Omiyage: the reason why travelling light in Japan is next to impossible

I’m heading down to Tokyo tomorrow for an Ultimate Frisbee tournament, and after that I’m taking a break from study to meet up with friends. I’m only going for a week, and so I had planned to travel light. I’ve gotten fairly good at that over the last few years and was looking forward to cramming everything I need into a medium-sized shoulder-bag.

But then I remembered . . .

In Japan travelling light is near-impossible. For one simple reason:

Omiyage

If you don’t know much Japanese then you might be thinking I’m referring to some kind of mystical force barrier. Or maybe an offering you have to make to pacify the crows.

Not quite. Omiyage is kinda the Japanese equivalent of ‘souvenir’ or ‘gift.’ Except that there’s a whole load of culture tied up in that word. Culture that, to be honest, I still don’t fully understand.

So anywho, here’s what happened when I tried to do my packing.

 

Nope, that’s not an optical illusion. My omiyage was the same size as all my clothes and stuff.

Looks like I’m going to need a bigger bag.

Because there’s quite a lot of expectations when it comes to omiyage. I remember one time hanging with some folk in Japan, talking about one of our friends who was on a 2-day trip to (if I remember correct) Korea for a conference. Someone said, “I wonder what omiyage he’ll bring back.” I suggested that maybe he wouldn’t bring any back. Like maybe he wouldn’t have time to buy any. The look I received in return was somewhere between pity, disdain, and utter confusion.

My understanding is that giving omiyage is part of how you express your thanks and appreciation to people. It’s a way of letting people join in with the experiences you have whilst you’re away from them. Kind of like saying, “I really wish you could have been there with me, and I’m sorry for not being around to help you when you needed me.” In a way that’s a very good thing for someone like me, because expressing all that stuff in Japanese is much harder than handing over a box a chocolates.

Plus some of the folk I’m meeting up with I haven’t seen for literal years. I’m really excited to see them, and I’d be bringing gifts anyway. So I’m not really complaining about the whole gift-giving culture. Except I do feel a bit unsure at times whether I’ve given enough (or possible too little, but on my budget I doubt it). Plus I know for some people it can become a real burden. Putting aside the need to double your luggage size, omiyage are often not very cheap, especially if you have to buy them for a whole bunch of folk.

Then there’s the fact that Japan can create trains that travel at 500kph and yet somehow still be one of the most inefficient countries on the planet when it comes to packaging. I guess the idea is, ‘If something’s worth wrapping, it’s worth wrapping twice.’ The problem is that makes it really, really hard to travel light. And I like to travel light.

But I guess that’s part of the point of moving to another culture. Sometimes I have to make compromises. And sometimes I have to make those compromises whilst I’m still working out how and why things work the way they do.

Still I shouldn’t complain too much. I am after all, going on holiday.

 

But how about you? Had any similar experiences? Or can you shed any light on omiyage-culture?

 

I believe Japan can change . . . because I can see the moon

The other day I was hanging out with my good man Ross. We spent our time doing our normal activities: reminiscing about growing up in the 80/90s, searching for somewhere that sells UK-chip-shop-quality-chips, and ranting a bit about Japanese culture.

Now as two Brits (at least for the time being: we’ll see what happens with Scotland) we do quite well at ranting about the differences between Japan and the UK. Often we focus on fairly trivial stuff, like how hard it is to find good chips here, but this time we also talked about more serious issues. Like how many Japanese children experience bullying (and how extreme that bullying can be) and how the pressure to work drives people to emotional and physical breakdowns.

At one point Ross turned to me and asked,

“But do you think Japan will ever change?”

Now let me just interject here (is it still an interjection if it’s your own words?) and say that I love Japan. Love it to bits. I love the people. I love the natural beauty. I love (most of) the food. I love the language (though it drives me crazy some times). And I think there’s a lot that the UK (and elsewhere) could learn from Japan’s culture.

But . . .

There is a dark side to Japan. Problems that I am unashamed to say I want to see changed.

I’ve already mentioned the school bullying, and the work pressure. But there’s more:

• Pornography that is frighteningly available (as in, you can see it through the window of convenience stores).
• Homelessness that seems to be largely ignored by the authorities.
• Countless men who spend all their spare time and money drinking and gambling.
• Family breakdowns.

