teenager is on a combination of skateboard/skate which are two separate pieces. Thus far Offspring #1 hasn’t seen these or I’m sure we’d have seen another trip to the ER this year.

AAHHH- a healing session. Although a general overall tune up type healing session would do a world of good, the line was too long.

Along the way, I took note of what is becoming the latest fad. Short flouncy, lace like skirts, shorts, high sock tights, and boots. From my lips – the fashion harbinger of Tokyo- to your eyes- please enjoy the new the summer look.

The Japanese work the accessories hard- both live and man-made. When it comes to dogs, they accessorize their accessories. This is one of the few dogs without clothes, however, the hair style completes the look.

By the way, this dog is a poodle and she bore an uncanny resemblance to her owner.

The Japanese don’t expose skin to the sun, no matter how hot the temperature. On a bright day, parasols are out, women wear hats, and many cover arms and hands with long gloves. Interestingly, most don’t wear sunglasses probably because they mask eye expression and movement.

Emiel van Boomen  from the “Act of Traveling” wrote a post about exploring side streets when traveling. He advised one to go out of the hotel and take a right down the first street. It is truly down those streets where the gems are located.

Apparently even Starbucks knows this….

Next time, “who’s” in my neighborhood…..


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Caught in the Throes of More Language Woes

Posted on June 1, 2011 by Emily Cannell

The Offspring learned the first “alphabet” of the two Japanese versions in September while I sit still struggling to pronounce one syllable words with the prekindergarten version at month 8.  I wax on at my Japanese teacher, pointing in her face with a calligraphy felt tip writing utensil,

” Your killin’ me Smalls. Talking- that’s a valuable skill.  I don’t hand over a written list at the grocery store for someone to fetch.”

She doesn’t respond, she never does. She just sits in silence and stares me down, ignores the ink on my face, indifferent to my commentary on her teaching prowess and demands more attention on the correct stroke order for the “Se” sound.  I swear Japanese music is pinging in the background from parts unknown as she gains the upper hand.

After I suffer the humiliation of “Sa, Si, Su, Se, and So,” on writing paper for the 5 and 6 year olds she teaches on Fridays, she graciously offers a retort from on high.

“If you can’t write it, you can’t pronounce it, if you can’t pronounce it, no one can understand it.” Damn Japanese and their logic.

“Well let’s go on to katakana I’m sick of hiragana I’M BORED!” I offer a compromise to which the enemy refuses to engage. Even though I suspect I’m playing this game alone, I attempt another move.

I use a combination of leaning forward to intimidate and the “thin lips” look which scares small children and misbehaving dogs, each showing her I have the power to get a teacher that will bend to my will.

Ahh- this awakens the bear. She likes to fight mano o mano. “You haven’t yet mastered Hiragana.”

“I CAN write- I’m just a slow reader.”

I can read and write well enough. Thus far, I haven’t been entered in to any Spelling B’s, and as far as I know, there aren’t any speed contests for sign or menu reading. The tug of war starts to pull me in her direction.

She puts down the homework assignment being prepared. “You are one of my most queer students.” Which I interpret as,”personality ridden, joyful, intellectually curious on things of interest to you..”

With that, she yanks the rope easily and I find myself on the ground with a mouth full of “Pa, pe and poo.”

When I ask Andretti-san to define “queer” he explains it as “weird.” I’ve been on the receiving end of many terms that would turn a Philly mobster pink; this I construe as a compliment to preserve my dignity.

I might be odd, but I’m all she’s got as many fled after the earthquake never to return for fear of radiation. What would she do without me? It must be the love of our game.

Or- and this is truly an awful thought- could she be one of life’s antagonists forcing me to where I wouldn’t otherwise go for my own benefit?

A few weeks ago, exhausted, avoiding the kitchen, I cheated on the domestic duties and ordered take out for the Clampitt family. I weakly attempted to order in Japanese, the polite Japanese cook fired back in English, suspicious of his skill, yet happy to oblige, I eventually ordered, “fried rice to go.” in English. Eventually, the cook bounced back handing me a bag filled with “five rice.” Five containers of white rice to go. Evil Sensei’s face magically appeared in the bag- looking up at me,”Ouisar-san, read the menu and point to the fried rice if you don’t want to talk. See why you must learn your characters!”  Here’s a picture of Sensei just in case she shows up in a take out bag.

Not too long ago as I dragged the cooler out of the building I told the building receptionist, “My husband and I are going to a track meet.” She nodded reluctantly, a quizzical look on her face immediately indicating to a reader of body language,”You stepped in it.” Later I consulted Andretti-sensei who said,

“Perfect, except for the part where you said,’ My prisoner and I are going to a track meet.'” The receptionist probably thought “he” was chained within the cooler as it was the supersized version. “Husband” and “prisoner” are spelled similarly but pronounced differently. Subtle. Spouse thinks they’re interchangeable regardless of pronunciation.

