Asking “No” Questions- How Could it be so Hard? Culture Lesson #10

Posted on January 30, 2011 by Emily Cannell

It is easier to draw blood from a turnip or shake millions from the money tree than to gain a negative answer to a question from a Japanese person. When faced with unusual, off-putting and uncomfortable Ouiser questions, many of my Japanese friends cock their heads to the side, half-smile and say ,”Un” which is a polite way of not answering. In fact, it is not culturally acceptable to say “No” out right. Instead, another form of answer is given which answers the question correctly. Western cultures tend to be more verbally based- dependent on words to convey communication content of the conversation- whereas Eastern cultures place additional emphasis on body language to convey the content of messages being conveyed in a conversation. Luckily for me, I was raised in an extremely dysfunctional household and am a master at reading facial cues, bodily directed insults, and all attempts at masked deceit. In the case of the Japanese, the avoidance of “no” preserves the other person’s feelings and dignity leading to group harmony. This preserves the culture of Wa, (read post on Wa here) focus on the feeling of others over one’s self and maintain peace within the group. When asking a question where no would be an appropriate response, many times, alternatives are given. So, how does this play out?

Take a simple example where “no” is not used:

Ouiser: “Do you have red hats?”

Clerk:   “We have blue hats,” or “Red hats are sold across the street.”

Following this same example, out right dislike or strong negative feelings are inappropriate to express.  As another example, let’s say I try on this hat:

Vogue Vintage Jewels- Ruby Lane

Nihongo Breakthrough – My Japanese textbook- suggests I handle my dislike of this “ill-fitting” hat in the following manner:

“This hat is too small for my large hair style. I’ll come back later.” Interestingly, there is a word “Un” prior to the phrase “I’ll come back later” which implies dislike but translates as the act of thinking. My Japanese sensei taught me to cock my head in the Japanese style and draw the word out as if I were deliberating when I would return to the store. I’ve now been taught both the words and the body language to imply dislike without saying so. Both the clerk and I know the hat will not leave the store on my head. But- I haven’t hurt anyone’s feelings by expressing my dislike of blue feathers.

Looking at the ubiquitous foreigners’ hand held Japanese Bible below one will notice that when asked “How are you?” none of the answers are “Terrible.” At worst, So-so, surviving, and things are tough. Even if these text books are wrong, we’re all being reprogrammed to be nicer and less whiney. That’s a win-win. Could be a Japanese plot to make the foreigners easier to live with.

Now for more difficult questions. An unanswered question had been pestering me and I’m certain my readers as well. I needed the answer to this critical question which would be avoided by a society too polite to answer it.

There was only one person who might be willing to answer this question.

Even my Japanese sensei would shy away from this most delicate question.

I needed to belly up to the bar and ask.

I approached Andretti-san- keeper of all cultural knowledge, language coach, and fastest driver in the East.

“Andretti-san, what do the Japanese find funny about Westerners?”

Silence as he pondered this question of the ages. That was a good sign. He was going to give me an answer.

“Many times Westerners bow with their hands in a prayer position- they must see that in cartoons. Japanese people think that is very funny.”

AAHH- very insightful. Bowing in Japan is of utmost importance and done through out the day. The proper way to bow is to bend from the waist with a straight back, arms stretched along the side of the body. The hands are not held in prayer position. The deeper the bow, the more respect shown. Women place hands on top of the thighs. A formal bow would be executed at a 45 degree angle while an informal greeting bow would be done at 15 degrees. It is highly impolite not to bow when someone bows to you. Here’s a cartoon version.

Photobucket Image

On a visit to Japan there will be lots of opportunity to practice bowing. Spouse has been very busy at work, hopefully he will miss this post. I have been known to become a favorite at certain department stores and shops due to an inability to control my need versus want equilibrium. Lately, the want has gotten its way. In Japan, when an amount of money is spent that elicits feelings of extreme gratitude from the salesperson, said salesperson carries one’s bag to the door of the shop, hands it to the buyer outside the door for everyone to see, and bows many times in thanks. There’s no wrestling the bag away from the grateful sales person and no avoiding the ritual. Everyone along the street now knows you just dropped some serious cash. Now you know when this happens to you not to bow and worship this person who is thanking you sincerely for your business.

An interesting topic for another post is the dichotomy between the older and younger generations in these culturally held traditions of communication. I would love to hear comments from you on the views of saying no and how it differs from your parents/grandparents. Also, those of you who have traveled or lived in Japan- have you noticed this?

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Nagano- Home to the ’98 Winter Olympics

Posted on January 26, 2011 by Emily Cannell

And site of the latest injury. Just another winter for the Clampitts and our quest to  establish long-term relationships with every Emergency Clinic within a 50 mile radius no matter where the global coordinates. In this case, Nagano, Japan. Home to the 1998 Winter Olympics. Specifically, an area called Hakuba. Obviously a skier/snowboarding Heaven. It took Offspring #1 two hours from arrival to make his presence known to the emergency physician on call. His objective of landing a 360 spin from a jump accomplished – except the finale occurred on the right shoulder instead of the board.

When he found Offspring #2 and me, one shoulder was hanging 6 inches below the other. Off Igor went to the clinic.

Parents, Doctors, aspiring entrepeneurs if anyone reading this has medical training, an interest in relocating, or a need to establish a significant nest egg, open an orthopedic clinic at the base of a mountain. As we waited our turn, the revolving door of injuries never ceased. In order to accommodate the parade of injured, benches were set up in the waiting area versus chairs. Triage appeared to be based on wailing pitch of patient vs. severity of injury so Offspring #1 was instructed to kick it up a few notches in order get the x-ray and move along. Unfortunately for him, his injury was significant enough to keep him from snowboarding and off the upcoming class ski trip, but not enough to force us back to Tokyo.

