First Impressions

I have been in Japan for 20 hours now, so I must be some kind of expert, or not. I have been looking around and seeing echoes of other places I have been, and nothing feels too strange or foreign to me. My first thought on looking out the window was that I had landed in Wisconsin. It was raining, and brilliant, sparking green. Then I realized the apically dominant trees that my brain processed as conifers were, in fact, bamboo. Ok, perhaps not Wisconsin. Maybe Hilo?

Getting a well needed coffee on the
 train to Tokyo

We taxied for a long time (just like O’hare), then walked forever through the steel and glass Narita Airport (like Frankfort) to the large immigration area (layout identical to Sidney airport.) The train swept us through the countryside of low houses and rice paddies into Tokyo (like something from Blade Runner, but clean and safe.) We traveled through the rain and increasing darkness and as far as I could tell, never left the extended urbanized area of the Tokaido corridor.

Pretty much everything I thought about Japan was wrong. The train station in Tokyo, while complex and busy, wasn’t shockingly crowded or unmanageable. We could eat on the trains (sampled interesting snacks, but not dried fish and almonds). Very pleasant and helpful colleagues met us and helped us on every stage from airport to University. I saw a shop with gorgeous muffins and bagels. And the University reminds me of one I visited in Caracas once. (Why can’t I stop comparing everything!)

Outer room where they put us the first night

This would be a good place to point out that John has had the opposite impression. He feels that he has never been anywhere so foreign and incomprehensible. Everything to him is different and unique. I see connections everywhere. Girls in Ugg boots who would be at home walking across the UConn campus, a café last night close to the university that reminded me of Wolverine Hideaway in Ann Arbor, our cheap lunch spot near the U of M lab. Even the rooms we stayed in last night reminded me of the Undercroft at St. Mark’s Chapel, our church in Connecticut- same kind of carpet (same coffee stains, too.)

Right now, we are sitting in a conference room, it could be at any academic institution in the world, waiting for one of John’s colleagues to finish his start of term lecture that he forgot he had to give this morning.

Last night we arrived in at Hamamatsu train station, a bright, busy, clean shopping mall- with Starbucks, a great looking bakery, clothing, electronics- (reminded me of downtown Evanston Illinois). We went to a café with 5 colleagues for dinner. The poor kids were about asleep on their feet but revived watching a comedy on TV that must have had some universal appeal. We had spaghetti, miso, and pizza. All the kids wanted was white rice, but our hosts thought they should have American food, so that is what they got. It was fine, but not appealing to the tired munchkins. We all got points, however, for knowing a few Japanese phrases and for excellent chopstick use, especially Jane who has totally gotten it.

Inner sleeping rooms

We went back to the guest rooms they had put us in for the night (we will get to move into our apartment later today). The outer rooms were some sort of well used lounge area, but the inner sleeping rooms were old style Japanese with sliding doors, tatami mats, futons on the floor and little pillows filled with marbles. Ok, maybe not marbles, but some hard plastic beans that were just not usable to us as pillows. Luckily, except for Jane, we were really tired and it was quite nice. We had cotton robes for sleeping and a big soaking tub in the hall.

We woke up at 4 am, and waited for the sun to come up before exploring. There were vending machines everywhere and we figured out successfully how to get coffee, juice and cocoa from them. A local convenience store (Lawsons!) provided doughnuts, yogurt, some odd jello-like substance, and nuts.

Oh good! the luggage we couriered from the airport has just shown up. I should be able to upload pictures tomorrow.
Now we just wait until the next step and hopefully we will have a new place to sleep tonight.

All is well in tomorrow!

Communication

Everyday I open my mouth and words come out that are understood by those hearing them. I write, talk, sing and interact, safe in the knowledge that my meaning is getting across, which it usually is. But what is it like when it isn’t, when your ability to communicate is non-existent. Is that even possible? I don’t think so. Even when reduced to the most rudimentary hand gestures, it is possible to make a connection, get your basic needs across. I guess I am about to find out.

We are sitting in O’Hare International, the USA’s largest airport and waiting for a gate attendant to show up who can help us sort out a seating problem. As it stands, Jane and I sit together, but John, Will and Katy are scattered throughout the cabin. We are hoping that they can at least get us two more seats together. Our ability to communicate will be crucial, as it has been earlier this morning, in solving other logistical issues. If words don’t work, a very sad sever year old will likely get someone in charge’s attention, if not their sympathy. It remains to be seen.

When we arrive in Tokyo, language will quickly become a mountainous issue. How fast we can process a new written language, and a rudimentary spoken one, will define the next few days. Buying food, using the ATM machine, being polite to though whose help we need, even expressing our gratitude, frustration, and joy, will be things we need to learn.

And, what will it be like to have only four other people who really understand me? Or, at least understand my words? What will that be like for two and half months? That is the true reason I’m writing this blog- so my words will be read, heard, understood by SOMEONE! I have become so dependent on the internet as a way to communicate. Hopefully that will still be an option in Hamamatsu. We are planning on accessing schools for the kids, work for John, sanity for me via the web. Plan B if that falls through will be interesting!

Think of us this week as you go about your daily business. Imagine what it would be like if you didn’t understand anyone. Have empathy for the immigrant, struggling to make a go of it.

Food

The very essence of a culture is its food. It seemed logical to approach Japanese culture by starting with cuisine. And of course, this has practical considerations, too, when traveling with three children with different levels of pickiness. It is possible to travel to an industrialized, modern country like this and never stop eating the same foods you would get at home. I am reliable told that it is possible to purchase ‘American’ food in Tokyo, as long as your yen flow freely. But, why would you do that? Just stay home if you can’t live without Poptarts and Chickin’ Nuggets. Bring on the enlightened palate!

