No Smorking

My boss's favorite soba shop has gone smoke-free during lunch hour, a sign of the times if ever I've heard one. Although women are generally thought to be the preservers of traditional culture in most societies, it's men in Japan who seem to be intent on keeping food culture intact. While office ladies may while away their lunch hours eating pasta or organic salads, the salarymen are down the dark alleys munching on tonkatsu or slurping their soba. I've even heard soba referred to as food for "oyaji"- or old men. And the atmosphere of the soba shops usally reflects this- as I described in my first entry, they are usually smoky dens of middle aged men with their ties folded up and tucked into their shirt pockets. The very idea that the venerated haven of havens should go kinen is a complete, albiet welcome, shock.

Many fast food chains are already smoke free, and most cafes and restaurants that cater at least in part to women or families are no-smoking during lunch hours. The Shinkansen just got rid of their smoking cars this month, although the way those things were it will take a decade just to get the smell out of the seats.

But Big Tobacco has got their claws in Japan pretty damn deep, and things we would consider basic now in America, like getting rid of the vending machines, are a long time coming. Mostly, I can't even fathom the dumbfounded reaction if someone suggested making a restaurant used for "settai", or business entertainment, smokeless. Japanese business dinners revolve around many things and have many sets of rules, but one essential point is the complete lack of any sort of restriction. The person setting up the affair will likely reject a restaurant that won't give them a private room for their party. Making sure the person you're "entertaining" can eat and drink as much as he pleases, say whatever he pleases, and smoke as much as he wants without any worry about offending or disturbing others is absolutely standard. Settai without cigarettes would be like settai without Sake- completely missing the point.

I for one, am about as anti-smoking as it gets, and I'm pretty damn sick of breathing it into my lungs when I'm rushing to work, studying in a cafe, or trying to enjoy my dinner. But just a warning to all potential activists trying to break their way in here- they've come a long way, baby, but they've got an even longer way to go.

The Zen of Tokyo Rush Hour

The Zen of Tokyo rush hour is all about your state of mind. When you think of Tokyo rush hour you may have in your mind hoards of sweaty commuters being shoved into already full train cars. This image is unexaggeratedly accurate. However, you may also imagine that is a chaotic, nearly unbearable experience, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The morning commute is actually a well-organized, systematic rhythm, where the packed trains that snake around Tokyo take in and give out passengers at every station, like breathing. Akihabara, Ikebukuro, Shinjuku, Shinagawa, Tokyo. Breathe in, Breathe out. The flow of passengers in and out of the trains is like the tide on the beach. The doors open, people rush out, the music plays, and more people rush in.

Often when tourists come to Tokyo they comment on how quiet people are on the morning trains, and how much they seem to ignore each other. Everyone is either reading, listening to music, or sleeping. This is because a certain mindset is necessary to properly experience a Toyko commute, and everybody succumbs to it eventually, even if they’re not aware of it. The key point to this mental exercise is to remember is that the people around you are not people- they are objects, part of the flow. This explains why Japanese, as polite as they are, will never apologize to you if they stand on your foot or shove you in a train. It’s because you don’t really exist. Even people with companions are not talking to them or giving any sign that they are together. It is actually quite a hindrance to commute with someone else, because it ruins the illusion of objectification necessary to survive the experience. If you were crammed on a hot train surrounded by people, and with your face in a person’s armpit, you might very well suffocate, faint, or have a panic attack. But, when you’re mentally absent in a rather small space surrounded by objects, you can be quite cool about it.

