Japanese Survival Stories No 1 The Toilet and Other Hazards

(Above: A Japanese Toilet and the directions for using a western style toilet. I think they have it backwards.)

I never expected to need assistance when Iwent to go to the toilet for the first time in Japan. I naturally assumed that all toilets were pretty much the same as I grew up with in the USA. I figured that a your toilet came with your basic porcelain stool suitable for standing in front of, sitting down on or keeling next to when you needed to rest your head after a night of heavy drinking was pretty much all that was really necessary. Certainly, there are exceptions, such as when camping, where you hang your nether parts over a fallen tree, or when out drinking and you stalk the nearest bush. I was never expecting to see a urinal laid flat on its back and set into the floor. I didn't expect it to be moving either.I had been on an airlane for about 12 hours. Airplane toilets are just what you'd expect to find on an airplane. I spent time in Haneda Airport, the toilets there are what you'd expect to find in an airport. I spent the night in an Internatioal Hotel in Tokyo, once again, a toilet was a toilet. I had to take a 4 hour train trip from Tokyo to Sendai, (this was before the Bullet Train was introduced). That is where my experiences with the friendly stool got flushed.We had gone from our seats to the dining car to have a beer. I don't know if it was just a matter of time, or if it was the shaking of the train, but I soon felt nature's call. I asked where the toilet was, got my bearings and after bouncing off a wall or two, I managed to get the door to slide open. I got inside and found what I was sure was the urinal. It wasn't, but by the time I figuered it out, I wans't exactly in the mood to take care of business. I made up my mind to tough it out for a couple more hours.

Garbage is "Gomi" But It Is Still Garbage

Above: What garbge or "gomi" goes out on what day. Simple, huh?

"Don't forget to take out the garbage when you walk the dog." my wife says to me.
I dutifully reach down and pick up a plastic bag full of garbage that is sitting next to the door as I noose the dog with the choke chain. I check to make sure that I have plastic "doggy bags" in my pocket and I am heading out the door when I hear, "Wait! Today is not Monday, it is Wednesday!"
"I don't care if it is Friday”, I reply. “Frank has to take care of business now."
"No, Today is not Monday, Today is Wednesday, you have to take out the plastic garbage today."
I look at the bag. It is plastic. "This is plastic." I tell her.
"No, outside is plastic, inside is paper. Paper is Monday gomi. Wednesday is plastic gomi."
I consider this for a moment, and I ask, "OK, where is the plastic gomi?"
“I don't have the plastic gomi in the bag yet, plastic gomi is in the kitchen.”
I try to urge her to get a move on, the dog doesn't care if I take any gomi, he wants to check his "P"-mail, and perhaps make an ‘organic’ deposit for my "plastic doggy bag". I know that he really couldn't care less that the Wednesday plastic gomi was in the kitchen and the paper Monday gomi was by the door. He doesn’t care if I pick up his organic deposits with a paper bag, a plastic bag or my bare hand. In fact, I don’t really think he is worried if I pick it up at all. He has other problems. In deference to him, I forgo the argument about gomi placement, and why we have to wait till the very last minute to get the correct garbage so we can get out the door. Soon, the garbage arrives and we head outside. The dog and I are both confused. My dog is trying to figure just exactly what has been holding up his sorely needed trek into the night and I am trying to figure out just exactly what day it is.

Setteling In

Moving back to Japan is much like getting into a Japanese bath. You burn the hell out of your privates, your back and all places that had been submerged up to the point your reacted and said, "Hang On!". One of the first things I noticed was that I had forgotten my spoken Japanese. Not all of it, just the parts that were necessary for communication. My ear for Japanese was still pretty good, I mean, I know that people are speaking Japanese, but I am just not real sure what they are talking about all the time.

