Thailand 2010

Four and a half things I like about Japan

In gearing up for job interviews here in Tokyo I decided I should be prepared to answer some likely questions, such as why did you move to Japan? What does your husband do? (this one still confuses me) and what are your impressions so far of Tokyo?

In the end, I think I have come up with at least an answer to what I like about Japan. It boils down to a an overarching sense of respect the Japanese appear to have that permeates into all aspects of life. Some examples:

(1) respect for oneself - I have never seen such a consistently well put together group of people (e.g., new moms wearing high heels, with their hair styled, make-up on, nails painted and generally looking fabulous; men wearing suits to the park on Sundays). Really people, wtf?

(2) Respect for others - I'll sum this one up by pointing out that over 30 million people coexist peacefully here (e.g., no lashing out when being crammed into crowded trains by men with white gloves every single morning and evening, and, of course, the city is unusually safe). What do they know that we don't know?

(3) Respect for city and country - the city is unbelievably clean despite the overpopulation and its residents tend to think Japan is the greatest thing since sliced bread. It's strange to live in a place where people are not dreaming about moving someplace else.

(4) Respect for the system - not only is the quality of service here unparalleled but everyone gives 100% to whatever they do (e.g., the repairman brings his own slippers when he comes to fix something and then asks my permission to clean up the (non-existent) mess he made; the cashiers at the supermarket bow to me as I leave; the phenomenal waiter literally jumped back three feet when we tried to tip him.) Exceptional service with no expectation of a tip? What is really going on?

(5) Respect for the group - I suppose they call this one "consensus building" but it translates into people never saying exactly what they mean. For example, "it will be difficult" really means "no" or, one I heard recently: "this restaurant has great ambiance" translates into "the food is not so good." As a New Yorker, this one actually irritates me but then again, I sort of like it too.

Non-attachment

I’ve begun one of the most surreal endeavors I think I have ever set out to accomplish. That is, I’ve jumped head first into learning katakana – the set of characters used in Japanese to write foreign (mostly English) words. Each character represents a consonant followed by a vowel. (There’s another set called hiragana and then there’s kanji, which are symbols that depict an entire meaning and are super complex and beautiful). So here I am, sounding out words in my head all over town only to be left often with no clue of what the word says. For example, I see this sign every day on the way to Chloe’s school:



It sounds out: Su-te-ki. Took me a minute to realize it spells “steak” (the picture of the cow helps). In sum, I’ve learned a set of Japanese characters to sound out Japanese pronunciations of English words. Bizarre indeed but thoroughly enjoyable. Nick described it best when he said it’s like staring at a puzzle until its meaning reveals itself. Other examples: miruku (milk), supa (supermarket), pasokon (computer), jaketo (jacket), mafula (scarf). My favorite so far was on a taxi. It said “kado OK”, which means the guy accepts credit cards. Awesome.

There are plenty of things about Japan that I love. One is that the main religions -- Shinto-ism and Buddhism -- teach admiration of nature and non-attachment, respectively. I think the two actually complement each other nicely as when you observe and honor the changing seasons, you can respect the beauty of the moment while realizing the ephemeralness of it all. I guess the Buddha taught that we should not even become too attached to our notion of the self as we are constantly changing, like a fire whose flames transform every second.

Non-attachment is tricky in our consumer-centric cultures. Observing my toddler and soon-to-be-one year old bicker over toys (or really whatever the other one currently has in her hands), I can safely say that we are born with a strong desire to possess. Yet, this desire to possess leads to anxiety and a fear of losing whatever it is we covet. I guess I’m practicing non-attachment to my understanding of the English language.

Quirk

The past two months have been dotted with exciting adventures amidst the drudgery of routine -- not the least of which was our first evening out ending with karaoke. To me, karaoke epitomizes the quirkiness of Japanese culture as the serious, ritualistic, rule-based society seemingly melts into a free for all fun-fest of singing while snacking on fried chicken, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes with friends or colleagues in a small room replete with a disco ball and LED lighting. Of course it would be easy to assume there were no customs or rules in this venue but alas, even here they exist. For example, it is poor form for even those with the best voices to keep the mike for more than one song at a time. Karaoke is such a common pastime here that the number of karaoke bars are on par with the number of Starbucks in New York City. I do admit that the karaoke experience offers a damn good time, especially when accompanied by a motley crew of international folks – Japanese dude busting out a song in German, French guy singing Oasis, soft-spoken Japanese woman singing a Japanese song at the top of her lungs, and of course me and Nick singing … well, we don’t remember.

The other adventure took us out of Tokyo on the bullet train past Mount Fuji to Kyoto for a two-day excursion in what was once the capital of Japan and is currently a breathtaking dichotomy of new meets old. There is so much to say about this beautiful city that words don’t seem to suffice. Immediately we were struck by the sleek and modern train station juxtaposing itself against the ancient temples, each loaded with its own fascinating history. The entire city seems to be a celebration of Japanese culture intertwined with a bustling modern population and robust economy.

