September 21, 2010

Day 1 with the Australians. There are 15 of them.
There is really no need for background information here, I’ve decided.
From now on, my words will mirror my thoughts (censored).

So I meet them at lunch, where we make noodles together and they seem pretty cool and their accents rule. We eat and they tell me about Australia and I tell them about Japan, surprising myself with how much I knew. Then they are introduced to my class and that was okay too; I translated as well as I could and felt nice because everyone was impressed. After an hour of introductions the Australians had planned excursions to JA, which is The Japan Agriculture Company, and then to meet the mayor at City Hall. I was invited to join the group, which everyone seemed happy about. My counselor came too, who is one of my 3 English teachers. I will refer to him as Sensei (teacher) because I can’t spell his name. Sensei has one of those ‘I’m-only-doing-this-because-it’s-my-duty’ attitudes, with everything, but foreigners especially. I would say that he hasn’t quite warmed up to me yet, but he honestly hasn’t warmed up to anyone. Anyhow, his dismay towards the Australians and his task as their translator was rather obvious to me.

So we’re walking to the bus and these kids are trying to speak Japanese to me, and I’m thinking, bro, stop trying to show off your 4-7 years of Japanese language study in conversation with an American girl while PRONOUNCING YOUR WORDS WRONG. We arrive at the conference room in JA and we’re sitting in a large rectangle waiting for the president of the company to greet us. So I start looking around at all these Australian kids, I mean really looking. And this one girl’s got on black eyeliner, heavy and smeared with paint-chipped blue nail polish. This other kid looks like he hasn’t showered in weeks, and the girl next to him is wearing a napkin disguised as a skirt and silver snake earrings twisting along her jaw line. Then we’ve got 2 nose rings, 1 beanie, and 18 elbows resting the table. Finally the president arrives and he tells us about JA. Sensei translates. The students ask questions. Sensei translates. This routine repeats itself for another 15 minutes until the president gifts us with 2,000-yen coupons to a department store across the street, and we part.

We’re standing in the parking lot and Sensei announces to everyone that we must meet back here at 4:10, when we will walk to City Hall and meet the Mayor, giving us 1 hour to shop with our coupons. I look around the store for a while, and then realize I don’t need anything from a department/grocery store. I decide that 2,000-yen (about 20 dollars) would be better spent by Junko San and that I would just give it to her when I got home. So for the majority of this hour, I explain to the Australians what things are and answer questions like, “Sarah, how much does this cost?” by remaining silent and pointing to the price tag, the whole time thinking, I DIDN’T MAKE THAT WALLET. I HAD NO PART IS IT’S MANUFACTURE OR IT’S PRICING. I CAN READ NUMBERS JUST AS WELL AS YOU CAN. HOW WOULD I KNOW ANY BETTER THAN YOU HOW MUCH IT COSTS? READ THE PRICE TAG. I DON’T CARE HOW CUTE YOU OR YOUR ACCENT IS, YOU ARE DUMB. Eventually I buy some cookies with my own money because I’m hungry, and I sit next to Sensei, who’s watching the department store television. It is showing sumo wrestling. He actually talks to me, which I was very alarmed and happy about. He is not one to do that. But he asked me if I was homesick, and I said I wasn’t. Because I’m not. And he told me that last year this one Australian got really homesick on the third day and wouldn’t stop crying and she had to talk to her parents on the phone for about an hour. A pay phone. A public pay phone in this very store. So I told him that a few minutes ago, one of the girls asked me if I knew where the calling cards were. I asked her why she needed one because I was curious, and she said so she could call her parents—which I knew already, I just felt like being the obnoxious one for once. But I was really wondering why she would need to talk to her parents in the first 24 hours of being in Japan. It's strange to me, that's all.

At 4:05 we leave the sumo and go to the meeting spot in the parking lot. No one is there. At 4:08 Sensei returns to the store to round up the students. 4:10 comes around—no one is there. At 4:15 I see about half of the group meandering across the lot, in no hurry to be anywhere but in their own material conversation. At 4:18 Sensei returns, with a few more students, though 2 are still missing. The whole time I’m thinking, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? DON’T YOU KNOW THAT IN JAPAN, ‘BE HERE AT 4:10’ CLEARLY MEANS 4:05? MAYBE THIS IS OKAY IF YOU ARE GOING TO A PARTY IN AUSTRALIA, BUT IT IS NOT OKAY WHEN YOU ARE A GUEST IN A FOREIGN CITY WHO’S MAYOR YOU ARE LATE TO MEET. UGH. By this time, Sensei is just about to explode with frustration. He’s even clenching both hands at the roots of his thick, dark hair. This universally means business.

