The art of giving gifts

Gift giving is a highly stylized art in Japan. Like food, dressing, tea, and any other culturally important event, the Japanese have steeped the exchange of gifts and trinkets in formality and panache. Bows, paper, and even the gifts themselves hold special significance. Every detail, down to the folds of the wrapping paper are ritualized. It is beautiful, yes, but incredibly frustrating for foreigners. Mendokusai.

I have always been a generous person. I give gifts because I want to, not because of social obligations (for the most part). If I see something that reminds me of a person, or something I think they would like, I buy it. These Just Because gifts have no ulterior motives – they are just something I wanted to share with a special someone. Maybe it is food, a trinket, or a gag; but whatever it is, I give it without thought of getting something in return. I don’t keep tallies. 

But this type of gift is a huge problem in Japan. Just Because gifts cause extreme stress and confusion. A gift, any gift, requires a gift in return. And quickly delivered. So when I give a teacher a folder from Ishiyamadera – the place where The Tale of Genji was written – because we have talked at length about the book, I get two in return later that day. When I give another teacher treats for her daughter’s brass band concert, a good luck gift, I get a memo pad and stickers in return. I appreciate these things, but I wish the givers could understand that I did not want anything in return, only to share myself with them. I did not mean to cause them stress or discomfort. I did not want them to spend money or time trying to find an appropriate response gift. I wish they could understand that sometimes we just give because we want to. Because watching them with whatever trinket made us think of them is a gift in and of itself. That sometimes a smile between friends is the greatest gift of all.

Adventures in adulting: Getting a haircut

Living in a foreign country and not speaking the language can make many mundane things incredibly frightening. Trips to the grocery, bank, and post office are monumental tasks that take hours of mental preparation. Doctors and dentists are only sought in true emergencies because the mental stress of trying to get through the visit is worse than the pain or illness. Even something as simple as a haircut takes courage, strength, and a willingness for it all to come out wrong. 

This weekend I got my hair cut.

It took me two months to get the courage to go. This was my third haircut in Japan and by far the most necessary. Summer sun and near constant washing from constant sweating really did a number on my hair. Part of the delay was a worry about funds.  We have had a lot of holidays recently and I have traveled quite a bit. But the larger part was fear. I just wanted a trim, but I had no idea how to communicate that to the stylist.  But finally I bit the proverbial bullet and walked to the salon near my house.

Japanese salons are very different from those I have visited in America. Despite offering the same services, both countries go about it in a completely different way. I was greeted at the door, given a consultation, and presented with a price before a single strand was every cut. I talked with three people before I was ever shown to the barbers chair. My purse was locked in a locker since there were no counters at the individual mirrors. It seemed that everything was designed to be a shared space with stylists filling in where needed instead of being tied to one customer as in the US.

My consultation involved a lot of gestures and onomatopoeia, but I hoped by the end of it that the young man that would be my stylist for the afternoon had at least some idea what I was looking for. I was ushered to another chair and the haircut began. With dry hair.

This was a little confusing for me. I have never had my hair cut dry before. It wasn’t impossible, but there was a good deal of hair floating around. It clung to my nose and the poor stylists clothes. Japanese hair, from my experience, is much coarser than mine.  The hair follicles themselves are much thicker. I don’t think my stylist was quite prepared to deal with my gaijin hair. But he managed it. We got through the cut and moved to the wash.

It was heaven. Pure heaven. Fellas, let me tell you something; women don’t pay forty or fifty dollars for a haircut. They pay that for the scalp massage they get with the wash.  There is just something about having another person wash your hair and scratch and rub all over your scalp. And this, like so many service related things, is soooo much better in Japan. I will admit, the lack of human contact in this country made me enjoy the ten minute pampering that much more, but it was also a very thorough and concentrated massage.

Afterward I was escorted back to the cutting chair and given a brief shoulder massage before my hair was blown dry and styled. In the end I looked fabulous. The cut was just right and I felt much more relaxed after my brief massage.  

I will still have to screw up my courage next time I need a haircut. Or to go to the bank.  Or the post office. But I am glad to be staying in such a caring, attentive, and helpful country.