Luckily, my children love rice and noodles, fruits and fresh vegetables, so this shouldn’t be too hard, right?

Right?

First stop, the local library where we check out every Japanese cookbook available. Which means three. I’ve sampled the American version of Japanese food, bento boxes, and sushi (yes, with raw fish), and I love the mouthwatering spiciness of wasabi peas, but I know I am out of my depth when the first four glossy pages are devoted to knives, various skimmers, strainers, steamers, and incredibly intricate but simple gadgets of obscure (to me) function. There are three pages devoted to cutting. Yes, there are 18 basic cuts featured, each with it’s own name, a detailed method and purpose, and special knife. I felt the same way when I rashly checked out Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking last spring. I know nothing. It is a wonder that I can keep my people alive here at home, let alone half way around the world. Better pack extra yen for those Nuggets.

But, my training as a scientist helps make sense of this. Look for connections, for patterns. Why are there so many knives for food preparation? Because there are no knives on the table. It is the height of impropriety to serve anything that requires cutting by the diner. Think about that. This dictates that all food is either cooked to softness, or served in bite-sized pieces that can be easily managed by chopsticks.

I really don’t know much about cooking, except I can bake. I think nothing of whipping up a fudge gateau, or ginger brownies, or muffins made with 8 kids of fruits, veggies and nuts. The Japanese, however, don’t bake much. Ovens are very rare, most homes have all the modern cooking conveniences, but only a stovetop, no oven. So my one area of moderate competence in the kitchen is out. I won’t be making Chocolate Chip cookies, or Busy Day Cake, or wondering where to buy baking powder. And, really, our American diet is too full of sweets and unnecessary carbs, so what are we missing? Secretly, I am glad I’ll be home for Christmas when I can bake my heart out!

We finally find our nirvana in a cookbook for children that has an easy to understand introduction to the ways of Japanese food. I learn that most people shop daily. Not only because the food is fresher, but because space is at a premium and there in no place to store the giant box of cereal from Costco. There are no big freezers or pantries, and you must make time each day go to the market to find what is available before you can decide what to make for diner. Because of this, there is a seasonality to cooking. Some dishes are only eaten in spring, because that is when the shirauo or warabi are available. This is a refreshing idea in an age when I can buy blueberries and tomatoes all year long at the grocery store in Connecticut. For the right price, almost nothing here has a ‘season’ anymore, and we are poorer (in the wallet and in the experience) for it.

I think a lot about food here in the US. It is a chore to decipher ingredient lists, choose between fresh, organic grapes from Chile or conventional ones from a local farm. Japan is the country, however, that flies in fresh seafood from all over the world on a daily basis, some of it unsustainably harvested. It still won’t be simple to make good choices at the market. But it will be an adventure.

Our learning moment, leafing through a cookbook on the couch in Connecticut, brings insight to Japanese culture, one I would never have expected. Why do we think of Asian food as so foreign? Because the rules for its preparation and presentation are different, the cuisine has evolved along a different path. It isn’t better or worse, just different.

A footnote:

We have been having weekly Japanese style meals here in preparation for what we will encounter. The other night we had Ramen, one poached chicken breast split between 5 people, stir-fried baby bok choy, pickled ginger. The children were indignant that I had been withholding Ramen from them their whole lives. Who would have known?

Managing worry

4:25 in the morning, 20 days before we leave home to live in Japan for three months. I can no longer sleep, pondering a comment my husband made before leaving for the lab yesterday.

“ I hope we can check our bags through to Tokyo from Hartford.”

Boy, me, too. Two adults, three children, 4 computers, cameras, a violin, two and a half seasons of clothes and household goods to get us started in the bare room in Hamamatsu where we will live. And luggage without wheels. Yes, that is a pressing question in the early morning.

We haven’t made things easy on ourselves. My husband’s tickets had to be purchased separately for our Japanese host to be able to reimburse him. We are flying on three different airlines, which theoretically, at least, code share. We aren’t returning to the same airport from which we depart. Oh, and to get to the airport on the day we leave, we will need to leave our house at 3:30 AM. When we finally touch down in Tokyo a day later, we will have to get all five of us, and all our luggage, from one of the world’s most crowded cities to the provincial town where we will live. A potential perfect storm of travel nightmare in and of itself, but now we may have to reclaim and move all that baggage between terminals with no walking connection during a short layover.

What were we thinking?

The decision to move to Japan for a term was pretty easy. Someone else would pay for most of it, no other job prospects were lined up, the children were doing well in school and a good age to travel. And travel is what drew us together in the first place. John and I have always been up for a road trip, or field work in an exotic locale or even just pleasant day dreams about the next big trip. We’ve taken 6000 mile car trips with children, taken them to foreign countries, and each of us has taken the kids on solo epic journeys, too. We are flexible enough to know that what you plan and what you experience are different beasts. It is the experience that counts.

This trip, however, is a bigger undertaking. Japan is a larger challenge, because it is culturally very different, and the language barrier practically insurmountable. We will really be gaijin, foreigners, with no hope of blending in. I’m not sure I CAN be prepared to be stared at for 3 months, and John, who gets fussed at the ‘traffic jams’ in our two stoplight town is in for a bigger shock.

And so, my larger worries will have to wait, while I deal with smaller ones, like will we have to collect our baggage and transport it from one terminal to another, re-check in, and run the security gauntlet a second time at the nation’s largest airport. Did we leave enough time in the connection to do that? Will we ever see our luggage again? Ok, not going to think about that last one.

A few phone calls to the airlines involved provide no resolution or comfort; it is apparently up to the discretion of the personnel at check-in in Hartford whether or not they will thru check the baggage. Joy. John’s only comment- “Pack light”.

Well, better put this worry away as un-knowable, and move on to the next one. Like- can I really clean out my house for the renter in time! Note to self: buy more Tums.