The final nail in the coffin came from an unexpected source. My corner grocery store. The local place around the corner I walk to every day to get what I need for the day’s supplies. I asked Andretti-san to run by XXXXX  and he fell out laughing. I assumed it was because of my pronunciation and asked for the correction. This happened several more times which is unusual for Andretti-san who normally doesn’t laugh at my Japanese.

“What is so funny about the way I say XXXXX?”

“When you mispronounce it sounds like a very dirty Japanese word!”

Apparently for lady parts.

So my conversations with my Japanese friends and neighbors have gone like this:

“Don’t you love lady parts?”

“Lady parts is so cheap, don’t you think?”

“I could just eat all the good stuff in lady parts”

“More men are eating in lady parts, don’t you think?”

“Do you do your bagging in lady parts?”

Sensei has won this round. But there will be another….

Note: Read Here The Daily Infographic posted a -well- infographic on the major languages and how each ranked in terms of learnability. See how the one your trying to learn- or speak- ranks…..Thanks to Andrea at ExPatWomen.com for tweeting! (Great web site by the way.

Posted in Moving to Japan | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 42 Comments

We Knew It Was Coming, It’s Here….

Posted on May 28, 2011 by Emily Cannell

The Rainy Season.

The Weatherman, Apple and Andretti-san predict the rain will continue until the end of June.

My crystal ball predicts that if The Nose’s care package full of Zoloft doesn’t get here soon, I will sleep until July 1st.

Overnight, life in Japan has adapted to the new season. I’ve discovered a miraculous invention, the automatic umbrella bag. Unfortunately for the environment, now 5 degrees warmer due to my failed efforts, it took several tries before I mastered the “Bag and Go.” This ingenious device allows one to envelop the umbrella in a plastic cover, thus allowing one to remain safe from the dripping umbrella and from an embarrassing entrance, sliding in to the store head first, Home Run Style.

Here I demonstrate the surgical precision of the now perfected umbrella wrap. The meek, spiritless voice heard in the video is the result of millions of E. coli converging upon vocal chords planted by wily Offspring in a futile attempt to block out the sound of my usually thunderous voice gently prodding them toward their greater good in virtuous endeavors such as cleanliness, Godliness, and studiousness.

At home, ubiquitous umbrellas invade the miniscule foyers of thousands of neatly ordered buildings  housing the 23 million Tokyo apartment dwellers. Small gadgetry keeps the umbrellas drying and out-of-the-way while through the marvels of engineering, water drips down the umbrella, in to the catch basin and not on the floor. Can someone figure out how to get rid of the shoes? Or provide Offspring #1 with a non-harmful yet thought-provoking electric shock each time he leaves his shoes in the entryway?

Once purchases have been secured, the clerks get to work readying them for the vicious onslaught of elements awaiting outside. These ninjas of retail aren’t going to let the newly adopted suffer once outside of the nursery. Items are placed in bags, then further encapsulated in multiple layers of plastic, and taped creating the ultimate shopping bag fortress from the rain.

Helicopter view:

Enveloped, encased, encapsulated, enclosed. Ready for any typhoon.

Of course the Japanese, fashionistas that they are, view the rainy season as a Voguing  opportunity. Umbrellas, boots, and rain coats all become fabulous statement pieces. Never before have I seen plastic shoes and boots available in the 4 digit price range with all the big names participating.

With that monster heel, I had to have them. The cost/benefit ratio even once these smashers have been affixed to my legs for after an hour or so, they form a suction cup vacuum seal to my calves rendering them impossible to remove without a small surgical team in place. Once on, my feet don’t see the light of day until the end of the rainy season, at the close of which the seal is broken with a sharp knife and an Offspring pulling on each foot.

Ladies- maybe a few of you guys- will recognize the all too common Tory Burch Reva flat…

How do you like the galoshes iteration? The last time I wore a pair of rubber Jellys- about 1987- my feet looked as if I’d attempted to walk barefoot on burning coals while pulling a cart filled with bricks. I’ll pass on the $200 version for fear of being incapacitated.

Who knew the rainy season is so momentous it is cause for adopting new vocabulary words. According to Amy Chavez in her recent article in the Japan Times Online, one useful word is “Yanda”. She writes:

‘… people on my island are already practicing the “yanda dash.” This is when, especially during seemingly endless downpours during the rainy season, the rain stop for a little bit and people feel the uncontrollable urge to exclaim, “Yanda!” (“the rain has stopped!”) and dash out to do things during this tiny interval of no rain. It’s amazing how much you can get accomplished in just a few minutes if you put your mind to it. ‘

One activity I truly enjoy in the rain is running. Offspring #1 and I are participating in several 10k’s this summer. He as a runner, me as a crawler.  I get to run in this highly sought after “It” outfit for the rainy season.

