The hospitality in Japan is amazing. In my two weeks in Japan, I did not experience one moment of rudeness. Not one. They throw their coat right over that mud puddle and welcome you to walk right over it.
I wrote up some of my more memorable exchanges with the people of Japan, leaving me with a warm heart and an eagerness to return.
Reciprocity
In Takayama, I went to a coffee shop after spending all day traipsing around – shopping, getting to know the city. The place looked like it was trying for a Seattle grunge-style coffee shop with miscellaneous stuff all over the walls. Two stylish Japanese women were behind the counter and they smiled and gestured for me to sit.
My waitress/owner/cook/hostess helped me to order a green tea latte and some apple toast. Thinly, thinly sliced local apples on bread with honey drizzled over. The latte was cool, frothed.
I had been wandering around all day, perusing the local treasures, snapping photos, soaking up the charm. At one shop, I bought a few more cards. They were like little pieces of art. I took them out to admire them.
My waitress came over and asked with her eyes, “Can I see?”
“Sure,” I said.
She started cooing at them. ICHY ICHY ICHY she kept saying. She called the other girl over. They both started to coo. ICHY ICHY ICY (what does that mean? I have no idea). But they loved the cards. ICHY meant awesome. Or cute. I knew that much.
There was a little notebook on the table where people could scribble musings and comments. I flipped through. Most were in Japanese, but some were in other languages. A couple words smattered in English in between the Japanese. Some drawings. Some hearts. Smiley faces. You know, the usual.
So I wrote a little note thanking them for their hospitality in big curly letters – and I put one of the cards in the notebook, peeking out just slightly. And then I left.
Then I hear:
“Lady!”
I look back over my shoulder.
Someone is wheeling towards me on a bike. It’s my waitress from the coffee shop.
She stops and hands me a card with rabbits on it. A gift for a gift, handing it to me as if I’d accidentally left something behind.
Red light, green light
During my day in the bamboo forest, I purchased a ticket to see a temple. The price – 1,000 yen – included tea. I walked around, snapping photos, catching some greenery and appreciating the peace of nature. It was a great selection. I didn’t want to run around Kyoto visiting all the temples. It would take me a year. So I carefully chose a few that looked interesting.
I’m used to the temples in Cambodia. The palaces in Korea and Thailand. They’re grand. They’re colorful. They have storied walls. I love color and art and stories. I walk around, soaking it up, my synapses firing almost quickly as my flash. In stark contrast, the temples in Japan are just. plain. zen. Understated. And a little boring. :(
And that made my camera-happy fingers click, click, click. After doing a few rounds, I looked for the tea. She had specifically said there was tea. I saw some tables – clothed in black or red, lined up one beside the other in front of the temple. There was nothing on them. Oh well, must not be tea time.
So I headed back down. No biggie, I guess. I got some good shots. Some fresh air. Vitamin D.
As I was leaving, I passed the ticket booth. I told the attendant as I passed, “No tea.”
“No tea?”
“No tea.”
She looked worried.
“Tea,” she pointed.
“No tea.”
“Hmmm. No tea?”
“Nope.”
She paused – stressed. I could see the anguish written on her face. She did not want me to leave without my tea.
“It’s OK,” I said.
“It’s OK?”
“Yes.”
“You come back?” she said.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Ummm…” She held out her arm, gesturing.
“No tea.”
“No…..tea… hmmm…”
I drew a table in the air. “Tables,” I said.
“OH! Yes, yes.” she said, excited that I was getting warmer.
“No tea,” I said.
Now she was really perplexed. “No tea?” she said – wrinkling her forehead.
“No tea.”
“It’s OK.”
“It’s OK?”
I didn’t want to upset her so I said, “Maybe I will try again?”
“Yes! Try again!”
When I got back to the top a little lady met me at the entrance. She gestured to a little path I hadn’t noticed. There were tables in front covered in black and red cloths – but not the ones I’d seen before. No wonder our little game of red light/green light not working out. I’d thrown in a fake clue.
I walked behind the little lady, accidentally following her into the kitchen. She smiled when she saw me and gestured toward the tables – “Sit.”
Then she whisked me up some tea. They whisk tea in Japan. And I really like whisked tea. It’s like frothed milk without the milk. Real whisked green tea is heavenly.
After my tea and a little Japanese sweet, I walked back down to the exit. I saw the attendant in the ticket booth and I said, “I found the tea!” I put my hand on my heart and closed my eyes and said, “MMMMM mmmm.” She smiled and clapped her hands together, so happy I was happy.
The Da Vinci Code
You’d think it would be pretty easy to get lost in Japan. Nothing is in English. And not just that – nothing is in the alphabet. You know, the alphabet.
A B C
Wandering around the bamboo forest, trying to find the next temple, pagoda, gate or bell I looked for English signs. No such luck. I had hoped they’d take pity on tourists and at least have some choice words in English – or any other language that uses the alphabet, to be honest. You know, like the temple names. But, again, no such luck. Everything was in Japanese. And in Japanese characters.
My map, however, did have both English and Japanese. Which was clutch.
It went like this.
I know the English name of the temple is Yoshimenidera because Fodor’s told me so.
