Crash Course in Japanese Culture (Final Part)

After her father was done with his bath, he came into the room and sat down. Sachiko brought him a beer along with some snacks for the both of us, poured his beer for him, and then poured me a glass. Her father raised his glass to me, said “kompai“, cheers, and I did the same and we drank our beer. I felt kind of awkward sitting there on the tatami mat floor as I couldn’t speak Japanese and he couldn’t speak English so we just sat there for a few minutes in silence and watched the news on TV. Since I screwed up in the bath most of the food that was on the table put away.

Sachiko, meanwhile, busied herself in the kitchen and started bringing the food for our dinner into the room and placed it around the table. She also placed a portable, electric one burner stove on the table and plugged it in. On top of this she placed a large pot filled with all kinds of vegetables and turned on the heat. In front of me was a small, shallow dish that had an egg in it. I wondered what it was for and figured it would be cooked along with the dinner somehow.

Her father had finished his beer and raised his bottle towards me and said something I didn’t understand. By his gesture I gathered that he wanted me to drink up. I did, and he poured me another glass and poured one for himself. The Japanese do like their beer, I thought to myself. By now I was beginning to feel the effects of the beer as I had been drinking since my bath. I picked at the rice crackers and continued to watch a kind of slapstick comedy that was now on the TV.

There were also some, what looked like peas in the pod, in a bowl on the table. The father would grab one and squeeze the “peas” into his mouth and place the empty pod into another bowl. Not wanting to look unsociable I also tried one. The pod was a little wet and there was salt on it. I squeezed the “peas” into my mouth and boy did they taste good. I had another and another and almost couldn’t stop myself from eating them.

After a while the pot started to boil and the heat was turned down a little. Sachiko then brought in a large plate of the paper thin slices of beef we had bought that afternoon and knelt next to me at the table. With chopsticks, she began placing pieces of the meat into the pot of boiling vegetables. Her mother came in and knelt at the table also. I thought it odd that the women were kind of kneeling and the two men were sitting cross legged. Sachiko explained that we were going to eat Sukiyaki, boiled vegetables and meat. I asked about the “peas” and mentioned how good they tasted. Sachiko said that they were soy beans, also known as edamame. I had never tasted soy beans before, but they sure were good.

I asked about her brother and sister and if they were going to eat with us. Sachiko said that her brother would be going out with his friends and that her sister would be home later.

Everyone then broke their egg into the shallow bowl and began beating it with the chopsticks. I followed suit and wondered what we were going to do with the egg so I asked Sachiko. She explained that the meat and vegetables were to be taken from the pot, dipped in the raw egg, and eaten. I found this rather repulsive as I had never eaten a raw egg before.

Everyone then started dipping their chopsticks into the pot and placed a few pieces of vegetables and meat into the bowl with the raw egg and began eating. I did the same, but was awkward with the chopsticks, so Sachiko got some for me. I looked in the bowl and saw the vegetables and meat in the raw egg and wondered what it would taste like. I took the piece of meat first and, after letting as much of the raw egg drip off the meat as possible, placed it in my mouth. Hey, this is not that bad after all. I hardly tasted the egg, but the meat was delicious. I couldn’t ever recall eating meat that was boiled like this before. I then tried the vegetables and they were pretty good too. I then followed suit with the family and we all ate while watching the comedy on TV.

Sachiko explained that the raw egg is supposed to cool off the hot meat and vegetables before eating while adding a little flavor to the already flavorful food. There were also some vegetables and large mushrooms that I had never tasted before, but they were all delicious. And so was the beer that seemed to never end.

I couldn’t quite grasp the concept of the TV show we were watching, but everyone was laughing. It seemed that mostly everyone was yelling at each other and then, one person would slap the other in the head and the audience would roar with laughter. A few skits were shown that showed a Samurai type scene, men dressed as women, a scene in a house, etc. It seemed to be live and performed on a stage in some large hall. One thing I did notice was that there were no commercials.

As soon as I had finished a glass of beer, it was filled again. Sometimes, her father would hold up a bottle towards me and gesture me to drink while my glass was still half full. I drank up and soon was beginning to get drunk. I noticed that, after a while, her fathers face was really pink. The women drank too, but not us much as her father and I. There was a little small talk, but mostly we all sat in silence, while eating, drinking and watching TV.