It’s no surprise really that Japan has one of the highest suicide rates in the world.

And now I know it’s popular to say that all religions essentially teach the same thing (or at least the same ethics) or/and that principles such as “love your neighbour as yourself” are common sense. But honestly I would say that Japan is an example of what happens when you have an advanced nation that has a morality not based on the gospel of grace that Jesus brought.

The first protestant missionary came to Japan over 150 years, proclaiming forgiveness and freedom in Jesus name. And yet (if my maths is correct) you are still more likely in Japan to commit suicide than you are to trust in Christ.

But the other night I saw something that reminded me to have hope. To believe that yes, Japan can change.

I saw the moon. 

We went up to mt. Moiwa and looked out over Sapporo. It was a clear night and the moon was shining beautiful and bright in the sky. A lot like this:

 

Photo courtesy of Tre McKee, an up and coming photographer who just so happens to also be an all-round great guy.

As I admired the moon I remembered a sermon I had heard a couple of months ago where the preacher mentioned something I had never really appreciated about the moon before–something moon tells us:

Morning is coming.

Because the moon itself is just a rock, right. It doesn’t produce any light of its own. It simply reflects the light of the sun. The sun that is temporarily blocked from our sight. And as it does, the moon proclaims,

Yes, now it is night, and darkness covers the land. But morning is coming. The sun will come back into sight. Indeed I can see it now. Don’t lose heart. Have hope.

Japan is known as the land of the rising sun. But to be honest, it often feels more like the land of perpetual night. I sometimes feel like, when is the sun going to really rise on Japan?

But I believe the morning is coming.

I believe that because I’ve experienced the overwhelming power of the kindness and grace of Jesus in my own life. I don’t have time to go into detail here, but I sometimes think that Jesus saved me because He wanted a challenge. My heart was so messed up you wouldn’t believe. And yet the light of the Son of God has shone into my life, burning up old desires and changing the culture of my heart. So I believe He can do the same for the people of Japan.

There’s a quote by C.S. Lewis that I love,

“I believe in Christianity as I believe in the sun. Not only because I have seen it rise, but because by its light I see everything else.”

That’s the same reason I believe in Christianity. I’ve seen the sun rise and give light to my life. In that way (and I know this sounds weird) I want to act like a moon in Japan. Not that I’m a source of hope in and of myself, but I want to reflect the light of Jesus so that people will see me and know that the Son of God has risen.

Morning is coming.

‘Midnight on Dream Beach.’ Photo courtesy of Tre McKee. (This was taken at about 11pm. We had to stand still a long time!)

Which is harder: getting into a Japanese university or getting into the kingdom of God?

Photo courtesy of OMF International

I have a friend here in Japan who is currently studying towards her university entrance exams. The pressure on her is visible. And it’s crazy.

University entrance works differently in Japan than in the UK. You do have different subjects that you study for and you have to pass exams for those in order to pass school. But to get into a university you have to take an exam specifically for that university―if you mess up on the day of that exam (or if you can’t make it for whatever reason) then that’s it, you’re not getting in.

I know that exams in any country result in pressure and stress. But seriously, Japan feels like a whole other level to the UK.

It’s no secret that the pressure to succeed in Japan can be crazy. It’s one of the reasons for the crazy suicide rate and other social problems such as hikikomori and ‘work death.’

One of the most common words in Japan is ‘ganbaru’ (頑張る) which is almost impossible to translate into English, but roughly means something like ‘do your best.’ So people who are studying for exams are encouraged to ganbaru. And you will often hear people saying ganbaranai-to “I must work hard.” The idea is that if you do mess up on that all-important occasion, then it is almost certainly because you didn’t practice/study/work hard enough in the build up to it.

Now I have nothing against people doing their best. But when you feel like you have to keep pushing yourself even when it’s crushing your body and soul . . . Then you know something’s gone wrong.

The thing is that I feel helpless in the face of this ‘ganbaranai-to’ culture.

Take my friend struggling under the pressure to do well in her exams: I can offer some sympathy and practical help, but I’m very limited since:

1. The UK entrance system seems much more chilled out than here in Japan.
2.  I can barely remember my high school Physics lessons (all I recall is that Mr Dugan had one of the world’s most impressive moustaches)
3. I haven’t yet learned the Japanese necessary to discuss differentiation or thermodynamics.