Wakarahen: Public vs. private behaviors in Japan

They always tell you to be ready for new things when you are in a foreign country.  Each culture has its own set of ideas for what is appropriate and inappropriate in any situation.  You accept that there will be some things you find difficult or nonsensical, that you will probably be offended by or offend other with, unintentionally of course, at some point or another in your travels.  This is just part and parcel of being a world citizen.

When I came to Japan, I did my best to study up on some of the little, everyday things that might come up.  No wearing shoes in the house.  Check.  Blowing your nose in public is rude.  Check.  You should cover your mouth when you laugh.  Check (sometimes).  Don’t eat or drink while you walk.  Big fat X on this one.  No talking on phone while riding public transportation.  Check.  No one calls anyway.

I was prepared for all of these things and many more I was sure I would discover when I got here.  I did not want to offend anyone or make them more uncomfortable with my presence than I had to.  What I was not prepared for, however, where the things Japanese people do that go against my American ideas.  Mainly things I consider private behaviors that are unabashedly public here in Japan.

Because I am living rather than just traveling in this wonderful, exotic land, I run into many cultural differences the average traveler will never experience.  Still, after a year, these things still throw me for a loop.

I think the one I see most often, almost every day I am at work, is teachers brushing their teeth in the staffroom after lunch.  Now I am all for good dental hygiene, but it is a little awkward to see and hear someone walking around the office brushing their teeth.  At both of my schools, my desk is by the communal sink.  So it is even more awkward when the teachers spit, rinse, and spit again right by my workspace.  It is not that I have anything against clean, healthy teeth.  There are several dental professionals in my family.  But this behavior is strange and a little upsetting to me. I feel like oral hygiene should be attended to in the bathroom, not the office.  Something that takes place behind closed doors when you are not in the comfort of your own home.  But then again, many aspects of hygiene are far more public in Japan than in America.  Taking a bath for example…

While we are on the subject of personal care, another private behavior comes to mind.  Blowing your nose in public is considered bad manners in Japan.  Most guide books cover this.  Instead, there is a constant sniffing and snorting all through cold, flu, and allergy season.  This is annoying, but you learn to tune it out – or wear headphones.  No, the culturally upsetting thing for me is how men will casually pick their noses here.  As an avid anime fan, I was often confused by the prevalence of this habit in a certain type of male character.  Usually a somewhat disreputable or immature would be seen with a finger almost constantly up his nose.  Probably the best example of this is Gintoki Sakata from Gintama.  While he is the protagonist's protagonist, he is also considered, immature, lazy, and foolish.  Otosan would call him a jabronies.  Maybe man child is more PC.  I thought this was just a tell for a certain type of anime character, like a tsundere with a sharp tongue or an otaku with glasses and a headband.  Needless to say, I was shocked when I saw it in real life.  It is not something happening everywhere, of course.  But every once in a while you will see a certain type of man shamelessly digging for gold in his nasal cavity in front of the whole world.

I must admit, many of the behaviors that I find uncomfortable are perpetuated by men, or boys.  My male students will routinely undo their pants and tuck in their shirts as they stand to answer my questions or otherwise participate in my classes.  This has to do with the fact that their uniform shirts should be tucked in at all times, especially when speaking in front of the class, but shirts seldom stay tucked once initial roll has been called and they take their seats.  Custom dictates that they should address me with a school appropriate appearance.  To do this, they have to tuck in their shirts.  Which they do, while they are talking.  This is always very uncomfortable for me since it involves them undoing belts and buttons.  No one else seems phased by this behavior, though, and since I have even seen adult males do it, I assume it is not as culturally shocking to them as it is to me.

Over the past year I have come to understand that there is a definite difference in how Americans and Japanese see male nudity.  In America, seeing a shirtless man is not a big deal, but changing and rearranging of clothes tends to take place behind closed doors.  Not so in Japan.  And it is much more than just tucking in shirts.  Men and boys freely strip down in many semi-public places, much to the embarrassment of foreign females.  When I participated in an evening of kendo, I was asked to change in a backstage area – even though I was just putting the uniform on over my clothes.  When I came out, I was confronted by a group of middle aged men stripping all the way down to their tighty whities in clear view of wives, mothers, daughters, and me.  Once I was finishing up class just after the bell rang.  I was waiting for the Japanese English Teacher, who was discussing a recent test with a student, so we could return to the teachers room.  I was erasing the board while I waited.  When I turned around the boys, high school boys, were halfway out of their uniforms as they changed for gym.  I bolted.  This was not my first experience with students changing in the classroom – I would often show up for my first grade class last year to find boys and girls in various stages of undress.  While still unsettling, it was in no way as shocking as turning around to find a room full of half naked teenage boys. 

