Japanese - Cascadian Abroad

Odds and Ends

May 7, 2014 by Robert Haddan

Notes from a laundry-filled Wednesday.

Care package!

About a week ago, I asked my mom to send me some seeds. I’ve yet to see jalapeños—or any other heat-packin’ pepper for that matter—in the grocery stores. We’ve found cilantro, but it’s about ¥220 ($2.16 USD) for a single sprig. So, I thought I’d just try to grow some myself. The climate should be great for the peppers and I’ll probably grow the cilantro inside to keep it from bolting.

The package arrived today, about a week after it was sent, although we’ve not had mail service the last two days because of the Golden Week holidays. It was a nice treat to find a little taste of home inside, although Mom already gave away the surprise when she mentioned a box, which seemed overkill for two small seed envelopes. According to the customs tag on the package, there are 75 pieces of authentic Oregon Coast salt-water taffy protecting the seed packets. Well, there are 72 pieces of taffy now…

Sentaku-ki

We’ve more or less figured out the washing machine (sentaku-ki) by randomly pushing buttons until something happened, but it seemed like there might be more to it than that. Today, with the help of Google Translate I figured out the rest of it. I bet there’s a market for someone who has nothing better to do than translate appliance instructions into English.

When I help my wife with a project, she frequently says “Are you being a perfectionist?” which means “It doesn’t have to be pretty. Can you just get it done so we can go to bed, please?!” But, when it comes to projects requiring more than one Adobe Creative Suite product, I just can’t help myself (hoping the cross-link to Adobe’s site will encourage them to sponsor my blog—”Cascadian Abroad, brought to you by Adobe” has a nice ring to it).

While likely an unnecessary exercise, it was a good learning experience. I added both the English translation and the rōmaji to help us learn the Japanese words and characters. I’m about halfway through doing the same for the heater/air conditioner remote control. Look out television… you’re next!

Internet!

April 19, 2014 by Robert Haddan

After a month in Japan, we finally have internet in our apartment. I never thought I’d say it, but I miss the low muss, low fuss approach of Comcast.

Our service window was 1-5 p.m. on this rainy Friday, which means they showed up around 4:30. After checking a couple things, the technician makes a phone call, then hands me the phone. The man on the other end wants me to try and set it up myself.

How, exactly, would you like me to do that? I don’t have any cables, equipment…

He asks to speak to the technician, who after a short chat, hands the phone back to me. The technician will return shortly with a CD and some cable.

“Some cable” involves a roll of electrical tape, a lift truck and some serious cable splicing 20 feet off the ground. Not to mention his sidekick, a dude in a white hazmat suit with flashing red lights built into it, holding a red LED wand and directing traffic like some Darth Vader/Breaking Bad/air traffic controller hybrid.

Darth Vader Breaking Bad — To be fair, the NTT guy was not nearly as scary as this combination.

This was followed by a lot of drilling and banging as our internet, its lifeline securely strung over the street, was surgically inserted into our rented residence through the same slightly-opened window our air conditioning vents out.

All the while, the technician is perched on a wet ladder with wet shoes on our second-floor porch, inches from the railing and higher than he was when surrounded by the protection of the lift truck’s workbox. With each fumbled tool, one thought repeats in my mind:

We’re SO going to be on the news when he goes over the railing.

Fortunately, this seasoned pro dodges the precarious situation on the porch. It goes a little geek for a minute as he starts to set up the hardware and service, scanning QR codes with his phone, connecting the account to the modem.

Then he’s done. Gomenasai he says. Sorry. Basically, there’s no help for the English-speaking beyond this point. I have a stack of papers with various network names, usernames and passwords, labeled in Japanese. I have a CD with “easy” setup instructions… all in Japanese.

Suffice to say, the CD doesn’t work. I start matching screenshots and kanji, navigating my way through the setup. Fail. Fail. SUCCESS! I have internet!

I hope that was all he meant by “we’d like you to try and set it up yourself,” because I’m pretty sure none of that other stuff was happening.

Love Thy Neighbor

April 17, 2014 by Robert Haddan

In Oregon, the ringing of our doorbell usually yielded a predictable result. On the other side of the front door, we’d find a local schoolkid selling overpriced candy for a fundraiser or a pressure-washing/bug-killing/home security salesman reminding me that I needed to pressure-wash, bug-kill and secure our house.