Offspring #1’s antics earned him a one way pass to spa treatments with Spouse. Offspring #2  and I ditched him as soon as we could strap on our boots. We headed back to the mountain with a wave, a pitying smile, and a fake “So Sorry.” I may have had other children but they ate each other in the womb.

Who could blame us with views like this:

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The “M” Series: Middle School, Melt Downs, Moodiness

Posted on January 24, 2011 by Emily Cannell

Menopause? As if moving to Japan with two kids fully infused by teenage hormones wasn’t enough. Could this explain the newly acquired hermit like habits of Spouse? A more complicated situation does come to mind. One of my sleep deprived friends who once lamented her perimenopausal state is now contemplating writing a blog entitled, “Breastfeeding with bifocals.” (I’ll keep you posted)

Thus far my new status has only expressed itself in the form of hot flashes. The Offspring were truly impressed when upon the removal of my snowboarding helmet, the noggin generated enough steam to warm a 15 foot circle around us. Little did the skiing public know that the hot chocolate came with a free sauna treatment.

Unfortunately, this also highlighted my advanced age to our snowboarding instructor. As we headed up the lift for some tips, he shivered while I sweated. Mistaking my dripping perspiration for apprehension, he attempted to calm my nerves. I explained I was just “Hot.” Probably not a good word to use with someone his age especially when referring to one’s 40 something self. By the time we got to the top of the lift, fog completely obscured my goggles. Now not only was I a bad snowboarder, I was a blind one. I became the bowling ball, the rest of the snowboarders and skiers my pins. It was all downhill from there.

When I was a kid, I was fascinated by spontaneous combustion. The snow enhanced these feelings of being on the brink of erupting in to flames. The boots I’ve come to love for their comfort and warmth became an oven in which my feet sloshed noisily in liquid sweat as I walked around the lodge. Apparently I have sweat glands under my eyes which ran constantly causing my eye make up to turn me in to a panda face.

There are a few favorite shot bars in Tokyo where ExPats routinely imbibe in a few too many. Recently I heard a rumor. As Spouse’s grandfather used to say,”Never sacrifice a good story on the altar of truth.” Anyway, a usually quiet and demure housewife had a few too many and took off her shirt in the bar. Upon further thought, it has occurred to me, she was probably having a hot flash and in her drunken state, it seemed quite natural to remove the offending article causing the burn. I’ll either have to stop drinking or ensure my undergarments are presentable to the public prior to going out.

It never occurred to us when having children at this late stage that this hormonal havoc could happen simultaneously. Poor Spouse, what happens when the mood swings hit? At once? That should be hilarious.

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“Japan in a Box” Mt. Takao

Posted on January 19, 2011 by Emily Cannell

Their nickname- not mine. Apparently everything one could want on a hiking excursion one hour outside of Tokyo- all Japanese. The Social Chairman and I set out armed to the armpits, she with the file folder of maps and information and me with the Japanese skills of a toddler and a phrasebook. We joined the throngs of commuters to test Bento Box hiking. Included in the all-inclusive set menu were claims of stunning views of Mt. Fuji, snow monkeys, cascading waterfalls, shrines, babbling brooks, panoramic look out points, a traditional Japanese village at the base, and a Mt Takao buckwheat noodle. (??) As my mother says, “We were off like a herd of wild turtles.”

The SC and I met at a train station along the way and most commuters within a 3 mile radius heard our joyous reunion. Both from the South, (as in the Southern United States) the site of each other brought on an ear drum crushing “HEY” and a running hug. All the people on the platform jumped with nervous anticipation to see what had caused such an outburst between two grown women. Was someone hurt? Dying? In racking pain? A rapid chain of apoplexy cascaded down the commuter lines of Japanese at the onset of the embrace as this culture has a very strict “NO PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF AFFECTION” rule in place at all times- children included. The peace on the platform- and through out the rest of the day- irrevocably disturbed by the effects of kinship causing our confabulation to balloon in both volume and intensity.

Upon arriving at Takao-san (for some reason mountains are referred to as if they are a person) we elected to ride the ski lift to the first viewing point. As far as I know, the elevation does not support snow therefore the lift transports walkers only. The Social Chairman and I had to hold our legs aloft in order to prevent them from dragging the ground beneath our feet- the mountain dropped steeply on either side of the lift. Given there were no guard bars, getting ripped out of the seat by a dragging foot certainly would have made for a difficult descent- assuming it was made in an upright and not a rolling down the hill fashion.

The first viewing vista provided a stunning view of Tokyo and Yokohama. So stunning we didn’t take a picture of it.

Nagano boasts two famous facts: host of the 1998 Winter Olympics and home of the Snow Monkey. A National Geographic Poster Child, cute, cuddly, usually pictured with fur fluffed up, sitting in a natural hot spring surrounded by snow with a few friends. Mt. Takao houses a merry band of these primates. The SC asked permission to enter the sanctuary. Afraid to hurt her feelings, one of the Japanese keepers brought out one of the babies on a leash. He’s about 6 months old. This is what “Charmed” looks like when he’s happily eating an apple, perched on one’s arm.

Here’s what he looks like when he’s about to take a big plug out of your finger.

In case you’re wondering, when the Social Chairman screamed, he jumped the five feet from her to me with lightening speed, scuttled over the top of my head and down the other side. He was all climbing hands and feet. I will carry this picture in my wallet at all times to show all of the SC’s friends and family- “Here’s Charmed right before he bit her.”

As difficult as it was to leave the Biting Banshee, we continued up Takao-san toward the shrine.

The Buddhist Yakuo-in Temple on Mt. Takao is home to two Tengu- long-nosed demons which dwell in mountains and act as messengers to the deities and buddhas. They protect the good and punish the bad. Usually depicted with uchiwas (Fans) to sweep away misfortune. They also bring in good fortune. The smaller one with the crow beak continues his religious training while the one with the long nose has reached spiritual power through training at Mt. Takao. Here are their formal statues.

And their cartoon versions – the more familiar face to most Japanese:

It’s very cold here so everyone was dressed for the winter chill.