I will admit Americans can be a little prudish when it comes to nudity.  Okay, very prudish.  We seem uncomfortable in our own skin.  It is something that I find sad, but also a habit I have been unable to completely break in myself.  I have gotten to the point where I can go to the public bath without too much anxiety, but the Japanese acceptance of nudity can still leave me speechless.  Especially when it comes to children.  It is nothing to see a naked child in a public park.  During summer they run through the fountain at Osakajo.  On the beaches you see boys and girls like little Asian Coppertone ads, their bare bottoms so white compared to their tan torsos, as their Okasan rubs them down after a swim.  Seeing this is jarring, but it also reminds me how different our countries are.  Growing up I ran naked through sprinklers set up in the front yard far into elementary school. This was in the 1990s.  Things like that no longer happen in America.  We have become jaded.  Too afraid, too protective of our precious children.  And with good reason.  America can be a frightening country.

But that is a discussion for another time.  Instead, let me close with this… While I may find some Japanese behaviors unsettling, I understand this does not make them wrong.  Just different.  I wish I could address and/or stop some of them from happing in front of me (especially the ones involving male students), but I realize calling attention to them would only cause confusion.  In many ways I feel pointing out these differences would destroy some of my purpose in being here.  I wanted to get out of my cultural box.  It was my choice.  And, uncomfortable or not, that is what I am doing.  It is also what I am doing to the Japanese people around me when I eat and walk or laugh wholeheartedly without covering my mouth.  After all, a little cultural discomfort is good for everyone once in a while.

The foreign language section

I have always been an avid reader. I would read anything I could get my hands on. My love of books led me to write when I couldn’t find the stories I wanted or when the characters didn’t behave like I thought they should. But for a while I had stopped reading. Books were expensive and I didn’t have money for more than a few dozen a year. I could have gotten a library card, sure, but there was more to it than that and I don’t really want to go into it. Suffice it to say, I just wasn’t reading.

But that all changed when I came to Japan. I started downloading books on Japanese culture and history on my Kindle. This kept me occupied for a while ate up the minutes on trains and busses, but that cold lump of circuits and megabytes has never held my interest like a real book. And I had precious few of these. I ran out in a matter of months.  So I slid back into the habit of not reading. I wrote, people watched, or just day dreamed as the world slid by the windows on my long public transit journeys.

Then I moved to Wakayama. On one of my first recon missions, I found a Book Off – a chain of used bookstores. On a whim I stepped inside and asked for the foreign language books. Eigo no hon wa doko desu ka? It took the clerk a minute to realize I wanted books in English and not books on English, but then he led me to a small section in the back corner of the store. 

I guess the foreign language section of any used bookstore will always look the same – a strange conglomeration of genres, topics, and languages. It was the same at the small, cozy bookstore I worked at in college. Cookbooks, textbooks, nonfiction, children’s – all nestled together on one shelf. A kaleidoscope of shapes and interests. Running your finger over the spines, it is impossible to get a sense of who the previous owner was.  It is like literary schizophrenia. And it is beautiful.

Standing in front of the foreign language section in this Japanese bookstore, I wondered what kind of gaijin traded these books. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, One Hundred Years of Solitude, a book about the crown princess of Japan, Gone With the Wind, a Sookie Stackhouse novel, and Harry Potter in three languages. So many books that tell so many different stories. I take home as many of the fiction titles I can find that interest me – Opera Book Club books and best sellers mostly, but some classics and some obscure titles from authors who probably no one has ever heard of. Walking to the counter I have an arm full of reader’s ADD. And I wonder what they will think of me when I bring my own assortment of books to trade in.

Surviving zombies, Jokers, and lines at USJ

Growing up in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, I was spoiled.  There were sports stadiums, beautiful parks, well respected museums for history and art, good food, and lots of entertainment.  There was never a lack of things to do.  But my favorite was always the amusement parks.  Summer vacation was spent at Six Flags and Wet N’ Wild (now Hurricane Harbor).  We got season passes each year for Christmas and we definitely got our money’s worth.  

