Possibly the item which represents the greatest cultural divide between the Japanese and
gaijin is...
The umbrella.
Yes, you read that correctly.
One of the first things I think of when thinking about my Japanese grandmother and the time I lived with her and my aunt back in 2000 is how every time I was getting ready to leave the apartment, she asked me, without fail or regard for season or real-time weather conditions, was whether I had my keys and my umbrella with me. Every single time. It really got annoying after a while and I couldn't understand why she always asked me. Of course I had my keys, how would I get into the apartment after work if I didn't have them? Even if I didn't, I would just wait outside until she came home to let me in if for some reason she wasn't already at home. And, of course, I
didn't have my umbrella with me because it wasn't even raining and it's a pain in the butt to have to carry an umbrella around all day, especially when it doesn't even end up raining. I always said, "
Hai (yes)," in response to her questions, before I walked out the door, key in one hand and no umbrella in the other. I probably got caught in the rain a couple times, but having just survived a semester in Brussels (otherwise known as Hell on Earth but with lots of rain) and grown up in rain- and season-free Southern California, I didn't mind getting a little water on me if for no other reason than I could blame the rain as the reason my hair never looked as perfect as all the straight-haired Japanese girls' hair looked.
Fast forward seven years later. I literally, within the last month, just figured out why she always asked me if I had my umbrella.
My grandmother, now suffering from dementia, doesn't really talk to me anymore. It's ironic that now that I could probably understand at least fifty percent of what she'd be saying to me that she no longer has the ability to say it. She can, however, still understand most of what we say to her, so I practice my Japanese with her and ask her to write things in
kanji for me to try to help keep her mind sharp. Nonetheless, I can't really ask her about the umbrella situation since she'd have trouble probably first with the question ("What a stupid thing to ask! Doesn't everyone want an umbrella when it rains?"), and second articulating the answer. So, it was by pure chance and my keen observation skills that I figured this out: It's the job of grandmothers and mothers all over Japan to verify that those who they send out into the world are equipped with their keys, their
bento, and their umbrella.
That is the only explanation for how I found myself a couple weeks ago, quite literally, the only person in Tokyo (okay, maybe that's a
slight exaggeration) who had forgotten their umbrella on a day when it rained.
I had actually not forgotten it originally. I had been staying at my dad's hotel (Gotta love free breakfast in a lounge that has a view of Mt. Fuji on a clear day... plus, I always steal the newspaper.) and after enjoying a breakfast of scrambled eggs, a perfectly toasted bagel with butter and onion cheese, fresh fruit, warm croissant, delish pastries, perfectly foamed cafe au lait, and orange juice, that I neither had to prepare nor clean up after, I stopped by the room to gather my things for Japanese class. My dad asked me if I had an umbrella because it looked like it would rain. I said no, so he wisely (Yes, Dad, I said 'wisely,' it's in print, for all the world and posterity to see, be excited.) suggested and offered that I take one of his. (Being a good Japanese properly raised by my similarly umbrella-obsessed grandmother, he has
two that he always keeps in his bags in Japan.) I agreed with him, took the proffered umbrella, and said goodbye as dad headed off to his meeting. I had already put everything in my bag and had set the umbrella next the bag, but I still had some time 'til the shuttle to the station would leave, so I settled in on the settee for a couple minutes with my stolen newspaper. After an article and some CNN, I checked the time, picked up my bag and umbrella and headed out the door to the elevator. As usual, I realized I'd forgotten something (I don't even remember what it was now - something stupid, I'm sure.) by the time I rounded the corner for the elevator bay, and so made a u-turn for the room to retrieve the forgotten item. I dropped my bag and umbrella on my bed to look for whatever it was I'd forgotten, found it, grabbed my bag (I was cutting it close on shuttle time by now), and jetted out the door, down the elevator, through the hotel lobby, up the shuttle steps, down the aisle, and into a seat, where I immediately realized that I'd forgotten my umbrella. Shit! But, then again, maybe no problem, seeing as how the sun had come out and the clouds were clearing. At the station, I got on the train with sunny skies outside.
