Nippon News: Volume 1 Number 1

Nippon News Volume 1 Issue 1
Rollins-san in Japan

Flash – Honourable Rollins-san appeared on the shores of this fabled island just over one week ago, (November 22, 2005) following a 10-hour flight and a three hour train ride to get from Narita International Airport to Sandra and Jay’s home in Kaminoge. In the same day we took a car, a boat, a bus, an airplane, and then a train; most of the conveyances available to the modern world. I am not sure if we would have made it had they (S&J) not been around to show us the intricacies of the incredible train system they have here, and to decipher the signs for us.

Japan is a complex and a very different culture than back home. Everything is ‘wrong’; you drive and walk on the opposite side of the road, you eat with chopsticks, use a 24-hr clock, use different money, have different foods, and, of course, there is a completely different language; even the thinking is different. It would go something like this; ‘I, a nice, lightweight laptop computer, this day, will buy’.

And complex; nothing is easy in Japan. There are two different electrical systems; one used in the eastern area and another in the western area. There are 4 different alphabets in use, including a Chinese-based pictorial writing, two Japanese writing systems and a western-based roman alphabet so that people like us can write. Unfortunately, they intermix it all into the same sentence and even into the spelling of individual words. So, I am now working on my Japanese language skills and can confidently spout such infinitely useful phrases as:

Anata wa akai han-zubon to kieri na kutyu o atsui desu, keredomo watashi wa niwatori neku to- okhii biryu o hoshii desu.

(Your red shorts and beautiful shoes are hot, but I want chicken meat and a large beer)

Now, whether or not any Japanese would ever admit to understanding this assault on their language remains an open question; stay tuned for further developments.

Meanwhile, Jay had already warned me that you never ask ‘why’. “Because”; that’s why. The stores are all heated unbelievably hot (27 degrees), the conductor on the train bows to the passengers on entering and leaving the coach, there are three completely different TV broadcasting systems here, most doors open automatically or by a simple touch, few people cook at home (takeout is most common), all the ‘Salary Men’ on the train wear black suits and shoes and dark ties, school kids wear uniforms; (all green, with the boys in short shorts and the girls in skirts and all with beanies), bicycles ride on the sidewalk, (usually with a kit in front and back, mom on the seat, and nobody wearing helmets); and everyone loves gadgets like cell phones, blackberries and i-pods, and yet, even if they have a phone, they prefer to text message!.

And yet, the Japanese are incredibly tidy; the stations and the sidewalks are immaculate; they are very polite and helpful (if you pause in a train station someone will come up to you to show you directions or answer questions), and you can leave unlocked bicycles on the street (some even leave their purses in the basket) without fear of theft. Drinking in public is OK, there are drink dispensers on many corners, (including booze), and yet they won’t allow cigarette dispensers to operate after midnight (some 8-year old might get hold of a cigarette)! Pachinko Palaces are rife, (if you don’t know what one is you are in for a treat – think Bingo swarms Casino in a Bowling Alley with clientelle from the local tattoo parlor and the entire front row at a Willie Nelson concert), they love MacDonald-san, the cool teens dress like Brando in Rebel Without A Cause, and pointing in public is supposed to be rude (although that is rapidly changing).

However, there are uncounted horrors in their washrooms. Often you are presented with a control panel that would rival the engineering station on a Boeing 747. There are buttons that wipe, spray, perfume, add a suitably delicate soundtrack to distract the unwilling who happen to be in audio range, and even clean the toilet seat on demand. There probably is a Freeze-Dry option that I have yet to discover. The basic problem is that if you can’t read the instructions, pushing buttons at random out of boredom leads to some pretty odd goings-on in the cubicle, and when you finally emerge, your fellow washroom mates stare at you as if you were something extraordinary.

At the other end of the spectrum is an encounter that I had in the urinals at a train station in Tokyo. The lady was soaking down the tiles with water from a large rubber hose. I had been briefed to anticipate this eventuality, (women working in the male washroom) so I went about my business, (and she hers), when, to my horror I glanced over mid-stream to discover that I was standing on wet tiles and that she had stretched an electrical cord powering her ‘trouble light’ right across the pool of water!!! I was frightened enough to disengage, (a thoroughly troubling thing in itself), and beat a hasty retreat.

And then there was the nasty little surprise for me in the War Museum; the infamous Japanese Squat Toilet. I already had had an unpleasant encounter a few years ago with its Chinese Cousin on a rickety train ride to Shainghai and that didn’t go well. (ever try to thread a needle on a rocking boat? At least if you dropped the needle on your shoes you wouldn’t worry about it!). So I took a 15-minute break to consider’ the most obvious option, (and the strategy that had worked successfully for me on the 27-hr. train ride from Hong Kong to Shanghai), which was to conduct a, let’say, ‘Holdout For More Favourable Conditions Work-To-Rule Campaign’. Unfortunately, this gambit was being badly undermined by the two cups of coffee I had previous enjoyed, but was now to pay dearly for. The Japanese might have lost the last war, but they have their final revenge on any Westerners foolish enough to visit their museum and need to use the toilet.

So, following a brief tutorial on the basics from Sandra, I reluctantly sought out the loathed cubicle that I had rejected earlier. Eying the opening in the floor below and its associated (and entirely mysterious) fixtures curiously, I sank to new depths, decided that a 180-degree about face would work better, and gave it a good go. Oh well, when in Rome go as the Romans do!….

There were five packages of toilet paper on a ledge at the far end of the cubicle, but, curiously, none had been opened and there was no evidence of use. (Note to self – remember -1- not all cubicles have toilet paper, and 2 – don’t ask why). Fortunately, I was able to get out of the washroom with my dignity more-or-less intact, despite having accidently started the blow dryer when I reached for the Soap, resulting in a scramble to grab the napkins on the counter, (yes, napkins; the Japanese use them for everything – drink coasters, towels, and even advertising – they hand out free packages on the street with ads on the back). Then, anxious to escape the scene of the crime, I had had to pry the door open with my foot and all of my strength cuz I didn’t know about the auto-opening mechanism. The remaining patrons of the washroom only stared at me impassively and winced.

Ah well, its all experience.

In closing, here is a useful (and actual) phrase for you that proves that you, too, can learn to speak Japanese like a native. Just say it out loud to get the meaning.

Weyteh; Wisuki On Za Rokku!

Sayonara!