Following are pictures of the Temples:

Along the mountain, temples were tucked in to waterfalls and caves.

Bottles of sake offered to Daikoku, one of the 7 Lucky Gods of Japan.

Here a man chants prayers with bells and other instruments. I don’t have a picture of the Social Chairman getting a close up of his face as he prayed. I was busy investigating a lichen outcrop at the time.

After all this picture taking, I mean hiking, we’d worked up a real appetite for those famous buckwheat noodles. The summit hosted the famous fare.

Finally, the money shot:

Mt. Fuji

You’ll have to trust me- there is a scenic traditional village at the bottom of the mountain. One shot I missed- three fish being roasted on a spit surrounded by bamboo cups. We stopped to inquire about the cups. Apparently, the fish get put in the cups, sake is then poured in the cups with the fish and drunk, and the bones discarded in another cup. We’ll try that next time. And I’ll take pictures of the Social Chairman as she drinks.

© copyright Hey from Japan- Notes on Moving

Photos compliments of the Social Chairman

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Shabu Shabu- A Food Post

Posted on January 16, 2011 by Emily Cannell

I love shabu shabu although I’m not sure if I like eating it as well as the motions of making it. A Japanese equivalent of the Chinese Hot Pot, this dish gets its name from the sound of the stirring motion in the hot liquid and means “swish swish.” On our recent trip to Niseko, I ordered shabu shabu so the rest of the family could give it a test drive. Here are the results of the taste test:

The Raw Ingredients

I ordered pork shabu shabu with tempura. The covered dish contains boiling water for cooking the raw meat and vegetables pictured above. What you can’t see – because I apparently neglected to include in the picture – is a small bowl with a delicious broth.

Instructions go something like this. Drop the various raw vegetables, tofu and whatever else is given- usually it’s seasonal- in to the boiling water. Then take a piece of meat with the chopsticks and swirl in the boiling water until it turns white.

Once the meat is cooked- it is then dipped in the bowl of broth (again- not pictured) and eaten. Shabu shabu presents a challenge for the chop stick challenged. I consider myself victorious when a food makes it from the raw plate, through the cooking phase, to the bowl dipping phase, and then my mouth without getting dropped along the way and/or splashing everyone at the table. In fact, everyone else considers that a success also as I’m considered the chop stick rookie in the family.

The Offspring made it through the raw meat arriving at the table, and thought the taste was acceptable but balked at the straining the fat off the boiling water phase.

The fat does rise to the top and needs to be scooped with a special spoon. It is then discarded in another bowl. That put the Offspring off permanently on shabu shabu. Which meant more for me.

The final stage involves cooking the noodles and finishing with drinking the broth. I love an action packed meal.

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God was Angry, Reached Down from Heaven, and Smote me During Mass- Moving Lesson #8

Posted on January 11, 2011 by Emily Cannell

Technically the woman in front of me, but he thumped me on the side of the head and not because I happened to be in the line of fire.

Much advice about moving involves activities for developing a social network. The location of a spiritual home away from home ranks in the top 5 for many families. Given my Catholic upbringing, guilt forced it to the top 2. Much to the dismay and in spite of the clamor of complaints from the Offspring, my parental rights were exercised as I marched the mewling couple off determined to perpetuate the guilt on to another generation.

We made the 10:30 mass our first trip out. Something was familiar. Very familiar. In a bad way. It smelled awful. It reminded me of New Orleans. It started to come back. Mass in New Orleans. Everyone out drinking all night- eating garlic laden food. Mix. Go to church. I often think of Tokyo and New Orleans as sister cities. Tokyo has the most Michelin starred restaurants of any city in the world. New Orleans draws visitors from around the globe all eager to sample the famous fare. The Japanese have a reputation for imbibing exemplified in the variety and number of bars the likes of which many have never seen. Some, never having lived in an environment like Tokyo, experience a temporary insanity. This condition would make a riveting number one reality series, “ExPats Gone Wild.” Few familiar with New Orleans have not drunk a Hurricane or heard the line “Throw me another one mister” – a testament to the alcohol centric atmosphere in the French Quarter.  Here was my proof. A church full of ExPats and locals, half hung over, the other half breathing garlic and kimchi. We’d have to switch to a mass without the noxious fumes.

6:00 PM Mass: This was clearly better- I could take a deep breath without tasting bile as a result. Without preamble, in walked a monk. His cassock 8 inches shy of enough fabric, proudly displaying hairy, snow-white legs, and Birkenstocks. He marched up to the front and commenced speaking. No music, no pomp, no circumstance, no alter servers. Does Rome know he doesn’t exactly follow the formula? Alas, the 6:00 PM mass really didn’t fit into my schedule. Sunday night is “Out to Supper” night. How about the 8:00 AM?

The 8:00 certainly interfered with my coffee time. The Offspring and I hailed a cab.

“Ohayo gozaimasu, Do Gooders Chapel, Ohayo gozaimasu.”

I’ve just said, “Good morning, Do Gooders Chapel, Good Morning”

Instead of “Good Morning, Do Gooders Chapel, please.”

The Offspring shook with laugher.

Cab Driver-    “Hai”-

He said “Yes” solemnly, never taking his eyes off the road. He’d politely given me credit for trying.

Dogs howling, glass breaking, and an ear-splitting screeching hit our ears as we proceeded up the stairs into the church. The choir was  warming up. At a pitch that high, only Eunuchs and small children would be able to carry the tune.

The stable for the baby Jesus had kadomatsu (click on blue kadomatsu for post) symbolizing strength and longevity. I know Jesus was welcoming of other beliefs but I’d never seen such items in a church. I felt my mind being pried open.

Ouiser-  “I can’t go to this mass. It’s too early for the choir. My ears itched the entire                    time.”