Running in the rain is peaceful and quiet, and reminds me of Seattle, where both Offspring were born, where I ran every day in the rain, each of them in the stroller, wrapped like the above package, safe from the rain, screaming like banshees to get out.

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Hmmmm, Don’t Do This on Your Next Trip To Japan- Culture Lesson # 14

Posted on May 26, 2011 by Emily Cannell

Warning: Certain gestures, habits, and customs routinely incorporated in to daily life at home, residents on foreign soil may view as rude or insulting. 

The Deacon sat waiting patiently in the library at a metal folding table, his chair on one side, my elementary issued chair on the other, the spacial arrangement a reminder of the hierarchy  in place and a tip to the agenda for the 30 minutes ahead. I sank down. My chin resting on my knees, knuckles resting on indoor/outdoor carpet covering the floor. The lecture on the importance of Confirmation and all other forms of religious instruction commenced. I, being a parent of a child about to be Confirmed, and THE teacher of the Confirmation class, didn’t see myself as the true target audience for his diatribe. Since he was not interested in my Offspring, my evolutionary teaching techniques, my ability to hold 25 kids in the palm of my hand while teaching the riveting details of Catholic doctrine through bribes, games, and pin the vice on the disciple, he lost me.
My mind started to free associate. It freely associated to several topics. One of which was the mud clod  stuck on my shoe. I can only attribute the following action to the mind numbing droning sound buzzing from the mouth of the deacon causing my brain to short-circuit, sending misfired signals through synapses. Being a species with higher reasoning capabilities, I employed the use of a metal bar underneath the table as a tool to scrape the dirt clod off my shoe. It fell in smaller clumps to the floor. I blame the Deacon for reducing me to this child like behavior. He didn’t notice as he was thoroughly launched in to parental involvement at mass.

The smell of dog poo wafted up from underneath the table.

The Deacon must have been used to noxious odors for he continued unperturbed. Years of smoking and allergies have rendered my olfactory glands all but useless and what remains are virtually senseless after motherhood, however, this poo once unclumped was powerfully pungent. This presented quite a dilemma what should I do now?

I did what most children from dysfunctional homes would. I ignored it. It certainly was unfortunate for him, and the remaining parents, that the dog poo was left under the table. Unsure of exactly how to remove the dog poo now on the floor, underneath the table, in the library, I left it.

Without looking, I can assuredly announce, all guide books and Culture Experts would advise against tracking mud and excrement inside any sort of building, sacred or otherwise, even in the United States. I would also advise against it based on my new nickname, “St. Pious Poo Shoe,” which has stuck, not to be shaken, or wiped clean.

Similarly in Japan, there are several such taboo activities. Like blowing one’s nose in public. I have chosen this as the first to highlight due to the complexity of this seemingly innocuous issue. I read in the guide books and Culture directives:

“Do NOT blow your nose in Japan. It is considered EXTREMELY rude.”

However, in direct contradiction to those statements, please observe this extensive display of women’s handkerchiefs at Mitsukoshi- an upscale department store in Japan:

Who knew, Burberry, Louis Vuitton and Celine make such things?

Vivienne Westwood- outlandish clothes and cloths….I love them.

Row upon Row….

But NOT dear friends, on which, to sneeze and blow.

So what does one do with these precious, and expensive, pieces of cloth? Cloth napkins don’t exist here. In their place, are small, non absorbent, pieces of paper that are placed on tables in some restaurants- but not all. The issue with these “napkins” is they’re useless as the paper isn’t absorbent and are too small to use as napkins. Women use “Handkerchiefs” and substitute as napkins.

Andretti-san, truth seeker and cultural guide to the Clampitt family, disagrees with this Japanese lore. He advises that nose blowing should be discreet and performed in an unobtrusive manner to those in close proximity to the action so that sound- not the act itself- is not bothersome.

This continues to be problematic as I am an aficionado of the hankie; a love borne out of necessity not fashion. When I run, my nose does too. Where other runners strap on a water bottle, I tuck in my hankie to wave in the wind.

While I believe Andretti-san, I’m afraid to go against Lonely Planet. Nike+GPS has informed me that stopping, hiding, and blowing my nose, costs 3-4 minutes off my 4 mile time. Hummm. Do I risk the blow?

Let’s face it, with the number of mistakes I’ve racked on the Culture Lesson guide, I can’t afford to push on the questionables. But then, I know a few of you have a couple of stories you could share…

Posted in Culture Lessons, Moving to Japan | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 32 Comments

The Glamorous Life of an ExPat Wife

Posted on May 22, 2011 by Emily Cannell

Done with all that whininess that can be the ExPat mentality- culture shock, kids coming home from the first day of school without a friend, facing a grocery store selling brains, organ meat or live animals, or not hearing one word in your own language, I did the unthinkable. I stepped beyond myself and willingly, without threats inflicted upon me, nor under duress, and completely within a sane thinking moment, accepted the Tasmanian Bloodhound’s invitation to the Tokyo American Club’s Fundraiser for the tsunami Victims. You know I accepted out of guilt and not because an evening of yelling over the table at strangers sounded appealing. Only because thousands are truly suffering, while I shoulder these hardships of ExPat hood, silently, in the luxurious apartment several neighborhoods removed, and up, from the one to which we belong at home.