And even if I could help Yukiko pass her entrance exams . . . What about the rest of Japan? I know the story about starfish on the beach, and sure it’s great to help those you can, but my heart still breaks for the millions of people in Japan broken by the pressure to ‘ganbaru’ to the bitter end.

 

Luckily I know a dude who is able to help. His name is Jesus.

He knows what that pressure to ‘ganbaru’ is like. He went through His whole live fighting temptation every day, and beating it, to win perfect obedience for us. And when the critical moment came, He didn’t fail. He wrestled through blood, sweat and tears and submitted Himself to betrayal, mockery, false-accusations, humiliation, torture and execution on a cross.

“It is finished”

Done. Passed. 100%

See, as far as I can tell, in Japan you don’t get a second chance. If you fail it’s because you didn’t try hard enough.

Sure you can wait till next year and try again. But the thing is that can simply amplify the pressure to succeed. What if you screw up the second time? Then what excuse do you have?

But here’s the punchline: the good news of Christianity is not that God offers us a second chance, but that He offers us His Son.

Because Jesus doesn’t just sympathise with our weakness―although He most certainly does that―He pays for (or rather He paid for) our failings at the cross.

This why Jesus is able to make promises like,

“Come to me all you who labour and are heavy-laden and I will give you rest.”

To be frank, without the death and resurrection of Jesus, this would be a meaningless claim. But with Jesus being seated at the right hand of God it is a promise that is as sweet and powerful today as it was the day He first spoke it.

And I’ve seen this verse enough in Japan to know that it resounds here loud and clear.

This then is why I’m in Japan as a missionary. I genuinely believe that the only hope for the broken people in Japan is Jesus. That’s why I’m committed to being here for the long-term: so that I can introduce people to Jesus. Jesus the great high priest. Jesus the perfect filial son.

Yesterday I Had a Shocking Experience at a Japanese Public Bath

Most of my experiences with Japanese culture are very pleasant, but occasionally they can be quite shocking. Last night was one such experience.

Photo courtesy of OMF International

Here’s what happened.

I took a trip down to my local public bath, which is happily a literal five-minute walk from where I live. It was my first time at this particular baths, having moved into my house (and indeed Japan) less than three weeks ago. It did not disappoint. There was of course the standard bath, but they also had two saunas and an outdoor mini-hot-spring type bath (I’m not sure how you translate 露天風呂). And also a bath that I really should have checked before getting into.

You see, either side of the door leading to the outside bath there were two little cool-down baths. Because you can of course have too much of a good thing. Especially when that good thing is heat. So in Japanese public baths and onsens you get these baths full of cold water. The general plan (as far as I’m concerned) is get in quick and get out quicker.

So that’s what I tried to do.

Except it turns out that the bath on the left of the door had a sign that I really should have read before getting in.

でんき風呂

If you know Japanese you’ll understand why the side of my body cramped up as I dropped myself into this in-hindsight-rather-clearly-sign-posted bath. It was not a cool-down bath. It was an electric bath.

Yup, electric. A bath with an electric current running through it. Not enough to kill you (although there is quite a long list of ailments that would make using it inadvisable), but enough to make your muscles spasm out of control. Especially if you’re expecting cold, still, non-electrified water.

I guess there’s a couple of lessons to be learnt here:

• If you want to engage with a culture, then you need to be willing to try out new things.
• But first make sure they’re not electrified.

 

What about you? What’s the most shocking experience you’ve had whilst immersing yourself in a different culture? (It doesn’t have to involve a lame wordplay on the word ‘shocking’.)

Japanese food: the good, the bad, and the natto.

I’ve been in Japan for almost two weeks now, and I’m finally feeling like I’m actually here. One of the things that has helped me feel like I’m in Japan (you know, besides from the two million Japanese people who live in Sapporo) has been the food I’ve eaten.

I guess I’m a bit of a foodie, because lots of the key things that define Japan for me are foods. So let me share with you some of the foodstuffs that are making me feel at home in Japan.

Like most countries, some Japanese food is all-round amazing, some of it is not really tasty in itself but somehow is really good, and some of it should be eradicated from the face of the earth.

In other words, with Japanese food you have: the good, the bad, and the natto.

 

The Good

I guess one of the least well-known Japanese dishes is ‘curry rice’ (カレーライス). This is a shame, because it is almost incontestably tastier than the better known dishes such as sushi or even – dare I say it – ramen.

