The Gaijin* Effect

I don't think I could ever be famous. Well, I guess I could be famous, but I really wouldn't handle it all that well. I'd be that celebrity that everyone has nasty stories about, because I'd roll my eyes at fans or ignore them or say something horrible about their face. I guess that means I'd be Lindsay Lohan. BURN!

The reason I bring it up is I had a minor life-affirming experience last night that first involved a Japanese family and then involved a Japanese club. Oh, this entry doesn't have any pictures to accompany it, unfortunately, but I have a ton to upload and post so don't worry - those are on the way.

So, right now Japan is having a holiday called Obon or sometimes, just Bon. Obon is like taking Thanksgiving and Dia de los Muertos and throwing them in a blender, and then adding some Passover wheat germ for a holiday protein shake that is equal parts delicious and solemn. Basically, it's a couple of days where the spirits of the dead rise again to walk the earth, so many Japanese families visit the graves of their deceased relatives and clean them up and make them all shiny and pretty again. People from all over the country return to their homes to be with their families and eat giant meals together, and sometimes to pray in front of the shrines of their ancestors. Many schools and places of business tend to close, even though it's not a full-blown government recognized national holiday.

So, about a week ago, one of the Japanese teachers of English from my high school invited me over for dinner with his family (which was incredibly generous of him), and last night was the night. It was my first time going to eat with a Japanese family, and boy did I get the full experience. His sister, niece (which he kept calling her his nephew because gender nouns and pronouns in English seem to be difficult for the Japanese), mother, wife, daughter, and cousin were all there. His son also stopped by very briefly but I didn't get to meet him. And we all sat around a giant table with A LOT of Japanese food. I mean they pulled out all the stops. First of all, the main course was Katsukare, which is a pork cutlet with white rice and curry, and he had his wife and daughter make it because I had mentioned that I liked it. Um, wow. Sidenote: Pork in Japan tastes way different than in the US. I think the main difference is that pork in Japan is not gross. So, I actually have been eating a decent amount of pig - especially when served with delicious curry.

Then there was a little garden salad with salted cucumbers (yum!), and also what I have come to lovingly refer to in Japan as a Plate of Question Mark. Invariably when we go to a fancy Japanese restaurant or when we went to the ryokan* the first time I was in Japan, there is/was always a plate with some stuff on it. The Stuff is always the colors of food, so you know it's safe to eat, but it's never anything totally discernable that you've ever seen before. Small enough to be picked up with chopsticks, there's usually a couple of Things derived from tofu and then some more Stuff made of pickeled vegetables. I think. I'm really only sure about the tofu. Like I said, it's hard to tell. So anyway, Plate of Question Mark.

Then there was a giant platter with chicken karaage (fried chicken) and pieces of fried octopus on a bed of salad. And I had a glass of refreshing barley tea that magically kept refilling itself. I swear, I would drink the tea until it was almost gone, and then look away to have a conversation with someone, and when I looked back at my place setting the glass was full again. It never filled itself while I was looking at it, but everytime I turned around BAM! More tea. Oh, and it also bears mentioning that my teacher co-worker and his daughter spoke pretty decent English, and that everyone else at the table knew at least a few words. I actually spent much of my time learning that white is the most difficult color to genetically engineer in morning glories, because the cousin was a professor of genetics at a university in China.

So I dig into the delicious katsukare, eat the little salad, and scarf the Plate of Question Mark. Then I help myself to fried chicken and octopus, and as I'm doing that the wife and daughter and mother and sister all jump up from the table and head into the kitchen. In Japan, it's customary for the women to be doing all of the serving, all of the time. And while I don't totally understand how it all works, I just assume that if the women head to the kitchen it's best to just stay out of the way. Well, they reappeared a few minutes later. With a platter that was a little over a foot in diameter. Covered in sushi. It was so beautiful, I almost wept. Salmon sushi, tuna sushi, yellowtail sushi, egg sushi, shrimp sushi, roe sushi, cucumber sushi ... that platter was a slice of sushi heaven and it was good.

I must admit that I took full advantage of the food, and ate until I was stuffed. They still managed to have leftovers, so I wasn't too guilty about eating like an American. Then they cleared the table of that spread of awesomeness, and brought out a new spread of fruit. There were plums, watermelon, and grapes. Oh, the grapes. The fruit in this country is huge. Like, tropical rainforest sized fruit. The grapes here are practically the size of golf balls, and juice literally comes flowing out when you take a bite into them. The interesting thing is that the family wasn't eating the skins. They didn't like them, and I had to explain (because it was really noticeable) that in my country we ate the skins. Also, the daughter was mildly horrified that we referred to the outside of the grape as "skin", but she did jump to my defense while I was eating them to say that the skin contained many nutrients. And then she gamely ate the skins with me.