We were now down to the 12:00 PM mass. Elation in the air, the Offspring envisioned mass getting crossed off the “to do” list. The oldest monk currently available to conduct mass crept up the alter. Slowly he read the texts preparing for a homily on the Baptism of Jesus. He looked up. Something was forgotten- he stared blankly in to space. I looked at Offspring #1. The Monk slowly descended the stairs, and without explanation disappeared into a hallway. We waited. He reappeared. He remembered that he was to douse us in Holy Water to remind us of our baptism, however instead of doing it with this- an aspergillum. (As opposed to the aspergillus species of mold)

He did it with this- a hand-held broom:

I’ve been a Catholic for a lot of years but I’ve never seen a common kitchen hand broom, dipped in a silver bucket, and then shaken at a congregation in order to bless the masses with Holy Water. Jesus probably loved it. The angels probably did a loop with a 360 and a wing tip grab on the end.

The choir cranked up- on high. The organ somewhere in between. Everyone else was just confused. So as is usual for a Catholic mass, most people just didn’t sing. I sang at middle G – my usual pitch.

Offspring #1- “Please stop your bad singing in my ear- it’s worse than the choir.”

Ouiser-          “Singing is a form of prayer- you do it no matter how you sound- you                                should try it.”

A terrible flashback floated before my eyes. A run in between O#1 and his 5th grade teacher prior to the Spring Concert. O#1 refused to sing. A compromise. He fully participated- by singing with an Australian accent.

One of the choir members approached the lectern to lead us in prayer- and song. Heaven help us. She started to sing. Blood started to run out of my ears. I cast a glance at O#1. And committed one of the worst sins a mother can in front of a child. I laughed.

Mass carried on with lots of sitting up and down as masses do. We stood up but the lone woman in front of us stayed down and tilted in her seat. Maybe she was falling asleep, I wanted to. I reached down and grabbed her by the shoulders, if I was awake, she should be too.- ” She looked at me with staring eyes and no response- her body dead weight.  Not exactly sleeping. “Are you ok?” She wasn’t blinking. No one else was around. I like to sit up front in order to force exemplary behavior and rapt attention which accounts for the lack of neighbors. Her nose was running. My friend Ronnie caught an old man falling out of a restaurant chair with the same symptoms- he was having a stroke. Or was he drooling? Her skin looked pale. Differential diagnosis- stroke, heart attack, fainting spell. Offspring was waiting for instructions- he needed to stay put- he knew the locations of all necessary panty liners, band aides and surgical implements in my purse. My pens for instance. In case of intubation, he could hold her head while I bit off the ends of the pen and plunged it in her neck creating an airway through which she could breathe.  We’d use the panty liners to soak up the blood. But we still needed someone to call an ambulance while I recalled the episodes of House from which my medical training is based.

None of my Japanese fit this situation. “Is this your book? No, this is my book. It is cold outside, isn’t it. This apple is big, this apple is small. This is expensive, this is far, this is spicy.” I haven’t been taught the basics of emergency medical dialogue.

Loudly, so the old monk celebrating mass could hear since he hadn’t noticed the activity up front, I addressed a Japanese congregation, “Who speaks Japanese? I need some help.”

The sheep stared back blankly. Chewing cud, mouths working side to side, some bleating mildly.

“NOW!”

Why did this have to happen in front of me. Couldn’t she have been sitting on the other end of the pew? I like to be a part of the herd- not the wrangler. God was pissed at the multitude of sins I’d committed every time I crossed the threshold of the church and it was retribution time. Oh, and the times I didn’t cross the threshold. I didn’t know whether to hold her up or let her down, so I held her in my arms.

Then a blonde woman came flying around the end of the pew. A woman I know. A woman who moved here from China with her family in August. This woman is everywhere, in the center of all activity, at all times, organizing coffees, Yankee swaps, spa get- aways, and teaching Sunday School in her spare time. I could have given her a sloppy wet kiss on the lips. Her nickname is the Social Chairman. God threw me a bone. An escape plan began to percolate.

“Hey friend” She pulled up happily as if we had just met for lunch. She plopped down and set the woman’s head in her lap. This close bodily contact made me cringe. An army medic arrived.

“I think we need an ambulance- she hasn’t spoken to me for several minutes.” My plan was in play and I was glad for an excuse to extricate myself from this situation involving touching a stranger. Knowing teenagers always have a cell phone on their person, I grabbed the first in sight, and commandeered him into calling.  I left offspring #1 to hold the woman’s hand.

“But she can’t talk! She doesn’t know me! She doesn’t even know I’m there!”

Ouiser- “Comfort the sick- you never know.”

My work was done. I had removed myself from all duties involving the woman. I was left to think about pride, selfishness, setting a bad example, greed, being judgemental, etc. God knows I’m all those things, but that’s not the reason I got thumped.

I gave Offspring #1 a lecture on the way home.  It was about something I left undone. On an icy road I watched in horror as a car swerved in to my lane, crossed to the other side, flipped upside down and landed in a ditch. The driver didn’t get out. I pulled over, shaking, called 911 and left. No one else around. My duty done. Ever since, I wished I had gotten out of my car, called 911, and held the driver’s hand until the ambulance arrived. This time, I held her in my arms. Offspring #1 had held her hand.

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Ladies Start Your Engines- Culture Lesson #9

Posted on January 9, 2011 by Emily Cannell

13 million people live in Tokyo, roughly half are women. Every week day morning, millions of these women put on a suit, make up, high heels, wrap a scarf around the neck, walk outside, and tear off to work riding a Mama Cheri. The mama cheri, a form of mass transportation in Japan, is a bike ridden on the sidewalk, side by side, with all the other pedestrians. Think New York City with half the sidewalk filled with walkers, the other bikers. Only everyone is polite. Unlike a mountain or road bike, the rider sits higher up in order to see above the heads of walkers- like a tricycle. Ubiquitous in Japan, the mama cheri permeates every level of society. In spite of the ever-present chaos on the sidewalks, these vehicles weave fluently among the walking commuters in a city where all inhabitants stake a continual claim on this space. Until I bought one.

