Bad Pictures of the Meiji Shrine- One of the most Important in Japan- A Blurry Culture Lesson #6

Posted on October 10, 2010 by Emily Cannell

Someone throw in a new camera with those TIGI Foxy Curls… It’s hard to show off all that Japan has to offer when your camera can’t take action shots.

Anyway, one of the most important shrines in  Japan is the Meiji Shrine in Tokyo. It was built and dedicated in 1920 for Emperer Meiji and his consort Empress Shoken. Emperer Meiji is responsible for the “Enlightened Age” and opened Japan to Western trade and ideas. He cut off his top knot, wore Western clothing, ate Western food and drank wine with dinner. He ruled from 1868 to 1912. The shrine sits in 170 acres of 100,000 donated trees from around the world. It’s a beautiful setting with something always going on- a wedding, a ceremony, a celebration….

 

The "torii" or gate leading in to shrine

 

This torii is built out of a cypress imported from Taiwan. All shinto shrines are marked with a torii entrance like this one.

100,000 trees from all over the world were donated for the shrine area

Wine from France was given to Japan for the consecration of the shrine.

Upon entry on to the grounds, all must wash hands and rinse the mouth to purify.

There were two weddings going on. Notice the woman who has brought along a picture of a deceased family member. Maybe the bride’s father? A fairly typical Asian custom not to smile in formal pictures -also apparently for the men to be one side the women on the other.

Children often go in kimonos to the shrines. My camera does not capture the beautiful fabric with which the kimonos are made. I have always pictured them as nightgown material however they are a heavy, rich silk with vibrant color, intricate detail and complex patterns.

There was a baptism going on but the baby was crying so hard I felt intrusive taking a picture. Everyone on this side of the Eastern hemisphere could hear her. Reminded me a lot of Offspring #1’s baptism. The only way I know he got Baptized was because the priest doused him with Holy Water- I certainly never heard any of the mass.

People buy votive boards to hang in the shrine for wishes and good fortune depending on the time of year or the holiday.

The shrine capital of Japan is Kyoto which is on the Clampett agenda. Until then, all of you shrine enthusiasts will have to wait for your fix since I’m still focused on the little things in life like registering our bikes so we can actually ride them.

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The BUS

Posted on October 9, 2010 by Emily Cannell

I have never ridden a city bus. There are several reasons: 1) I’ve always had access to a car 2) I’m prejudiced against the bus and see other forms as superior modes of transportation and 3) I don’t understand how it works. I have steered away from boarding a bus for 46 years. Until last week when I succumbed to peer pressure, at this late stage in my life, inflicted upon me by the receptionists in my building. Afraid to be labeled a “typical American,” I did the unthinkable and embarked upon the adventure that I now just refer to as “The BUS.”

It started as a simple request for the location of the Tokyo Hands in Shibuya. I know how to get to Shibuya on the train. I enjoy the train. I have a Metro card which I swipe like an expert. I like watching the people. I read my email during the ride. I feel like a true city dweller while on the subway-dare I say “a New Yorker?” Gasp.

“Are you take the bus?” One of the girls asks me.

“Train.” I say

“Bus is faster,” Her retort is lightning fast.

Horrors. Absolutely NOT.

“I don’t know where the stop is.” Lame…

“100 meters away.” How long is a meter?

She gets out the schedule. Who the HELL can read it?

The Japanese are masters at reading body language. They know I have no intention of getting on that bus but are intent on showing off another one of their mass transportation master pieces. One of the ladies breaks with protocol and comes out from behind the desk to further explain the schedule. She gently guides me through the lobby talking soothingly as we travel toward the front entrance.

“It’s very easy- you will see.” She smiles and bows low. Very low. She’s serious. Humphhhh.I’m still not going on the bus. I bow out of respect, intent on taking the train. I’ll lie when I get back. I wonder if they’ll be able to figure out my body language? Ah- I worked for a Fortune 50 company for 18 years- I’m a master of deception and manipulation.

That out of the way, I happily tuck the schedule in my pocket and head to the train station. A block away I notice a chair by the street. I’ve never noticed a chair by the street. I pass this way every day. What’s the symbol for the bus anyway? This has to be it- I see a marker.  Some poor soul has put chairs out so people don’t have to stand and wait. Bless their heart. I look around. No one else anywhere close. This is it. Damn those ladies. They’re in my head. I’ll sit in the chair and see if a bus comes within the next 5 minutes. If it does, I’ll try. Worse case scenario, I’ll get off and take a cab.