Sachiko explained that the TV show we were watching was the most popular comedy show in Japan and was on every Saturday night. I still couldn’t get it, but everyone else seemed to enjoy it. I asked about the commercials and she said that this was NHK, the public television station, and that there weren’t any.

All in all dinner lasted about an hour and a half and everyone was full. I continued eating the soy beans which I found very delicious and addicting. The mother seemed happy that I enjoyed them and made another large bowl after the table was cleared.

After the comedy show was over, the father switched the station to a police drama type of show. This I found fairly interesting and easy to follow, even though I didn’t understand the language. Sachiko and her mother washed the dishes in the kitchen.

After we had finished our fourth beer or so, the father said something to me and I understood the word whiskey. He yelled something into the kitchen and soon a small tray with two glasses, a bucket of ice, and a pitcher of water was brought in along with a bottle of whiskey. The two glasses were placed on the table and the father filled them with ice.

“Whiskey wada,” he said. “You like?”

I had never had whiskey and water before, but feeling rather good, nodded my head and said “yes”. He poured a little whiskey into the glasses from a small, dark, round bottle with a yellow label on it. The label said Suntory. He then filled the remainder of the glass with water.

“Disu izu mizu wari“, he said, pointing at the glass. “Whisky Wada.”

His accent was funny in English, but I knew what he meant. Now I was really getting drunk and my shyness and inhibitions started to fade into the background. The father and I started speaking with Sachiko being the interpreter. I don’t remember much of what was said, but I do remember us laughing a lot. I also don’t know how it happened, but I vaguely remember myself standing up in that room and singing like an idiot while the parents and Sachiko laughed. I was told later the next day that I put on a one man comedy show for them. I didn’t know it at the time, but I guess I was singing karaoke before karaoke was cool.

The next thing I remember is waking up in the morning, groggy, still a little drunk, but with no headache like I was accustomed to after a night of heavy drinking. I put on the sweats and stumbled into the warm kitchen. The parents and Sachiko were already in there and were eating breakfast. Her younger brother and older sister were in the parent’s room watching TV. Everyone looked my way and said “Ohayo“, good morning. I said “ohayo“ in return and took a seat at the table. Coffee was made for me.

I was asked if I wanted something to eat and I said that I would like to have some of that delicious toast I had yesterday. The toast was made and a small bowl of soup was put in front of me that had some small clams in the shell in it. This I found very tasty and ate a couple of bowls of it. I had never eaten clams before.

Her father talked, through Sachiko, about the previous evening and how much fun he had had. I thought I must’ve made a real fool of myself with my singing and antics, but no one seemed to mind.

It was only later on, as I came to learn more and more about the Japanese culture, that drinking helps the Japanese relax and it’s perfectly okay to make a fool out of oneself and “let your hair down”, so to speak, when inebriated.

I mentioned to Sachiko that I was surprised I didn’t have a headache with the amount of alcohol I drank the previous evening. She said that she gave me an aspirin before I went to bed and passed out. I didn’t even remember it. She said an aspirin before bed, after drinking alcohol, will prevent a headache. I’ll have to remember that, I thought to myself.

Anyway, we finished our breakfast and I washed and brushed my teeth at the sink and we all ended up in the family room sitting on the floor watching TV for the remainder of the morning. They drinking their tea and I my coffee. We also ate some tangerines that the mother placed in a small wicker bowl on the table. After a while, the older sister got dressed and left and the brother went to his room. The mother washed dishes and Sachiko did the wash and hung out the bedding.

What was different this morning was that there was no wooden table. Instead there was a kotatsu. I particularly enjoyed this. With the sun shining into the room, the kerosene heater lit with the kettle of water hissing on top, and my feet warmed by the kotatsu, it was a real cozy atmosphere and, for some unknown reason, I felt like I belonged there.

The father laid on the floor while reading the paper and I, also, “read” the paper, or rather looked at the pictures and strange writing. I was more interested in the advertisements inserted in the paper. There’s nothing you can’t get in this country, and the prices are pretty decent, I remember thinking to myself. I was most interested in the electronics ads than anything else.

At around 1pm, it was time for lunch. Sachiko mentioned that they were going to order lunch and asked what I would like. I was given a few options and selected the pork on rice, also known as katsudon. The mother made a phone call and after about 30 minutes our lunch was delivered by a man on a scooter.

I was little surprised that lunch was delivered in real glass bowls. I was half expecting paper boxes much like a Chinese restaurant in the states. The plates were placed around the table and everyone ate while watching TV. I found the katsodon extremely tasty and enjoyed it very much.