I promised I would go- until the bewitching hour of 8:30 at which time I would turn in to a slime covered pumpkin covered with fruit flies spitting curse ridden condemnations at good willed party goers. When Spouse learned of the upcoming plans, he quickly hatched an emergency meeting in the US and caught the first plane leaving Narita Airport.

Outside of the South, my party hair is shocking to most people when observing it for the first time. Too my delight, some gape in awe at the sheer height I can accomplish with the use of hair as an accouterment. This threw off poor Andretti-san waiting outside. Apparently I was unrecognizable in my party garb as he wouldn’t let us in the car. I fixed this by using my most identifiable trait- Japanese spoken badly, slowly and incomprehensibly. Only upon hearing this did he realize it was truly me under all that hair and make up and jump out to let us in. This look mimics a cocktail waitress at a strip joint to those not accustomed to the bigness that comes with a Southern girl and became the theme of the evening. My few appearances at the Tokyo American Club have been limited to a Spinning Class and alas, my scant compadres didn’t recognize me without a pony tail and instead of a warm hello, put in drink requests.

We arrived to a mix of people so diverse I was relieved music wasn’t my responsibility- Americans and Japanese, of every age and demographic represented with one glaring yet consistent detail through out. The Americans were all dressed in our Japanese costumes. We Americans love to take a kimono, cut it up, and then use it in various other wearable ways. Cut up kimonos circled the room in various crafty machinations only envisioned by the designers on Project Runway, “You can make a jacket, a hat, a pterodactyl…”

Project Runway.com

I saw my friend Sista from Atlanta. Luckily for the girls, the BoyMan himself, Justin Bieber was in town. She regaled me with all information Justin, her eyes rolled permanently then stuck in the back of her head. Only on an ExPat assignment could one get this close to the BoyMan. If anyone reading this has a teenager lovin’ on JB, go to the airport in a foreign country. In China- only 6 people gave him a warm red reception. Here in Japan, just a hand full waited outside the Ambassador’s residence where his mother graciously came out to sign autographs while the BoyMan sat in the car waving enthusiastically. What a helicopter mom. We watched on CNN US as Offspring #2’s friends were handed water by various moms assigned to cover “the Bieber Sit In.” As the “Jammin for Japan” Band played, Sista and I pondered that age-old question, “When sitting on the 3rd row of the concert, is it appropriate to tell your 6th grader to ‘show him something’ in order to get on stage?” Does the BoyMan react to that yet? Of course at this age, is there anything for him to see IF one were to do the unthinkable?

Although ExPats wax on about the isolation of said sorry plight, I’ve never had such access to friends in high places. Recently rumors of a Conspiracy Theory regarding the massive radiation of Tokyo ExPats from the Fukushima reactor has made the rounds through many an ExPat coffee club. Personally, I disagree that the radiation levels are too high, in fact, I think they may be too low. Every time I go to the salon I’m greeted with,

“Mani/pedi?”

to which I respond, “No, Mustache and chin wax.”

Although usually top-secret government communications regarding this are distributed by carrier pigeon, some of them have decided to migrate thus have been deemed unreliable. The Ambassador has had to rely on Twitter for communicating highly sensitive information. Details of the Conspiracy Theory are hidden in messages such as this most recent message:

@AmbassadorRoos and Rapper Speech of Arrested Development arr… on Twitpic

The Ambassador and his lovely wife were just two tables away. He and I are Twitter Peeps so I decided to amble over and discuss the Conspiracy Theory and the topic of the hidden messages within his Tweets. What was in it for him? The Presidency? Radiating himself and his family in the process. Surely he would open up to me- we were internet friends. I saw a glass of wine at his side so I ordered a refill and headed over. I got about two feet away before several disguised Ninja descended upon me, one winding his arms all around my Mop Top knowing the hair spray would ensnare us both in a web of hair, the second disguised as a waiter threw wine in my face, the third, disguised as the Ambassadors wife, jumped in his lap and feverishly started licking his face. The Ambassador Tweets in English and Japanese- this will take quite the code breakers to get at the secret messages. In the meantime, I’m keeping an eye on the abnormal facial hair associated with menopause to gauge the truth in “Conspiracy Theories.” I’ll be following Speech from Arrested Development from here on out to see how fits in to the Game.

