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blacklillySam and I were in the import bar the other night, drinking foreign lager. This would be the only time I willingly pay £4 for a bottle of beer. Most of them aren’t that pricey, though. I just really wanted a Hoegaarden. Anyway, it’s customary to toast the start of the drinking, which we normally “kanpai’. However, I mockingly said: “Chin chin”. Sam nearly leapt out of his seat.
“ Don’t say that!” he said.
“ Why not?”
“ Not only is it a filthy southern expression, but in Japanese it means ‘testicles’.”
“ Oh,” I said, suddenly thinking that in certain circles the toast of ‘bollocks’ would not be out of place – take the Reading Festival for example.
Despite the swotting up on Japanese etiquette, it is still incredibly easy to make social faux-pas without even thinking about it. I am often of the opinion, back home at least, that etiquette is utterly pointless in friendly company, for if your friends can’t tolerate a bit of rudeness, then what kind of friend are they? This kind of thinking cannot result in any good in this country. I barely know what the rules are, so how can I possibly break them?
On entering my apartment for the first time, I stepped up and was searching along the wall for the light switch. As soon as the light came on Yasuko squealed slightly and said: “No shoes!” Little did I know, before I realised where I was standing, that I had transgressed the genkan or entrance hall rules, and failed to remove my shoes before stepping into the apartment proper.
The only other thing I’ve been made aware of getting wrong is picking up food with your fingers. I was fighting quite desperately to pick up a nibble in Genghis Khan the other night with my chopsticks. I’m pretty good with the hashi, but on this occasion they were failing me. In the end I slammed them down and grabbed the thing between my fingers. At this Sam keened “No!” and went to hide his head in his hands. “Sumimasen,” I apologised to the girl watching me from behind the bar, who was either giggling at my filthy, foreign, finger-food ways, or at my ineptitude with chopsticks.
Despite a desire to try to keep myself from offending every person I meet, I think my appearance is probably enough. The number of comments I’ve had about my nose-ring, and the lack of anybody else wearing one, leads me to believe that pierced nostrils are not the done thing in Japan.
Nor, it seems, are breasts of any notable size. Of all the people to comment on how big my boobs are, I was not expecting it to be one of my five-year old students, who with his non-English and a bit of pointing managed to express an interest in the contents of my shirt. I was so shocked it did occur to me to reprimand him for it, but if he does it again I shall be having words with his mother!
I’ve been getting a lot of questions about food, and whilst I’m eating I seem to be hungry most of the time. I normally pop up to one of the nearby convenience stores to get a drink, and I’ve made a point of buying something to eat each time I go, regardless of whether I know what it is or not. I’ve figured out the colour coding on the onigiri – green = vegetables, except for the occasional one which contains tiny little fish. There are also roll type things, which you think are empty, but which are pre-buttered and filled with cheese, or some sort of red-bean jam, amongst other things. Yasuko often ends up with free food as a result of my lucky-dip adventures.
On a food-related note, I went to the nearby town of Komagane on Thursday with Yasuko and Yuko (one of my students) for lunch. It was a public holiday so we had the day off. Yasuko drove, and I sat in the front of the car taking in the scenery, whilst Yuko navigated from the back. We went to an Italian restaurant where I had rather nice, if overly al-dente, mushroom spaghetti. We then went on to the Mister Donut store for coffee and… doughnuts. Whilst in there I counted five other gaijin coming and going – the most foreigners I’ve seen in one place since Amsterdam airport. I’ve been told that if you sit in a McDonalds or doughnut shop for any length of time, in any place, the likelihood of seeing a fellow intruder is quite high. Shame most of them seem intent on ignoring your very existence. But I had a very nice day out, and even managed to pick up a bit of Japanese along the way. Poor Yasuko was so exhausted from speaking English for four hours that the next day at work she seemed to give up completely and had the Japanese teacher translate for her. I asked her later if she was worn out and she replied “Watashi?”
Moving from one language to another is thoroughly tiring. I was trying to translate Christmas card messages today and finally gave up, because the constant moving from hiragana/katakana to romanji and finally English was making my brain hurt.