Now that I’ve committed to the 5 minute waiting period, questions start to run through my mind,” Is the Shibuya bus the only one that stops here, does it stop at all stops or do you signal somehow, how do I know which is the right bus- is it one of the cartoon buses, small bus, large bus, red one, blue one, one one, two ones”- sorry carried away.

A lady walks up and peers over my head. I wish I spoke Japanese. I’m only to “This is my book. That is your book. Is this my book?” Not useful in my current situation especially since I don’t know the word for bus.

I see a bus coming. I watch her closely- she also sees it. I didn’t ask how to pay for the bus! Damn it! I’ll watch the lady. She watches expectantly for the bus. She takes out her wallet and pulls out her Metro card. I pull out mine. She boards the bus and swipes her card. I diligently follow her every move. I step on to a very nice bus. Or at least it doesn’t look like the movie buses I’ve seen.

The seats are all different, some are elevated for better viewing. I want to take that one but I can’t figure out how to step up in to it. I take another seat. Shibuya station. S*(&%T!!! I’ve only seen that station from the inside! What if I don’t recognize it from the outside! PANIC. Of course I will. It’s huge. I try to settle myself down and enjoy the ride. I’ve never ridden through the outside of this part of my neighborhood before. It takes 5 minutes to get to the huge train station. Substantially faster than the train. Chalk one up for the bus. The bus stops and parks in a parking lot with 10 other buses. My immediate problem is solved in that the bus parks so I know without a doubt this is the station, however a new one has arisen- how do I find my return bus among the dozens parked here? I take a picture of my bus and where it’s location. Bus #14.

Outside Shibuya station is the famous Shibuya Crossing- said to be one of the busiest street crossings in the world. I’m distracted from why I came to Shibuya in the first place by the number people. (I’m attaching a link to one of my favorite blogs at the bottom right of my page- “Tokyoblings Blog”- type in Shibuya. It will take you to some of his amazing pictures of the Shibuya crossing and the street styles in Shibuya.)

Eventually, my errand is complete and now I must decide whether or not to reboard my nemesis. Unfortunately, in my previously life I was a type A personality and some is left. I have to find my way home- on “the BUS.” As I start to head back, I find these things:

These human musical notes advertising the opening of a store distract me as I head to my bus.

This will eventually become one of many bus disasters yet to come. You see, I have deciphered the bus code for getting to my destination, but I have failed at numerous attempts to get home:

Attempt #1: Mistakenly thought the button to push for signaling the driver to stop was the emergency button. Passed stop.

Attempt #2: Decided to catch bus at location other than Shibuya station. Waited at bus stop where Bus # 14 had stopped previously. This time, all 4 buses that stopped were headed to Shinjuku. Walked back to Shibuya station to catch Bus #14.

Attempt #3: Driver stopped at my stop to let on passengers. Since I saw that future passengers waiting at my stop, I did not ring the bell, therefore, the driver did not know a passenger- me- needed to exit and did not open the rear door. I missed my stop.

Quite a quandary-pursue this bus route that further festers my obsessive habits yet potentially negates this prejudice against the bus or abandon this for the tried and true serenity of the train?

My bike did arrive yesterday….If I put a basket on the front I could ride to Shibuya….

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I’m Living a Bill Murray Movie- and It’s Not Funny

Posted on October 7, 2010 by Emily Cannell

I agreed to move to Tokyo. One move. Somehow, my life became a cross between “Lost in Translation” and “Ground Hog Day.” I wake up every day, it’s moving day, and nobody speaks English…..

Move #1– My GO-TO reliable handy man and his sons: Pennsylvania Furniture moved in to storage

Move #2– United Van Lines: Lighter furniture,linens, clothes packed and picked up for air shipment to Japan- 4 weeks for delivery

Move #3– A different group from United Van Lines: Furniture not in storage picked up for sea transport to Japan- 8-12 weeks for delivery

Move #4– Me, Spouse, and a push cart from the hotel: Family moves in to temporary apartment for 30 days because apartment not ready

Move #5– Me, My pushcart, a driver, Tiger Express, and Furniture Leasing Company: Move from temporary apartment to permanent apartment

Move #6 Me, Tiger Express, the Furniture Leasing Company: All of the emergency furniture moved out, sea shipment and some of the rental furniture moved in.