The Social Chairman saw the event from her seat at the head of the important table. Once freed from the Ninja, I popped right up so we could assault the ballroom with a deafening “Hey!” As we oh so enthusiastically hugged and admired each other’s cuteness, a button   shot right off the center of her dress, through the air in a tall trajectory over the centerpiece, toward the wine glass of a Japanese man on the other side- where it collided with a loud “ping.” Everyone at the table, being polite Japanese and not wanting The Social Chairman to lose face, did not so much as glance at the button now lying on the table.  I not being nearly as concerned with The Social Chairman’s face, trumpeted several loud snorts of laughter. She followed suit. Her good-natured husband continued talking to his neighbor ignoring the entire series of events.

The Japanese Elvis impersonator broke the moment as he took the stage. These are the times when one misses those old smoking days for no one has a lighter when you need one. How was I to get Elvis’ attention for serenading the Social Chairman? The “light” function on the IPhone worked like a charm- he sauntered on over, “Thank ya- thank ya very much.”

J'Elvis WireImage

My only complaint of the evening, mind you I left during dinner, was the “Couples Toning Giveaway” which included the toner Reeboks. Honestly, add two inches to the bottom of an athletic shoe and everyone’s calves will look toned. I signed the Tasmanian Bloodhound and her husband on that silent auction sheet while they were contemplating the pearls.

Reebok.com

It wasn’t too long after J’Elvis, but before the JPop band, that I felt my dress start to tighten where my pumpkin parts were bulging. I bought hordes of raffle tickets and scattered them on the table. As promised, I was home before the clock struck 9:00. Early the next morning an aftershock woke us up at 7:00 to remind us again of those who are still sleeping in gymnasium floors. I hope we raised the roof and lots of money.

On an entirely separate note, please wander over to a great new site called “Displaced Nation.” I recently did  “Random Nomads” which turned in to a riveting drama about our lives in Japan. Most of the regular readers might not find that very entertaining as it’s old information, however, unlike most other ExPat sites, Displaced Nation is written by 4 seasoned ExPats, and penned in several different writing genres which makes for very entertaining reading. Read my interview here. The post that got my hooked here. Happy reading!

Posted in Moving to Japan | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments

The Patience of Bamboo

Posted on May 18, 2011 by Emily Cannell

In 3 months, we’ll have been in Japan a year. During that time, I’ve managed to avoid all forms of cultural education that didn’t involve travel, snowboarding, hiking, junking, or eating. I’m a firm believer in learning the culture based on interest and not educational relevance.

Wikipedia- Sumi-e

Based on the above Wikipedia example, perhaps painted in under 5 minutes,  sumi-e- ink wash painting- didn’t appear the most formidable of the traditional arts. Given the magnitude of my ignorance regarding traditional Japanese art forms, and the apparent simplicity of the art form, I readily agreed to join a group lesson of sumi-e confident our apartment, and Spouse’s office, would soon be papered with moonlit scenes of forested landscapes.

On our way, Andretti-san peppered me with questions and comments, stemming from his premonition of impending doom:

A-” Ouiser-san- what do you know about sumi-e?”

A-“Very hard to master.”

A-“Only paint with ink- one color- mistakes all show.”

As he sputtered on, ignorant of my prowess with a paint brush, I flicked spray starch off the grey khakis recently rescued off the floor.

Although jeans would’ve been the preferred painting ensemble, denim not only gets one ignored in Japan, it transmits disrespect. Knowing the Japanese don’t embrace “casual,” I debated appropriate paint wear.

Something that would blend nicely with black ink in case smocks weren’t offered. My black harem pants looked too much like pajamas, and too much like harem pants. Every other pair of blacks were at the cleaners so the greys, fresh off the floor, with a heavy starching, would be fine. Unlike my first choice, the black t-shirt, a silk shirt would keep everyone’s eyes off the pants.

“Andretti-san- I bow during the word ‘yoroshiku’ right?”

“Yes.”

Andretti-san nodded his head toward an apartment building located in the ExPat part of town.

I knocked on the door. As it opened, I looked down to meet the unblinking gaze of three Japanese women the age of my grandmother had she lived long enough to marry off her grandsons. One wore a black silk suit, the other wore a black crepe dress, the last, a divine lavender kimono.

Dueling banjos playing deliriously at red neck speed broke out in my head.

The ladies graciously feigned ignorance to the state of my bottom half and obligingly focused on the top portion.  I ran my tongue over my front teeth to make sure they were all present.

Thankfully I knew to remove my shoes and keep bare feet off the carpet while replacing with the slippers provided. My wits evaporated in a poof of veneration when led down the rabbit hole to a formal main room connected to a tea room surrounded by a 17-year-old Japanese garden. When I regained command of my voice, surprisingly, I was a soprano.