For me curry rice has a real home-made feel to it, even if it’s from a restaurant with a vending machine. But curry rice that is actually home-made is even more amazing. Especially when the person who makes your curry shapes the rice into a map of the island of Japan you’re staying in.

Check this out.

 

The Bad

You have probably picked up on this by now, but one of my favourite things about Japan is canned coffee. I love it.

The thing is that canned coffee is, if I’m honest, not very good in terms of being coffee. And yet it is somehow amazing.

And like the curry rice, part of the great thing about canned coffee is the way it looks. By which I mean, the insane over statements that get printed on the cans.

Check this out.

In case you can’t read it the claim for this particular coffee is,

“Gold Is A Premium Coffee With A Radiant-like Beauty Perfected With Premium Beans.”

Not a single word of that is true. And yet somehow it’s still really good.

 

The Natto

Again, you may have heard me talk – or rather rant – about natto in the past. I do not love it. For the simple reason that it is nothing more – or less – than condensed foulness.

I would post a photo to prove that point, but it’s hard to convey the depths of the horrendousness of natto through a photo. So I’ve made a video.

However, I haven’t edited it yet, so you’ll have to wait a few days for that.

But if you could watch the video, then you would have picked up that I have a cunning plan to get myself to like natto. Well, I say ‘cunning’ .  .  .  stupid is probably a better word.

See I tend to be quite vocal in my hatred of natto (as with anything, really) and this has caused me to be reprimanded on several occasions by natto-lovers. I have been informed that natto is simply an acquired taste, and that to reach the necessary level of acquirement it is necessary to eat natto at least ten times.

Now I try to be a trusting, outgoing kind of person so I have decided that I will give this ten times natto thing a shot. By my count I have now clocked up five attempts at eating natto, leaving five more bowls of the slimy, smelly skunge before I am able to either eat natto with some degree of enjoyment or not eat it with a clear conscience.

 

And there you have it: Japanese cuisine making me feel at home in Sapporo.

What about you? Do you have foods that you love/hate about Japan, or anywhere else? Or foods that make you feel like, “Ah, now I am really here!”?

Some lessons from a failed attempt to tell a joke in Japanese

Photo Credit: Alex E. Proimos via Compfight cc

Humour is a tricky thing, isn’t it? You think of a joke to tell, you’re pretty certain it’ll get at least a few stifled giggles, and then . . . Awkward shuffling and confused stares. Maybe even a sigh and head shake. Or worse, the sympathy smile.

Now I’m not claiming to be a comedy master. Sure sometimes I swing and I miss. But it’s been a long time since I brought an entire room of sixty plus people into total silence by virtue of a badly aimed joke.

Or at least it had been until last week.

Because, like I said, humour is tricky . . . especially when you attempt it in another language.

 

Here’s what happened,

Last Sunday I went along to the Japanese Christian Fellowship in Singapore. Like most Japanese churches, they were keen for me to do a short self-introduction at the end of the service. Nothing fancy, just a basic ‘what’s your name and where do you come from?’ kind of thing.

Except for some reason – I’m blaming the heat – I decided it’d be a good idea to throw a joke into the mix.

So at the end I stood up and explained in my rusting Japanese,

“Hello everyone. My name is Levi. I’m from England. In a couple of weeks I’ll be going to Japan to work as a missionary. To the best of my knowledge I have no wife or children . . .”

Now I know that’s not the funniest of comments. I wasn’t expecting the entire congregation to collapse in hysterics. But I was not prepared for the utter silence that followed – a silence that the Singapore insects kindly highlighted for us all.

I glanced around for any kind of response among the sea of blank faces. Yup, there it was. The guy sat right in front of me: sympathy smile.

Thankfully my brain kicked in at this point and overcame my desire to ‘salvage’ the situation. Instead I just stumbled into “Erm . . . OK. Nice to meet you.”

 

Humour fail.

 

In one sense this was actually a very well-timed joke. This week we have been doing a number of sessions on culture and language acquisition, and so I was able to use my comedy failure as a case study in the perils of cross-cultural communication.

And as God would have it, the woman leading these sessions was from Japan, so she was able to dissect in quite a lot of detail where I went wrong.

