The ol' Song and Dance Routine

Here we go again.

Last time I was at this store I was looking for soba-long, thin buckwheat noodles (As a side note, oh man, do I wish I was long and thin like a soba noodle). A mother at our bus stop had mentioned that foreigner kids like soba. So, I wanted to give them a try. But first I had to find them.

"Can you tell me where I can find noodles?" I asked the clerk at the grocery store. From the look on his face, I instantly knew that this would be a lost in translation moment. A lost-in-aisle six-translation moment. And, just before I started to pretend to slurp imaginary noodles, I decided to try my favorite phrase and frequent savior: "sumimasen" (excuse me).

"Sumimasen....soba noodles?"
"Hai!" The clerk said. ("Hai" means "I understand" and I understand how much I love hearing this answer). He showed me the soba...and then curiously watched as I took a digital picture of the package.(Hey! Every foreigner has his or her own survival system. Mine is to shop with a photo album and camera....which usually means I shop alone.)

And now here I am again.
"Frosting?" I asked the clerk. "Cupcake frosting?" I had found cake mix and muffin tins on my own, but I couldn't find the frosting. It's got to be here.
"Sumimasen...frosting?" I asked again. This time no "Hai." No Hai? No Hai? Oh no.

Oh no. Here we go.

I had remembered to bring my camera, my train pass, my yen, my id card and my metro map, but I didn't remember to bring my translation dictionary.

Here we go. Time for the ol' song and dance routine. I pointed to the frosting part of the cake on the cake mix box. I cleared my throat, blew out imaginary candles, and started to sing: "Happy birthday to you...happy birthday to you..."

"No. No. No," the clerk said.
"I know. I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a terrible, terrible singer. My family cannot carry a tune. But what we lack in talent, we make up for in enthusiasm." I enthusiastically smiled.
"No. No. No," he said again as he pointed to the picture. "In Japan, we do not import icing."

What? No. No. No. No. No. No. It's my son's birthday and he was planning to bring cupcakes to school for his first grade class.

OK. OK. OK. At this point, some may have gagged or groaned or grimaced.
But, I googled. And, I was able to find a frosting recipe and a conversion table for the wet and dry ingredients.

"You taste it," my son said to his older brother. "You're the oldest, you go first."
"No," my son said as he looked at the cupcakes. "It's your birthday. You have the first bite."
"Mom," my birthday boy said after the first bite. "It tastes good, but it looks...weird."

He was only 7, but he was right. I had never made homemade frosting before, but it did look weird. Very weird. Maybe it was the butter? The milk? Maybe it was converting the recipe to metric? And maybe, just maybe, with a little creativity, the cupcakes could actually look appetizing?

And, that's why, in case the school asks, that's why my son went to school with cupcakes completely covered with chocolate candies.

Hai!

Tee Time

It's March.
It's outside.
It's one lap in a 40 degree pool.
"Mom," my son asked. "This is tradition? Swimming in 40 degree water? Who's tradition?"
"Ummm....polar bears," I said.

On St. Patrick's Day, my husband and two older boys took the plunge, literally, and joined a small, shivering and elite group: the Tokyo Polar Bear Swimmers.

Apparently, we will do just about anything for a good cup of cocoa and a cool tee. It's a really cool tee.

# 302

My doctor wears slippers. Dark blue Duke University slippers.

Back in the States, if my doctor greeted me in slippers, I'm pretty sure I would have left the medical clinic rather quickly. But in Japan, slippers are a sign of respect. And, here at this medical clinic, everyone (nurses, doctors, patients, everyone) wears slippers inside the office.

Unfortunately, as I quickly found out, if you have size 8 1/2 wide American feet, you don't fit in the small complimentary slippers. You have to walk around in your socks. Your worn-out, threadbare, inappropriate, not-laundry day socks.

Foreigner faux pas, #302.

So, here I sit in front of my new doctor. I'm trying to act as poised and sophisticated as possible, but it's a little difficult. My throat is throbbing, my body is aching and my non-pedicured tootsies are peeking out the numerous hosiery holes.

"Any questions?" my doctor asks me after the diagnosis of strep throat.

"Yes," I said. "I have two questions. One, where do I pick up my prescription for penicillin?" I attempted to clear my throat. "And two--more importantly--in your professional opinion, where's the best place around here to go sock shopping?"

Signs, streets and shopping-oh my!

"Wow," said my friend at the school bus stop. "Unexpected twists and turns, heart-pounding excitement, non-stop action, thrill-packed adventures, an exhausting ascent...my goodness what were you doing? Climbing Mt. Fuji?"
"No," I answered. "Just trying to find my way out of the Shibuya Train Station."

My husband and I were in Shibuya Station, the third busiest commuter rail station in Tokyo. A huge complex that connects to other private railways and subways, houses tons of shops and restaurants, and offers six ways to exit.
"Honey," I said to my husband as I followed him through the corridors, up and down escalators, and around the English signs. "We aren't in Maine anymore."

"No," my husband said as we exited the station and stood at a 4-way intersection of people. "We are now at the busiest pedestrian crossing in the world."
I looked across the street. There were tons and tons of buildings, billboards, signs, shopping streets...and thousands of people lined up to cross.

"How about this?" I quickly said while the light was red. "How about if I stay right here for you. How about if I faithfully wait at this exit for you to pick me up and guide me home?"

My husband looked at me. Then, he looked at my guidebook. Then, he looked at the nearby bronze statue. "You've been reading about Hachiko again, haven't you?"

Well, Ok. I love the story. It's a great story. For 11 years, Hachiko waited at the station for his master to come home from work. The statue is a symbol of loyalty and devotion.

"C'mon," my husband said. "The light is green."

Admittedly, at first, to me Shibuya was overwhelming. And a bit intimidating. But now I love it. Shibuya is truly awesome. We have favorite restaurants, a favorite park, favorite coffee shops and a great walk back home. We even have a rallying cry: Sha-boo-ya!

Watch out Shinjuku, we're coming for you next!

Coffee Talk

My goal for this week: try to speak Japanese to someone other than my Sensei. Now, I adore my Sensei. She is extremely well-mannered. And, she is very, very friendly. In fact, her favorite hobby seems to be introducing herself to people on the subway. She also enjoys telling me that I'm doing a great job. Over and over and over again. Unfortunately, since she's my Language Lesson 1 CD Sensei, she's not quite the coffee drinker and I'm looking for a coffee friend.

I also decided that I would try to speak Japanese without using my old reliable phrases of the past two months (thank you, good morning, good afternoon, you've worked hard, cheers, good night, grande cappucinno and excuse me). Admittedly, I have become somewhat of a Sumimasen ("excuse me")-addict and use this phrase all the time--whether it makes sense or not. I just love saying it. I say it while shopping, paying bills, cooking soba, buying tickets, brushing my teeth, helping with homework, tucking my sons in at night...
"Sumimasen! Sumimasen..."
"Dad!," my son yelled. "Mom's calling me by the wrong name again."

"Eigo ga wakarimasu ka?"
Silence.
"Eigo ga wakarimasu ka?" I repeated to the clerk.
More silence.
Clearly, something is not right. This is the conversation starter that my CD Sensei uses all the time and she's never had to wait this long for a reply. In fact, by this time, CD Sensei and her new friends have already exchanged addresses, discussed the time of the day and figured out the time the bank opens. Over and over and over again.

"What?" the clerk at the coffee shop finally answered in English. "What did you say?"
Let's just say, it's not a boost for the self confidence, when you ask "Do you understand English" and the answer is "What?"
"Grande cappucinno," I said quite sheepishly. "And, make it strong."

My goal for this week: find a new goal.