January marked the start of our 6th month in Japan with full assimilation celebrated by the purchase of a mama cheri. MY mama cheri replaces the commodious station wagon abandoned behind. Full cargo set up for maximum hauling.  Tokyo refrigerators resemble the one from your dorm room thus daily trips to the grocery store are a necessity.  Although I appreciate my new Jillian Michaels’ arms, I’d like to shave some time off the hour daily trip.

Night riding? An environmentally friendly, solar-powered light illuminates the path.

Of course a bell on the handle bar alerts pesky pedestrians I’m on their tail and this built-in lock is a new “Must have”. No more clunky chains.

I coveted a bright pink bike similar to this Peugeot- minus the baby seat on the back:

I passed on it- my teeth and the electric motor would have given me away as an American.

Plus it looked a tad complicated to operate in a panic situation.

As there is in every culture- some sort of van exists. Horse drawn carriages, covered wagons- they’ve evolved through the ages. Mama cheri van. Frequently a baby is also snuggling blissfully on mom’s chest. Here it is. Space for 4.

The comfort ride for the lux toddler.

Andretti-san says in his neighborhood all the mom’s have umbrellas on the mama cheris. Slurs were thrown claiming the women dressed from head to toe in pink leopard print. Further assertions from the fastest driver in town also known to run over mama cheri riders crossing streets claimed that “these women” wore full face coverage visors “impeding their vision” and in some instances had windshields installed. HMPHHH!!! I asked for pictures.

I have seen some designer mama cheris with color coordination.

Here’s the rub. 13 million people in Tokyo, at least half riding mama cheris, the other half walking, and most ExPats haven’t ridden a bike on a sidewalk since the age of 10. Shortly after our arrival, I met a woman with multiple broken bones in her leg. Unnecessary roughness with a parked cab. Fresh off the plane from Michigan.

Next issue. Many ExPats, myself included, don’t own a car. Without a car, one tends to lose all navigational abilities. I bought this new death trap in Shibuya- only 20 minutes from my apartment. The salesman and I bowed our goodbyes, I left with my new mama cheri and had no idea how to get home.

Within 3 minutes of my trek home, a walker abruptly decided to make a hard left in to my path. Front tire grazed his pants. “Gomen nasai” Next came a woman, her dog fully extended on a retractable leash taking the entire the width of the sidewalk. They left me no options. I ran over the leash, choked the dog, and heard the leash clatter to the ground as I passed. Japan is a “drive left”, “walk left” nation but for some reason it’s not clear as to which side is correct for passing as it’s dependent on the person. This is difficult on a bike. Chicken was played several times as I tried to decide on which side of the pedestrian I should be when the oncoming bike approached. Indecision caused my 45 lb purse to shift in the front basket, offsetting my balance, sending me in to a gaggle of women. Brakes screeched as I headed toward them. All of their mouths opened in a collective “O” as I barreled in. They were fine but I crashed my bike for the first time. Dang it. Then came a biker on my tail. Couldn’t he just go around me on the street? Endless stream of pedestrians- constant weaving in and out. And lots of bikes all of whom choosing which side to pass. Which set my purse off kilter again throwing off my balance. Good thing the Offspring are too old to hitch a ride. Someone would go to bed crying. Or nauseous.

I’m now just pointing the bike toward a tall building in my neighborhood. My initial outing left me needing a drink- and a Valium.

Only one person had the answers to Japan’s most complicated questions- The Tasmanian Bloodhound- knower of all things.

Ouiser-     “On which side do you pass?”

TB-            “Tough one- you have to be the first one to make the move.”

Ouiser-     “Where do you park?”

TB-            “Always go with the flow and park where other bikes are, don’t park                                 beside a building in the financial district, but don’t park by the street in                         Shibuya or Shinjuku. One time I lost my bike for several days and thought                     it was stolen- someone had just picked it up and moved it to bike                                     parking.”

Ouiser-      “I don’t think I would recognize my bike. I’ll have to take a picture of it.”                          I’m not extremely caught up in certain details.

TB-             “If you get a ticket they tow your bike.”

Ouiser-      “WTF? No paying first?”

TB-             “You have to go to the bike parking lot by our house and pick it up.”

Ouiser-      “How do you know it’s there?”

TB-             “You don’t- that time mine was moved- I thought I had gotten a ticket and                      went to the lot to look for it. It wasn’t there. Thought it was nicked. Then                      road Skater’s bike to that same store, parked his in the same spot and                            HIS was gone, went back to the ticket lot and the guy told me to look in                          the bike parking area.  Someone had picked up both bikes and moved ’em                      to bike parking 30 feet away. Wasn’t that nice? So Japanese.”

Apparently a GPS tracking device is needed since everyone feels free to move bikes when necessary. If the bikes don’t have the installed locking device, many don’t lock the bikes at all. Crime rate is virtually zero in Japan. In fact, Offspring #2 and I were at the grocery store only to find a parked mama cheri which contained a sleeping baby. By himself. While his mother shopped. He was so cute- his hair stuck straight up. O#2 was so upset I had to wait outside the grocery store- in stealth mode- until the mother came out and rode away. I do hope it was his mother as the bike was not locked. I told O#2 I was sure it was his mother because they looked exactly alike.

Anyway, Offspring #1 rode my mama cheri to the store this morning for hot chocolate mix and was hooked until he saw his reflection in a store window and realized it did not fit with the current image he has of himself. When I see my reflection, I see it as assimilation.

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Confessions of a Light Packer- A Guide

Posted on January 6, 2011 by Emily Cannell

I’m a light packer. Other than a short period of time when traveling alone with two children both needing car seats, and that OTHER time (read here)I haven’t checked a bag in 16 years. Why? I’m competitive to an unhealthy degree although I’ve learned to mask this illness in order not to scare small children and dogs. Too busy raising the Offspring to engage in healthy and creative ways for expressing this blue ribbon seeking behavior, my competitiveness manifests itself in unusual ways- like not checking bags.