This is the breakdown we came up with,

 

Place: In some churches you can get away with cracking jokes from the front. Other churches, not so much.

Occasion: Introducing yourself for the first time is probably not the best time to attempt a joke.

Content: Family is serious business in Japan – as it is in most cultures – and therefore not something people would think of as joke material.

Language: I had been quite lazy in that I had translated my ‘joke’ directly from English into Japanese. This meant it didn’t really sound like a joke in Japanese (in case you’re interested, 妻も子供も、私の知ってる限りには、いません).

Culture: The Japanese don’t really go in for the dry sense of humour that we love in the UK. In fact, I have gotten into trouble a number of times in the past for attempting irony in Japan.

 

Now I’ve never looked into the science/art of humour. But I’m pretty sure if I did, I’d discover that there wasn’t really anything I got right. It was an unquestionable fail of a joke.

The thing is that I already knew all those points. If I’d thought it through properly beforehand I would have realised those reasons for not trying to be funny during my self-introduction.

 

Yup, humour is tricky. But it’s also incredibly powerful if done properly. Laughter can calm nerves, ease tension, soothe pain, end arguments, and – as I was attempting – unite people.

So I’m not giving up on Japanese jokes. In fact, this afternoon I am heading back to the Japanese Christian Fellowship again and I will be looking for chances to make people laugh. And you will of course hear about it if I fail.

Or I should say, when I fail. Because let’s face it, it will happen again. Not in the exact same situation – I’m not that clueless. But learning to tell jokes in Japanese will involve many situations when people are laughing at me instead of with me. Or smiling sympathetically.

So there are two reasons why I need a good sense of humour as I try to learn the Japanese language and culture:

1. To make people laugh.
2.  To laugh at myself when I don’t.

 

OK, group therapy time.

Have you ever failed to make a joke in a different language or cultural setting?

Actually, you know what, you can share success stories as well. Maybe it’ll give me hope!

Things I Love About Japan: Onsens

In my last post I made passing reference to onsen. In case you don’t know what onsen are, or Incase you do know and are wondering why I would be looking forward to them, let me explain myself. Or rather, let me explain onsen.

Onsen (温泉) literally translates as “hot spring” which is a very accurate description of what they are. But it doesn’t come close to conveying how amazing they are.

“Onsen Monkey.” Used with permission (Asteiner on Creative Commons).

Imagine you own a hot tub. Except this isn’t just a plastic tub surrounded by wooden decking in your back garden. This is a natural hot spring, made of smooth rock and overlooking a sun-kissed valley filled with prancing deer. It’s beautifully hot water.

In fact you own not just one hot tub, but half a dozen, each set to a different temperature. Some indoors, some outdoors. Some of them have jet streams. Some of them even have gentle electric currents to help you relax. And you have a couple of saunas.

It’s like you own the world’s most amazing bathroom.

And that’s what an onsen is like.

Except they’re open to the public. And so they tend to be filled with naked Japanese men (they are separated into male/female sections).

Now I get that this is where your enthusiasm may have just waned. The idea of being almost fully naked (you do get a small towel) in a room full of strangers is possibly your worst nightmare.

I understand where you’re coming from. I appreciate that our culture is so obsessed with body image that we judge ancient greek statues of Hercules for lacking muscle definition. But the point of onsens is not to compare your body to other people. It’s about being so relaxed that you don’t mind being naked.

Plus if you feel really self-conscious, you can go in the sauna and watch sumo on the TV.

Everything about a visit to an onsen is brilliant. The mini road trip out into the countryside (the best onsens are always out in the countryside), scrubbing yourself until you are painfully clean before you get on, the initial “ah ah ah” as you attempt to jump straight into the hottest bath, boldly claiming you’ll stay in the sauna for 5 minutes and then desperately willing the clock to go faster, spending an age slowly trying to lower yourself into the “weak” electric current bath and then having an 80 year old Japanese dude slump into the “strong” one with a loud, “Ahhh, that feels good!”

Oh, and of course there will be one random Japanese guy who decides to use you to practice his English.

Even the post onsen stuff is fun. You get out, quick shower down, get into clean clothes, buy yourself a bottle of milk, followed by some Mitsuya Cider (it’s actually lemonade but hey) and then you find a tatami mat to lie on whilst you watch whatever ridiculous celebrity panel show is on the TV.