Did the hostess perform the Japanese tea ceremony? I somehow squeaked, breaking the stem ware in the kitchen. She politely demurred. Instead, one of the other ladies politely answered, telling of the hostess’ ability and that of her uncle- a tea master- one in a long line of tea masters in the family- for the last 17 generations.

17 generations? Aren’t we Americans lucky to know our own fathers? Knowing 3 generations is miraculous – 4 generations means one comes from a family that lives in a secluded mountaintop region such as the Ozarks.

Kamini-san showed me to the place at the table reserved for me, all the supplies already arranged.

TheArtofCalligraphy.com

Unlike the supplies pictured above, mine were antique. With gold leafed rabbits. Chosen in my honor for the year of my learning sumi-e, the Year of the Rabbit.

Otaki-san showed me how to use the ink stone. Which I promptly ruined. Right after I spilled water all over the table.

I felt GI distress rapidly approaching. With the exception of my GI tract, every other part of my body was now completely paralyzed. How exactly does one initiate an out-of-body experience while appearing to be engaged with the outside world? This would have been an opportune moment to commence upon a journey.

Problematic was the fact that I still hadn’t touched a paint brush.

Sensei made her way over. I eyed her carefully, taking in her subtle hand movements as she demonstrated the beginning strokes, all the while I slowly chewed on a long blade of grass.

I demolished a forest while painting a bamboo forest. Then came the samurai sword through the heart. Sensei returned to hold my hand like a toddler with a fat pencil, this time guiding it over the page, explaining:

“Ouiser-san- no flicking of the wrist. Contact always- smoothly- like this.”

Sensei’s 20 second demonstration of the strokes one learns in the first 5 lessons:

My best bamboo after two hours:

Several times during the session, I thought I heard the scratching of nails attempting to gain a finger hold on the bricks outside only to turn and find the courtyard empty. Did I catch a momentary glimpse of a greying head just on the other side of the bonsai?Andretti-san certainly was standing on top of the car trying to find a better vantage point of the lesson inside, for when I came out, he was already parked inside the lobby.

One look at the bamboo series rendered him incapable of speech.

“Don’t show me the next – I still enjoying this one,” and he was off for another few minutes, gasping for air, until he regained his composure, to once again hold the “painting” aloft, shout of the hilarity of this or that, and start again. Once composed, he reveled in drawing comparisons between my leaf series and the bones of the human hand. After haw hawing for a few more minutes, thoroughly entertained by his own comparisons of my sumi-e objects to others not found in nature, he begged me to continue in my study of sumi-e, purely for his own enjoyment.

Which set him off again. He got a full 30 minute ab work out that afternoon.

And drove away laughing.

Either I was invited back or I invited myself back- regardless, I’ll be there on Monday in a stunning outfit.

Sensei said “One learns bamboo first because one must have the patience of bamboo to learn sumi-e.” I hope she has the patience of bamboo to teach me.

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No Matter What Country You’re In…

Posted on May 15, 2011 by Emily Cannell

parents are embarrassing.

Even when not trying.

Like swimming parents, track parents must camp out for days waiting for the seconds Junior will either sprint, lope or lumber by. Spouse and I have become experts in the years that the Offspring have been developing in to future Olympians both in terms of equipment and documentation of the event. Moving to Japan altered our equipment, and in so doing  reinforced the unfortunate fact that a child can’t alter the genetic line from whence produced.

Exhibit A: Bad Weather Forces Mom and Dad to Camp Out

“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these parents from comfort while their Offspring suffer the elements at track meets”  Clampitt Creed.

This ingenious Japan Costco set up, including the chairs with umbrellas, kept us out of the elements but not impervious to the “boy” noises from the all male track team next door. Some things don’t require translation. When the Offspring did venture over to the tent for necessary items, we were addressed as “Mr and Mrs Noddin,” in an attempt at masking our identity.

We were the lone parents in attendance able to unleash the imagination required to envision such a haven from the disastrous duo of wind and rain. Other than those who had to sell hot dogs for shelter.

Exhibit B- Your Mother Speaks English while the Video Camera Speaks Japanese-

It’s the red button on the new Japanese speaking video camera which means “record” not the green. Because the Japanese appreciate quiet, there is no bell indicating the button registered the warm touch of a finger requesting action. Now, instead of enjoying the jubilation and triumphant celebration following Offspring #2’s 4×400 m win with her team as they crossed the finish line in to the League Championship’s history books, we have a riveting video recording of our conversation from the time I switched it “off” and it began a 30 minute journey in the back pack. Our titillating conversation muffled by the purple towel somewhat illuminated by the not quite zipped side, until the battery ultimately ran down as Andretti-san ordered food at the MacDonald’s drive through. The Clampitts sat glued to the tv watching the captivating drama unfold, hoping that somehow, the track meet would miraculously peep through. Alas, it only lives in our memories.