I like to be first. I want to be first in line, first off the plane, first through customs, first to the cab line. I want to be ahead of the person in front of me, once I pass that person, I would like to be in front of the next person. My mother recognized this behavior early. She is a good mother most of the time and tried to manage this tendency toward “front of the classroom” tendencies. Against all social norms in the South at the time dictating that ladies don’t sweat, she enrolled me in a new and unheard of game called soccer. I shined. And got a lot of red cards. In the traveling scenario, I admit the lack of risk to being caught being less than sportsman-like has occasionally led to a thrown elbow, misplaced foot, or a hurled ninja star in the path of someone who might potentially have overtaken me in my quest for coveted overhead compartment space. I do have my scruples and draw the line at a mom with a stroller. I’ve seen elite frequent flyers literally upturn a stroller with a baby in it to pass a struggling mom. For shame!

Spouse and I are cut from the same cloth. His true colors are seen in the International terminals. Case in point, our first trip in to Narita Airport in Tokyo.  Spouse and I quickly gauged our way to the front of the herd. Spouse ran blindly in the direction of pointing arrows not reading the signage below. The Japanese are a competitive lot – they followed closely behind. Soon Spouse and a plane load of Japanese were all running in the wrong direction. When it comes to directions I usually follow blindly behind Spouse, however, I noticed the guards were not standing where we were all running. I actually stopped to read the signs.

“Honey- we need to go this way.” I called to him as he ran in the wrong direction.

No response from Spouse- he just turned and ran in my direction- his eyes glazed. The herd started to stampede my way. I turned and ran. Fortuitous that we only had carry ons so we could get out-of-the-way- the mad stampede eventually stopped, sweating, breathing heavy, heads sagging, at the baggage carousel. Spouse and I trotted on to the customs corral. We took our pick of customs officials just waiting for business.

The Offspring? They’re getting used to the bizarre transformation that occurs in family travel situations. No longer fearful when their parents mutate upon entry to an airport from easy-going, relaxed parents to the back biting, crowd jumping, sprinters that refuse to stop for the bathroom. The Offspring have witnessed Spouse revert to his college days when after a particularly long trip to Disneyland he was overcome with a longing for home and broke in to a full speed 100m sprint through the packed LAX airport, all 6’4″ of him, heading in to the stricken crowd as he hurdled bags, small children, the elderly and anyone else not swift enough to get out of the way, his bag dragging like a trail leg. I watched in admiration and adoration.

My sisters complain about this “issue.” “Slow down- this isn’t a race” It isn’t? It is. There might be something of value ahead for which we need to be in good position to beat the crowd. When one of us reaches a certain milestone birthday, that sister picks a place in the world to visit. Only the sisters go- it would be far too nerve grating for anyone else to attend. We have earned nicknames along the way:

Ouiser-Me- the Oldest- from the movie “Steel Magnolias.” The character is cantankerous, off-putting, easily annoyed and annoying, impatient.

The Nose– Middle Sister. The Nose can pick up the scent of good food and sniff out all locations in any city through out the globe. One look at a map combined with a whiff of the wind and it’s firmly implanted in her olfactory glands- from thereafter the Nose need not refer to it again. We follow her blindly. It is an impossibility for the Nose to become lost.

The Tourist– The Youngest Sister. Affable, happy, smiling at everything and everyone, white sunscreen on her nose, sensible shoes, camera and binoculars always slapping against her chest, we force her to leave the fanny pack at home. Voted “most likely to get mugged” her purse always hangs limply open on her arm. She’s a shining beacon to dishonest Roman cab drivers.

I became militant about my packing after our trip to London. The Tourist knocked over every passenger in customs carrying her military issue body bag over her shoulder. For every passenger she knocked over, she took out two more as she smiled, apologized and bent over to help the first one pick up their scattered belongings. Given that I had only one carry on, that meant I was free to schlep her other 2 bags each weighing 50 lbs. One for shoes. I mean, I want to look my best but we’re not in the fashion business. By the time we sorted out who would carry what, the line through customs was an hour-long. For our next trip to Italy, Ouiser declared it to be a “Carry On Only” trip. Period.

“We will save at least an hour in customs, no waiting in lines on either end,  we will be riding trains to get our hotel- we’ll need to be able to carry our luggage. No one will know we’re Americans.”

This post is difficult to write. The actual purpose of this post is to teach those of you who care to know how to pack lightly. Why? Atonement. I must atone for my travel related sins. If I pass along my tips, perhaps, all the wrongs I’ve committed against other fellow travelers will somehow be forgiven.

Other travelers gaining a competitive advantage once my secrets are shared in cyberspace has stopped my fingers mid sentence- could one of you be headed along the same path where we might be sharing air or train space? Disastrous. But I must forge on.

I’ve heard it all before- it can’t be done, I can’t do it. I’ll be gone 7 whole days or longer. Blah blah blah. Of course you can do it- the question is why wouldn’t you want to do it? Do you want to stand in lines to manage your baggage? Do you want to pay additional fees for the privilege of checking your bags? Are you afraid you will get to your destination and not have that critical sweater that you just can’t get dressed without? Fear not, all the solutions to your fears can be managed. So naysayers- let’s assume a winter trip to New York city.

1) Equipment: The starting point- everything must fit in to one carry on bag and  another bag that fits under the seat. One must be wheeled- not strapped to a wheeled apparatus or a sophisticated oversized Hermes (or look-alike) which fully loaded is too heavy to carry. The other which will go under the seat must be soft sided and large enough to carry a purse if you are female.

2) List of what goes in the Wheeled Bag

3 Pants

3 Shirts

1 dress or skirt- jersey material (Men this would be a pair of Khaki or dress pants) This outfit is for any dressy occasions. If men need a jacket, I’d suggest wearing it on the plane or packing in a dry cleaning bag. (below)

One pair of shoes in addition to the ones worn on the journey

sweater

Underwear, bathing suit, socks, pj’s, gloves, etc.

