I stop traffic (the rain and the tiny dancer)
26th August, 2006
Tonight would have to go on the checklist of 'true cultural experiences of Japan'. My kindest eikaiwa member had strongly encouraged me earlier in the week to purchase a yukata, which she then went to great personal effort to teach me how to tie. Her instruction (in limited english) was filled with encouragement, and she enthusiastically implored me to practice back at my apartment so that I'd retain what I'd learned.
The proof of my efforts came tonight when, at her request, I was to wear my self-tied yukata solo to a local community festival. Although she'd arranged for her husband to pick me up, her concern that my gaijin blood would impair my ability to assemble my outfit as I'd been shown led her to turn up on my doorstep 10 minutes early to find me already completely dressed and doing my hair. I think I heard her jaw hit the porch on the next floor down; apparently gaijin aren't actually expected to learn anything, just make a polite show of being interested in the culture.
We soon set off, parting ways as her husband took over and drove me to the local Board of Education. As we pulled into the front carpark, an acquaintance took the chance to strike up a conversation with my escort, leaving me standing about feeling more than a little out of place. As I watched the traffic curling past, I must admit, even someone as rambunctious as myself was embarrassed to be stared at that much.
Even more so when I caused the car accident.
Now, I don't mean to be overly dramatic, but I couldn't resist making a claim like that. A cosy two-seater had been turning the corner, seen me, and slowed to a crawl to take in the freak of nature that was traditionally dressed gaijin. In the meantime, a second car followed suit around the corner, but having inadequate time to stop, ran into the back of the first car, completely losing its front bumper panel and one of its headlights.
I felt a little guilty. Hubby-san assured me that it was fine, and it was their own fault for being shocked by a gaijin in yukata. As we made our way inside, I couldn't help but throw furtive glances over my shoulder as the parties exchanged insurance info.
As Hubby-san was part of the staff for the festival, I was able to spend a rather dry hour sitting inside the building fanning myself whilst preparations were made. Outside the weather had begun to threaten the event, but not the vibrant conversations of the dozen men assembling inside to collect their staff happi-coats. I should mention at this point that most people in my town have not yet gathered that while my spoken Japanese is extremely poor, my comprehension is comparatively better. That being said, I wasn't sure how much of an intrusion it would be to pipe up when the men turned their conversation to the weather, joking between cigarettes that if the festival was rained out, they could just hold a drinking party instead, and take the cute gaijin along as a hostess (their words, not mine). For the sake of my own pride, I'll say it was manners rather than cowardice that kept me silent and smiling.
Thankfully, the rain did eventually subside enough for the festival to proceed. I was left to my own devices to soak up the atmosphere and the stares. Not just stares; the elderly women were far more bold and would openly start tugging at my sleeves, hems and obi. Chatting excitedly amongst themselves, of course, not to me... I mean, heck, why would I have anything to say on the matter? One or two did eventually cross the barrier enough to talk with me, find out I had dressed myself (I'm a big girl now!) and shuffle back to relay the news to the secretary of Weekly Housewife Digest.
Being a small town, the festival was nothing particularly grand, but included the standard fare of takoyaki, yakisoba, okonomiyaki and shaved ice, crowded around a central stage playing host to a singer with traditional musical accompaniment. The idea was for festival-goers to follow the lead of the volunteers and dance around the stage in time to the music. It began with a lot of rigidity and few participants... until they started playing the polka, which everyone seemed up for. By far the most entertaining was a kid looking about 9 years old, who felt the need to leap amongst the dancers, ignoring completely the set routine being executed by dozens of happi-coats in unison while he performed his own free-form ballet. He seemed driven by sheer motivation and passion rather than actual skill or training, which made it that much more captivating. When the music changed to an up-beat waltz, he ran back to the audience to retrieve a boy several years his junior – who wanted nothing to do with it, unphased by the polite invitation of a kiss on the hand. Unperturbed, the tiny dancer simply gathered his partner into his arms and twirled back into the fray. I was delighted to see that awkwardness quickly gave way to childish pleasure as the two waltzed their way merrily about the stage, the smaller boy soon forgetting himself and embracing his role with incredible grace for one so young.
