Travel: Goats and Raw Fish

Thursday, April 18, 2002. 12:38PM.
Akihabara district, Tokyo, Japan.

They had asked me what I wanted for lunch. My answer was simple.

“No western food.”

I headed into the office today, since IDF was moving at a snail’s pace. I wanted to have a meeting with the salesmen before heading to see customers on Friday. I also wanted to make use of the phone and Internet connection … the hotel charges a small fortune for international calls, and Internet access is not a realistic option using their phone hookup. Having a visitor in the office means you get to expense lunch, so they were happy to oblige my request for local cuisine.

I headed down the street with two of our engineers and Atsuko, one of the sales assistants. The engineers don’t speak any English, so Atsuko is serving as a translator. She often serves as a guide when I’m in the office, making sure I can interact with my foreign surroundings. Atsuko seems interested in American life, so I get a lot of questions whenever I’m in the office.

At the moment we’re seated in the back corner of a small restaurant. Like many Japanese restaurants, I have a small variety of “sets” to choose from. The “set” is a multi-course meal, consisting of many small portions. This restaurant offers two sets … I take the sashimi set. This appears to be the popular choice, since everybody else at the table orders it as well. This is the type of place you need a local for, since I’d never be able to order without Atsuko’s help. None of the restaurant staff speak English, and my attempts at speaking Japanese might get me deported.

I’ve considered learning some Japanese. It might come in handy, since I seem to end up in Tokyo at least twice a year. When I first came to Japan in 1998, I tried to pick up a few useful phrases. One of the Romanian hostesses in a karaoke bar tried to teach me a few simple phrases. The sequence of events went as follows:

1. Woman speaks phrase
2. Brian repeats phrase
3. Woman contorts face, stares at Brian
4. Woman speaks phrase again
5. Brian repeats phrase again
6. Woman shakes head, speaks phrase again
7. Brian repeats phrase again
8. Woman gets disgusted, server Brian another drink

My experience with foreign languages has been painful. In took three years of French in high school … French I, French II and French II. No, that is not a typo. French is the only high school class I ever failed. I refer to it as “the class so nice I took it twice.”

One of the engineers is taking an English course. He still isn’t comfortable speaking yet, but he can understand most of what I say (a-s-s-u-m-i-n-g I s-p-e-a-k v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y). Atsuko thinks I would develop better Japanese by living here for a few months. She also says most American men improve their Japanese by getting a Japanese girlfriend. It’s probably safer for my marriage if I try some books on tape.

The topic of conversation turns to home life. They ask me if I have any children. “No”, I say, “just a lot pets.” Atsuko asks me what types of pets I have. I use my well rehearsed response: “One dog, five cats, two horses, and nine goats”.

She wasn’t expecting my answer to involve horses and goats. Her surprise was evident by the small amount of rice that popped out of her mouth. I explained the small house, land and Suzan’s menagerie of creatures to her as she stirred her soup with her chopsticks. Now she had the formidable task of explaining Eastwind Farms to her co-workers.

The Japanese seem to understand cats, dogs and horses … that translation required little effort. Explaining goats to the Japanese appears to be difficult. The translation required Atsuko to use many hand gestures. The engineers appeared to be surprised as well. Despite cultural differences, the facial expressions that signify “no shit” appear to be a universal constant. Then she has to explain the farm. Explaining the concept of six acres to a Japanese person is difficult for two main reasons:

1. An acre is a messed up British unit of area. I can never remember how many square feet make up an acre, so it’s hard to convert into metric. Units based on the shoe size of inbred patriarchs tend to confuse the Japanese.
2. Most city dwelling Japanese citizens can’t fathom that much open land belonging to one person who isn’t stinking filthy rich. Japan is a tiny country, so land is a premium asset.

Mark one more entry on the list of “things that make Brian look like a freak to the Japanese.”

The conversation somehow turns back to lunch. The sashimi is excellent. Everything is bought fresh in the morning from a market around the corner. The fish I’m dipping into the soy sauce was probably in the ocean yesterday, obviously not marking “Get Eaten By Round-Eyed Goat Farmer” on his To Do list. I am informed that this restaurant is a favorite of our local office’s president, except that he has been banned due to his habit of canceling dinner party reservations. He is slowly trying to get back in the good graces of the chef.

As usual, I have attracted the attention of the locals. I don’t think many foreigners make their way into this establishment. The staff take frequent glances in my direction, observing the strange pale man using their chopsticks. Atsuko tells me the hostess likes the color of my hair. It’s hard to blend into Tokyo as a blonde Caucasian. As long as I can get a good lunch, I don’t mind sticking out too much.