Of short tempers, vacuums & landlords

It`s summer! I`m sweating like a legion of bastards! The cockroaches are multitudinous and colossal! We`re getting eaten alive by mosquitoes!

When taking a break from the Japanese study that my holiday daily permits me, I inevitably find some excuse to wander down the local shopping street, ostensibly for little domestic things, in reality, to bask in the glorious air-conditioning. On friday, I had a valid reason, namely the pursuit of that most elusive of creatures, the correct hoover-bag.

Even in English I don`t like to ask for things in shops; doubly so in Japanese, as I still haven`t developed the habit of checking my dictionary for the right word. This oversight frequently leaves me stuck & eventually having to perform a little mime, complete with sound effects to a politely amused assistant.

Three such captive audiences later, and it seemed to transpire that I had to buy a new hoover, as the right bag had apparently been discontinued. As I walked home, my brain was exploding with the absurdity of it all - the typically Japanese desire for new products lest the old ones come to life.

As one particular rant stampedes through my skull, so it kicks open the sluice gates that hold back a rabble of volcanic diatribes. On bad days, the cultural and linguistic isolation of being an ethnic minority makes you question the sanity (and if you`re really angry, the morality) of your host country.

In more lucid moments, I realise that this frustration can be overcome by studying the language voraciously, which, hangovers permitting, I`ve been doing. Peculiarities of accent however can lead to misunderstanding, something I`ve experienced the other side of when dealing with foreign students in the Library. Sometimes, when hearing your own language spoken to you by someone from another country, a mysterious fog descends, filtering out recognisable sounds and creating a near shapeless mass of weird noises. This is a double edged sword, requiring clear speaking & intense listening from each party, which isn`t always possible. My own shortcomings in this field have tested the patience of many a foreign student wanting to get a point across, and so here the roles are reversed - when somebody can`t understand my Japanese, I become frustrated, as someone else I was talking to not an hour ago had no problem whatsoever.

With these mini-tempests boiling away inside, it`s easy to forget the other side of human beings. Stomping home from a communicative conundrum, I often run into the benevolent Tsuchiya san, our landlord, next-door neighbour, a spectacularly well preserved sixty-eight, these days mucking about in the garden a great deal, with an endearing straw hat (one of which I am now the proud owner).

More often than not, he wants to give us food. Our fridge frequently creaks under the weight of his generosity. Recently, I think he`s clocked my new found zeal for Japanese, as the past few times he`s called me up to his flat, I`ve been given kanji lessons (the record time a staggering three hours). We sit on his porch, perched on a single geta each, him demonstrating the correct stroke order for sundry kanji (the difference it makes is staggering), or how to look the things up in a dictionary, myself listening to the best of my ability, as it`s all in Japanese. It`s not unheard of for us to share watermelons or corn on the cob, both in season now.

Tsuchiya sans` family has lived in this part of Kawasaki since the Edo period; a good three hundred years. The collection of buildings wherein we live carries his name, and was, I suspect, at some point part of a larger Tsuchiya estate. I`m the first foreigner he`s met. He couldn`t speak English before then. It seems that the prescence of Hayley & myself has inspired him to study. He uttered his first English word ("trash") just over a year ago when explaining the rubbish collection procedure to me.

On bad days, I`ve come to expect dismissal, ignorance, coldness and racism from many elderly Japanese. It`s refreshing that my cynical prejudices are consistently swept aside by none other than my landlord.

...and it seems that the only thing that`s changed about hoover-bags is the serial numbers. Halleluia.

今日は いろいろ 約束が あります。

I have various errands to do today.

First day of the summer holidays proper (for me at any rate) and I`m in the midst of doing a billion and one administrative things required of me, by this nation & my own...coupled with Hayley getting back from Blighty, I`ve had very little time to put my ideas for blog entries onto paper...thanks for tuning in...normal service will be resumed soon...one day...

I wish I`d brought my camera.

Roppongi is an area of Tokyo, famous for being the place to go if you fancy an international romantic interlude. A recent acquaintance suggested that we go out for a lads night...this coupled with his conspiratorial "don`t tell your girlfriend" and description of himself as a "dirty old man" made me think that his intentions were less than gentlemanly, and my panic that he was going to try and take me to a hostess bar led me to call on a friend for backup, but this proved to be totally unfounded, and the night a good deal tamer than what I had expected.

The most notable venue was Gaspanic, a nightmarish flashback if ever I had one. Painted red, with a sweaty R&B soundtrack (which turned out to be the flavour of the evening), strutting hip-hoppers, randy army types, forty-somethings who looked like they should really know better, and the immortal sight of a line of blonde female patrons, dancing, nay, gyrating on the bar, wearing glittery hats, and clutching bottles of some girly non-beer drink...

...the bottle clutching was all important, and various signs in the establishment revealed it`s character - the strange one that declared "No tap water", and a lengthy one that stated the necessity of having a drink in ones hand...

"patrons seen without a drink in their hand will be asked to leave"

I managed three...having a beer in your hand in a place where conversation is nigh-on impossible makes you feel the need to do something, rather than observing the pulling prowess of your fellow patrons.