Two stops later, I walked out into a warm drizzle that had a worse bark than bite, meaning it looked bad, but once I was out walking in it, it wasn't the downpour I'd originally feared. Luckily, I had my newspaper with me. I flipped it over to the Sports section - Who reads that crap anyway? - to form a triangular hair and face cover and continued down the street, very pleased with myself for having remembered to steal it in the first place and for having read all the important stuff already in the second place. The 15-minute walk I had in front of me didn't seem too bad now that I had some Japanese baseball player's picture to protect me from the rain. I enjoy that walk and have started to make it a regular part of my day. I can listen to my music, sing along if I feel like it(All foreigners are crazy anyway, right?), smile at the little dogs I pass (ditto), etc. Except on this day. I almost had my eye taken out when someone with an umbrella hit me in the face as they walked by. Then there were the more than usual stares for this
gaijin-friendly neighborhood. Slowly, it dawned on me: I was the ONLY person out on the sidewalk who had forgotten to bring an umbrella with them. Really. The ONLY ONE. There were two guys I passed on bikes who didn't have umbrellas, but based on the serious raingear they were sporting, my assumption is that this was on purpose. No one in Japan forgets their umbrella. No one. Except me. And now I understand why seven years ago, my grandmother sent me out into the world every day after making sure that I was protected - not from crime (there's nothing to protect from), but from the elements. I guess that's the Japanese way of showing you care. :)
The seating in the trains in Tokyo are set up so that the seats line the sides of the car and you sit facing the other side of the train. This allows for a maximum amount of standing room down the center of the car and at each of the set of doors. If you're one of the many standing passengers, you stake your place out in front of some, more fortunate seated person and grab hold of the hand strap that hangs from overhead. Once you've assumed your position, it is your responsibility to stay as upright as possible and not allow the sudden movements or soft sways of the train to topple you onto said seated person's lap. Seems fair enough, right?
A couple weekends ago I went to watch one day of the sumo tournament with my dad. It was the first time I've ever been to see sumo live (Not counting the fake sumo matches I used to have with my dad when I was about 7 years old... somehow I never one those matches. Hmm.). Before we went to our seats, we took a look around the sumo museum, which is found in the lobby of the sumo arena. There was an exhibit on a special group of sumo wrestlers from the mid-1800s who are the "Big Boys" of sumo. I know, I know. You guys are all ready with your "fat sumo wrestler" jokes, but these guys were really, really big. Not just in belly circumference, but in height as well. In fact, the tallest sumo wrestler ever to play is from this "Big Boys" group, stacking up at 227 centimeters - that's 7 feet 6 inches!! Where did they find these guys??
We had a great view on the same side of the arena as the Royal Box, which was empty, no member of the Imperial family taking any interest in this the 8th day of the 15-day tournament. When my parents came to watch sumo on a similarly normal day more than 20 years ago, they happened to have a perfect view from the left side of the arena of the Royal Box, in which was ensconced a certain Prince Charles and Princess Diana of England along with their hosts the Emporer and Empress of Japan! No such luck today, though there was a really adorable little girl, about 3 years old, sitting behind us, shouting, "Hakuho, Gambatte! Hakuho, Gambatte!" wishing 'good luck' to her favorite competitor.
1) Kamishichiken - one of the five geisha neighborhoods around Kyoto. This one is smaller and was described as more evocative of old Japan than the more famous Gion. We hit this first thing Saturday. The neighborhood was quiet and small, but I was able to buy a great purse made from the silk material used to make obi (the sort of sash used for kimono) and get a feel for what a geisha 'hood looks like in daylight and how the women go about their daily lives. Granted, we didn't see any maiko-san, but the clerk at the pickled veg shop told us that we'd just missed one! Ugh!
2) A particular Japanese sweets shop that was mentioned in one of my books as the place to buy cakes and that those in the know in the geiko community always get their gift cakes from. The best part about it is that it is down this tiny alley and definitely fell into the off-the-beaten path category - in fact, it was barely even on any path, the alley was narrow. We bought three kinds of sweets. They were pretty good, but, to be honest, the coolest part was knowing that I was eating something 
that was from a sort-of secret institution, ya know?
2) Tenryu-ji - One of the most important Zen Buddhist temples in Japan (one of the five found in Kyoto). My dad has visited almost all of the five, so we wanted to add this temple to our visit. The garden here was amazing. It was too bad the cherry blossoms weren't out, but the structure of the garden and the grounds was amazing anyway. There was a nearby bamboo forest that we visited as well. These forests used 
to be more common around Japan, but, as you can imagine, there's little room left for them these days. We took an old steam train through a gorge nearby. None of the trees were blooming at that time, but the trees themselves were everywhere and I can just imagine what it must look like when they're all in full bloom.
Maiko-san after their dance performance at Hanatouro.
