Japan, Part 1 - Lost in Translation…or not

Leading up to our trip to Japan my mental picture of the country had been shaped in large part by images from popular culture - stereotypical caricatures of the people and culture - tempered with a few half remembered scraps of information I’d picked up in college, bits of Shinto and Kabuki colliding in my memory. Imagining the history of Japan I flashed back to Kirosawa films, the Japan of antiquity populated by samurai who look remarkably like Toshiro Mifune. Lost in Translation contributed a more contemporary picture, assuring me how completely bewildered I would be, afloat in a sea of unfamiliarity, desperately looking for a connection I could understand to keep me sane. Worse still, thanks to a myriad of Japanese horror movies I was prepared to see pale, wide-eyed ghosts in every corner, threatening my very soul (this particular influence would come back to haunt me as I managed to thoroughly creep myself out the one time I used the elevator in our friends apartment complex while I was alone…seeing the face of the little boy from Ju-On staring in at every floor, imagining the ghost from The Eye floating behind me).

I know he’s out there…

With the realization that I in truth didn’t really know anything about the country or, more to the point, I really didn’t know anything about Japanese customs, I had a moment of panic. While I normally want to blend in, to not appear the tourist despite very much being one, I felt this even more keenly now. Knowing that I had no hope of blending in as I towered over the diminutive Japanese people (according to some I would be akin to the second coming of Godzilla – which to their credit was a name I did hear in conversation at least once) I felt compelled to try and prepare myself, to minimize the feeling of being an outsider. So in the weeks leading up to the trip I researched not only suggestions on sights to see, but attempted to give myself a crash course on Japanese society. For every shrine I read about, I devoured hints on proper chopstick etiquette. Every temple I researched was accompanied by tips for bathing in the communal baths. Each castle another note on social interaction. I knew that I had no hope of becoming an expert in Japanese culture; I only hoped to learn enough to not thoroughly embarrass myself.

How to take a bath…
Photo by Courtney

And so it was with that general feeling that I looked out over the landscape as our flight descended into Tokyo’s Narita airport, silently repeating the phrase, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand Japanese” and forgetting everything else I had read. Thankfully I had Courtney by my side and would have at least one person who would understand me, and wouldn’t judge me if I stuck my chopsticks into a bowl of rice and left them there, or blew my nose in public. I had my Lost in Translation connection. We passed through immigration and customs without incident and entered the terminal, the map of the airport I had printed out in anticipation of this moment in hand. We laid out our plan of attack and took our first tentative steps – ATM, rental phone, shuttle ticket – conveniently in order of difficulty. Cash was easy since it is hard to offend a machine, and like any good ATM had the option to change the language to English. I had a reservation for the cell phone, so they knew I would be coming and I was fairly certain they would speak English. Nevertheless, at the cell phone counter I hesitated briefly before butchering the Japanese for “do you speak English?” This wasn’t the first time I would feel a little embarrassed and ashamed to be asking this. I’d come to a foreign country to make people speak my language. Upon finishing I offered my best “arigato gozaimasu,” and felt slightly more confident, more sure of my pronunciation. The process was repeated at the shuttle counter, still embarrassed to be asking them to speak English (especially since their English was not as good as the cell phone counter), and even more confident with my “arigato,” and before you know it we were outside waiting for the bus. We had made it and I somehow avoided making any embarrassing social gaffes.

Once safely on the shuttle I had more time to reflect on our path from plane to bus and begin to realize what would be confirmed over the course of the coming two weeks – there was a lot of worry for no good reason. In this day and age it’s become a lot more difficult to find somewhere that feels truly foreign, even more so when your home base is a city like Los Angeles. While I undoubtedly stood out and could easily be pegged as a tourist, no one batted an eye at my fumbling over the few Japanese phrases that I had, and I didn’t really stand out more than the next person. Sure, everywhere I looked there were people who looked different than me and who spoke a language I didn’t understand, but that’s no different than several areas in Los Angeles. I’ve been just as out of place in Chinatown or on Olvera Street. Gazing out the windows as we drove down the highway, I was able to read many of the signs; I knew what stores had “low, low prices.” Again, there are spots in LA where I can read even fewer signs. We drove by Tokyo Disney and I felt like we were passing through Orange County. There would be times in the following weeks where we would feel more out of our element, but we would never be that far from the familiar. I don’t know what I expected to feel on stepping out into Japan for the first time, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t this.