There hasn’t been much opportunity for photo taking this week. I did take a photo of the crazy singing Christmas tree in the centre of town but it hasn’t come out very well. Next week I will regale you with images from my new apartment. Until then…
“ Don’t say that!” he said.
“ Why not?”
“ Not only is it a filthy southern expression, but in Japanese it means ‘testicles’.”
“ Oh,” I said, suddenly thinking that in certain circles the toast of ‘bollocks’ would not be out of place – take the Reading Festival for example.
Despite the swotting up on Japanese etiquette, it is still incredibly easy to make social faux-pas without even thinking about it. I am often of the opinion, back home at least, that etiquette is utterly pointless in friendly company, for if your friends can’t tolerate a bit of rudeness, then what kind of friend are they? This kind of thinking cannot result in any good in this country. I barely know what the rules are, so how can I possibly break them?
On entering my apartment for the first time, I stepped up and was searching along the wall for the light switch. As soon as the light came on Yasuko squealed slightly and said: “No shoes!” Little did I know, before I realised where I was standing, that I had transgressed the genkan or entrance hall rules, and failed to remove my shoes before stepping into the apartment proper.
The only other thing I’ve been made aware of getting wrong is picking up food with your fingers. I was fighting quite desperately to pick up a nibble in Genghis Khan the other night with my chopsticks. I’m pretty good with the hashi, but on this occasion they were failing me. In the end I slammed them down and grabbed the thing between my fingers. At this Sam keened “No!” and went to hide his head in his hands. “Sumimasen,” I apologised to the girl watching me from behind the bar, who was either giggling at my filthy, foreign, finger-food ways, or at my ineptitude with chopsticks.
Despite a desire to try to keep myself from offending every person I meet, I think my appearance is probably enough. The number of comments I’ve had about my nose-ring, and the lack of anybody else wearing one, leads me to believe that pierced nostrils are not the done thing in Japan.
Nor, it seems, are breasts of any notable size. Of all the people to comment on how big my boobs are, I was not expecting it to be one of my five-year old students, who with his non-English and a bit of pointing managed to express an interest in the contents of my shirt. I was so shocked it did occur to me to reprimand him for it, but if he does it again I shall be having words with his mother!
I’ve been getting a lot of questions about food, and whilst I’m eating I seem to be hungry most of the time. I normally pop up to one of the nearby convenience stores to get a drink, and I’ve made a point of buying something to eat each time I go, regardless of whether I know what it is or not. I’ve figured out the colour coding on the onigiri – green = vegetables, except for the occasional one which contains tiny little fish. There are also roll type things, which you think are empty, but which are pre-buttered and filled with cheese, or some sort of red-bean jam, amongst other things. Yasuko often ends up with free food as a result of my lucky-dip adventures.
On a food-related note, I went to the nearby town of Komagane on Thursday with Yasuko and Yuko (one of my students) for lunch. It was a public holiday so we had the day off. Yasuko drove, and I sat in the front of the car taking in the scenery, whilst Yuko navigated from the back. We went to an Italian restaurant where I had rather nice, if overly al-dente, mushroom spaghetti. We then went on to the Mister Donut store for coffee and… doughnuts. Whilst in there I counted five other gaijin coming and going – the most foreigners I’ve seen in one place since Amsterdam airport. I’ve been told that if you sit in a McDonalds or doughnut shop for any length of time, in any place, the likelihood of seeing a fellow intruder is quite high. Shame most of them seem intent on ignoring your very existence. But I had a very nice day out, and even managed to pick up a bit of Japanese along the way. Poor Yasuko was so exhausted from speaking English for four hours that the next day at work she seemed to give up completely and had the Japanese teacher translate for her. I asked her later if she was worn out and she replied “Watashi?”
Moving from one language to another is thoroughly tiring. I was trying to translate Christmas card messages today and finally gave up, because the constant moving from hiragana/katakana to romanji and finally English was making my brain hurt.
There hasn’t been much opportunity for photo taking this week. I did take a photo of the crazy singing Christmas tree in the centre of town but it hasn’t come out very well. Next week I will regale you with images from my new apartment. Until then…
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no subject
on 2006-11-27 12:43 pm (UTC)Would you like a Christmas Card sending to Japan?
no subject
on 2006-11-28 12:36 am (UTC)