I guiltily admit that I was mesmerised by the tiny dancer, whether partnered or solo, for most of the evening. During those painful moments in which he disappeared to run madly about the square giving piggybacks to 3-year-old yukata-clad girls, I explored the stalls and tried my hand at the children's games (you can get away with pretty much anything under the 'foolish gaijin!' label). The kid's raffle landed me a plastic toy Desert Eagle. Not real spectacular, but still kind of cool. Of course, I then returned to my seat and opened the box, to discover that it was, in fact, an air pistol. Thoroughly excited but having no real clue as to how to use it, I began fiddling madly and making offhand comments to myself. This attracted the attention of the 6-year-old boy in front of me, who shot me the patented 'foolish gaijin!' stare usually reserved for disapproving adults. I made a great show of having no idea what I was doing, to his utter amusement, before asking him if he knew how to work an air pistol. Cue absolute euphoria from child. That would have been one for the cover of National Geographic – a Japanese 6-year-old demonstrating to a gaijin in full summer yukata how to load a desert eagle.
I haven't used the gun yet, because I honestly don't know what I could (or would want to, for that matter) use it on without being arrested. And seeing as my Alien Registration still states that I'm a man, I can't afford to cause any major disturbances.
Towards the end of the evening, a raffle was drawn using the free entrance tickets distributed at the beginning of the event. I landed a 'cleaning set' – a totally practical box of washing powder, detergent and soap, gift wrapped fit for Christmas. When Hubby-san collected me afterwards, he first congratulated my win, then expressed his utter surprise at my honesty – apparently some sneaky festival-goers had employed a tactic of presenting their ticket, collecting their prize, then returning several minutes later to show the same ticket, thus carting off a sizeable load of household goods.
Now, I'm an honest person, but even if I wasn't, I can't help but feel it'd be a little optimistic to try to get away with that, being the only gaijin in the town and all. But still, my morality shines through! Plus ten points.
Tonight would have to go on the checklist of 'true cultural experiences of Japan'. My kindest eikaiwa member had strongly encouraged me earlier in the week to purchase a yukata, which she then went to great personal effort to teach me how to tie. Her instruction (in limited english) was filled with encouragement, and she enthusiastically implored me to practice back at my apartment so that I'd retain what I'd learned.
The proof of my efforts came tonight when, at her request, I was to wear my self-tied yukata solo to a local community festival. Although she'd arranged for her husband to pick me up, her concern that my gaijin blood would impair my ability to assemble my outfit as I'd been shown led her to turn up on my doorstep 10 minutes early to find me already completely dressed and doing my hair. I think I heard her jaw hit the porch on the next floor down; apparently gaijin aren't actually expected to learn anything, just make a polite show of being interested in the culture.
We soon set off, parting ways as her husband took over and drove me to the local Board of Education. As we pulled into the front carpark, an acquaintance took the chance to strike up a conversation with my escort, leaving me standing about feeling more than a little out of place. As I watched the traffic curling past, I must admit, even someone as rambunctious as myself was embarrassed to be stared at that much.
Even more so when I caused the car accident.
Now, I don't mean to be overly dramatic, but I couldn't resist making a claim like that. A cosy two-seater had been turning the corner, seen me, and slowed to a crawl to take in the freak of nature that was traditionally dressed gaijin. In the meantime, a second car followed suit around the corner, but having inadequate time to stop, ran into the back of the first car, completely losing its front bumper panel and one of its headlights.
I felt a little guilty. Hubby-san assured me that it was fine, and it was their own fault for being shocked by a gaijin in yukata. As we made our way inside, I couldn't help but throw furtive glances over my shoulder as the parties exchanged insurance info.