Speaking of which, it because of the general lack of TV that I enjoy onsens so much. I know I mentioned it twice in my description, but for the most part onsens do not involve TVs or any kind of media. At their best, onsens offer simply hot water and some unspoiled nature.

Now I’m not about to start hating on people who watch TV. If that’s how you relax, then that’s fine. I’m aware that compared to my description of onsen an evening watching House of Cards might seem even more appealing to you. Especially if you’ve tried to go into an onsen before and been too freaked out to go through with it.

That’s cool. To each their own. Or, as the Japanese would say, “Ten people, ten colours.”

But I personally prefer to relax by removing myself from the stimulating world of TV, film, Facebook, etc. Even reading, which I love, can get in the way of my relaxing.

Doing absolutely nothing: that is my idea of relaxing. And doing nothing whilst sitting in water that warms me to my very bone marrow… yup that’s pretty much my perfect evening.

So I am very much looking forward to doing some serious chilling out in onsens once I’m in Japan.

 

OK, sharing time. Have you been to an onsen? Loved it, hated it, or take-it-or-leave-it?

What’s The First Thing I’m Going to Do When I Get Back to Japan? Eat Ramen!

Now that it is confirmed that I’ll be going out to Japan this May, my brain has been busy running through the things that now need to be done. These tasks are mostly tedious, and so I have allowed my mind to dwell on some of the stuff I’ll do once I get to Japan.

First on that list is deciding what the first thing to do is. As in… anyway, when I get to Japan the first thing I will do is: Eat ramen.

Well, obviously the first thing I’ll do is grab some canned coffee, but that won’t take long. My first proper action will involve locating ramen, and of course some gyoza to accompany it.

Let me explain briefly what I’m talking about.

Oh, you know about ramen? You had some at Wagamama?

You know nothing of ramen!

Ahem… what I meant is that the difference between the ramen you get in Japan and the stuff on offer in the UK is roughly equivalent to the difference between real-life Mt. Fuji and a badly-drawn triangle.

Enjoying some ramen and gyoza with my good friend Takuma. A bad photo of some good food.

Anyway, in case you really do know nothing of ramen, it’s essentially noodles in broth, except much more exciting than that sounds. The broth is what makes the ramen. Deep, rich, and in all other ways very tasty. It generally comes in 3 flavours: salt, miso, and soy sauce, which incidentally is my order of preference. Throw in some quality noodles, some sliced pork, a bit of chopped up veg, and a half-boiled egg for good measure and you have yourself a meal my friend.

Almost. A bowl of ramen is not complete without a plate of gyoza on the side.

Gyoza are dumplings. But again, such a translation fails to do them justice. They are bite-sized bundles of delight. I defy anyone to sit before a plate of steaming gyoza and remain an atheist. They are irresistible proof of divine benevolency.

Interestingly, ramen and gyoza are both originally from China. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. But they are one of the most popular dishes in Japan. Kinda like the way us Brits have adopted and adapted curry to our tastes.

A fair few of my Japanese friends have traveled overseas. And when they get back to Japan they invariably seek out a ramen restaurant as soon as possible. I understand why: Ramen is – in case you hadn’t gathered this already – amazing!

But enough about me, what about you? If you’ve spent time in Japan, or elsewhere, what’s the dish that you really crave? And if you do know a restaurant in the UK that sells Japan-level ramen, please let me know!

Things I Didn’t Expect About Japan: The “Mama Chari”

Today I’m going to talk to you about a phenomena that is ubiquitous in Japan. So much so that it is one of the nation’s defining features. Go to any city in Japan and you’ll find these in abundance.

I am of course talking about the “mama chari.” The title given to the bicycle of course in Japan. 

They say a picture is worth a thousand words (although I notice they still chose to say it). Anyway here’s what mama chari looks like.

Photo courtesy of OMF

The lack of an article in that previous sentence was deliberate. All mama chari look like that. Actually, most I’ve seen are black. That kid must be some sort of crazy rebel.

I have had many an adventure involving mama chari.

Like the time I left one outside a Tsutaya store (I’ll explain in another post) and came back after a few hours to find it gone. At first I thought I had just forgotten where I’d parked it. But since all bikes look the same I had gotten used to memorizing the exact spot where I parked my bike – down to the nearest metre.

