Mike

Ball

Read Mike's bio and previous columns here

October 29, 2007

Japan, Part 1: No, I’m Not Bringing You Back a Samurai Sword

As I’m writing this I’m sitting in a big aluminum tube 32,000 feet above the Bering Straits, hurtling through the air at more than 550 miles per hour. The person sitting in the economy class seat in front of me apparently suffers from some sort of affliction that makes him lunge violently backwards every few minutes, driving his headrest into my forehead, my tray table into my belt buckle and my belt buckle into my spine.

The guy across the aisle from me has been sniffling and hocking up chunks of lung since we left Detroit. The woman next to him appears to be suffering from a touch of cholera. There is a rumor that bubonic plague is spreading through Business Class. I’ve been in this ballistic Petri dish for four hours, and I’ll be in it for at least another nine.

And strangely enough, I’m up here on purpose – I’m on my way to Japan.

Whenever someone finds out you’re going to Japan, they right away want you to bring them back something. Maybe a DVD player or a Samurai sword. Or a Honda. One of my friends asked me to bring him a Geisha. In each case I had to explain to them that there was no way I could get any of that stuff in my carry-on. Well, maybe the Geisha.

Then, once we established the idea that I probably won’t be cramming a duffle bag full of Japanese women into the overhead for the return trip, my friends would turn into Charlie Chan. “Ahhh, sooo,” they would say, wittily squinting and bowing and making buck teeth, “You honolable numba one son!”

“Charlie Chan was Chinese,” I explain. “At least he was supposed to be. I think the actor who played him was an Irish guy from Baltimore.”

“Ahhhhhh sooooo, velly solly!”

Which brings up the issue of language. I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure that bowing and squinting and substituting “l’s” for “r’s” will not quite make it in Japan when it comes to, say, ordering a hamburger or giving a deposition in front of a grand jury.

With this in mind, the first thing I did to prepare for the trip was to try to learn a little Japanese. I got a big, impressive set of CDs and books with a name on the cover something like “Mastering Japanese in 10 Days or Less.”

I learned quickly that this name was only accurate if, before buying the CDs and books, you did a little preparation – like being born to Japanese parents and raised in Japan. So, after a bit of shopping I found a language course book more my speed: “Get Your Face Slapped in Sapporo – Japanese Phrases for Morons and Americans.” From this book I learned that “Good Morning” is “Oh-Hieo-Goziamas,” and “I’m Sorry” is “Gohm-Mehn-Nasai.”

After that, my head exploded, so I decided to only speak to Japanese people from 6 a.m. until noon, and to be very sorry at all times.

The next challenge was packing for the trip. Like, how much stuff do you take along when you’re going to spend 11 days in a place where you won’t able to ask a store clerk how much a toothbrush costs?

Then there was the issue of money. Changing dollars for yen is pretty cool at first – for $100 you get ¥11,000! This is great until you discover that a cup of coffee in Japan costs about fifteen billion Yen, and that you need a Swiss bank account to afford a full dinner.

So here I sit, with my belt buckle imbedded in my pancreas, more yen than I can count in my pocket and God-knows-what stuffed into the suitcase I checked in Detroit and is probably happily winging its way to Denmark.

Next week: How to eat a squid with chopsticks. And why anyone would want to.

Copyright © 2007, Michael Ball. Distributed exclusively by North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

Click here to talk to our writers and editors about this column and others in our discussion forum.

To e-mail feedback about this column, click here. If you enjoy this writer's work, please contact your local newspapers editors and ask them to carry it.