As Hubby-san was part of the staff for the festival, I was able to spend a rather dry hour sitting inside the building fanning myself whilst preparations were made. Outside the weather had begun to threaten the event, but not the vibrant conversations of the dozen men assembling inside to collect their staff happi-coats. I should mention at this point that most people in my town have not yet gathered that while my spoken Japanese is extremely poor, my comprehension is comparatively better. That being said, I wasn't sure how much of an intrusion it would be to pipe up when the men turned their conversation to the weather, joking between cigarettes that if the festival was rained out, they could just hold a drinking party instead, and take the cute gaijin along as a hostess (their words, not mine). For the sake of my own pride, I'll say it was manners rather than cowardice that kept me silent and smiling.
Thankfully, the rain did eventually subside enough for the festival to proceed. I was left to my own devices to soak up the atmosphere and the stares. Not just stares; the elderly women were far more bold and would openly start tugging at my sleeves, hems and obi. Chatting excitedly amongst themselves, of course, not to me... I mean, heck, why would I have anything to say on the matter? One or two did eventually cross the barrier enough to talk with me, find out I had dressed myself (I'm a big girl now!) and shuffle back to relay the news to the secretary of Weekly Housewife Digest.
Being a small town, the festival was nothing particularly grand, but included the standard fare of takoyaki, yakisoba, okonomiyaki and shaved ice, crowded around a central stage playing host to a singer with traditional musical accompaniment. The idea was for festival-goers to follow the lead of the volunteers and dance around the stage in time to the music. It began with a lot of rigidity and few participants... until they started playing the polka, which everyone seemed up for. By far the most entertaining was a kid looking about 9 years old, who felt the need to leap amongst the dancers, ignoring completely the set routine being executed by dozens of happi-coats in unison while he performed his own free-form ballet. He seemed driven by sheer motivation and passion rather than actual skill or training, which made it that much more captivating. When the music changed to an up-beat waltz, he ran back to the audience to retrieve a boy several years his junior – who wanted nothing to do with it, unphased by the polite invitation of a kiss on the hand. Unperturbed, the tiny dancer simply gathered his partner into his arms and twirled back into the fray. I was delighted to see that awkwardness quickly gave way to childish pleasure as the two waltzed their way merrily about the stage, the smaller boy soon forgetting himself and embracing his role with incredible grace for one so young.
I guiltily admit that I was mesmerised by the tiny dancer, whether partnered or solo, for most of the evening. During those painful moments in which he disappeared to run madly about the square giving piggybacks to 3-year-old yukata-clad girls, I explored the stalls and tried my hand at the children's games (you can get away with pretty much anything under the 'foolish gaijin!' label). The kid's raffle landed me a plastic toy Desert Eagle. Not real spectacular, but still kind of cool. Of course, I then returned to my seat and opened the box, to discover that it was, in fact, an air pistol. Thoroughly excited but having no real clue as to how to use it, I began fiddling madly and making offhand comments to myself. This attracted the attention of the 6-year-old boy in front of me, who shot me the patented 'foolish gaijin!' stare usually reserved for disapproving adults. I made a great show of having no idea what I was doing, to his utter amusement, before asking him if he knew how to work an air pistol. Cue absolute euphoria from child. That would have been one for the cover of National Geographic – a Japanese 6-year-old demonstrating to a gaijin in full summer yukata how to load a desert eagle.
I haven't used the gun yet, because I honestly don't know what I could (or would want to, for that matter) use it on without being arrested. And seeing as my Alien Registration still states that I'm a man, I can't afford to cause any major disturbances.
Towards the end of the evening, a raffle was drawn using the free entrance tickets distributed at the beginning of the event. I landed a 'cleaning set' – a totally practical box of washing powder, detergent and soap, gift wrapped fit for Christmas. When Hubby-san collected me afterwards, he first congratulated my win, then expressed his utter surprise at my honesty – apparently some sneaky festival-goers had employed a tactic of presenting their ticket, collecting their prize, then returning several minutes later to show the same ticket, thus carting off a sizeable load of household goods.
Now, I'm an honest person, but even if I wasn't, I can't help but feel it'd be a little optimistic to try to get away with that, being the only gaijin in the town and all. But still, my morality shines through! Plus ten points.
Your Alien Rego says you're a man? o.O
Posted by Han-chan | 11:08 AM
I'm starting to get the feeling I should write up that story... XD
Posted by a-chan | 5:56 PM