After lunch, the plates were gathered up and placed outside. Sachiko said that the store would come by later in the day to pick them up.

At about 3 pm I mentioned that I had to be getting back to the base as I had to get up early the next morning and I asked about how to get home. Sachiko mentioned something to her father and the father yelled something to the brother. Sachiko then said that her brother would drive me back to the base.

We then went into Sachiko’s room where I changed clothes. What surprised me was that my underclothes and socks were washed. Sachiko said that she had washed them that morning. I felt kind of embarrassed about this, but didn’t say anything.

When it was time to leave, I said “domo arrigato”, thank you, to the parents (one of the few phrases I knew in Japanese) and bowed a little as I had seen the Japanese do to each other. The parents said they were glad to meet me and hoped that I would visit again. I secretly hoped that I would also.

The three of us left the house and walked a short distance to the parking area where her brother’s car was parked. He owned a brand new, dark green, 1973 Nissan Skyline (courtesy of his parents who bought it for his graduation from high school); one of the coolest looking sports cars in Japan at that time. Cool, I said to myself. Sachiko got in the back and I rode in the front.

As we drove the narrow streets back to the base, Sachiko and I talked a little. I asked if I could see her again and she said, “Sure”. She wrote her phone number down on a piece of paper and I tucked it away carefully in my wallet.

During the drive home her brother hardly said a word except to Sachiko to ask where the base was. I knew the city name and train station name and the adjoining city, but that was it. I had no idea how to get home by car. He managed to find it anyway. He never spoke directly to me and I still had the feeling that he didn’t much like me, even though we were about a year and a half apart in age. Maybe he didn’t like Americans dating his sister, but I thought that that couldn’t be it as he already had two sisters married to Americans. Maybe two were enough for him. Oh well.

The drive from her house to the base, about 30 kilometers (18 miles), took almost an hour. The traffic on route 16 this Sunday afternoon was horrendous. It was mostly stop and go all the way. I couldn’t get over that most of the backup on this two lane “highway” was mostly due to traffic signals and the massive number of cars. I also noticed that a majority of the cars were white and contained families or couples. I also remember noticing that when there was a family in the car, the wife was always in the back.

When we weren’t talking, I mostly stared out the window at the small shops, houses, signs, and took everything in while thinking about the most intriguing weekend I had ever experienced. The sun began to set and Sachiko pointed out Mt. Fuji to the left. You could clearly make out the top third of the snow covered mountain standing tall just over the Tanzawa Mountains to the west. What a majestic site.

Once at the base, I signed them in and we drove the short distance to my living quarters. There I said “domo arrigato” to her brother. He nodded his head, said something I didn’t understand, and I exited the car. I moved the seat forward so Sachiko could get out. When she was outside the car, I reached down, clasped both her hands in mine and, looking into her eyes, squeezed them and said “Thanks for a very interesting weekend. I really enjoyed it.”

She looked back at me, squeezed my hands in return, and said, “You’re welcome. I enjoy too.” I kissed her on her cheek, said I would call her, and held the door open as she got into the front seat. She looked up and me, smiled, and said “mata neh,” “see you again”. I closed the door and waved as they made a u-turn and headed back down the street to the gate.

I did call Sachiko the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. I saw her the following weekend, spent it at her house again, and continued seeing her as often as I could. I spent many a weekend at her house and eventually started working with her father and brother on Saturdays.

We eventually fell in love and were married in a civil ceremony at the American Embassy and the city hall in late spring of 1975 with the blessings of her parents. As her parents were not well off, and neither was I for that matter, there was no formal wedding.

I’d like to say that we lived happily ever after, but such was not the case. After I decided to get out of the military two years later and enter a university in Tokyo our standard of living declined somewhat and I insisted that I did not want any children until I at least graduated from university and found steady employment. I guess the insecurity of not having a steady paycheck, a free place to live and access to the base stores kind of took its toll and things started to go downhill as the life of a student was probably not the life she “envisioned”. Besides, to be totally honest, having been married way before I matured and allowing my “small head” to do the “thinking” instead of my large head, I still had a “wandering eye” and ended up having an affair which was discovered and, Japanese women, once hurt like that rarely, if ever, forgive.

