Sumo, Sakura and One Sensational Human in the Land of Impossibly Polite

I'm not a sushi fanatic. In fact, I'm supposed to stay away from seaweed because I have Graves' Disease. I know nothing about Anime or Manga, have a limited capacity for visiting temples, and I'm not crazy about tempura. To complete the picture, I've never really had the chance to become close to anyone Japanese, save Yokiko, a friend I made at summer camp when I was 8 or 9, and sadly never saw again after that August. I remember learning a lot of Japanese words with her because she hardly spoke any English. Yet somehow, we really managed to communicate and I felt quite close to her. Looking back, I'm not sure why the language barrier didn't seem to be that great an obstacle. Before we said goodbye she gave me a soft two-toned toy that snapped into the shape of two different animals that I kept for years. Was it that short-lived childhood connection that made me curious about Japan? I couldn't tell you the reason, but somehow I knew that if I ever went to the country, I would like it.

Part of my visit was planned around the sakura season, and walking through parks with thousands of pink cherry blossoms is a very special experience. I went when it was cloudy and quiet, and when the sky was blue and the late-day sun fell upon the grass and the trees. They were beautiful in all forms. The sakura season began early this year, and I was
there just in time for the last bloom of the nation. 

People say timing is everything, and as good luck would have it, the timing of my visit to Tokyo also meant that I would be present for opening day of their two-week sumo wrestling season. Could I possibly pass up such an opportunity? No, of course I could not. An unfamiliar stir filled me as I searched for my seat in the midst of the 9,999 others in the Ryogoku Sumo Dome. Everything was fascinating to me: the wrestlers' hair carefully styled into mages, professionally oiled, tied and folded on top of their head, the colors of the mawashi -or loin cloth-that they wore, the lengthy ritual stare-down that these men engaged in before exerting four hundred pounds of man power into a ten to twenty second match that would so greatly affect their future. I felt such a thrill each time they would slap their bellies and outer thighs and throw salt into the ring. A surge of excitement would burst through me when one of the opponents would lift the other by his mawashi and throw him to the floor. Everything about the experience was colossal. 

Technology is everywhere in Japan – although wi-fi connections surprisingly are not - and even the simplest things become both confusing and exciting as a result. On my first night in Tokyo, I needed to order and pay for my meal on a small machine on the wall, which I would do again numerous times. Does it seem like a trivial detail? Try using one of these when you don't read know how to read Hiragana. 

The Japanese take comfort and cleanliness very seriously, and this means that toilets, too, are part of the high-tec experience. Most have a panel of options: a heated seat, a bidet function with various positions for males and females (which I accidentally tested, hence discovering the wet backpack option). You can choose your preferred water pressure, sound effects to inspire your pee, or music to distract those in neighboring stalls from hearing you make a deposit. Ah, the choices! I can also confidently say that Japan is the only country I have ever been where there is a toilet everywhere. You will never have to worry in case of an emergency, for a bathroom is never far, always accessible, and infallibly clean. Rubbish bins may be hard to find in places where you would expect to see them, but a toilet – never. 

In many ways I had a stereotypical tourist visit to Japan. I hiked around mountains and lakes in the national parks of Hokkaido and sang my heart out with some fellow compatriots during my first-ever karaoke in Kyoto, a night that came complete with an unexpected geisha spotting. I stayed a few days at a ryokan, a traditional Japanese inn with a futon bed and tatami floors in an onsen village in Nagano. Guests here spend their entire visit in a yukata, a light robe that facilitates bathing in the hot springs with other guests of the same gender. The experience also meant trying a fifteen-course meal prepared by the family who runs the inn. 

I found the general population to be impossibly polite, no matter where I went; the bowing, the smiles, the formality. And because this stood out so much, it caused me to wonder how there can simultaneously be so many women quite dedicated to tantalizing men with their short skirts and provocative legwear in a place that one might define as the epitome of proper. In a nation where they have punctuality, formality and order down to a science, it came as quite a shock to learn that Japan is the only country in the world where one can buy used panties from a vending machine. Go figure. 

It took me an awfully long time to collect my thoughts on my three weeks in Japan, I could likely go on and on about the things that make the country amusing, fun, confusing and a great place to visit or even live. But in the end, what I really want is to acknowledge and give thanks to one specific person, and that is my friend Tomoko. We met on my very first day and she greeted me with a big hug, and shared her home with me for an entire week.

During that time we shared so many things. We went to dinner parties and restaurants where she introduced me to friends and colleagues and took me to various parts of Tokyo. We attended the sumo wrestling event together, a first for both of us. She gave me impromptu Japanese lessons using a small dry-erase board and left little notes for me in both languages each morning before she went to work. We spent evenings listening to music, talking or just relaxing. We took walks together, laughed a lot, and even discussed deep and difficult pieces of our lives. 

Whenever I would wonder something out loud (as I often do), Tomoko, ipad in hand, would have an answer to my ponderation within twenty seconds. It got to the point where I had to keep myself from thinking out loud or I'd feel like I was putting her to work. She had a solution for everything and an answer to every question, often times accompanied by a print-out! When I left for Tokyo, she even created little cards for me with several Japanese sentences she knew I would need, including the pronunciation of each sentence written in English. “No seaweed or onion, please.” “Is there wi-fi here?” “I don't eat beef.” and more. This gesture was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. I was so moved by her concern for me being able to communicate my needs. To put the icing on the cake, in one short week she had gotten to know me well enough that she knew exactly what to put on those cards...and she laminated them!

When I returned from the weeks I spent visiting parks, temples, mountains and onsens, I came back to stay with Tomoko again, and there's no other way I would have preferred to end my time in Japan. It's amazing how close you can feel to a person in a short period of time if you both open your heart.

I may not be able to say that I made much progress with sushi or tempura, and I continue to have a limited interest in temples, but my appreciation for Japanese culture has grown immensely, thanks to the chance I was given to become close to someone from Japan. Most importantly, Tomoko helped me to affirm that short-lived connections can make all the difference in the world, and are worth keeping for a lifetime. I don't know how I knew I would like Japan so much, but I'm so glad I wasn't wrong.