| My
reverie about the cleanliness of Tokyo was finally broken when we arrived
at the folks’ apartment. It was nice, and beside the language, I was
surprised not at how different things seemed from New York, but how
similar they were. Japan was different, but it was just enough like
America to keep me off balance. For our
first dinner in Japan, we went to Red Lobster. I had fried clams, which I
ate with chopsticks and a glass of Calpis Water. Calpis Water, I might
add, is the best soft drink in the world. (Full disclosure: Calpis Inc.
paid for the cost of the entire trip — just kidding.) It is some kind of
water and dried-milk combination that is actually pretty tasty. The music
at the restaurant was some early ’80s New Wave that brought back some
memories. I hadn’t eaten in a Red Lobster since the early ’80s, when
they never would have played New Wave. It was all as I remembered it back
in Kalamazoo, Michigan. All except the chopsticks.
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Our next
stop was a quick flight to Kyushu, in the south of Japan, where Noriko’s
parents were from. We visited family that I couldn’t speak to and ate
delicious Chinese food. I wrote a quick speech, and Noriko translated it
into Japanese for me. I trembled as I stumbled over the words before
dinner, and everyone was very polite. Noriko translated a few words from
the family, and we dug into the meal. For the rest of the night, it was a
family reunion that I couldn’t understand. My job was to sit with an
expression of interest, while my new family members enjoyed seeing each
other for the first time in years. If I looked bored, everyone made
attempts to entertain me, so it quickly became clear that I had to appear
to be engaged and amused while I sat in complete ignorance of what was
going on for hours at a stretch. (Related:
Japanese wife) |
 We made it,
and we bowed after dinner; I was getting better at that part. The next
day, we traveled to the cemetery to see where Noriko’s grandparents were
buried. Incense was lit, and each family member bowed, then knelt by the
grave, clapped their hands and prayed to the ancestors. After everyone but
Noriko and I had prayed at the grave, everyone looked at me. With extreme
embarrassment, I self-consciously tried the clapping and bowing and knelt
in front of the gravestone and did my best to pray.
My eyes
became warm. I pinched my lips together, and my throat started to choke.
Before me was the weathered grave of people I had never known. People
without whom my marriage could not have taken place. Here I was halfway
around the world with the family of the woman I love more than anything,
and there was so much I didn’t know. I choked back sobs. Visions of me
bursting into tears in front of the family that I could barely speak to
mortified me. Somehow, I kept it together. I opened my eyes, and someone
snapped a picture.
Natural
hot springs,
also known as Onsen, are a big deal in Japan. Hakone, a town known
for its hot springs and also the place my wife was born, was our last
stop. We stayed in an amazing hotel that I don’t think foreigners
usually get a chance to see. It was old-school. We had to take off our
shoes and change into Yukata, which are robes, sort of like
informal kimonos.
After we
changed into our Yukatas, we ambled down to the hot springs, which
were on the grounds of the hotel. Just before we got outside, we split
off; the women went one way, and the men went the other. Foolishly, I had
presumed that my wife and I would get our own hot spring and the rest of
her family another. Oops. All I knew about the hot springs was that you
sit in them without clothes. Now, I am not a prude, but undressing in
front of my
father-in-law, a retired Infantry General, was an intimidating thought. I
wondered what was going through his mind.
As we
stood in the freezing air, we slowly undressed by the side of the hot
spring. It seemed to be a race; only the goal was to be the last one. He had a distinct advantage of having more layers. I slowly
unwrapped the Yukata, and then, before removing my underwear, I
carefully folded the Yukata and placed it with the greatest care on
a wooden shelf. It was the first, and probably last time I’ve ever
folded any clothing that I just took off. My efforts were worthless; he
still had two layers of cotton underwear to go.
I
gave up and whipped off my underwear. I shivered and waited to see what
came next. My father-in-law finally did it. He grabbed a bamboo bowl
from a stack of them and squatted by the hot spring. Trying to act casual,
I strolled over to the water and tried to squat in that Japanese way that
looks comfortable but is impossible. With knees popping, I balanced
precariously on the edge and managed to splash some water on myself.
Together, we eased into the hot water. As we sat side by side in the
chest-deep hot water, I finally exhaled the breath I had been holding for
the past two weeks.
In the
distance, a gentle range of mountains turned golden in the sunset. Steam
swirled past our faces and into the night air. The stars were just coming
out. In his broken English, my father-in-law told me that in two straight
days, he had climbed the mountains all around us when he was an Army
Ranger Instructor. I inhaled.
I
gamely
recounted the few pushups I had done while in the Army National Guard, and
he smiled. We laughed about smuggling food on training missions and
working on little sleep. We were both relieved that we could get along. I
thought about Noriko, and how glad I was to be part of her family at last.
The trip to the Onsen lasted a couple of days, and then we were off
to Tokyo and our flight back to New York. Noriko’s parents dropped us
off at the train station. We all bowed. I shook Noriko’s father’s
hand, and he spoke. “Important
visit, accomplished.” Yes, indeed, General.
Noriko and
I waved her parents goodbye, and then my wife and I were alone together
for the first time in weeks. I leaned over and gave her a kiss. Noriko
quickly pushed me away. I looked around and found that we were the focus
of the evilest of evil eyes from a platoon of suit-wearing businessmen.
I’d never been scared by a businessman before, but then, I’d never
tried skinship on the Hibiya line before, either.
Recommended links:
American view of Japan
Arriving
in Tokyo |