REALLY!!!! It’s not all ready?????? After 2 months? Has Bill Murray ever played a truly evil character? A real head spinner?

Move #7 Me, Tiger Express, the Furniture Leasing Company:  I”ll be fair and call this a half move- the rest of the rental furniture moved in and the remaining emergency furniture moved out.

Please don’t let “Scrooged” be next.

 

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Shintoism or Recycling- You Decide- Culture Lesson #5

Posted on October 5, 2010 by Emily Cannell

There is a saying in Japan, “You are born Shinto, married a Christian, and die a Buddhist.” Shinto is one of the religions practiced in Japan. The basic belief is that Kami- spiritual deities are present in everything. These benign deities have no counterparts to other religions as they are not omnipotent or omnipresent. Their sole purpose is to protect. The kami primarily reside in natural objects such as rocks, streams, trees, mountains, etc. Shrines are focal points where the presence of certain kami is stronger. In those places, offerings to kami are made. Shintoism was first recorded in the 5th Century BC and some of the shrines in Japan date to 600 AD.

Since trees house kami, all are treated with reverence. Tokyo was bombed during WWII and rebuilt during the post war era and the new contemporary concrete city of today was born. However, this city of concrete was built around the trees that survived. When my “Top 10 Tokyo List” is final, the fact that it is the greenest city on Earth- literally due to trees and recycling will be at the top.

When exiting the Akasaka train station, I noticed these enormous lamp posts. I thought they were so Japanese, recycled, a juxtaposition of something old with something modern and contemporary, and a renovated home to the kami that inhabited those fallen trees.

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Moving Meltdowns: The “M” Series

Posted on October 4, 2010 by Emily Cannell

Cycle 1:

Moving, Middle School, Militant, Moody, Morose, Morbid, Mournful, Mopey

Rinse with Tears

Cycle 2:

Magic, Magnificent, Mature, Memorable, Monumental, Metamorphosis

Repeat

Offspring #2 is a chip off the Spousal block. I incubated and gave her a feature readily identified with the Canadian branch of the family but the rest was donated by “y”. Initially, like the rest of the family, she was excited. The euphoria began to fade as she started to further analyze the situation. Her Venn diagram had the most overlap at Middle School. With the analysis concluded and no definable action plan in place, the only tactic available was worry. She got started immediately.

At first it was manageable.

“Mom, will MS be hard?”

“No, you’re ready for it. They just try to scare you in to thinking it’s hard so you study more.”

“Mom, what do I do if I get lost?”

“Ask a teacher where to go.” I knew better than to suggest a fellow student.

The questions progressively got more specific.

“Dad, do I change clothes before gym and then go meet the PE teacher on the first day of school or do I meet with the PE teacher first and then go change?” New level of detail here. Obsessing?

We’re headed for a meltdown.

“Let’s go look at the school.” This is the number one “go to” solution when a child is nervous about school. Walk the halls, play on the playground, the child equivalent of staring the enemy down and always the first in the armamentarium of weapons in the attack against school fears. If possible, enlist the older sibling for moral support.

“Offspring #1, we’re going to dry run going to school on the train in case you miss the bus and take a look the school while we’re at it. I need you to help me navigate- there are a lot of train changes.”

“Oh- Butt girl’s afraid of school so we have to go see it.” I don’t remember this attitude when he had to stare down the metaphorical barrel.

” What are you afraid of Butt bunny- I did Middle School and look how good I did.” More helpful input.

I pull up the directions to the school. Unfortunately we don’t have a printer yet. None of the streets in Tokyo have names so the directions from the station have instructions like ” turn at the green fence, pass the empty lot, turn right by the pile of garbage cans,” and those are the directions I can read- the others are too blurry. (You readers will recognize this as foreshadowing) I retrace the map on a piece of paper.

We make our first of several train changes. We get on the last. Two choices for the same train. We get on the one that looks as if it goes to our stop. On board we confirm that it does go to our stop. Offspring #1 and I fist pump each other. This is a true test of our navigation skills. Offspring #1 stares blankly out the window.