I now feast on crow at the table where I formerly beat my chest while waving a turkey leg in the air proclaiming loudly and with much gusto:

“How hard can it be to figure out a Japanese speaking video camera? Just hit “Record” and “Stop.” Ouiser-san May, 2011.

Exhibit C: Dad Wants a Good Shot of “Insert Kid” Crossing the Finish Line

Which he did. Several times. The finish line camera also got several good shots of him. Here’s a shot of Spouse in the coach’s email to the team and parents advising everyone to stay away from the finish line camera:

At least Spouse wasn’t sitting on the track.

I hesitate to document the above tale lest my Offspring read this- however, very rarely do they show interest in this blog, so several years may pass before the above humor in these situations is evident. Alternatively, I’m still not over the “Blind date” Thin Lips (my mother) set up- without my permission- with a gentlemen newly arrived from Kansas who preached the Book of Mark all night. Still not funny after 30 years.

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Follow the Flag to the End- Part 5- The Tour That Never Was

Posted on May 10, 2011 by Emily Cannell

Several years ago, I pulled the covers over my shoulders in a rented yet hip apartment in a gorgeous and architecturally relevant district in Rome. A fine wrap to the end of a satisfying day, a disguised American tourist, eating, drinking, and photo logging a clutch of sisters’ journey through Rome. Sure I would elude jet lag through the precise execution of Spouse’s strategies of staying awake all day and in the sun, I settled in bed.

Until the yelling in the kitchen drifted up through the open courtyard. Echoing off the stone walls, two people arguing sounded like a platoon of mess hall cooks. Followed by the incessant clanging of dishes and pots being washed and thrown haphazardly in to their places on metal shelves. For the next two hours. For the following 3 nights.

Fear not virtual tour goers- our tour will not involve nightmares such as this to ruin your valuable and hard-earned vacation money and time. Loud banging is not allowed at our last must see stop – the traditional Japanese ryokan.

Once our lodging was booked for Kyoto, I questioned Andretti-san, cultural guide, language sensei, and reckless driver further regarding specifics of the ryokan.

Ouiser:   “Andretti-san, please explain the ryokan.”

Andretti-san:   “The ryokan is a traditional Japanese boarding house. Very Japanese.”

Ouiser:   “Very Japanese? What the Hell does that mean?”

A:    “It has Main room for dining and sleeping, futons or low beds, sliding wooden doors between rooms, an onsen or deep tub, and meals are served family style in the main room.”

A:   “Tatami mats cover the floors- so leave shoes by the door.

Speaking of, Ouiser-san, sometimes you forget to remove your shoes- very insulting! Like spitting on the floor.”

O:   “That time was an accident! Spouse pushed me on to the mat.”

Tatami Mat Wikipedia.com

A:   ” The traditional dinner- kaiseki- is served, with sashimi, a cooked fish or shrimp, a couple of vegetable dishes, Japanese pickles, rice, and soup. For you, I have made a special request of live baby octopus. Watch the suction cups on the way down. Hahahaha.”

O:  ” Sounds delicious -you’ve been so helpful I ordered you a special dish of puffer fish. I certainly hope the chef has the expertise to prepare it correctly lest you die from the poison.”

A: “Ahhh- Ouiser-san- my favorite. I’m sure I’ll live through dinner. It’s not as dangerous as people think. Only the liver is bad.

So after dinner, the nakai clears the dinner, sets up the futons which are stored in closets, and then Japanese people usually bathe….”

… Everyone puts on a yukata and walks around town.”

Yukata- translated means "Bathing clothes" Cute kawaii.com

O:   “We walk around town in a robe? With- like- only skivies on underneath?”

A:   ” Yes. It’s hot outside- this keeps you cool. Tie the bow in the back or people will think you’re a prostitute.’

O:   “I think most people already think that.”

A:   ” Fold the yukata left side over right. You only fold the right over left for funerals.”

O:   “I’m not going to remember that. I’m sure I’ll end up in a back alley retying. What’s  for breakfast?”

A:    “Traditional Japanese breakfast, fish, baked egg custard, green tea, miso soup, Japanese pickles, and tofu.”

O:   “I know that tofu and seaweed makes you live longer, but I don’t want to eat it. I need my bacon and eggs.”

A:   “You can ask the owner ahead of time for something else.”

Ryokans are primarily located around mountains, rivers, and natural onsens or hot springs. Meals are included in the price and owners tend to be flexible if contacted ahead of time regarding food choices and meal times.

So ends our 5 Part Tour That Never Was. Keep your eyes open- you never know when the tour flag will again wave its ugly head for another page turning installment of….

Thanks Offspring #1

THE VIRTUAL TOUR!

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I Have To Go In HOW? Part 4 – Sort of

Posted on May 8, 2011 by Emily Cannell

So I must start out with an apology and a conundrum. First the apology.

