On My Way
While in Japan, I was treated to a cultural feast different than my own. Did you know, for instance, that it's rude to eat while walking on the street? While walking in the train station, devouring fried chicken balls I found in the nearby grocery store with my fingers, I noticed that everyone around me seemed a little grossed out. On second thought, this scenario could stand independent of my being in Japan. Disgusting habits might have problems finding themselves accepted anywhere. But, anyway, that's when I noticed that no one -- no one -- was ever eating or drinking while they were in transit. This might account for their clean streets.
What the Japanese do have, however, are tiny shops and corners that sell miniature meals. A common sight is a man in a business suit, eating something tiny while standing over a counter. For the Japanese, you are either eating or you're walking; the gentle nudge for multi-tasking both is decidedly low-class.
Anyway, speaking of eating habits, in the popular bombardment of sumo wrestling there, I became keenly aware that I had a severe lack of culture and knowledge towards the sport. (I think this mainly because the Japanese reception of the game as a whole is very respectful and serious, yet my maturity for seeing the sobriety of fat men giving each other what appeared to be atomic-sized wedgies failed me everytime. And when I say "failed", I mean "laughed out loud".) So in researching it, I came upon this information through Wikipedia: A "regimen of no breakfast and a large lunch followed by a nap helps rikishi put on weight so as to compete more effectively."
At this point, I realized this describes my daily schedule with a precision so acute that one might say I have been training hard to be over 300 pounds for the better part of this year. I make a mental note to eat breakfast tomorrow and, despite the jetlag, to avoid those post-prandial naps.
What other insights spawning from complete unsophistication do I have? Well, maybe my expectation that people in Japan speak English. They don't. Communicating with the dear people of Osaka meant a lot of miming of actions. For instance, it was a rainy start when we arrived and I needed an umbrella. In my attempts to ask if I could open one of the umbrellas to see how big it was (this umbrella was flat and about the size of half my forearm), I felt like a cross between Mary Poppins and Charlie Chaplin in those old black and whites. Osaka people laugh readily, and this generosity at the lack of comprehension coming from both sides helped me survive the week.
One thing you don't really do, when no one understands each other, is try to be funny. This is because no one laughs and, ultimately, the joke's on you. I asked the clerk at the front desk of my hotel where I could buy shoes. I had sorely appropriated my suitcase and had only my cowboy boots, which didn't appreciate being slogged in the rain. He told me, "The diamond store." (Oh yeah. In Japan, there's a lot of "..." between words that are actually said.)
So I'm like "... Cool. Will I have diamonds in my shoes then?"
He starts nodding his head.
Dave and I were discussing this and we came to the conclusion that when the Japanese nod their heads, they don't necessarily mean "yes". Nor are they actually agreeing with anything. They just mean that they are still involved in the conversation and are gently acknowledging your presence. So when I jokingly asked, "What happens if I want to get non-diamond studded shoes?" there was a lot more hearty nodding, dismissive nodding, as if my last sentence was not a question, but a fancy way of giving him my gratitude.
I ended up in a department store and you know how, when you're at Macy's, it's really hard to get someone to help you? Because there's one person assigned to the hectare spanning from women's shoes to kids' underwear? In Japan, they have twelve (I counted, twelve) workers just in women's shoes. And they are all standing around, waiting to help someone. I walked over to a lady and pointed in the general direction of these sparkly high heels. "Do you have these... but... (point at myself) for me?"
The "..." that followed was more confused than any I had received yet. I stuttered, "No, no, no... I mean... I don't want these... stiletto things. Not me. I'm not... I don't do that. But... shoes... shim bal... for men?" I don't know why I threw in some of the Korean I learned at McGill, which is a little like using German to speak with my grandmother, expecting that to help matters. In my desperation, I was now resorting to classwork I received a "D" in. And I can get an "F" for that logic.
She -- and the Osaka people all over -- are beyond nice and go out of their way to help you. The lady escorted me to the men's shoe department, where a pair of sandals was like $200. Which looks even more intimidating in Japanese yen. (20, 000.) But some things in Japan are as expensive as they seem. Like I saw a small carton of seven strawberries selling for the equivalent of $27. I have no idea where I got my fiber.
Because it definitely wasn't in my chicken balls.
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