Because of this, I became a sort of theme park elitist.  While my college friends were crazy for Disney World, I just scoffed.  Give me Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck any day.  I came to love roller coasters, the bigger the better.  Shows were just what you did when it was raining or if you really, really wanted to see it.  The soul of theme parks were the rides, baby!

When I moved away from the Metroplex, I began to realize how amazing my hometown really was.  I had so many opportunities and amusements that the rest of my peers just didn’t share.  But I digress; let me get back to what this post is really about – my trip to Universal Studios Japan in Osaka.

Last October (yes, I am really far behind), I went to USJ with a friend for her birthday.  I was pretty excited to go.  I hadn’t been to an amusement park since visiting Sea World with my sister quite a few years before.  The fact that USJ has The Wizarding World of Harry Potter was also part of the excitement.  I really, really, wanted to see Hogwarts. 

We got to USJ no problem.  Kantan desu yo.  Living near Tennoji, I had easy access to the Osaka Loop Line which has a train that will take you directly to USJ.  So we were quickly and efficiently ushered to USJ.  Us and several thousand other people.

And this was the main problem with USJ.  There were lines for everything.  And we aren’t talking like a thirty minute wait.  We are talking three plus hours.  We spent the entire day at the park.  In that time we only managed to ride four rides.  In hindsight, spending the extra money on the pass that lets you skip to the front of the line would have been money well spent. 

Not that the waiting was all bad.  Because it was close to Halloween, there were lots of people in costume in the park.  Standing in line, my friend and I were able to people watch and psychoanalyze the unsuspecting Japanese people around us. 

The first thing that struck us, as we stood in line for tickets to Bio Hazard the Real, was how much effort went into the costumes.  These were not just something you pickup at Walmart or Spirit (that seasonal Halloween store that shows up in the mall every year).  There was attention to detail that would give any Hollywood costume designer or makeup artist a run for their money.  We saw the typical vampires, zombies, and bogiemen, but there were also a lot of original costumes or at least characters we were unfamiliar with. 

But this observation led to another.  You didn’t see just one zombie or vampire – you always saw a group of them.  The group costume is becoming more popular in America, I know this.  My last few Halloweens, I have gone as part of group (it was even a zombie theme one year).  The difference here was that the costumes were not based on a theme, in many cases they were based on a single character.  So instead of an Alice in Wonderland theme where you would have an Alice, a Queen of Hearts, a Mad Hatter, and so on, you had a group of five Alices.  All dressed the same.  This even extended to couples.  We saw one group with three identical witches and three identical demons in very tight body suits.  This struck us as a little odd.  We couldn’t imagine planning to show up in the same costume.  I mean, that is like the biggest fear when you show up to a Halloween party in a store bought costume.  It made us reflect on the independent nature of America versus the more homogonous attitude of Japan.  This train of thought kept us busy as we slowly moved through the line.

Now this is the second thing you need to know about going to USJ, you have to stand in line to get a ticket to enter places.  When we finally got to the front of the line we realized it was not to actually go to Bio Hazard the Real.  It was to get a ticket for a later time when we could go into the attraction.  It was the same with The Wizarding World.  We had to wait in line for a ticket to go into the area.  This caught us by surprise.  In actuality, it is quite efficient.  It means that the areas aren’t too crowded since only so many can go in at a time (but there is no rule about coming out once you are in), but it meant we had to watch the clock and judge if we had time to stand in line for this ride or that ride.  So, tip number two would be to get these tickets out of the way early so you can plan around them.

We did finally get into The Wizarding World.  We got to drink butter beer (oishii!) and eat real ribs and corn on the cob.  It was almost like home, something both of us were needing right around our birthdays.  And for once, the three hour line was actually worth it.  Well, not really.  The line was still epicly long, but the actual ride was one of the best I have ever been on.  I highly recommend the Forbidden Journey ride.  It is really like magic; like you are flying with Harry and being attacked by big spiders.  I would have ridden it a million times if it didn’t mean standing in line for three million hours.