On my handy map, that English word corresponds to these Japanese characters.
I stare at the Japanese characters – committing the first one to memory. Which, for some reason, is not easy.
Then I meander around the bamboo forest, with that character floating in a bubble over my head.
I feel like I’m in the Da Vinci code.
I have come to appreciate that some things are universal. Some things, like the little red dot.
The little red dot of “You Are Here.” Gosh, how I love that dot.
Another thing I appreciate immeasurably is the system we use for expressing numbers. I take for granted that everyone now uses the same system. I cannot believe everyone agreed on something. I mean, really. We use an Arabic numeral system. We cannot agree on anything with the Arab world, but we use their numeral system. But it makes life so much easier when traveling. When someone tells me something is 30,000 yen, I at least know what the numeral 3 means. I just have to convert it to my own currency.
When the red dot, the Arab numbers and my ability to decipher anagrams fail me, I have another tactic. I’ll shuffle close to a group of Japanese people and yell, “Yoshimenidera!” They’d look over, see that I am American – and therefore clueless – and they happily point me in the right direction. Now that’s a strategy. Random blurting of words in Japanese.
Mind reading 101
I was in the train station, lugging around the turkey, trying to find my way from Tokyo to Kyoto. This required a lot of brain power. Even more than finding temples. Mercifully, they do have signs in English in the train station.
An old woman came up to me as I was staring wearily at a flight up stairs up to the platform. I had two things in my head – what a pain in the ass that there’s no elevator and I wonder how much time I have before the train leaves so I can eat/rest/pee.
She picked up on one of them. But I didn’t understand which one.
She came up to me and started gesturing. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking or gesturing about. I tried so hard to understand. She tried so hard to make me understand. But to no avail. In the end, I pointed to my watchless arm indicating that it wasn’t time for me to leave yet. She seemed to understand and walked away. I thanked her – for what, I’m not sure.
Later, after sitting in the clean train station waiting room (using the free wireless, electricity and eating little individually packaged Hello Kitty cakes), I went back up to the stairway in preparation to heave the bird up. Step by step.
Then I noticed what she’d been trying to tell me.
On the other side of the hallway, there was an elevator. Completely unmarked. I wanted to hug her.
All that effort. She’d read exactly what was going through my mind. She knew I didn’t speak Japanese and she didn’t speak English. But she really wanted to help me with my little predicament. And I loved her.
Teddy bears and kitty cats
I wondered upon a cute little café called Pied de Chat.
I was hungry, having found pancakes that morning (a huge coup in Japan) but not having the guts to ask for a second portion, I was starving.
I walked in. The bell clinked behind me. I could tell they weren’t used to having foreigners come in. A needle scratched ever so quietly. Everyone stopped eating and looked up (up) at me.
I smiled at everyone. They smiled back.
I went up to the counter. Konichi-wa. “What is this?” I pointed into the case.
He paused – thought for a moment.
One of the patrons said something in Japanese – to help him.
“Potato.”
Hmmm. OK. “Potato?” I asked?
“Potato.”
“OK.” There was something else in there besides potato – but let’s go with that for now.
Then he pointed to a sign written in Japanese with the number 1,000 on it. $10. OK, I thought. He started running down the list.
In the flurry of words, I made out “chicken”, “beef” and “curry”.
“OK,” I said. “Chicken.”
He held up three fingers and pointed to the case.
Three, I said?
Yes.
OK.
I went to the case and chose “potato”, “green bean” and “mushroom.” And then I sat down.
I sat down in the cute little chair. With my cute little cat pillow and waited.
When my meal was served, I knew I’d hit the jackpot. Yum-mee. I gobbled it all up. But I was still hungry. I went up and pointed to the potato again.
“Can I have more?”
“Ummmm…” he looked at me, confused.
“More?”
He paused. Not understanding.
“Um… to go?” he said.
“No,” I pointed down to my feet. “For here.”
He looked at me. Making sure he understood. I’d just eaten rice, chicken and three side dishes.
So I put my hand on my stomach and I said, “Hungry.”
“Ah, Hungry!” he said.
“Yes.”
“Yes,” and he gestured for me to sit back down. And then he got me a bit more potato.
He brought it over and he said, “Tea?”
Ah, yes, I thought – upselling. Yes, tea. Please.
So he came back over and brought me some Japanese tea. It was iced and it had some cream and a little packet of sugar water to dissolve into it.
I thanked him and took a sip.
SWEET. TEA. OMG, the Japanese like sweet tea.
Afterward browsing the Huffington Post on my phone (see, I don’t understand zen), I went up to pay. He typed into the calculator: 1,000 (thank you, Arabia).
But that was the price for the meal without the tea and potato. I reminded him, “Potato,” I said.
He looked at me. “Service,” he said, smiling.
Service? I thought.
Oh, service!!!
As in CUSTOMER SERVICE.
He was giving it to me for free. To show his gratitude for being his patron. Gosh, that’s different. Typically I’m made to feel like a royal pain in the ass.
I felt like he’d just handed me a teddy bear.
When I left, he ran out the door behind me and bowed at me. Thanking me for coming.