It’s been a mixed bag when the doorbell rings here. Since we’re still getting settled, a lot of times the doorbell means added convenience. Gas service for hot water and cooking! Water pressure!

A couple times it’s been a salesman. I let one guy do his pitch for a few minutes before I finally got across that I didn’t have a clue what he was saying and that I probably wouldn’t be interested in buying it even if I did.

Sometimes, it’s just disappointment. Is it the overdue delivery of our foam mattress? Setup of the internet service? No… only the mailman with a pile of junk mail.

A couple nights ago, the doorbell rang after dark. Our hearts raced—probably more because we were in the middle of an episode of The Walking Dead than the actual tolling of the bell itself.

One of our neighbors, an older lady, stood at our door. She spoke softly in Japanese with a few English words mixed in when it was clear we weren’t following. Dining table, chairs… is she asking to borrow a chair?

We pushed one of our dining room chairs to the door, happy to help. No, no… follow me she says. I slip on my sandals before stepping into our entryway, a big-time no-no in Japan, but my transgression is either ignored or forgiven.

I walk down the street making very small talk with my limited Japanese. She’s noticed that we’ve just moved in and has a few nice pieces of furniture that she’s giving away. A dining room table with four chairs. A coffee table. She’d put the items on the porch of the apartment complex next door, but she’s giving us first dibs.

Since we’d already purchased a table and two chairs, we take a couple of the chairs for company and the coffee table. She sets each of the chairs on the porch, compares the fabric and makes sure the legs don’t wobble, selecting the two best chairs for us.

We use our combined vocabulary to complete the deal, introduce ourselves and talk about why the heck these Americans are living in her neighborhood (most of the locals have cut us some slack when they discover a sensei is living in their midst).

It was good timing. I’d been thinking a lot that day about being an outsider. In Kawagoe-proper, we’re not that big a deal. There are a lot of tourists in and out of the station. But we live in the ‘burbs. We’re in a neighborhood where I can’t say that I’ve seen another non-Japanese person. We get stares… we are different.

But, every time it feels like we just don’t fit in, something like this happens and the world doesn’t feel quite so big. Random acts of kindness… a universal language.

Wakarimasen: The Challenges of Learning a New Language

April 17, 2014 by Robert Haddan

When we first visited Mexico, I figured out how to say “I’m lost and I have lots of money” in Spanish. I joke that any time we go to a place with a different language, that’ll be the first phrase I learn. I’ll either get home or get mugged.

In reality, a more useful phrase is “I don’t understand.” The Japanese version of that is wakarimasen. However, that’s a hard thing for me to admit. I’ll nod my head and overpay for something I don’t want before I confess that I don’t have a clue what’s being said.

For the first couple weeks in Japan, I’ve been frustrated with my lack of ability to communicate. Speaking, understanding, reading… it’s all Japanese to me. I realized I needed to cut myself some slack. I hate being bad at something and I’m bad at Japanese, but we’ve only been here for three weeks. Heck, it took us all a couple years to learn our native tongues, right?

Still, most “conversations” involve piecing together a script from the phrase book, memorizing it and then reciting it. If the reply is anything more than hai or iie (yes or no), I’m screwed.

Last week, I accomplished something pretty big… I exchanged something! I purchased a few baskets at the 100 yen store to help organize our food cupboard. When I got them home, I unpacked the food shelf and organized the items nicely in the baskets. I put the baskets on the shelf and the cupboard doors wouldn’t close! The baskets were too big. I tried to figure out what else I could use them for and couldn’t come up with anything.

I needed to return them.

I pulled out the handy phrase book and got to work. I walked back to the store and recited my script along the way… Sumimasen. Kookan shitain desu ga. Ooki sugimasu. Excuse me. I need to exchange these. They’re too big.

I walked in the front door with an unexpected amount of anxiety. I delivered my lines like I was George Clooney. The clerk replied with more than hai and I got a little more nervous. So I repeated… ooki sugimasu.

She called to someone on the intercom. Her co-worker came to the register with a barcode, the clerk scanned it and the register opened! She counted out my refund and her co-worker took my faulty purchase back to restock. I did it!

It’s a good reminder to celebrate small victories. Even those as small as successfully returning 328 yen worth of plastic baskets.