Just be sure to get in the right line.  We got in the wrong line the first time and ended up taking a tour of the castle.  Not that this was a bad thing.  It was really cool, but with Japan’s obsession with photography, this ended up taking a lot longer than it should have.  However, it did us lead us to another realization about Japanese people.  We were behind this group of young people – maybe high school or college.  As the line inched closer and closer to the castle, they spent the time taking selfies.  I am not sure how their phones did not run out of memory.  They must have taken a picture with each half inch.  Eventually, my friend and I started making faces behind them to amuse ourselves.  Now this wasn’t so much an observation on Japanese culture, but on youth in general.  Young people in America are just as attached to their phones as those here in Japan.

I guess that is enough for this post.  It kind of spun round in circles.  Universal Studios Japan was a lot of fun, despite the lines.  It was a great chance to people watch and philosophize about humanity.  While there were less rides, especially roller coasters, than I was hoping for, there was a lot of work put into the atmosphere.  You really felt like you were at Hogwarts in the Wizarding World, you could actually believe you were being chased by a raptor in Jurassic Park.  With it being close to Halloween we were pretty lucky because Halloween isn’t something that people in Japan really celebrate.  It was a little slice of home.  It brought up a lot of soul searching and deep thinking, not something usually associated with a theme park, but it only enriched the experience (and gave us something to talk about in line).  So I guess I would recommend going to USJ if you are in Osaka and have a good chunk of spare change.  Splurge and buy the fast pass and get in the lines early.  Then just enjoy your time watching the people.

Up close and personal in Japan

Summer is a time for matsuri in Japan.  There are parades and festivals throughout the year, but it seems the heat of summer brings out the best festivals.  There are snow cones, called kakigori, and ice cold beer.  Children’s games and lots of delicious fair food.  During the day there are parades and at night there are fireworks. 

Wakayama has a particularly old matsuri held around the second week in May every year.  Called Wakamatsuri, this festival celebrates Shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu who has a special connection to Kishu-Toshogu Shrine (it was built by one of his descendants).  The main celebration is a parade filled with many groups of people in various traditional costumes.  The parade itself is four hundred years old and many of the costumes are beyond vintage, so I was lucky to have sunny weather the day of the parade this year.

The parade itself was not huge (like Mardi Gras or Kishiwada Danjiri), but the level of participation was impressive.  There were dancers, singers, musicians, warriors, sumo wrestlers, maidens, monsters, and many more.  It was truly a spectacle.  But what struck me the most was how accessible it all was.  Parades in America always seemed like an us and them type relationship.  Even in my small South Dakota town, the annual town parade was more about performance than interacting.  Larger parades have physical barriers to separate those watching the parade and those in the parade, but even small town events seem to have a mental barricade between these two groups.

But this wasn’t the case at Wakamatsuri.  The parade made a lot of stops (carrying a god on your shoulders can be hard work) and during these the parade members talked, laughed, and took pictures with the crowd.  Granted, many of these were friends and family, Wakayama is essentially a big small town, but even the gaijin were invited into the merriment.  We were allowed to touch, photograph, and play with traditional (and probably antique) regalia.  We were plied with sake and snacks along with the rest of the participants by a local business.  The barriers, mental and physical, were removed.

I know some of the larger parades still have barriers.  This is a safety thing.  In Kishiwada groups can get those danjiri going really fast and there can be serious injuries if an unwitting spectator were to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  But the emotional barrier between spectators and participants, those watching and those being watched, seems nonexistent in Japan.  Even at the bigger festivals, it seems like everyone is just there to have a good time.

Finding a universal humanity

I came to Japan in search of understanding difference.  Asian culture seemed like something so unlike the culture I was raised in.  Philosophy, medicine, art, beauty, community – to a westerner, the Japanese mindset in all areas seemed excitingly strange.  However, as days turned to weeks and weeks to months, I started to realize something; despite very different cultures, Japanese people are just like us.

It started with a stroll through Osaka-jo koen one of my first weekends in Japan.  The day was sunny and hot, like a perfect summer day pretty much anywhere.  The park was crowded with families and groups.  People were picnicking, biking, running, and playing.  A father was teaching his little girl to ride a bike, while his wife looked on from a blanket in the shade with a younger child in her lap.  The man held tight to the back of the bike seat, jogging along as the little girl pedaled.  They moved a little faster.  Then faster.  His hand left the seat, but he continued to run behind her.  She didn’t realize he let go till she wobbled a little bit.  Then he had hold of her again before she crashed.  I smiled, trying to remember my own first ride sans training wheels.  Had Otosan had the same grin on his face?  The same flash of panic as he let go the first time?  Had Okasan watched from the porch of our house?