The second thing to remember is that, as part of the flow, you must keep things moving in a smooth rhythmic fashion, and not be an impediment to others. This means that when the train pulls up to the platform, you are to stand in two distinct rows on the places that mark where the doors will be. As the train stops, these lines part to either side to let the people off the train. Not everyone who gets off the train is leaving it for good; inside the train it is so crowded that the people standing in the empty space between the doors will nearly all need to exit so that the people behind them can get off. The people who were pushed off the train but are not leaving stand beside the doors as well, and are usually the first to re-enter. When they enter, they go not front- first, but back- first, with any briefcases or purses clasped against their lap. This is so that no one ends up facing each other as they are squashed back into the train, preserving the illusion of non-humanity and also saving strangers from their coffee breath. They stand like this until the next station, when everyone will need to deboard again. Some people try to resist; they stand stock still and grasp the handles futilely- they are like a stick caught on a stone in the water; eventually the current rushes them onwards regardless.

Therefore, people wishing to avoid the ordeal of getting off and on at every station will employ all their strategy and cunning to find the very best places on the train, the wells of tranquility safe from the flow. The best places are of course the seats- however these are always taken by people who look as though they’d boarded the train at 5am when it first began operation, taken a mild sedative, and have been there ever since. They will probably be there indefinitely, but a person who feels lucky may choose to stand in front of one and wait anyway. A savvy commuter knows what sort of person is likely to get off at which station- a knowledge that can mean the difference between standing or sitting for an hour. Every train line is different, but in general, students and housewives are the best bet for people likely to give up their seats fairly quickly.

Those who despair of seating generally attempt to jostle for the prize locations between the doors: either in front of the door that won’t open or the spaces just beside the doors next to the seats. These places are desirable in that they ensure that you won’t have a human being next to you on at least one side. Pressed up against a window or a wall, you can easily pretend you are not where you are, and that of course makes all the difference.

However, the veteran commuter, the one who has been riding the same train for a number of years from the same house to the same job, is no longer interested in avoiding the rhythm and flow of the trains. He removes himself completely from his surroundings, even without the aid of windows, music, or manga. This commuter has a highly developed meditative mindset; he is a leaf floating on a stream, he moves at the slightest push and lets himself float in and out of the trains as it becomes necessary.

And he knows there is something nearly spiritual about the trains when they are properly stuffed, when you find yourself in the very center of a packed car, the air conditioning on your face, and a mass of humanity all around, unable to move or even to lift your arm up to the handles. But you don’t need them anyway; you couldn’t fall even if you tried. Try dropping your purse; I’m betting that when you let go of the strap it stays in the exact same place. There is something about that, about being completely supported and moving en masse at every sway or jerk of the train. Although no words are exchanged, and every single person is doing their best to pretend that everyone else doesn’t exist, there is an undeniable sort of closeness. Remember that this is a culture where people don’t hug, kiss or shake hands as greetings; they could go an entire day at without touching anyone at all. And yet now, perversely, their entire bodies are pressed up against a stranger’s so closely that when he coughs, they can feel it in their own chest. I read once that people have a mental dependence on touch; this could be where the Tokyoites get their fix.

The Tokyo train ride is symptomatic of that feeling of collective isolation that only a big city can produce. Everyone is alone, but they’re alone together. It’s a ramen house at 3am, or ladies day at a Ginza movie house, crammed full of single office ladies. It’s a “snack bar” in Shinjuku where rich businessmen can flirt with young girls over $30 drinks. It’s a spa, it’s a shopping mall, it’s a dance club. It’s Tokyo; it’s a city, it’s humanity in a sometimes un-human place. A ride on the Yamanote line at rush hour should be on everyone’s Tokyo agenda; just remember to keep the flow smoothly and don’t forget to breathe… In Ueno, out Kanda…. In Yurakucho, out Shinbashi. Ahh…

Are shite kureru?

Ponder the following sentences:

The bird of the hand is a value of 2 of the bushes

The wood falls with the forest, if everyone inquiring about that it is not there, is sound made?

Which rank wood if as for the woodchuck the woodchuck can install the wood with the chuck, is installed with the chuck?

The idiot and your that money divide directly

For those a little slow on the uptake, those sentences are English sayings and expressions translated into Japanese by babelfish, and then translated back to English again. Now, I'm not saying that the comical outcomes are entirely the fault of Japanese- of course electronic translators are not going to be perfect. But, just for fun, let's try that last one with some other languages.

