Omiyage: The perils of travel in Japan

Japan is a generous culture.  Part of this is because I am a foreigner (I do the same for my own guests), but part of it is Japanese culture itself.  In japan, gift giving is far more important and prevalent than in America.  Almost every occasion requires a gift.  First day of piano lessons? You need a gift.  Promotion at work? You need a gift. Starting a new job? You need a gift. Returning home from a trip (even the funeral of a relative)? You need a gift for just about everyone you interact with on a regular basis. This particular type of gift is called omiyage, and it is something I have struggled with understanding and mastering.

Omiyage is usually translated to souvenir in English.  This was my first stumbling block because it is definitely not a souvenir, at least not in my mind.  Souvenirs are special gifts you get for yourself of a very select few of your nearest and dearest.  They are personal (usually) and almost always things (toys, key chains, clothing, whisky flavored condoms, etc.)  Honestly, in my opinion, the less touristy the better, but sometimes you just have to pick up something cheesy for that one friend.  I always search long and hard for the perfect souvenir.  It has to pretty much scream the intended recipient’s name.  Usually it enforces an inside joke or otherwise capitalizes on some aspect of my relationship with that person.

Not so with omiyage.  Omiyage should be edible.  In a country with a very limited space, this is important. So no snow globes or tiny spoons.  Omiyage should also be a specialty of the region visited.  Each area of Japan has specific specialties: Minoh specializes in tempura maple leaves; Kyoto has green tea.  And you should buy in bulk. Omiyage is not something you agonize over. You want the most bang for your yen since you will need to share with everyone. There is good news for your wallet, though, as a foreigner you are not expected to have omiyage.  But be prepared for an overwhelming sense of guilt because you will receive omiyage from every Japanese person you know.

And this is where my frustration with omiyage really starts.  Working at a school, I have an extensive list of colleagues (about forty in total).  I also have four people that live with or near me.  So that is almost fifty people who routinely give me snacks from the places they have traveled in Japan.  I actually had one teacher give me a wafer cookie she picked up on the way back from her mother's funeral. Omiyage is that important.  Now maybe it’s my southern upbringing, but when someone gives you a gift, you are honor bound to do the same in the future.  That is just common courtesy.  Add to that the crippling need for fairness American children are indoctrinated with, and suddenly I was feeling like I needed to have fifty gifts from each adventure. I did not want any of my new friends and colleagues to feel left out when I had gifts for some and not others.

So when I took a trip to Mount Koya, my first trip outside the city, I made sure to bring about fifty dollars extra for omiyage.  I made sure to tell the tour guide I was with that I absolutely needed to buy omiyage.  I spent the whole trip trying to decide if I should buy in this shop or wait for the next. My travel companions kept assuring me we would all have time to buy omiyage, but I noticed some shopping as we went.  When we did stop on our way out of town, I spent several minutes on each item, trying to figure out which had the most individually wrapped packages inside. I ended up with a tin of something with thirty-six pieces and a box of twenty delicious ginger cookies (they had samples). I also picked up two larger gifts. One for Otose, who has been amazing. And another for my first kimono lesson on the following Monday. I was set! Sunday night I joyfully packed my omiyage in my backpack, excited to finally take part in this important Japanese tradition.

Only, when I opened my tin of thirty-six cookies, they were in packs of six.  My twenty ginger cookies? Packs of two.  So for all my fretting and searching, I only had sixteen treats.  For forty people.  My heart sank. Full of self-loathing and regret, I gave treats to the three English teachers I work closest with and the three vice principals that sign my time card. I couldn't give out the rest since I could not find a way to choose some teachers and not others to share with. I started wishing we didn't all share the same staff room.  I could be selective in private. As it was, the treats sitting on the desks of those I did share with were a burning badge of shame as teachers filed in Monday morning. I had utterly flailed. Not only was I short on treats, I was showing favoritism.

Thankfully this was all in my head, according to the teachers I did give treats to. I was assured that I was not expected to bring omiyage (they were delightfully surprised I did), and if I did bring it, those not receiving it would not feel bad. I am not sure how much I believe them, though. Even it if is true, I would like to show my appreciation to all of my coworkers.  They have all done so much to make me feel welcomed and accepted.  So I will just have to try even harder on my next trip.  I will have to make sure that each item is individually wrapped. That way when I buy thirty-six, I get thirty-six.  I will also need to research the local specialty - in this case Kyoto. And I will need to make sure I have everything before arriving at school.

The omiyage tradition is interesting and can be a really fun experience. But it can also be a double edged sword for foreigners. Cultural and moral differences really get in eh way with this one. On the other hand, trying to understand why I was struggling with such a simple tradition led me to a greater understanding of the differences between home and Japan.