This was the day I discovered that although people park their bikes everywhere – and by ‘park’ I mean hastily abandon with the intent of reclaiming them at some future point – it is technically illegal to do so. There are signs to inform you of this, but I couldn’t read them. Not because of my lack of Japanese. No, because the bikes covered them up.

These signs helpfully include maps to direct you to the holding pen where you can bail out your bike. I explained to the folks guarding the bike prison that I was an ignorant foreigner (as if it wasn’t obvious!) and they in turn explained that meant I paid a slightly lower fine.

Another thing about bikes in Japan is the way people ride them. Or rather the things people do whilst riding them. I have seen – swear down on my mama chari’s life – a man riding a bike whilst carrying an umbrella and reading a book. This combination is, I hope, quite rare. But people using their phones whilst cycling is fairly common. Same for umbrellas.

Oh, and the only people who wear bike helmets in Japan are Mormons. Seriously, I don’t know a single Japanese person who owns a helmet. I don’t even know where the Mormons buy them from.

Anyway, people often ask what shocked me when I first went to Japan. Topping the list would be mama chari.

Why? Well because they are examples of those random things that you don’t expect from a culture and that generally get ignored in books on culture.

So I went out to Japan knowing about group decision-making and the importance of ‘face.’ I was prepared for a super-efficient transport system and a totally different diet. I was informed about lots of the cultural rules. I even had some knowledge of the Meiji reformation.

But nobody warned me about the mama chari !

I understand why. They aren’t particularly interesting.

Except that they are one of the quirks of Japan’s personality. I don’t love them. I don’t hate them. But they are part of Japan. And I like that. So here’s the to mama chari! Not good, not bad, just unexpected.

Things I Don’t Love About Japan: The Crazy Work Ethic

Photo courtesy of OMF International

When I wrote a post about customer service in Japan, my good friend JP – a Brazilian hip-hop dancing missionary in Tokyo [Edit: turns out it was the other JP I know. He’s a German snowboarding missionary in Japan] – wisely pointed out the flip-side of that super cheery and helpful service. He’s kindly let me quote him,

“Beneath the nice surface of supreme customer service people are suffering from the immense pressure as they have to perform and fulfill what is expected from them.”

This is true. And it highlights the tension I feel about Japan. I really do have a love/hate relationship with Japan. And the love I feel for Japan is highlighted by the stuff that I hate. In fact if I didn’t love Japan so much I imagine I wouldn’t really care about the negative stuff in Japanese culture.

For instance Japanese has a brilliant word, which is also a terrible word: ‘Ganbaru’ (頑張る in case you wondered what the Japanese looks like).

It’s one of those impossible-to-translate-into-a-single-English-word words. People tend to translate it as “do one’s best” which is probably as close as you can get.

The reason I love this word, is that it is a great encouragement to shout to someone. ‘Ganbatte!’ – “Do your best!” “Go for it!” In some situations you could maybe even translate it as, “I’m rooting for you!”

The problem is that ‘Ganbaru’ can easily turn into a demand. People will say to themselves, ‘Ganbaranaito…’ – “I must try harder…” “I must keep going…”

But, as JP highlighted, we need rest. To keep pushing yourself on, because of felt expectations to ‘do one’s best’ can be dangerous. Very dangerous. People die from the stress. So often that overwork is now an official cause of death in Japan. There’s a word for it: ‘Karoushi’ – literally, ’overwork death.’

And this is not limited to salarymen. High school kids, and even younger children, feel the pressure to work harder than is physically possible for them in order to get into the best universities. To not to let down their school and family. Bullying, ‘hikkikomori,’ suicide – the problems caused by this pressure are real and tragic.

I don’t think this pressure is necessitated, or caused, by the Japanese commitment to customer service. But it can distort it. To quote JP again,

“Every nice extra service is paid for by time and energy not spent with the family or for recreation. Many Japanese break down under this immense pressure to perform on this high level, there are many who are not able to give themselves as it is required and the question is where will they end up? The friendliness and kindness and supreme service here in Japan has a price and people pay with their health and lives.”

So JP, I totally get you. I’m sorry for painting a lop-sided picture of Japan (I’ll send you a Bounty to make up for it). I do love the Japanese dedication to customer service. But I emphatically do not love the work ethic that says people should provide that service even if it costs them their health, happiness, family, or life.