I continued toward the castle.  I passed groups of picnickers, laughing and sharing stories over food and drink.  It was odd to see small camp grills in a public park.  Even odder to see men and women drinking beer in what is essentially a city park (as opposed to campground or lake/river space where such behavior is acceptable).  But despite these slight differences, the feeling of fun and camaraderie was the same as countless BBQs, lake days, and Fourth of July picnics.  Some groups even called to me as I passed; asking where I was from and wishing me a good visit in their wonderful town.

All around me children ran, laughed, and shreiked with delight.  Much of this joyful cacophony was focused around the large fountain at the park entrance.  Children in various states of undress splashed thorugh the clear, cool water.  Parents watched with a mixture of pride and envy.  Part of me was shocked by this.  Some children were quite naked.  But I quickly realized this fear was unnecessary in Japan.  After all, I ran naked though sprinklers in my own front yard when I was much older than some of these kodomotachi.  America was different then.  It seems Japan still is.  While I did not dally, I was still a little uncomfortable, I walked on remember times Imoto and I had rolled up our pants and waded into fountains for a cooling respite from the summer heat.  Even in places as classy as the Louvre, this is a common occurance in the heat of summer.

What started as an excursion to a unique Japanese landmark ended up highlighting how similar people can be.  It was a humanity lesson I greatly appreciated.  It also made me what to find more of the similarities between me and the people of my new home.  After all, it was universal humanity I came to find.

But what is universal humanity?  To me, it is the core emotions that all humans share – love, hate, envy, joy, happiness, sadness…  We are all built the same – same parts, same wiring.  The differences in appearance are superficial, figuratively only skin deep.  Our cultures shape our emotions, but our hearts are universal.  As I spent more time with Japanese friends, I was realizing just how universal.

Several months into being here, I was invited to be part of my local Danjiri celebration.  This was a huge honor and a lot of fun.  We spent all day pulling and pushing a large wooden shrine through the neighborhood, making a huge racket and having a blast.  That night, when we finally returned to the temple, there was a feast for everyone involved.  Sushi and fried food platters were shared.  There was beer, of course, and sake provided by the temple (Japanese gods love sake just as much as I do).  We ate and drank late into the night.  Despite the language barrier, I was welcomed and engaged in this very special experience.  Jokes were told and stories exchanged.  There was arm wrestling and children’s games.  There were even tests of courage when the young men dared each other to eat quantities of wasabi and spicy mustard.  As I looked around the room, I realize that this was just like the many family parties my own kazoku had hosted.  Children darted among the seated adults, communal charges for the evening.  The older men gathered near the head of the tables with glasses of stronger alcohol, swapping stories and shaking the shoji with their deep, rich laughter.  The younger people also banded together.  It was this group that told the loudest jokes and caused the most mayhem (clearing space for wrestling or rolling on the floor laughing as someone chokes and gags on wasabi).  And the women were everywhere – talking, filling glasses, offering handkerchiefs for watering eyes.  For a moment I saw Christmas at Grandma’s, Fourth of July in Elgin, and summer evenings at the ranch.  For a moment I was no longer in Japan, but rather somewhere timeless and placeless – an ethereal moment of every party, celebration, and banquet throughout time.  A universal humanity. 

My understanding and appreciation for this undercurrent of sameness has grown over the months.  Instead of focusing on the differences, as I did when I first arrived, I now revel in the similarities I find in each interaction.  For Hanami, I noticed the bentos instead of picnic baskets and the neat rows of shoes at the corner of each tarp, but I was more enthralled with the laughter and sense of friendship.  At matsuri I am blown away by the costumes and pageantry, but my eyes seek out the smiles of the performers and the wonder in the expressions of the children.  As the fireworks boom and blossom overhead, I marvel at the shapes and colors I have never seen in America, but I can’t help but smile as my Japanese friends react with the same ooohs and ahhs as the ones tumbling from my own lips.  No matter how different our outside appearance or our culture, our hearts beat the same.  Hearts are universal.