Russian: Fool and his den'g will be soon divided
Greek: One fool and his money are separated shortly
Korean: The fool and his money are disjointed quickly

Just something to think about.

Actually, my initial results from Japanese are probably more accurate than they should be since they were translated from translated, not natural Japanese. Natural Japanese would probably translate into something completely unintelligible.

Japanese is basically impossible to translate mechanically. It is a prime example of what they refer to in linguistics as a “high context” language, that is, a language wherein the interlocutors need to have copious amounts of shared information in order for the conversation to run smoothly. The beginnings or ends of sentences- ie the subject or main verb- are regularly omitted, meaning that at times the actual thing or person being talked about is never mentioned. For example "iimashita ne" would be a natural sentence. Basically iimashita is "to say" in the past tense, and "ne" is a particle that seeks agreement from the interlocutor. So, a literal translation could be "Said, right?", and a correct translation could only be done after listening to the entire conversation, maybe even from the very beginning, in order to find out who did the "saying". And that's only half the battle- that "ne" is pretty tricky to nail down. Depending on the inflection it could mean all kinds of things. As a non-native speaker, just off the top of my head I would say that "Iimashita ne" could mean "Oh, that's right, he said that didn't he" (being reminded), or "I guess I did say that didn't I?"(accepting correction) "Yeah, he said that"(confirmation), or "That's what you said, isn't it?"(accusation).


To compound matters, while Japanese has an overwhelming amount of vocabulary to deal with, a shockingly small amount is used in daily conversation. Mostly they repeat the same phrases and adjectives over and over, until the meanings of those words become so nebulous and heavy with connotation that they become entities in themselves. A good example of this is the phrase “Shou ga nai”, which means, ‘it can’t be helped’, or ‘there’s no way around it’. This is not an expression people use when they have carefully weighed all their options and determined that there was simply no hope. This is a label people affix on any situation they don’t want to deal with, for whatever reason, but there is absolutely no rebuttal for it. You can’t say “Shou ga aru” (trust me- I tried; they laughed). You don’t need any reason for using the phrase except for that you use it; it’s a reason in itself. Once when I questioned my boss’s quick surrender on an issue he actually said “Shou ga nai kara shou ga nai.” –‘Well, there’s no way around having no way around it.’ Or, more precisely ‘There’s no way around my having to say shou ga nai.” Once something has been branded Shou ga nai it is tossed forever into the landfill of things we just have to learn to live with, and there’s no fighting it once the shou ga nai axe has fallen. That’s how powerful the phrase has become- and there's certainly no way to explain all that in a dictionary.

Sometimes, when my co-workers are feeling exceptionally lazy, they’ll completely dispense with entire words, phrases, or concepts and just say are, which means “that”. As in Are deskara, ikanaidesne – "Well, there’s that so he probably won’t go". Or Are desu ne. "Oh, that’s that isn’t it?" Confused yet? Sometimes my co-workers hand me things and say “Are shite” which means “Do that”. And I’m just supposed to know which “that” they mean. And I do... now.

One of my favorite games to play as I'm walking down the street is to imagine someone incredibly booksmart who studied Japanese in their home country for several years. This person (in my imagination, for some reason, a slim brunette), has managed to memorize the dictionary definition of every word in the Japanese language and has a technical knowledge of all the grammar, but has received no cultural training in the slightest and has never interacted with a Japanese speaker before. As I'm walking or riding the train I listen to the snatches of conversation around me or read the advertisements on the walls. Most of what I hear and see wouldn't make a lick of sense to the brunette, as it requires too much background information to understand- even assuming what would technically be called "fluency".

Now, I hate to buy into nihonjinron, but it does seem to me that Japanese is a language more married to its culture and context than others. Of course, language divorced from its context will always be absurd- or at least not totally understood, but its my contention that Japanese is especially absurd. If you disagree with me- great. I'd love to hear some examples of context-dependent features of other languages. If you disagree with me without any examples, that's fine. After all, as they say, "It is not possible to do the beverage in him who can lead the horse to the water"!