The train stops one prior to ours. Everyone exits the train. Either a popular stop or a bad choice. The train then heads back in the direction from which it came. Oops. A local train- not a rapid transit. We catch the next one. “Ok- if you miss the bus- now you know- DON”T get on the local train. Good thing we did the dry run.” Always the optimist.

30 minutes lost on that. We finally make it to the school stop. I wonder if we’ve been teleported to rural Cambodia. Honestly I heard chickens. We start to walk- on dirt. Offspring #2 is wilting. I feel like a half wit commander leading a platoon which I’ll soon be carrying on my back. There is no green fence, no pile of trash cans- none of the landmarks. No one speaks English. I decide to call off the mission.

We did make it home without taking any wrong trains and Offspring #2 navigated. We celebrated her success with a canned Dr. Pepper from one of the ubiquitous vending machines. The only Dr. Pepper in the city. We did go to the school within the next couple of days. Offspring #2 got all of her school supplies, organized her binders, and received a healthy sum from Offspring #1 to complete his. Both Offspring now have a subway map, metro card, and cab fare in their back packs in case they miss the bus.

We didn’t find School on the first outing, but we did on the second. During those trial runs we averted many potential mishaps that would have been catastrophic on a school day. Offspring #2 developed the confidence that she could navigate when necessary. We learned that food and drinks are available from vending machines with Metro cards. I learned that the overwhelming urge brought on by non-stop bickering to push both off spring on to the train tracks can be controlled.

The pendulum swung back and Offspring #2 was merry once again.

Then it was Offspring #1’s turn….

The “M” Series

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Someone Fed Ex me some TIGI Foxy Curls and a VooDoo Doll- Moving Meltdown

Posted on October 3, 2010 by Emily Cannell

Moving overseas usually encompasses three carefully planned stages of shipments- luggage carried on the airplane, air shipment limited to 1,250 lbs including clothes and linens, and a sea shipment limited to a certain amount of lbs usually involving furniture. The cargo of these shipments must be carefully chosen as each item has a weight 5 to 10 times your estimate. Further, once in the final destination, each item grows 2-3 times from its original size.  One last consideration is the items that can not be bought overseas.

Moving from rural Pennsylvania to central Tokyo meant living in an apartment where finding storage space becomes  like putting together a puzzle. I decided to bring trunks instead of large bags on the airplane. Upon our arrival, the trunks could be filled with extra linens, sweaters during the summer, etc, and then stacked in the storage area. I continually chuckled as I patted myself on the back and thought of new ways to use the trunks for additional space-saving storage.

I checked the airline web site for luggage limits. Size- fine. Weight- 70lbs to 200 lbs. involved a fee. Fine. I ordered red, lime green and purple. No one would mistakenly take our trunks. Wheels and handles so everyone could carry their own. Off we went.

US Air ticket counter. A chatty male agent asks for our passports- we are the only customers. He and spouse talk about Japan- It’s going to be so much fun- I wish I could go- yea we’re looking forward to it- put your bag up here- I’m the one that travels light wait until my wife puts her stuff up- hahahahahaha.Spouse weighs his bag- his weighs 70 lbs.

Offspring # 1 weighs his bag- 70 lbs.

Offspring #2 weights her bag- 65 lbs.

I weigh my bag- 75 lbs.

From somewhere I hear the music from the “Wizzard of Oz” as the US Air witch swoops in on her broom. “Your trunk is overweight” I’m still wondering where she came from why she needed to intervene? We were having fun with her male companion. Thus far he’d demonstrated an ability to weigh our bags, swipe our passports, and check us in. Maybe she’s actually the dementor of US Air. (You all know I like to come up with the worst name for the villains in the blog)

“Yes, I understand from the web site that I can pay for overweight luggage between 70 and  200 lbs”

“What web site” She says.

“Your web site” I say.

“That’s incorrect. I have the final say so. Nothing over 70 lbs goes on the airplane.”

She’s a very helpful and customer service oriented US Air employee. I wish I had her name so I could publish it here.

She and I start a stare down as I weigh my options. Do I have enough time to pull up the web site? I think she’s bluffing.This makes all the males in the vicinity start to scramble for solutions.