Even after our amicable divorce, in 1978, we remained friends and did have a couple of dates. We almost got back together in 1980, but fate would not allow it as it probably wasn’t meant to be. She did upgrade herself though, and through mutual friends I heard she ended up marrying a US Naval Officer and I hope she found the happiness I failed to give her.

In my opinion, given the Japanese economy at the time and the birth of its beginnings as a major industrial power, I feel that maybe she was one of the last generation of Japanese women that married US servicemen or foreigners for a “better life” outside of Japan. Not that I thought she didn’t love me or anything as I know she did. Today, the Japanese economy equals or exceeds the standards of the US and I doubt very much that Japanese women marry foreigners for a better lifestyle, but that will have to be explained at another time.

However, I did meet and made quite a few friends through her sister and the people she worked with as we used to hang out and travel together often; one of which is still my closest and dearest friend today. He was my best man when I got married again in 1988.

Even today, some three and a half decades later, I still think of Sachiko and her family. I wonder what she is doing, hope she found the happiness I failed to giver her and I smile when I remember that weekend totally immersed in the Japanese culture for the first time when I had been in Japan for only one month.

I smile at how awkward I was, the blunder of the bath, my shock at her sister sleeping in the room, and the little discoveries I made and the things I learned. The food I tasted, the coldness, the kindness of her parents, and my first introduction into all things Japanese. And I sincerely hope she eventually found happiness, even though it wasn’t with me, as she and her family were really nice people and treated me great throughout the three years we spent together. She at least deserved that.

Even if our relationship wasn’t meant to be, maybe that weekend was, as I came to truly love Japan and the culture, and ended up staying in Japan for more than 15 years after we parted and opening up my own English school.

That weekend totally change my life and pointed me in a whole new direction that, I often wonder today, where I would’ve ended up had I not met Sachiko. There is a saying that, “everything happens for a reason,”and “there are NO coincidences in life.” I am sure, for reasons I cannot explain here, that when I look back over it maybe it was supposed to happen. Who knows?

To Sachiko and her family, I thank you. I thank you for welcoming me, a foreigner, into your family when I was a complete stranger and introducing me to life and culture in Japan, a place that I now call home.

Crash Course in Japanese Culture (Part V)

We went into Sachiko’s room and she brought out a large towel, a fresh change of underclothes, a pair of socks, and a pair of sweat pants with a matching sweat shirt. I started to remove my clothes and Sachiko left the room.

I opened the door and slid it closed behind me as I stepped into the slippers. With a towel around my waste I instantly felt the cold air around my legs and chest as I walked the couple of steps to the bath room on my right. I was still amazed that I couldn’t smell anything from the open pit toilet next to the bath room. The door to the kitchen was closed and I heard Sachiko and her mother talking.

I slid open the door to the bath room, stepped out of my slippers, and stepped down onto a quite cold, wet floor. It was quite steamy in there and the small window was slightly ajar.

The bath room was quite small and square with a concrete floor and a drain. The bathtub was the smallest I had ever seen. It was pale blue in color; about 3ft square, a little over 2ft in height, and was covered with a removable serrated cover. There was a spigot over the tub. There was also a long, silver flue that came from the side of the tub and exited the wall near the ceiling. It looked like you lit it somewhere on the bottom and this was how the water was heated. Also, on the floor were two plastic basins and a small, plastic thing with a hole in the center about a half foot high. It looked like you could sit on it. On the wall, about two feet from the floor was a small soap dish with a bar of soap in it, a small rack that had what looked like a thin, pink wash cloth on it and another spigot. That’s pretty low. I’ll have to reach for the soap. And why is there another faucet down there? I remember thinking. In the corner were two bottles of what I assumed to be shampoo and rinse.

How does one take a bath in that? I thought to myself as I stared at the bathtub and started to shiver a little. Sachiko then opened the door from the kitchen and mentioned that the water would be a little hot. She pointed to a pink, plastic, plunger looking type thing in the corner and said I should mix the water with it. I looked at her quizzically and she stepped into the plastic slippers, removed the cover, folded it, and placed it in the corner. She took the plunger, placed it in the water, and mixed it around. She inserted her hand and said, “There, that should be ok.”

“Thanks,” I said to her. She exited the room and slid the door closed behind her. I removed my towel and placed it in the towel rack. Standing there naked, I started to shiver a little as I put my hand into the crystal clear water. Wow was it hot! It didn’t burn me or anything, but it was hotter than any bath water I had felt before. I lifted a leg and placed it into the water. Man was it hot. I instantly removed it. After a while I tried again. It started to burn a little as I gently eased my leg into the water but continued doing so. Upon my foot touching the bottom of the bath, I eased my other leg in.