On Shoes. I have found a wonderful solution to the problem of wearing shoes that are comfortable but look like they are. I call them the loafer wedge. The secret of the loafer wedge is the comfort. Everyone from EZ Spirit to Stuart Weitzman and Donald Pliner makes a version. (Click here for an example of a pair from Naturalizer)I get a new pair every 2 years or so and wear them year round everywhere. I credit mine for the Italians asking me directions while in Italy. If I’d worn any other shoes, I’d have been easily identified as a tourist. Plus a couple of inches melts away pounds, adds leg length and just does a body good.  Men- any good pair of loafers are fine. You’re lucky.

3) What to Wear on the Plane

I don’t wear sweats on an airplane. I wear an outfit that is too bulky to fit in my suitcase, or will be worn in other circumstances in the journey. For instance, I suggest that men and women wear some sort of jacket that will be worn through out the trip. Jackets take up a lot of room in a suitcase and they are easy to put in the overhead compartment.

If traveling during winter, I’ll wear a winter jacket and a sweater on the airplane which leaves room for another sweater in the wheeled suitcase.

All these items must match each other. Other than the jacket or dress, maybe shirts for men, none should be dry clean only. You should be able to hand wash if need be.

All clothes should be in the same color scheme, black, white, grey, red whatever. That way, all the clothes match each other. No one will see you so it doesn’t matter if one wears the same outfit every 2-3 days. If it’s your family- they don’t really care do they? If one brings the same color scheme, you’ll be able to mix thus one won’t be wearing the same outfit anyway. No worries. I’ve been known to wear an outfit that’s a favorite every day- yep. No one knows.

4) Dry Cleaning Bags

One of life’s great mysteries is why clothes don’t wrinkle when encased in a dry cleaning bag, wadded up, and stuffed in a suitcase. I discovered this miracle when I traveled for work. I don’t know how or why- but it works.

5) How to Pack the Clothes

Roll them all like a sausage. Tight little sausages. Looks strange but you’ll get twice the amount of clothes in the bag.

Put socks inside shoes. Also a good place for dirty stuff… If the shoe fits….

In the end, my bag is packed. In the bag are 3 pants, 1 dress, underwear, jammies, socks, 3 shirts, make up bag, hair product, razor etc and 3.5 extra inches without stretching the zipper on the bag. For the exercisers- there’s the room for the running shoes and extra work out clothes. I never carry a hair dryer since most places supply one. Anything else can be bought when I arrive.

The final product:

My plane outfit provides me with an additional pair of pants, scarf, and shirt. My total potential outfits without repeating, doing calculus to figure the exact number, or a significant laundry load is at least 11. (Let’s say I wear each shirt twice- I can hand wash and hang dry if I need to)

The soft sided bag contains my purse which I sneak on the plane in order to comply with the 2 piece rule. This gives me extra space for my favorite must have gadget- don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. I got a middle seat from Japan to LA and didn’t feel a thing with this miraculous invention.

 

This is a model depicting me

But What About…:

1) Equipment Trips– Skis, Snowboards, Dive Equipment etc.- Usually we ship our equipment ahead of time. I put pants, heavy jackets, boots, gloves, undergarments etc in the snowboard covers and carry on the remaining clothes. Same for dive equipment.

2) Shipping Bags-Shipping costs vary depending on location. In Japan, shipping costs are usually about $100 roundtrip. The airlines don’t charge for checked luggage. In the US, checking oversize luggage can vary between $50-100 each way depending on the airline, and the judgement of the person who actually checks in the bags. Fed Ex can ship bags for around $50 each way with insurance.

I like this as an alternative to checking bags if the cost is equal. Given that you will probably not get the actual value of the items if insured through the airline, insuring and shipping through FedEx seems to be a good alternative. I haven’t done this myself but my friend Kimmy Choo does this for all her trips.

3) I’m going to buy lots of stuff on my trip- Here it depends on what you’re buying. France – clothes shopping- want to claim it all duty-free? Then maybe bring a giant suitcase with lots of room so you can open it at the airport to show the officials. And check it. If buying gifts for children, put those in the soft-sided bag that goes under the seat. I usually buy kids different candies and snacks from trips- they’re always entertained by what other people eat and it doesn’t take much room in a suitcase. Alcohol is best shipped by the place from whom it was bought for two reasons- prevents breakage and avoids import issues.

SO – there you have it. On our recent trip to Hokkaido, I broke down and did the unthinkable. I had to ask Offspring #2 if there was room in her bag for a pair of jeans. My heart jumped out of my chest when she said “yes” and presented me with 4 extra inches in her bag. Now that is parenting success at its height.

I would love to hear tips on traveling light- of course- if you’re willing to share…..

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

The “M” Series Cont’d: Can a Mouse Save a Moody Middle Schooler? (via Hey from Japan- Notes on Moving)

Posted on January 5, 2011 by Emily Cannell

My current creation is taking more time than anticipated. In the meantime, I thought I’d repost one of the family favorites some of you may have missed….

The "M" Series Cont'd: Can a Mouse Save a Moody Middle Schooler? The “M” Series: Culture shock Phase 3 has set in for Offspring #1. Any one who lives with or ever was a hormone infused teenager knows that drastic hormonal swings crossed with culture shock leads to a chemical and potentially combustible reaction with seismic proportions requiring an immediate and Herculean intervention. During this phase of culture shock, Offspring #1 is craving all things American. Food, words, friends, sports and anything els … Read More

via Hey from Japan- Notes on Moving

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Niseko, Hokkaido- Part II (Heaven Help Us)

Posted on January 1, 2011 by Emily Cannell

Spouse and I should have known problems were brewing from the beginning over 14 years ago. It started a month or so before Offspring #1 was born. Standing 5’4″ and never having weighed over 110 lbs I had ballooned to 165. Rolling in to the doctor’s office it appeared as if Spouse had inserted a bicycle pump in my posterior and commenced inflation. I was nothing but roundness with eyes, a mouth and two nostrils. Incessant beating and kicking from the inside kept me awake 24 hours a day and pressure to some unknown spot brought on inexplicable fainting spells causing wide-spread panic at work and emergency trips to the doctor’s office. Spouse claimed my penchant for kimchi as the root cause of the maladies both for me and everyone around me.