At this point, friendly male agent steps in. “Why don’t you empty some of the contents. Put some in your offspring’s trunk. Jeans weigh about 3 lbs. Hair products are really heavy.”

I open the trunk. Of course now there is a line forming behind us. Spouse is getting antsy. All this over 5 lbs?

All of my hair products are on the top. On a good day I look like Howard Stern’s ugly sister. Before good hair products I’ve suffered bad nicknames, “mushfro”- translation “mushroom-shaped afro” as an example. That’s the only one I feel comfortable publishing. Let’s also say that I’m probably one of the few, if not only, caucasian individuals most of you know who’s had a geri curl. I’m not throwing out the hair products.

Out go a pair of jeans- I have 2 of that kind. A pair of running shoes. I have 2 pair. I move a hand full of clothes to Offspring #2’s trunk. I’m still off by 2 lbs. Customers are grumbling. SHE’S toe tapping. OK- 2 big bottles of TIGI Foxy Curls and 2 bottles of the BOING I like. I have to go home in one month for my mother’s 70 th birthday party. I’ll re-buy then. I’m in on my weight.

Evil princess on the US AIR flight broom sniffs in triumph. I say to her ” Oh yea- well you live in Newark NJ evil, US Air witch of the East and I’m leaving you here while I embark upon the adventure of a lifetime” –in my mind. She might purposely have my trunk lost if I give her any lip. In cases where speech can not be trusted, one must keep the mouth shut and the eyes off  the evil witch.

Fast forward. My mother and sister “can’t find” my hair products so my 24 hour fly by to Texas  yields no TIGI Foxy Curls. For those of you who’ve never been to Tokyo, it makes New Orleans feel temperate with low humidity. Between my lack of Foxy curls and my rapidly greying hair, I’ve included a picture of myself below. Somebody please send me some Foxy Curls and a VooDoo Doll for the woman who made me look like this…..

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“Bill Pay”- A Game For the Most Competitive of Movers

Posted on September 29, 2010 by Emily Cannell

The Bills arrived. My stomach is the size of a cherry pit. The only readable portion is the amount due. Astounding to think one would rejoice in being able to decipher the amount of a bill. Maybe there is other good news- the water bill shows an animated water droplet on the envelope so now I know what I’m paying. How to pay is the next question. This is my entertainment of the day.

These moving challenges are best treated like a game. Only members of Mensa, individuals with superior analytical ability, and boots built for a bureaucratic bog have any chance of winning such a high stakes game. Losing means – well- probably nothing serious. Let me explain the rules. There can be no use of checks or credit cards. One must be able to conduct all business while impersonating spouse since married women with no income are not allowed to perform banking functions. Finally, the winner must compete the payment of two bills in under one hour.

I debate how to play the game.

Option #1: Pay bill at AMPM- yes- the convenience store. Simply hand the bill over to the clerk with the money- bill paid. Sounds like an easy and fast solution. However, I need cash to pay the clerk which involves a 45 drive across town to the only ATM machine that takes my card and speaks English.

Option #2: On Line Bill Pay: The preferred method when time earns extra points. This is Level 10 of the game however; it involves translation of the bill. This bill has a unique twist- Chinese characters. The Chinese characters have to be translated to English then exchanged for numbers. All the Chinese characters look the same to me. I’m kicked out of Level 10 with lightening speed.

Option #3: Go to the bank. This would actually involve several trips to the bank. One trip to compete the forms for automatic withdrawal. These forms require spousal signature. Apparently I do, in fact, have to physically leave and get an authentic spousal signature. From there, return to the bank and TURN THE FORMS IN TO THE CLERK. The bills will be late by the time this gets done. Too many lost points in this scenario although in future episodes I could score a victory.

Option #4: Ask our driver to do the whole thing. Which he does. Problem solved. I win.

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The Hurricane- A Pet Update

Posted on September 28, 2010 by Emily Cannell

Probably the worst aspect of moving to a new country is the decision regarding the pets. In the case of our dogs, moving involved a 12 months non-refundable deposit for both pets. $384,000. A 4 year degree at most universities. As many of you have read, poor Truffles didn’t even get an opportunity.

I’ve had many questions regarding the well-being of our pets who have been temporarily placed with willing and/or bribed family members. How about the Hurricane?