Man was it hot! There I was standing there in this really hot water that reached a little above my knees with my arms crossed and my hands clutching my shoulders to try and stay warm. It was so hot that my legs started to itch from the heat. I instantly got out and wondered if I could stand the heat and take a bath. Is this some kind of joke? Maybe she made it a little too hot, I thought to myself standing there like a fool.  I looked at my legs and they were distinctly pink where the water reached.

I had no concept of a Japanese bath at the time. I had no idea that the water of a Japanese bath is really hot, but not hot enough to do any damage. The heat was supposed to sooth you and your muscles while you relaxed in the water.

Trying again, I eased a leg into the water. This time it didn’t feel all that hot. I eased the other leg in and it felt the same. Hmmm. It’s not that hot now. I put my hands on the side of the tub and gently eased the rest of my body into the bath. After a couple of inches I bolted upright again.

Shit! This is too hot for me! I said to myself. Maybe, I’ll just pass on the bath, make a little splashing noise, and pretend that I took one. But it was still cold in there and I didn’t think I could just stand there for fifteen or twenty minutes.

Trying yet again, I gently eased my body down into the water. It must’ve taken me a full five minutes to get my entire body into the hot water inch, by burning inch. I would lower myself a little lower than the previous time and get up again. I repeated that process and soon I was sitting there, cross legged, with water up to just below my neck and my body itching from the heat while water spilled over the sides of the tub.

After a while, the itchiness was gone and it was still hot, but not uncomfortable, and I started to relax. I eased my head back and rested it on the edge of the tub and looked at the ceiling of the steamy room while I let the heat penetrate my body. It really began to feel good.

After a few minutes of this I noticed that my forehead was starting to sweat. Well, I guess I better wash up, I thought. I reached down for the soap, grabbed the thin washcloth and brought both into the bath. I was surprised that the washcloth was not cloth at all. It was kind of rough nylon, felt a little like sand paper and was quite long. I wet the cloth, rubbed the soap on it, stood up, and proceeded to wash myself right there in the tub as I was accustomed to! I also noticed that my entire body was pink, almost like I was sunburned. I sat back down and let the soapy, hot water sooth my body again. This was not too bad now and it really felt good after all.

I had no inkling at the time that I had made a major cultural blunder here. No one had explained to me that, in a Japanese bath, you are supposed to wash yourself outside of the tub and rinse yourself off with the hot water from the bath with the basins. When you are completely clean and free of soap, you then get in and relax. This is very economical and the whole family can take a bath using very little water and gas.

Anyway, I got out of the tub and rinsed out the cloth with cold water from the faucet near the floor and hung it up. Man was that water cold. I reached into the tub, grabbed the chain, removed the stopper and let the water drain onto the floor. I grabbed the towel from the rack and proceeded to dry myself off.

After a minute or so Sachiko opened the door to the bath room and I almost fell over trying to get the towel around me. “What are you doing?” she said. “Don’t let the water out. We have to use it again.”

“Why? The waters dirty from my bath.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at the tub and the soap ring and she said, “Did you wash in bath?”

“Of course,” I answered. Doesn’t everybody? I thought to myself.

“Oh no!” she said. “My fault! My fault! I should of explain to you how take Japanese bath. I thought you know,” she said with a somewhat shocked look on her face.

Motioning me out of the bathroom she went in and started running the water. She left and came back with a rag and proceeded to clean out the tub while I stood in the hallway watching her and thinking that I really screwed up here. I remember wondering if she was pissed off at me. How was I to know? No one explained it to me. I also remember that I felt no cold whatsoever out there in the hallway. My body was so heated from the tub that it couldn’t feel the cold. As Sachiko cleaned out the tub I walked back into her room.

I put on the sweat pants, tee shirt and socks, and sat on the floor at the small table and lit a cigarette. I felt really dumb and embarrassed, but didn’t let it bother me too much because no one explained the technique involved in taking a Japanese bath. After a few minutes I heard water running again. Sachiko went into the kitchen and then came into the room with a small tray that held a bottle of beer and two small glasses.

She sat at the table and poured the beer for the both of us. “Sorry,” I said. I didn’t know about a Japanese bath.”