For me the highlight of the trip was when Nick guided us to a hidden gem of a restaurant that was so hip that I instinctively felt that old but all too familiar feeling (most commonly felt while waiting in line for a nightclub in New York City) that we weren’t going to be cool enough to get in. It was tucked away down an alley with the front door hidden behind a curtain. It was another beautiful combination of old meets new – or of traditional kaiseki cuisine (a type of art form consisting of numerous courses meticulously prepared with only the freshest seasonal ingredients) with a hip, modern twist, most notably consisting of the hairdos of all the young guys running the place – pink, blonde, spiky, you name it.

Just by chance, while touring the temples we met the great white ninja of Kyoto in a souvenir shop on what is known as Philosopher’s Path. As we left the shop we had a sneaking suspicion that he was following us … but we had no proof (except the dozen or so pictures we managed to take of him). Mysteriously, the great white ninja must have tracked us back at our hotel room because there were two tall boys of Asahi at our doorstep along with this note …

"Compliments of the Kyoto Shadow (a.k.a The ninja master of the refreshment underworld)"

Coincidentally, our friend Brendan was nowhere to be found during this time. Maybe he was enacting his own version of old meets new, or tradition meets quirk.

Nonplussed

After spending the holidays State-side, I realized two things. The first I realized while I was back in San Francisco, standing in line at Peet's Coffee among San Franciscans, whom I generally regard as being on the polite and friendly side. It is this: Tokyo-ites have the amazing and admirable ability to co-exist in a way that I find truly inspiring. The secret lies in the fact that they, at least seemingly, are simply nonplussed by everyday occurrences that inevitably stem from living in a city with such a dense population. The distinction between what I have observed here and what I myself have practiced and have observed elsewhere was made clear to me by Nick recently. When everyday mishaps or accidents occur or almost occur (e.g., two moms almost crashing on their mamacharis), people don't just let it go; rather, they don't let it bother them for even one millisecond. It is a complete and utter nonevent. It doesn't even appear to enter into their consciences to let it ruffle their feathers for one instant. Now I will admit having days, usually when commuting by public transportation but sometimes while driving a car and well even sometimes on the bike too, like Dostoyevsky's Underground Man, I have become completely irrational about people getting in "my" way and consequently firmed up my elbows and shoulders to prove my point against all those who dare push up against me in the subway or walking down the street (or just thinking really bad thoughts about people while driving). Having become conscious of such ridiculous inner thoughts I have learned to exhale and forgive when people bump into me or whatever. Like Camus' Clamence, I become righteously patient and forgiving. This, however, requires me to take in the incident and subsequently, let it go. It also still has me operating under the thinking that it is my space to begin with. So I started asking myself, who is better off -- the Underground Man who lets it ruin his day (life really), Clamence who thinks he is a saint, or the Tokyo-ite who has the free head space to think about other things with his time? So I started practicing living the Tokyo way but even this is flawed as it requires me to think about the event and my reaction to it. Am I forever flawed or might I one day reach this state of non-perturbed existence?

The second thing I realized almost immediately upon our return and that is that the very same aspect that I love about Tokyo is what makes it so difficult for me to live here. It is, for the most part anyway, completely orderly and organized. For example, the same Christmas wreath I was so proud to have hung on our front door early in the season (take that neighbor who commented about my lack of Halloween decorations!) stood out like a sore thumb upon our return as all of the Christmas decorations in the entire city had vanished and been replaced by kadomatsu -- lucky charms placed by every home's entrance for the New Year. There are rules and rituals and customs and norms that everyone apparently knows, understands and accepts. It is the reason the trains are on time, the streets are clean and everyone runs their asses off if they think they might be late for something. Clearly it is a bit difficult to be entirely organized when you have a two year-old throwing herself on the floor in a full-blown terrible two tantrum and a nine month-old screaming her head off if mom is out of her field of vision for one second (the bus ride home from Narita airport after an 11 hour flight was fun by the way). Good thing another custom here is to avoid eye contact (thank you samurai era) so we don't have to deal with irritated people glaring at us. Or maybe they are simply not irritated to begin with. Could it be?

Hospitality

The best part of living abroad is that you get visitors. The best part of living 6,000 miles away is that the visitors stay for a good chunk of time. In this time they get to discover Tokyo, Chloe and Tessa get to discover them, and we get to discover this truly immense seemingly unknowable city through diverse perspectives, and sometimes we get to discover dancing till 4am in Tokyo while they babysit our sleeping beauties. We may be old but we can still rock the dance floor :) Well, at least we think we are rocking.

Most cities make you work to find all the little gems they possess, let alone to merely experience the city in its true urban form. Tokyo takes this cardiovascular aspect to the sightseeing up a notch -- or twenty. The city is dotted with taxis but they are expensive and usually take twice as long to reach a destination than public transport and good old-fashioned walking. Like millions of others (no joke, Tokyo has a population of 12 million and greater Tokyo, 35 million), we therefore find ourselves taking trains everywhere we want to go, which sounds straightforward enough. The tiring part is that the trains are crowded (read: no seats!), you usually have to transfer (read: tons of stairs!), you usually have to walk to wherever you're going once exiting the labyrinthine train stations (read: more effing stairs!), you usually get lost and you are usually carrying a baby or two. Oh wait, maybe that's just us. No wonder the Japanese are so slim (or "smartu" as they say here). And, since everyone from the six-year old girl traveling home from school alone to the elderly guy with a cane to the women wearing high heels (women do not do the sneakers until they reach the office thing here) and everyone in between is climbing the damned stairs, well you can't complain. Or maybe you can complain but just not to a Japanese person. Nick's dad now refers to chez nous as "the clinic" as you're sure to get your exercise and hopefully a little motivation while you're at it.