Yes- it was I who perhaps spammed you with previously published posts. As to the why? Well, I have been living in several dimensions during the last 24 hours which have left me – well – demented. The result led to several calamitous situations including publishing pictures of a not yet released post, deleting already posted editions which as part of a series, must be re-posted leading to the spamming of a merciful and forgiving audience. I am most apologetic for the accidental blogging bombardment.

Just so you know, and as a reminder to myself, this is Part 4 of the series.

During our virtual tour, two important cultural encounters were left off due to the necessity of building a post around each. A visit to Japan is not complete without participating in these two uniquely Japanese experiences. The first is a mandatory visit to a Japanese onsen- or Hot Spring. Japan is comprised of several volcanic islands- like Hawaii. One of the benefits to this geological structure, in addition to Hawaiian last-minute evacuation vacations, are the presence of multiple hot springs throughout Japan. For centuries, the Japanese people have been enjoying the relaxing and purported healing properties of the onsens.

Naked.

That’s right folks- bathing suits not optional for covering up the muffin top that one can’t quite suck in without looking like Hefty Hercules. As I expose the facts, you’ll see the conundrum.

How can a culture famous for the little wisp of a dress that just screams “SEX NOW,” the kimono, advocate mixed sex nude bathing? Kimonos are even stuffed in order to make the wearer flat when viewed from the side. Given the multiple layers of the kimono, the stuffing, and the obi (belt) which wraps several times around the wearer, it has to be the unofficial first form of birth control, the proponents of whom are the Japanese, and yet, they soak together, naked, in hot springs? And have for centuries?

Although I rank high on the cultural acceptance scale, I find this difficult to reconcile.

Some modern-day hip kimono wearers at Meiji Shrine

Wedding Kimono Wikipedia

I’m finding that Americans, in spite of our proclivity to wear tight clothing, show cleavage, and short hemlines way past the age of acceptable, are still prudes when it comes to shedding the shreds we wear. “Hodaka no Tsukiai” is the prevailing logic for the “get down to your birthday suit” mentality held in Japan. The phrase literally translated means “Naked Communion.” The idea of communing while au naturel allows bathers to get to know each other without the influence of outside factors. All status markers are left in baskets outside while inside one must present the true self or a reasonable facsimile. When viewed through this cultural lens, it dovetails nicely with the Japanese cultural ideal of group harmony- known as Wa- and fits with the other commonly held values.

Onsen at Niseko Hilton, Hokaido Japan

Mystery solved. I’ve been transparent with the expected attire. Now on to the nuts and bolts of onsen.

There are variations of onsens; men or women only, mixed, and in some cases one can wear a bathing suit. Indoor and outdoor. Foot only, hands only, now everyone put your right elbow in only, etc.

In order to be considered legitimate, the onsen has to have a temperature of at least 25 degrees celcius- 77 degrees F, and must contain a minimum of 19 different chemical agents. Cesium, Plutonium and Iodine are the most recent additions to that list. In reality, given that onsens derive heat from volcanic activity below, it’s a lot hotter than 25. Most onsen goers recommend that one immerse oneself to the neck immediately rather than gradually. The burn subsides after about 60 seconds primarily because the nerve endings are no longer viable.

Photo by Misocutlet on Travelblog.com Click picture to see other pics from Misocutlet

Strict rules for bathing before entering the water apply to the onsen. Rather than recite them, I prefer to attach my cheat sheet below. I won’t divulge where I store it on site. Let’s just say it fits in nicely when folded.

An Illustrated Textbook for Japanese Conversation- Please note that the towel on the man's head apparently belongs there.

There is a room outside for clothing. The pipe spewing water is not for drinking…

An Illustrated Textbook for Japanese Conversation

It goes without saying that picture-taking is not allowed in the onsen. Otherwise pictures of Spouse and me breaking the calm by screaming like heretics burning at the stake upon entry to these waters heated in hell would be all over the internet with the heading “Things not to do.” Also, cover your tattoos as these will prevent admission and are seen  in Japan as a mark of the mafia. Cover with band-aids.

Lastly, my favorite advice from one our favorite hotels in Hakuba below:

A spa closer to Tokyo, with views overlooking the beach and Mt. Fuji is the Enoshima Island Spa. Just outside of Tokyo, it’s an onsen with a view, a temple and a beach. Not a bad place to spend the day. Rumored to have the turbo charged pedicure- nibbling fish or “garra rufa.” These toothless fish suck all the dead skin and whatever else is lodged in between those toes. Appears to be my sole remaining hope for getting sandal ready.

MSNBC News- Click to Play

A trip to the onsen is a must for any trip to Japan- my preference being the outside onsens. Otherwise it feels like a hot tub without the booze and the Jersey Shore gang.

Enoshima Island Spa

That leaves one last item on the agenda before our tour breathes its final breath.

So rest up!

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