She looked at me, smiled, and said, “That’s ok. No probrem. I should explain to you or ask you if you know about Japanese bath.”

She held up her glass, said “kompai”, “cheers,” and we touched our glasses together. Man, did that cold beer taste good after that bath. I quickly drank it and Sachiko refilled it. She went on explain the fundamentals of taking a Japanese bath or ofuro:

When taking a bath one first rinses oneself off with water from the bath with the basins. The feet are washed first. If the body is not extremely dirty, one can then enter the bath and relax a bit. After a while, you remove yourself from the bath, sit on the small seat and fill two basins with water from the bath. If the water is too hot, you can add cold water from the faucet. You then pour water from one of the basins over yourself once or twice. Afterwards you proceed to wash your body. You also shave and wash your hair if needed. Then you rinse yourself off with clean water from the bath with one of the basins and do it again until your body is completely rinsed off. Then, you get into the tub and let the hot water relax you and take all your cares away.

Sachiko went on to explain that I would have to take a bath again to cleanse my body of the soap film that was probably on me. I had never thought of this before, but in a way it did make sense. It made very good sense.

I heard male voices coming from the kitchen and realized that her father and brother were home. Sachiko left the room to turn off the bath water and start the heating process over again. This would take about another 40 minutes and therefore, dinner would be delayed due to my not knowing how to take a bath.

Anyway, I remained in the room and drank the rest of the beer and listened to the radio while the bath heated. When it was ready, I again took a bath and washed my hair. I thought the father and brother would go first, but because I was the guest, as Sachiko explained, I went first.

This time I did it right as Sachiko made clear. I entered the bath room, sat on the small seat and filled the two basins with water from the tub and proceeded to wash myself outside the tub. I then rinsed myself off with clean water from the bath with the other basin. I then washed my hair and entered the tub to relax. It was still hot, but not as hot as the first time. I relaxed in there for a few minutes until I felt myself starting to sweat. Then I got out, dried myself off and went back to the room.

Sachiko then invited me into the family room where I sat on a zabuton, a cushion, on the floor at the short rectangular table. She brought another beer, poured it for me and turned the TV on. Her father had already entered the bath. I glanced at the clock on the dresser and it was a little past 7. The heat from the bath still warmed me.

Here I was about to eat my first Japanese dinner, while sitting on the floor, in a Japanese house with a Japanese family. I still couldn’t believe I was in this place and experiencing this strange culture first hand. It was all so surreal and I hoped nobody was pissed off at me for screwing up in the bath and delaying dinner.

To be continued…………

Crash Course in Japanese Culture (Part IV)

After I was done with breakfast, Sachiko cleared the table and washed the dishes. I was then asked if I wanted to wash up. Of course I did. Sachiko motioned me to the kitchen sink with a pale blue plastic basin in it. She turned on the hot water heater and let the water run into the basin along with cold water from the faucet. She brought me a yellow plastic cup with a funny looking comic cat on it, a small towel, and a new toothbrush.

What? Do I brush my teeth and wash up right here in the kitchen sink? I thought to myself. Isn’t there any separate room for this? It seemed that no there wasn’t and that’s the way it was. I did my morning ritual right there in the kitchen. How strange I remember thinking. I wonder if everyone in the family did this. I found out that, yes, they did. There was no separate room for washing up. Even in my own apartment some years later, all washing and the brushing of teeth was done in the kitchen sink as there was only one sink.

After I was done, I sat down and watched the activity going on around me. The mother began to wash clothes. She brought out a basketful of clothes and exited the house through the door next to the china cabinet.  I thought it odd that the washing machine was located outside the house. But in Japan at that time, most washing machines were located outside the house, especially apartments. I guess this was in the interest of saving space.

Japanese washing machines were the smallest I had ever seen! They were like toys that my sisters might get for Christmas or something. You would wash a few items on the right and then you would transfer them to the spinner on the left to spin out the water. You could only wash one or two pairs of jeans at a time or three shirts, or 5 t-shirts and your drawers. Afterwards, you would take out the clothes, untangle them, and hang them on the clothes pole outside the house. One could have any color washing machine they wanted as long as it was white. Dryers were unheard of back then. If one had a couple of kids, it would take at least a couple of hours to wash clothes. Then you had to iron them to take out the wrinkles. I know as I had one of these when I had my own apartment later on. By the way, the washing of clothes is done every single day by housewives.