The first time you try to locate an address in Tokyo you feel as though you just slid down the bunny hole. Numbers do not follow a consecutive order, streets don't have names, and you can often be standing 100 meters (yes, meters) away from the place you are looking for and even the nice Japanese person with the misfortune of being asked to help won't know how to find it. God bless Google Maps. God bless the Japanese also for being so gracious about giving directions. Here's an example. After studying the map provided by the restaurant's website before leaving the house, google-mapping it at home, google-mapping it again on my phone, google-mapping it a third time on Nick's phone and still getting lost (wtf?) I ask a woman for help. She proceeds to study the map then asks my permission (seriously) to call the restaurant. She spends five minutes discussing the restaurant's location with the restaurant, thanks the restaurant about ten times before hanging up then tells us it is down the road on the right. Unbelievable. Another person who inadvertently became our temporary tour guide looked up the address on his own phone then proceeded to walk us all the way to the store. Talk about hospitality. In exchange I let him take my picture. He asked. He also took Nick's dad's picture. Strange indeed. I've never experienced a culture where people were so hospitable about helping out complete strangers. I guess the Japanese like to have visitors too.

Click here to see pics. Click here to see more.

Point A to Point B

We've come to experience some semblance of a routine despite Nick's frequent business trips and me continuing to be completely stumped by little things like calling the post office to request redelivery of a package. The simple things require great effort but also offer great reward. I'm also still occasionally stumped by the buttons in the house but I am learning, albeit sometimes the hard way. For example, the very morning that Nick left for a ten-day trip to Romania, the mailman rang the bell from the outside gate and in my haste to hit the correct button to grant entry to the courtyard I hit the button that apparently says "emergency" in Japanese and makes a disturbingly loud alarm ring repeatedly and incessantly to the utter dismay of the babies and to my shock and confusion. Proceeding to blindly hit every button (again, Chloe-style) did not make the alarm cease ringing so I did what any self-respecting ex-pat would do in such a situation -- ran to the neighbor's house to ask for help. My embarrassment deepened upon realizing that the alarm was sounding outside in the courtyard as well as inside the house. Fortunately, I have a very nice neighbor who happened to be home. I won't be pressing that button again.

Before discussing our daily routine, the phenomenon of bikes in this city warrants another mention, especially since our bike, or "mamachari" as it is known here, is an integral part of our day. Raising children in Tokyo is apparently so difficult and cost-prohibitive that there is a population crisis as fewer and fewer people are having children and the generation of Japanese above 60 greatly outnumbers the younger generation. One example of the challenges parents face is day care. The city offers public day care, which is quite inexpensive once your child has a spot, but the supply is sadly disproportionate to the apparent demand. Another example -- and here's where the bike comes in -- is that it is apparently illegal to drop your kid off at school via privately-owned car. Unfortunately, it is also impossible to bring your child on public transportation during rush hour due to overcrowding (whatever you may have heard about the crowded Japanese trains and the "pushers" who stand on the platforms and literally push people into the packed cars like sardines in a can, is absolutely true). Hence, the bike. Moms all over Tokyo drop their kids off and pick their kids up from school, day care and the like, rain or shine, via bike. The mamachari (momma bike) is the city's station wagon. I have seen moms with three kids on one bike.

Our routine involves Chloe attending Japanese nursery school in Sangenjaya and me taking her there by bike with Tessa in the baby carrier along for the ride. Weeeeee!! So far they seem to love it. I love it sometimes. Sometimes it feels a little too much like a live-action video game. Avoid the bikers coming at you every which way, use the mirrors at the corners to turn without hitting people, avoid the elderly hobbling down the street, avoid woman zig-zagging due to texting while biking (TWB?), avoid the children running across the street, the skateboarder, the car, the scooters. Believe it or not, our route consists entirely of back streets, which are generally quiet, serpentine and, for the most part, free of cars, compared to the "busy" streets.

My own routine now involves practicing yoga at a studio called mysore tokyo in what is sometimes referred to as the busiest place on earth - Shibuya crossing. It is an oasis of calm in a jungle of people, electronics, cars and utter commotion. I practice there three days a week from 6:30am to 8:00am then rush home to get Chloe ready for school and relieve Nick so that he can get squished onto his morning commute to the office. Nick's routine consists of Métro-boulot-dodo (commute, work, sleep), as the French say. His commute involves being packed onto trains and occasional (so far, monthly) 20 hour flights to Cluj, Romania. Tessa's routine now consists of commuting too -- crawling from one room to the other trying to keep up with Chloe. So we are all learning how to get from point A to point B in our own ways.