Five Minute Soba

My boss's favorite soba place is down the side street of a side street, an ally barely big enough for two suited salarymen to pass each other. The air conditioning from the back of a ramen place blows what is inevitably the wrong temperature (and garlic flavored) air from one side, while a rusty pink bike with a large white basket waits to trip anyone walking too far on the other. The store is marked only by a sliding wooden door and a half curtain, and also the two piles of salt on each end of the short step.

Inside, the restaurant is warm and fragrant with the subtle sent of broth and, on most days, a hint of stale cigarette smoke. Everyone is inside is wearing a suit, cell phones on neck straps and stuck into front pockets, ties slung over the shoulder or tucked between the buttons of shirts. The server announces us and sends us to our table, easily heard over the very low murmer of conversation from the tables waiting for food and the slurping from everywhere else.

We never get menus because we already know what we want, and most of the dishes are on the walls anyway. The mainstays are carved in to a wood panel on the far side of the restaurant, and the newer dishes are written on colored pieces of paper and taped randomly around the room.

We make small talk as we wait for our food, and every few months or so my boss remembers that I'm a foreigner and goes into another discourse about slurping my noodles.

"Because you need to bring in the air," he says, half in English, half in Japanese, "it cools down the soup and makes it taste better." I know, I know. I remind him that it's hard to unlearn a lifetime of manners in a few months, and also that its not as easy as it looks. Japanese soup noodle slurping isn't like you as a 5 year old sucking in spaghetti noodles like a vacuum cleaner. Soba slurping is a more gentle suction, mouth open a little bit, and using your chopsticks to help the food into your mouth. Close your mouth too much and you end up with a wild noodle that sprays broth all over your co-worker's waishatsu (white business shirt). But I'm trying to fit in here, and I do slurp my soba. This also enables me to eat at a pace more acceptable to my co-workers, since I happen to have what they call a "cat tongue", meaning I can't eat hot foods and I'm always waiting an unacceptable amount of time for my soup to cool.

My co-worker once told me that to survive in the Japanese business world a man must posses three important skills: first he should be able to play golf. Secondly, he should be able to sing karaoke. And finally, he should be able to eat his lunch in 5 minutes. There are a few reasons for this. Firstly, pretty much every company in any given area has lunch at the same time: 12-1. The surrounding restaurants do a significant portion of their business in that one hour, and if people don't eat, get out, and make room for more people, the shop wouldn't be able to make any money. Our soba place has only 9 four-person tables, and every seat is full most of the time. If you show up with a party of 2 you will definitely be asked to share your table, aiseki, with another couple. (Seated side-by-side, not across from each other. I never get why)

The other reason for the quick lunch of course- so you can go back to work. I belong to a pretty relaxed company, and we are offered the luxury of a trip to starbucks after we eat to kill time until 1; however many other companies go straight back to the office after only a half hour out. Freshman employees especially are often so inundated with busy work that they simply go right through lunch, scarfing down instant ramen at their desks just so they don't faint.

For me, five minute soba represents everything I love and hate about office work in Japan. The taste, the ceremony, the haste, the precision, the seclusion, the cliquishness, the consideration, and the sen en that I fork over at the end. Years of Japanese study and a lucky invitation to join the very small distribution company of a Japanese acquaintance has allowed me an extraordinary glimpse into a world I would never have known about, a world filled with sake and cigarettes, euphemisms and shou ga nais, rigid codes of conduct and myriad ways to escape them. I started this blog because I appreciate the writing of other people who've carved out a lifestyle in places I will never know, and because I'd like to be a part of the very excellent work being done by fellow gaijin bloggers and commentators.

If you have any questions about working in Japan, Tokyo, or any of the Japanese words I use in my blog, just leave me a comment, and I'll get back to you. :)

coming soon....