Sachiko, meanwhile, busied herself by taking out all the futons and mattresses from the closets in the three other rooms and hung the them over the clothes pole located outside of every room to air them out.

Also, even though it was quite cold outside by my standards, all the windows in the house were opened, and the rooms were aired out. I became a little chilly and warmed myself by sitting near the kerosene heater.

After she was finished with that I went with Sachiko on my first trip to a Japanese supermarket to buy what we were having for dinner that night: Sukiyaki. This was my first foray into Japan without any people from the base.

We left the house about noon and boarded a bus for the 15 min ride to the train station where the supermarket was located. I found it pretty interesting that you boarded the bus at the back and paid when you exited the front. The two lane main thoroughfare was so narrow that I was sure a car would hit us or that this huge bus would hit a light pole, a bicycle, or something. There were also no sidewalks, and the storefronts were located literally a foot or so from the street. With all the people, cars, bicycles, busses and taxis around we just snaked our way through, and it seemed that I was the only one who was nervous. I just stared out the window taking it all in with childlike awe. As in the house, it seemed that all the store fronts had doors that slid open to enter or exit. Also, Japan had some of the smallest cars I had ever seen and it also seemed that everyone rode a bicycle.

The supermarket was crowded. More so than anything I had ever experienced before. Also, a Japanese supermarket is really quite small compared to the behemoths I was accustomed to stateside.  Most major department stores in Japan have a super market located on the first floor or in the basement. There were also many, many (more than I had ever seen before) bicycles parked neatly in front of the department store. There must’ve been at least a hundred or so. And every single bicycle had a basket on the front for the carrying of groceries and such.

There we purchased the meat (paper thin slices of beef), eggs, vegetables, another loaf of the bread that I thought was so delicious that morning and a few other things. The loaf of bread was just four slices of really thick bread! I just stared in amazement as I watched everyone bustling about with their little baskets in their hand. Every counter we passed had at least two or three women behind it, all dressed in white, selling everything from cookies and candies, to breads and cakes. It was noisy with all the chatter going on that I could not understand. The words I heard most often were “domo arrigato”, thank you, and “irashaimase”, welcome. (Literally “walk up”)

Looking at the items on the food shelves with writing that I could not understand, I still found it hard to believe that I was actually living in a foreign country and experiencing a culture that was so alien to anything I had ever experienced before. I also began to learn my first words in Japanese: pan (bread), nikku (meat), tomago (egg), yasai (vegetable), etc.

One thing stood out here that I quickly noted: Before arriving in Japan the previous month, I had assumed, and was told, that Japan was a poor country, kind of backwards and was not at all like America. I expected a country similar to the pictures one saw on TV of Viet Nam, Africa or some other third world country. How wrong they were back home. They really were ignorant. Other than being on a smaller scale than America, to me, Japan was no different than the US. It was modern on the outside, was as full of life as New York, and the supermarket was packed with all kinds of food. I was kind of expecting to find the shelves half bare like I used to see of the old Soviet Union on TV. There was almost nothing that I could get back home that I couldn’t get in Japan.

Anyway, we made our purchases and, before heading home, stopped for lunch. Sachiko asked what I’d like for lunch and I mentioned the “spaghetti soup” I so much enjoyed the previous night. She told me that it was called ramen and we could get it anywhere. She selected a small place and we went on inside. We sat at the counter and she mentioned the types of ramen that they had. I selected the soy sauce flavored ramen with butter and corn, also known as “shoyu kon batta.”

Other than my feeble attempt that morning with the pickles, this was my first real experience on learning how to eat with chop sticks. Sachiko was patient with me and I quickly learned. Although I was a little awkward at first, I managed to finish the entire bowl. Man was it good.

One thing I learned from this experience, though, is that it’s perfectly alright to slurp your noodles into your mouth while eating ramen (or soba or udon for that matter). This took me a few minutes to get used to as I was taught that it was very impolite to slurp ones food. It also took me a while to get accustomed to everyone else slurping theirs. It was a little grating on the ears at first and somewhat bothered me, but I put up with it and slurped my own. Sachiko explained that slurping helps to cool off the ramen as it is sucked up and is a whole lot easier to eat. A whole lot easier to eat yes, but I didn’t think it cooled it off any. Blowing on it helped more than anything. Also, as I learned that morning, it was perfectly acceptable to raise the bowl to your lips and drink directly from it rather than use a spoon. I noticed that everyone did it.