The Hurricane

The Hurricane has continued to establish her reputation beyond the border of her old home. Thus far she has forced the UPS driver to abandon his practice of delivering packages to the door. He now honks outside the house or delivers to Mr. Dr’s office. What once was a picturesque gazebo and neighborhood favorite for Christmas pictures is now covered in cobwebs and the sounds of a whistling wind since the Hurricane’s move into the neighborhood has scared all the childrens’ smiles off their faces mid click. Cheerful laughter replaced with howls of fright and terrified crying from children and adults. The Hurricane is ever watchful and always waiting by the front door for the yard man to attempt some sort of crime.

In the meantime, the Nose’s children give her cheese and she sits, stays, lies down or plays hide and seek. The Nose takes her running and she protects, scouts and plays.

The Nose gives her a rawhide. She chews for a while and then buries the remainder in the couch. The Nose and Aunt Bea are watching. Aunt Bea walks over to the couch to see if the rawhide is really buried under the couch pillows. The Hurricane is watching as Aunt Bea zeroes in on her prize. Aunt Bea leaves the couch area and returns to the kitchen. The Hurricane quickly runs to the couch, removes the rawhide and buries it under the cushion of a living room chair. Aunt Bea whispers to the Nose, “She moved it.”

I hope the Hurricane didn’t hear.

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I’m Sorry for Spitting on Your Floor and Other Foot Related Faux Pas-Culture Lesson # 4

Posted on September 27, 2010 by Emily Cannell

In one of our many domestic moves we lived in the US Pacific Northwest. There are two unique characteristics of the Pacific Northwest relative to the rest of the US. One is the high percentage of Asians and second the high amount of precipitation. For those two reasons when looking at houses, all potential buyers are asked to remove shoes at the front door or cover with booties. This process is where I became familiar with the Asian practice of removing shoes upon entry in to a dwelling.

In the Pacific Northwest and now in other areas of the country, some Americans of non- Asian descent ask visitors to remove shoes upon entry. I’m baffled by this practice as I don’t see anything worth preserving in most instances. In the cases where there is something of real value, no one has asked me to part with my Jimmys. Out of spite, this borrowed practice adopted by non- Asians I only follow in households of those I don’t know well. My shoes give me leg length and much needed height which I need to complete my often imitated look and I don’t intend on sacrificing it for cheap carpets. However, in Japan, I gladly comply.

I have become accustomed to watching others to see how to act in a situation. I have also learned to look for subtleties in reactions to my actions as a gauge for mistakes made on my part. Although the Japanese are masters at covering their own reactions, there is an initial response to a faux pas which will quickly be covered with a smile. Watch carefully and one knows one has stepped in it.

The offspring and I were ready to leave- shoes on- when the cleaning ladies arrived. We were standing in the entryway. I needed to show the ladies a problem with the dryer which was located in the kitchen. I really did not want to take my shoes off just to walk the 10 feet to the kitchen so I stepped off the entryway linoleum and on the the carpet. One of the ladies opened her mouth in a large “O” and the other shook her head slightly. They both looked quickly to see if I noticed. I was watching. I was on the carpet. They smiled and followed- without their shoes. It was my apartment, I wasn’t too worried.

A couple of weeks later, I went on a grocery store taste testing. At the beginning of the session, I entered the guide’s house, stepped on to her entryway floor, on to the little carpeted area, took off my shoes and dropped them on the entry way floor, and continued inside. I enjoyed my session and got ready to leave. I picked up my shoes.

“Uhemm…..ladies. Some of you may not know this. If you step on the carpet area with your shoes, it is the equivalent of spitting on someone’s floor”

Oops.

” In fact, you are supposed to slip off your shoes as soon as you come in the door. Do not let your shoes touch any carpeted area.”

Well, maybe the whole shoe didn’t touch- maybe just the tips.

“Then turn the toe portion of the shoe toward the door so that you can slip right in to them on your way out”

I definitely did not do that, I just dropped them. Not aligned in any direction. Maybe soles up.

“Absolutely NEVER soles up.”

Of course.

“If you go somewhere with your husband, do the same for his shoes- you get extra credit.”

Spouse is on his own.

At this point, I calculate how many times I’ve spat on the floors of Japan. The guide books never tell you this helpful information. Who cares how to use chop sticks if you spit on people’s floors?

