Home Style 1
For three days, I took a trip to Shimane prefecture in the northwest area of Japan. I stayed with the family of a Japanese… friend… of mine, and it was kind of like a brief homestay. Traveling to Shimane was myself, said friend, and her friend named Arisa.
Before we left, I found out that Arisa’s birthday was on the day we left, and so I felt a little sad for the girl because her birthday was being spent on a train. Being the nice guy that I am, I purchased a small birthday cake to be consumed on the way. I thought, hey, it’s just a cake, there’s no problem. For the three of us, there wasn’t a problem. Yes, they were a bit embarrassed by the stares of other passengers, but it was such a nice gesture (I am the man, after all) that they couldn’t resist. I guess, though, the Japanese have a problem with cakes on a train, because it was fairly obvious the older folks did not approve. Then again, I did make things worse by pulling out candles and trying to light them (which was stopped fairly quickly) but still, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.
When we got to our destination 6 hours later, we were greeted by my friend’s family, Momma, Poppa, and grandma (that was how they preferred to be addressed by me). Momma teaches English, so I was delighted that there was someone I could have a normal conversation with. That didn’t stop, though, strange Japanese/American conversations from happening.
The first night we were joined by a friend of Poppa and his young son (the kid left fairly quickly… thankfully for him). Upon seeing me, the young little tike pointed at me with wide-eyed astonishment and yelled “Santa-san! Santa-san.” Thanks kid. When, in response, I playfully did my best “Ho, ho ho!” the kid’s face went from wonder to horror and he immediately began to cry… sigh…
As is customary in Japan, us three men proceeded to drink massive quantities while the ladies poured us drinks (ah, Japanese sexism). Thanks to the ridiculous immunity to beer I have built since coming here, I was just fine while the other two proceeded down the path of intoxication. I got along really well with the father (who spoke a little bit of English) though sometimes he would weird me out a little bit.
First, he proceeded to give me a lecture, half in Japanese, a fourth in English, and a fourth in intelligible sounds, on why, genetically speaking, opposites attract. I didn’t quite know where he was going, but eventually he launched into how Westerners and Japanese are opposites, and so it makes perfect sense for Westerners and Japanese to mate. Those words exactly (the English he did know was really random). This theme will come back later. Regardless, when he was done with this particular topic, he moved on to what we’re going to be doing over the next few days. I said I didn’t know. He suggested we go for a sexual massage.
Yeah…
After he eventually passed out, I attempted to take a shower in a traditional Japanese home, which is no easy feat. The bathtub, you see, if full of water, as the Japanese love their baths. But the water in the bath is shared by all, so you actually need to be clean before you enter it. So, instead of showering in the bathtub, you shower right next to it. The process is lengthy and complicated, at least for me, but it involved sitting on a ridiculously small stool that caused me to bend in places that haven’t moved in years. I went to bed perplexed and in pain… but that was not the end of my confusion.
Before we left, I found out that Arisa’s birthday was on the day we left, and so I felt a little sad for the girl because her birthday was being spent on a train. Being the nice guy that I am, I purchased a small birthday cake to be consumed on the way. I thought, hey, it’s just a cake, there’s no problem. For the three of us, there wasn’t a problem. Yes, they were a bit embarrassed by the stares of other passengers, but it was such a nice gesture (I am the man, after all) that they couldn’t resist. I guess, though, the Japanese have a problem with cakes on a train, because it was fairly obvious the older folks did not approve. Then again, I did make things worse by pulling out candles and trying to light them (which was stopped fairly quickly) but still, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.
When we got to our destination 6 hours later, we were greeted by my friend’s family, Momma, Poppa, and grandma (that was how they preferred to be addressed by me). Momma teaches English, so I was delighted that there was someone I could have a normal conversation with. That didn’t stop, though, strange Japanese/American conversations from happening.
The first night we were joined by a friend of Poppa and his young son (the kid left fairly quickly… thankfully for him). Upon seeing me, the young little tike pointed at me with wide-eyed astonishment and yelled “Santa-san! Santa-san.” Thanks kid. When, in response, I playfully did my best “Ho, ho ho!” the kid’s face went from wonder to horror and he immediately began to cry… sigh…
As is customary in Japan, us three men proceeded to drink massive quantities while the ladies poured us drinks (ah, Japanese sexism). Thanks to the ridiculous immunity to beer I have built since coming here, I was just fine while the other two proceeded down the path of intoxication. I got along really well with the father (who spoke a little bit of English) though sometimes he would weird me out a little bit.
First, he proceeded to give me a lecture, half in Japanese, a fourth in English, and a fourth in intelligible sounds, on why, genetically speaking, opposites attract. I didn’t quite know where he was going, but eventually he launched into how Westerners and Japanese are opposites, and so it makes perfect sense for Westerners and Japanese to mate. Those words exactly (the English he did know was really random). This theme will come back later. Regardless, when he was done with this particular topic, he moved on to what we’re going to be doing over the next few days. I said I didn’t know. He suggested we go for a sexual massage.
Yeah…
After he eventually passed out, I attempted to take a shower in a traditional Japanese home, which is no easy feat. The bathtub, you see, if full of water, as the Japanese love their baths. But the water in the bath is shared by all, so you actually need to be clean before you enter it. So, instead of showering in the bathtub, you shower right next to it. The process is lengthy and complicated, at least for me, but it involved sitting on a ridiculously small stool that caused me to bend in places that haven’t moved in years. I went to bed perplexed and in pain… but that was not the end of my confusion.
posted by S A B at 8:50 PM
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