So, you'd think that would be all, but it's not. The daughter goes to university in Kyoto, and so when she came home she brought omiyage* with her. They were these little soft shells with sweet bean paste in the middle, and it was the perfect ending to the meal. Or so I thought. After eating the sweets, my co-worker's mother informed me that she was going to teach me how to have traditional Japanese green tea, and that the daughter would be the one to make it. As I watched, the daughter added a couple scoops of green tea powder to a bowl, added hot water, and then used a tiny bamboo whisk to mix it and make it all frothy like a latte. I was given the bowl, and then told to hold the bottom with my left hand and place my right hand up against the side of the bowl. That was the only way of touching the bowl allowed! I had to rotate the bowl twice, and then I could take a sip. Slowly. And I had to hold the tea in my mouth for a minute so I could fully appreciate the taste.

Once I had finished sipping the tea, I had to use a single finger to wipe the rim, wipe my finger on my shirt, then rotate the bowl three times before setting it down. So, what did I learn about traditional Japanese tea? FOAMY. At that point I was told that it was getting late, and so it was time for me to go, and as I was walking out, I was followed by the whole family. Then when I started to put my shoes on, they all sat down on their knees in the entryway and bowed as I left the house. I was really not prepared for that and consequently made a less than graceful exit by doing a double-take and then almost running into the door frame when I turned back around. Yeah, good times.

Then that same night, there was the club. One club in town was doing a Michael Jackson tribute night that a few of the other JETs "wanted" to go to. That's in quotes because I use the verb "want" very loosely here. The last time we went to this club (which is tiny by American standards - maybe the size of a kitchen and living room put together) they played a bunch of house music that was occaisionally in English. I had only ever heard one song before. Yeah so, Michael Jackson tribute night. Any port in a storm, I guess (this is fast becoming my new mantra by the way). The flyer said it started at 9pm, we showed up at about 11pm. The bar was mostly empty and they had a projector playing about five MJ music videos on infinite loop WITHOUT THE MUSIC. Then about ten minutes later, people start pouring into the club and the DJ is playing a bunch of random music with the occaisional Janet Jackson song thrown in. So, a few of us put our heads together and realized a crucial fact. All of the flyers advertizing the MJ tribute night were in English with no Japanese... hmm. Curiouser and curiouser. Those Japanese club owners had cleverly lured the gaijin into their bar with their all English advertizing, and it had worked. The club had begun to fill up right after WE walked in.

Finally at about 12:30 the DJ began to play a bunch of Michael Jackson in succession. By this time we had acquired a little following. A few Japanese girls were hanging around and dancing with us like groupies, and a bunch of Japanese guys were taking turns walking up to us and giving us a high-five. It was the weirdest effect ever. It was like being famous without anyone actually knowing who you were. Like Anne Heche. BURN #2!! Okay, but really, strangest feeling. Every time two or more of Us (foreigners) did the same dance move, They (all of the Japanese guys) would immediately copy us, then shout "Eeeeeyyyyyyyy!" and give everyone in the circle a thumbs-up or high-five. Or they wanted to shake hands. We were very exotic to them. I learned a little somethin' about myself that night. Yeah. I learned that I only have so many high-fives in me to give. It's cute the first two times. The next two times is tolerable but significantly less enthusiastic. The next one should probably be the last one. The one after that induces some scowling and eye twitching. So, about six. I have roughly six high-fives, give or take, before it's not fun anymore. Alcohol would probably help, but the drinks in Japan are SO WEAK. I had three drinks in an hour last night and was still sober. No exaggeration. I wouldn't joke about that.

Even leaving was a big to-do. We would start walking out, people would realize we were going and would try to get in their last high-fives or handshakes, we would get to the stairs that lead out, get stopped there for a little "Eeeeeyyyyy!", make it to the bottom of the stairs, have to fistbump some dudes walking in, and then have to politely brush off some girls who decided that right then was the time to ask if the club was good, what kind of music it played, did we go to clubs back home, where were we from, were we university students, etc. By that time, I was not having it. Me and three other girls just walked away and went home.

So that is why I think I would be a terrible celebrity. I don't have nearly enough energy for it, though it makes for a good story I suppose. Internet is on the way - I've gotten all the paperwork in to the internet provider and I just need to set up an appointment with one of their technicians. On a day that I don't work.

This weekend/tomorrow morning we're attempting a roadtrip to Kyoto. Staying at the Kyoto Plaza Hotel. It sounds fancy but it's not. Time to be tourists! I will hopefully be able to tackle the folders full of pictures I've taken once I get back. Send good juju this way!!