The how and why- The practice probably began due to the destruction on the matts caused by debris and wear from street shoes. In most households, slippers are given to guests. There are separate slippers for the bathrooms.In traditional Japanese housing, the floor covering is the tatami matt. These look like a matt woven out of some sort of grass material.

The tatami matt size forms the unit measure used in Japan. The standard size for a tatami matt is 33.5″ x 70.5″. The unit of measure is called a “jo”. When looking at an apartment, the room size will be expressed by jo.

All apartments have a shoe closet right next to the front door. One of the things that has made it to my “Japan Top Ten List” is the Giant Shoe Closet.

Half of the shoe closet

Since we’re on the subject of feet- don’t show the soles of your feet. I’ve noticed on the subway no one crosses their legs. Does crossing one’s legs count as exposing the sole of the foot? I’m not sure, however, the Japanese sit with both feet rooted to the floor. I don’t show the soles of my feet either- because mine are dirty.

Good reason not to show the soles of the feet

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Language Lessons Learned the Hard Way- Moving Lesson # 6- Learn the Language

Posted on September 26, 2010 by Emily Cannell

Think about it. How aggravated are the patriots in a “certain” country about a “certain” ethnic group not learning the language of that country?  I now find myself in a similar situation to others who have landed on the shores of foreign lands for generations. Do you huddle with the masses of your now foreign friends all of whom speak your language, eat the same food, go to the same place of worship and miss the same life back home or do you struggle daily limping along with a language that baffles at every turn making an already difficult adjustment more complicated?

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Moving Lesson #6- Learn the language. From my perspective there are two reasons. The inhabitants of the country in which you are settling will be more welcoming. In my case, I have no hopes of learning Japanese. My sensei has been teaching the same lesson for the last three. I continue to try and I cheat as often as possible. I feel it’s important because I have learned a valuable lesson through my lamentable undertakings at Japanese. When my fledgling attempts wither and fall to the ground, some sweet, polite Japanese person quietly, patiently and with great empathy comes to my rescue. Case in point.

Yesterday, I was once again, trying to ride a bus. (This will be a topic for a later post.) I asked the bus driver if it went to a particular train station. He and I went back and forth and finally agreed that it did in fact go to that location. By the time I boarded, several Japanese travelers were snickering. I was- as usual- the only non-Japanese person around. Off we go. I have no idea where we are in relation to my stop. Several minutes pass. A minute woman makes her way toward me. She says “Roppongi itchome” presses a button, and points to me indicating my stop is next. By demonstrating a desire to learn the language, I became the underdog. She wanted to help. I doubt the outcome would have been the same had I acted differently. The Japanese are known for being polite and one can argue that someone would have done this for anyone, however, I am going to test my theory in France -eventually.

Secondly, it allows you the freedom to live a normal day-to-day life free from miscommunications that commonly occur as a result of not knowing the language. Many Japanese speak English very well and I find that one uses a combination of English and Japanese in those situations. I always wish my Japanese was progressing more rapidly. A few days ago I went to a very large Nike store for offspring supplies. As I was shopping I found some great slip on shoes for me. The salesman asked me my size- 8.

He brings me the Size 8.

I take off my shoes- I don’t have on socks.

“Socks?” I ask

“Hai” He says

He takes a very long time. I see another salesman.

“Can I have some socks please” He brings me a pair of socks. I put them on.

Salesman #1 comes back with a Size 6 shoe instead of a pair of socks. I thank him anyway.

The pair of slip on shoes has a round tightener on the back of the heel for tightening once it is on the foot, unfortunately, I used that tightener to pull the shoe on my foot and it popped right off. It made a huge POP and flew out of my hand, shot through the air and directly toward the face of salesman #2 who deftly caught it right before it nailed him in his forehead. The three of us looked at each other. I was mortified. Salesman #2 tossed it back to Salesman #1 and hurried away. I was speechless. All of the polite Japanese on level 2 of the Nike store  hurriedly cleared the floor out of embarrassment for the salesman and me. The clerk at the cash register started to carefully clean the dirt out of the wall display. Between the two of us we got the fastener back on the shoe. I said, “I guess they don’t fit.” I bought one of everything between me and the cash register out of guilt.

Spouse said, “It’s a good thing he didn’t think you said sex.”

Learn the language.

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