As labor stories are boring, the bottom line – nice pun- was that Offspring continued to insist on entering the world feet first, cord wrapped around his neck, tied in a knot. Result was a rapid entry, emergency style. The doctor’s prophetic line was, ” Ouisar, Spouse- this kid has been busy for the last 9 months.” Little did we know, this, would also become our future with Offspring #1.

Until he could walk, which he did 9 months later, we spent every waking minute walking him. He couldn’t just relax in the Baby Bjorn like a snuggly baby, he had to be rigged to face out in order to be entertained. We were the parents everyone hates on the airplane for Offspring #1 was a screaming, crying nightmare once strapped in to a seat. We could have rented him out to various terrorist investigative units. One whirl around the sky with this howling offspring and the most determined terrorist would be spilling secrets in exchange for ear plugs.

Spouse and I were branded “Bad parents” when Offspring #1 couldn’t hold a pencil like the other 5 year olds in Pre-K who hadn’t been raised by wolves. Why would he? Do you think he ever SAT DOWN to draw? Spouse and I signed O#1 up for every sport activity available, banished all forms of video games, and limited any bike or scooter to the type which required the use of one’s body as the propellent. Then came the dreaded day Offspring #1 discovered the use of a curb as a launching pad. And it’s been downhill  and airborne ever since.

As a parent, one wants to give children the world. Spouse and I are not different. Three years ago, O#1 begged to learn how to ski. Spouse and I hate all things snow. Selfishly we said no. Then he asked for a ski lesson for his birthday. That was hard to get around. Spouse reacted with lightening speed and claimed a bad knee. Damn him. The rest of us took a lesson. O#2 hated the teacher and claimed that skiing wasn’t for her. O#2 liked the concept but thought snowboarding looked more dangerous – I mean fun. Too  young to go up on the mountain alone,  I had to accompany him on his snowboarding adventures. As I threw fits over the poles or the uncomfortable boots, ran in to the kids on the bunny hill, and burned ears cussing a blue streak, he progressed along at the speed of light. Eventually convincing me to give up skiing for snowboarding due to the limited amount of equipment, I switched. Offspring #2 was bribed to try thus it became a family activity. In true Clampitt style, Offspring #1 and Spouse began to build ramps with tables, bales of hay, and shovels for jumping the stream by our house much to the chagrin of our neighbors. The following video demonstrates how effective helmets and wrist guards are in preventing yet another trip to the ER. Thank goodness this was just a test ramp.

Our snowboarding routine started to look like this:

Eat breakfast together.

O#1- Terrain Park and Black Diamond Runs

Ouiser and O#2- Green Runs

Spouse- Work Out, Hot Tub, Massage, Sauna, Read, Repeat

Dinner

After a season, I progressed enough to accompany Offspring #1 on some of his runs. And it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. The onset of emotion at being invited to accompany my hormonally charged, parents are not to be seen or heard,  14-year-old was exhilarating. Then I found out his ulterior motive – to videotape his exploits in the fresh powder for the ultimate end of Facebook sharing.

O#1                “Mom- go down to the bend, then point the camera at the trees up the hill.”

This would allow me to video O#1 snowboarding around the bend and through the fresh 3 feet of powder on the corners.

I got in position with my camera pointed up the hill. I saw his helmet. I saw him start to move. I saw him start to move down the hill. I saw him move down the hill and jump off the side of the cliff. I saw him snowboard off the side of the cliff, through the ravine beside me. I saw him snowboard through trees, through the ravine, and below me. I thought about how my hands would feel around his neck if it wasn’t broken already by the time I got there.

Ouiser-       “WHAT THE HELL- is this what you do when I’m not around?”

O#1-            Unphased- ” I have accidentally done a back flip.” A confession- while                                    grinning- he was proud of himself.  He was so proud of himself he was not                           afraid of me. A first. I’m very scary.

I thought I was going to vomit. What to do? Forbid him from doing what he was going to do anyway? Then he’d just hide it and I’d be unable to ensure he got the right training or video tape and let him enjoy the moment of being able to show off for his mother. In that moment, on the that mountain in Niseko, I had to make the decision every mother has to make eventually. The time when your child becomes too big to make certain choices on their behalf. He had the training, he had the protective equipment, he knew the terrain, he understood the sport- it was time to let him do what he loved doing.

Ouiser-       “If you’re going to ‘accidentally’ do back flips, do them on the air mattress                               until you take a lesson.”

O#1-            “OK.” Best smile.

And then I lost the video camera. Somehow I headed down the mountain, on my back, head first and it fell out of my pocket along the way. Yea well, there were blizzard conditions that day so the video quality was poor anyway.

But- here are some pictures of one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, Niseko, Hokkaido, Japan.

Mt. Yotei

 

Niseko is famous for the deep powder snow and quality of conditions. At points during the trip we were neck-deep. Although Nagano- the Japanese Alps- was the site of the Winter Olympics, Niseko and surrounding spots in Hokkaido are the skiing/snowboarding paradise for true lovers of the sport. It attracts experts and aficionados from around the world and is said to rank in the top 2 for quality of powder. Niseko is a 1.5 hour flight from Tokyo to Sapporo then a 3 hour bus ride. Alternatively, one can take a Shinkansen (Bullet train) to Aomori, ferry over to Hokkaido and then bus or train the rest of the way.

Posted in Moving to Japan, Places | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 12 Comments