Finally everyone’s here, 10 minutes after expected, and we start heading toward City Hall not far across the street. Some girl asks me in Japanese if my cookie tastes good, and I’m thinking, IT’S A COOKIE. IT’S A FREAKING CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIE AND I’M ON MY LAST BITE. OF COURSE IT TASTES GOOD. So I answer, “Umm, yeah,” and I suppose my speech filter caused her to doubt my understanding, so she says, “I mean, is it yummy?” And I’m like, GIRL I KNOW WHAT YOU SAID. So I say, “I know.” Sensei and I are leading, and as we’re crossing the street the green walking sign starts blinking, and I yell, “Everyone make this light!” No one makes the light. Opposite from the Australians, I start laughing and Sensei is shaking his head in irritation saying, “I knew it. I knew it.”

Then we’re waiting for the elevator inside City Hall to take us to the 3rd floor, where the Mayor’s, among many other important offices, are located. Sensei is tapping his foot and keeps jamming the already lit arrow pointing up, and I see Junko San out of the corner of my eye. She’s almost running towards me in excitement and I won’t lie; I have never in my life been happier to see a tiny Japanese person. I’m thinking, OH MY GOD FINALLY, A CIVILIZED NATIVE. We exchange quick words, mostly about why she’s in City Hall, and then she sees the look on Sensei’s face and knows to leave as the elevator arrives. So we’re walking down the hallway on the third floor just brimming with esteemed people, and these kids are talking SO LOUD. I’m shhsh-ing them and doing the whole elevator-arms motion that is supposed to communicate, KEEP IT DOWN, but it only worked half as well as I’d hoped. We sit down in another rectangle and, thank you mother of Jesus, the Mayor is delayed. What happened next I can hardly believe. And as it pains me to write, I tell you in shame of my own skin color that these kids actually start eating the candy they bought at the store IN THE MAYOR’S CONFERENCE ROOM. ARE YOU SERIOUS? So I hide my face in my hands, because it seemed to be the obvious thing to do at such a grave time, and this guy next to me starts laughing. I look up and realize that I’ve never seen him before, and he introduces himself as the Mayor’s personal Irish college-student translator, or something along those lines. He was nice.

We were asked to briefly introduce ourselves once the Mayor was seated, so we did. I was last, because I am clearly best. The Mayor smiled a lot when I spoke said something I couldn’t understand once finished. I think he liked me though, mostly because I was wearing a school uniform, and because I’m not an idiot. Before heading to another room for a group picture, we were all presented with the most beautiful pair of chopsticks I have ever seen, which I am still rather excited about. This may be the worst part yet, though you well know it has competition: after the group picture, two of the Australian girls whom I hadn’t officially met stood on either side of the Mayor of Izumo, making visible clothing contact with his suit, while one reached her arm out and took a picture. I think I almost died, thinking, I KNOW YOU DID NOT JUST TAKE A MYSPACE PICTURE WITH THE MAYOR. THIS CANNOT BE REAL LIFE. Sensei didn’t see this, but I assume he really would have died.

Relieved to be out of such a distressful environment, we board the bus making way back to the school. While thinking there can’t possibly be any more rumpus from now on, the girl next to me sticks her head out of the window and starts yelling at this woman in the car next to us. “KONNICHIWA. OGENKI DESU KA.” And this poor young woman looks afraid the girl might actually jump out through the window and into her car, shaking her head vigorously and forcing a grin. I brush off the annoyance and divert my attention to some other students. But soon I hear it again, “KONNICHIWA!” This time her hand is out too, and she’s wholeheartedly waving it at an elderly Japanese woman. OH MY GOD WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING? DON’T YOU KNOW THAT OLDER JAPANESE WOMEN DESERVE BUDDHA’S LEVEL OF RESPECT? WHY ARE YOU TALKING TO HER? WHY ARE YOU MAKING EYE CONTACT?? Near tears, I lowered my head and remained silent for the short trip back to school.

The funny thing is, I really like these Australian kids. They are very nice and rather interesting, and I feel like we would probably become fast friends if we were in, say, Australia or America. But since we are not, I will have to either look past their severely lacking knowledge of Japanese customs, or teach them, neither of which I’m fond of doing.

After leaving the Australians for the night, Sensei and I talked all the way back to our transportation mechanisms (his car, my bike). I’m fairly certain that if Sensei doesn’t like me by the end of today, he at least sincerely appreciates me.

On the bike ride home, just as I was passing City Hall and recapping what had happened there, I saw this strange looking guy on this strange looking bike. And while we passed each other he said this strange word to me and I said it back. I kept biking until we had each gone another 50 meters, making our distance 100m, and then realized the word was ‘hey,’ and he was a black man on a basket-less bicycle. And that these were 3 things I had not encountered in a month. Without thought, I turned around and started biking his direction, clearing ground as fast as I felt—half-wind, half-wolf. I didn’t really know what I would say when I caught up to him, or how I would get him to stop, but it didn’t matter because I was stalled by the light and lost his track. I really wish I would have immediately acknowledged his marvel.

I talked all through dinner about my day and my family and I laughed about it for quite a while after that and I was so happy to just be. And I still am. So that’s that.