Taxi
And now I’d like to say a few special words about taxi drivers in Japan.
I love taxi drivers in Japan. I love you. I do.
Taxi drivers do the darndest things in Japan.
They pop out of their driver’s seat to open your door for you – even though all taxi doors automatically pop open for you in Japan (the driver has a lever and when you get close enough to the car, they pop it open for you. I mean, c’mon).
Regardless of this automated courtesy, my taxi drivers would often implore me not to get out of the car. They would say, “Wait!” and jump out quickly to make sure they beat you to it. Bowing and thanking you as you leave. The cab.
I’ll say that again.
Bowing and thanking you as. you. leave. the. cab.
One taxi driver, sensing that it was taking too long to get to our destination, kept pulling out the map and showing me exactly how far away we were. He couldn’t tell me how many minutes it would take or miles/kilometers because he didn’t speak English. But he could point. Allaying my impatience.
And they always wanted to help me with my bag. My Very. Large. Bag. I wish I could have taken a video of all the little Japanese taxi drives hoisting my turkey into the trunk. Grunting. Laughing. Almost falling over.
I’d hold on to it. Telling them with my grip, “I will do it” or at least, “I will help” – but no. Then I’d say, “Heavy”. They’d laugh. The weight was no surprise.
Or so they thought. They’d inevitably have to try a few times to get it in the trunk – it outweighing them by a significant margin.
When I arrived at the airport in Kyoto, I had no idea where I was staying. I’d booked it online. I realized that morning I didn’t have the address and by the time the owner sent me a map in Japanese, I was already on the train – unable to print. And I couldn’t figure out how to call her. I’d asked Google and it gave me some answers, but none were working. I’d try one way and get a message in English saying my international prefix was wrong. That I needed to add a + sign. I’d do that and then I’d get a message in Japanese saying who knows what. Crap!
So I just decided to get into a cab and see what happened. Now typically if you get into a cab – in any other country – and you cannot speak the same language as the cab driver – they kick you to the curb. Literally. Like – get – the – hell – outta – my – cab. I don’t have time for you.
But in Japan, when you get into their cab, you are a patron. And it is their duty to serve you.
I said the address in English. I could have said buggedy buggedy boo for all he knew. I couldn’t even point at a map – I had no idea what part of town this was even in. After trying communicate for a while – me speaking gibberish to him and him speaking gibberish to me, he said “phone number”.
Ah, I said. Yes. I mimed, “Yes I called but I cannot get through.”
“Phone number,” he said. So I wrote down on a piece of paper – and handed it to him. He picked up his cell phone and dialed.
I cannot believe this taxi driver is using his own cell phone to help me. I. am. stunned.
He spoke to the person in Japanese and then handed me the phone. The woman said, “Hello?”
“Hi! I couldn’t print out the directions in Japanese from my phone, so I can’t figure out how to get myself to your place. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh,” she said. “Do you want me to give him directions in Japanese?”
“Yes, please.”
And she did. And the cab driver stayed on the phone, navigating her directions all the way to my little geisha house in Gion.
Last, but not least, I took a cab to a craft center in Kyoto in order to learn woodblock printing and origami. It was a rainy day and I was ready for a little relaxation. And using my hands to create things always relaxes me.
I tried to pay with a credit card and then remembered that 70 yen was just $7. So I paid in cash instead.
After getting to the craft center, I watched a video on woodblock printing. I was excited to learn because I’d bought an amazing woodblock print in Takayama. And I wanted to know how the artist had done it. I put on my little apron and went to town. It was fun. And the little girl who was helping me was so encouraging and instructive. I felt like I was in the 4th grade again. I loved the 4th grade. J
I made a geisha!
I discovered – upon trying to pay – that I didn’t have my bank card. I called my guest house. I remembered having it in my wallet that morning. I must have left it. But after communicating with the cleaning staff, she was sure it wasn’t there.
But I went ahead with my origami. I tried to make an origami sunny side up egg (which looked easy but wasn’t). Trying to make an origami penguin (which looked easy but wasn’t). And on and on…
They didn’t actually give origami classes at the craft center. But they had books and paper. So I bought paper and borrowed a book. The girl who taught me woodblock printing looked at her watch and said, do you want me to show you how to make a paper crane?
“Yes!” I said. So fun!
I’m miserable in the patience category and I knew I’d quickly get frustrated on my own. We chose a piece of paper and she walked me through – step by step – how to make a paper crane. I remembered making a paper crane as a kid, but this one was more complicated. And she was so patient with me.
How sweet is that?
So every child knows how to make a paper crane by heart. So I made a paper crane and I brought it with me to Hiroshima.
But many people had beat me to it.
After being there for several hours, talking with Japanese people, making handicrafts, keeping out of the rain, I heard my name over the intercom. They must have gotten tired of keeping my bags in the reception area. My new friend helped me call the receptionist. She said, “Someone brought your credit card over and we have it here.”
“Really?” I had not expected that. I’d been in denial, occupying my mind with paper and color and art.
“Who brought it?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“OK.”
The cab driver. I had left it in the cab. And four hours later, he’d brought it back to the place he’d dropped me off.
And saved my vacation.
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