I was going to go to the free Jap-go lessons at the local community center. I eagerly awaited the appointed day, April 10th, dusted off old textbooks, got some of the ones that I figured that I'd be using, and even studied to try to get used to real Japanese. I got up early, showered, put on clean levis and headed off to the testing session. I had filled out the application forms, (or thought I had anyway), and sat in a really big group of foreigners. An MC got up and announced that if you had never spoken any Japanese in your life, you would go to group I. If you had studied Japanese before, you should go to group II. If you could speak Japanese and you really wanted to study hard, go to group III. I packed up my dictionary and headed for group III.

When I got there, they played this tape really, really fast. They wanted me to identify missing particles from the sentences that this guy was reading. The guy doing the reading had a mouth full of sushi rice and he had been drinking coffee. I probably got 5 out of about 50. I was stunned. I had been to this level before and couldn't believe that I had lost that much ability. I had resigned myself to dropping back to a lower level when one of the teachers I had studied with over 10 years ago came up to intervew me. I had never liked her before, it always sounded like she had a mouth full of sushi rice and she had been drinking sho-chu all day. I could never understand a friggin word she said, and the 10 years without speaking Japanese didn't help me one bit. She was overly helpful explaining that I needed to go back to "Go". She refused to listen to my pitiful attempts to explain myself and my situation, and when I found that she was the chief teacher for group III, I knew that I'd not be joining in the festivities with her even if I did qualify.

I went home that day, and disenchanted and disappointed, I tried to figure out what had gone wrong. I had 4 days to do some serious study, then go back and try to find a level that I fit into. I thought about it and I decided that, "Perhaps "FREE" lessons were too expensive.". I have decided to spend a lot more time working on my Jap-go by myself, with friends. I will wait till the next time the "Free" lessons roll around, and if I pass the test and wind up in a class

and if I pass the test and wind up in a class with the chief teacher for group III, I will probably just give up on the classes and continue to do what I have been doing.

The Dust Settles (but the head remains fogged)

I have escaped! I have been in Japan for 5 months this time around. It seems like I never left, except of course, my Japanese ability had diminished to the point of a blundering tourist. I know what I want to say, but the words just don't come out the right way. I have resorted to letting my wife, quiet for so many years in the USA, make all the noise, take care of all the business and belabour me about all the things I am doing wrong. Another person might say I was henpecked. I like to think of it as avoiding responsibility.

They Bob and Weave

I am still here, unfortunately, in the USA. As usual, planning an international escape has many delays, obstacles and barriers. The ducks are there, but they won't hold still. I am making progress, but the latest problems involve something that is necessary for plans to continue. A departure date.

To get a visa, I must know my departure date at a maximum of six months before departure. The way things have been moving along, the date keeps moving, mostly back.

I must also have a commitment by a number of other people, some important documents are in the mail, but it has taken until last week to get them there. Now the dance begins about making sure everything manages to be put in order. This is the part that tries nerves, relationships and peace of mind.

Getting Fired Back Up

I am a repatriated expatriate. That makes me a castaway patriot. I have been back to this country for ten years, and it feels like a thousand. How I managed to maintain my residency during the entire time of the George Dubbya terms is beyond me. I have about had all of it I can take, and the coming elections promise little respite. I am going to attempt to get back "home".

If it was just me, it would be really easy. When I returned from Japan in September 1998, all I had was a duffel bag and one key. (the key to the duffel bag!) Now I am tied down by several cars, a travel trailer and a part time job. I have two dogs and a wife. Things were so much simpler when I was single. There were times when I just got up and left everything sitting where it was and moved on down the line. I just ain't that simple anymore. Admittedly, the wife did drag me off to Japan in the first place, and followed me back about 6 months later, but she has a habit of picking up more unleaveable, undisposable junk than I. (She does have me to contend with, that is a big handicap right from the start.)

I have begun to make plans, I have lists, diagrams, charts, weights and mesures, conversion charts, a bi-degree-ble thermometer and a monstrous urge to just get on the next plane outta here. I must bide my time and make sure that I have all the duck sitting in little rows. When I leave this time, I don't plan to come back except to visit, and then, only if necessary.