In a slightly more tasteful incident of Japanese life, today is the last day of Obon. One of our next door neighbours, a delightful old lady who can`t speak a lick of English, tried to explain it to me when I got home from school...she was sitting outside her front door with a dish of burning wood. She seemed to be saying something about bringing something into the house, and made a reference to Setsubun, so I thought it wa just a changing of the seasons thing...to be honest, I had other things on my mind, namely protecting the futon (left out to air that very day) from the threatened bout of 大雨 (Ouame - lit. big rain) announced on the school tannoy...I found out more later from a lovely group of ladies who pay me to practice their english conversation...

Obon is a period similar to Halloween, but with positive overtones. During Obon, lanterns are lit outside of homes in order to guide the spirits of ones dead ancestors to the family. Toy horses are made out of aubergines and cucumbers and left outside the front door. The idea is that the ancestors ride to the house on the vegetable animal. On the first day of Obon, the animals face the door, to signify arriving, whilst at the end, they face away, signifying the ancestors returning to from wherever they came.

...actually, a straight changing of the seasons wouldn`t go amiss right now - have I mentioned how obscenely bloody hot it is? Even though now, I`m in air conditioner paradise in this lovely internet cafe, when I step out, it will be a very different story...and the flat`s full of cockroaches...ugh...

Nationalism and the talking umbrella

Wasuerki san has been rather quiet of late. Of course, now Hayley`s gone back to England for her sisters wedding (congratulations Laura & Mark), the bakegasa has re-affirmed its prescence like a bitterly jilted john. This week, it`s been all I can do to get away from the thing. When I`ve spent the day at elementary schools, chasing kids with as much energy as I have biomass, the last thing I want to do is talk about history with "someone" who can only get offended by my opinions.

Take for example all this broohaha over the PM Koizumi visiting Yasukuni, wherein are enshrined Japanese soldiers of WWII, including several convicted of war crimes. Repeated criticisms from nations considering themselves victimised by Japans` actions in the war has not stopped Koizumi from making a visit each year. He has responded by saying that he`s doing it as Junichiro Koizumi, rather than as the Prime Minister of Japan. Protestations from other Asian countries aren`t being dealt with on a diplomatic level.

I personally think that a politician can`t keep his personal and private life separate (Bill Clinton might have got off much lighter in tht case), especially when making such a controversial move as that.

Wasureki san on the other hand is incensed that one should even criticise Koizumi over this affair. It argues that other countries honour their war dead, and that Japan is no worse, in regards to war crimes, than any other nation. Oft overlooked when denouncing the evils of Nazi Germany is the fact that Britain invented the modern concentration camp during the second Boer War.

The bakegasa is also keen to point out the post WWII Constitution of Japan, effectively written by General Douglas MacArthur after the nations` defeat. Article 9 specifically demands that Japan surrenders the right to a military, except for self defence purposes. A unit of the SDF is currently in Iraq under the protection of Coalition forces.

Wasureki san argues that article 9 cripples Japan, renders them impotent internationally, and that the American military prescence makes the country nothing more than a gigantic aircraft carrier. Japan is limited when it comes to forming a foreign policy independant of the United States. The right wing Revisionist Party seeks to strike article 9 from the constitution, or maybe even re-write the whole thing. If Wasureki san had arms, I`m sure it would vote.

A recent issue in Asia is that of the approval of certain text books for use in Japanese schools, that gloss over or omit the atrocities committed by the military before and during WWII. The umbrella & other voices from the right believe that the current perception of Japans` conduct has created a culture of shame which erodes the spirit of the nation, and consequently, the ideals held dear. I will not play devils advocate over this issue. No country should forget their history, no matter how shameful.

But the broader issue isn`t quite so simple. Isolated for so many years from a rapidly changing world, Japan has had a unique history. The indigenous culture fomented in private for over two-hundred years before modernity came a`knocking in the form of Commodore Perry and his Black Ships.

Previously, only limited trade with the Portuguese and Dutch had been allowed. In all other respects, Japan was a closed country. It seems that Perry was charged with making Japan and offer she couldn`t refuse. Certainly, much of his diplomacy took the form of veiled threats, as he suggested that the next industrial nation to arrive on their doorstep with a battleship might not be as friendly as the US. This indirect directness more than likely struck a chord, and thus was Japan unwillingly introduced to the world.

Wasureki san was still part of a tree at that point, but I can detect a certain resentment. What really resonates is the post WWII occupation. Even today, Japan is proud of a culture which, despite external influences, is uniquely hers. For many, the defeat of a fiercely nationalistic stance and the Emperors subsequent renunciation of Divinity probably came as quite a blow. Having the constitution re-written by an occupying power can`t have made them feel any better. Maybe part of me can understand the animosity received by Gaijin from some of the elderly.

The bakegasa argues that recent issues like Koizumis visits to Yaukuni, the inclusion of the aforementioned textbooks and the re-adoption of the National Anthem & flag as state symbols are merely assertions of Japanese confidence, and that as far as war crimes and nationalism go, Japan is no worse than any other country. I think it`s important to remember that she`s no better either.