After lunch we headed back home to what was to be a very interesting night and a pretty big faux pas on my part.

Sachiko and I talked on the way home about the previous night and morning and my surprise, and somewhat anger, about her parents being there and all. I also mentioned how relieved I was about her parents not being upset and being so nice to me. She went on to explain that, in Japan, taking a friend home for the evening is nothing unusual whether it be a male or female. Sleeping in the same room with the opposite sex is also nothing unusual. She said that she could tell from the conversation with me the previous night that I was not one of “those types” who were just out for sex. She said she felt comfortable with me and believed I really wanted to be her friend which was why she invited me home.

I did confess to her, however, that I was looking forward to a night of bliss, but after seeing her sister sleeping there in the room, that feeling quickly vanished. We both laughed and had more small talk on the way home.

I asked her where she learned her English and she said that she had studied it in high school, from her other sisters, and from listening to the Armed Forces Radio Network. I was impressed at her ability. Although not fluent, I had no problem understanding her, unlike some of the girls I had met so far.

“Does your father always work on Saturdays?” I asked.

“Yes. He works six days a week,” she answered.

I was surprised at this answer and mentioned that we only work five days a week in America. She went on to explain that almost all people work on Saturdays in Japan. I learned that sararimen, businessmen, work a half a day on Saturdays and that even school is held for half a day on Saturdays. She usually worked on Saturdays also, but had scheduled in advance to have this day off. I was really surprised and somewhat impressed at how much the Japanese worked. Just being out of high school less than a year myself, I really couldn’t quite grasp the concept that kids really attended school on Saturdays!

I was really beginning to like this woman. With her long, black, straight hair, and her height, she really was a good looking woman. Plus, she had a nice personality to boot. What if we were to……, I remember thinking to myself as I stared into her eyes while we talked. Naaaah, you just met the woman, I thought to myself. Then I remembered that I told her I was 22 when I was really 18. It kind of bothered me, but I put it out of my mind for now. Just enjoy the moment, I thought to myself. Besides, we may not even be seeing each other next month.  Sachiko did mention however, that I looked kind of young for my age.

We arrived home later in the afternoon and we went into Sachiko’s room where she placed a few zabuton, cushions on the floor around the small table. She lifted off the top of the table, placed a thick quilt over the top and removed a wire from underneath which she plugged into the wall. She then placed the top back on and turned the switch located on the wire.

She explained that this is what is called a kotatsu, a foot warmer so to speak. I sat on one of the zabuton and placed my feet underneath and it really began to heat up under there. It really felt good to the feet. I looked under the quilt and there was a large, red, heat lamp underneath. She also brought out the kerosene heater which heated the room nicely. After a while it was really comfortable in the room and I removed my coat.

Looking back on it, I was in admiration at the economy of a Japanese house. No central heating, but every room was heated, as needed, with a kerosene heater which did the job quite well. Each room was closed off from the other rooms to provide privacy and warmth. There was no hot water heater so to speak of as the water was heated instantly by the propane hot water heater located over the sink. Very economical.

She then brought in a thermos of hot water, two small cups, a small, rust colored tea pot and a small plate of osenbei, rice crackers. She then made me my first cup of cha, green tea. The green tea was kind of bitter to my taste and very hot, but I sipped it anyway and didn’t let on. The rice crackers were delicious. Some were wrapped in black, dried, paper-like seaweed that I had seen on the table that morning, and they really tasted great. She also brought in a portable radio and tuned it to 810am FEN (The US Armed Forces Radio, also known as the Far East Network. FEN was every serviceman’s, and ex-patriots connection to back home.) We talked more, while drinking our tea and after a while I began to feel sleepy and lay down. Sachiko brought me a pillow, and I fell asleep with my feet toasty warm under the kotatsu.

It was about 5pm, and close to dark, when I woke up.  I headed on into the kitchen and sat at the table. I felt perfectly comfortable there now. Sachiko made me a cup of coffee and I just sat there watching her and her mother prepare dinner. They washed the vegetables, cabbage and some other vegetables I didn’t recognize; prepared the raw meat on a huge plate, cut up the oshinko, Japanese pickles, and placed everything on a large, rectangular, wooden table located in the room to the right of the genkan, entranceway, and off the kitchen. This was the parents sleeping room and also served as the family room for watching TV and eating dinner. I noticed that the table was low to the floor and it seemed that everyone would be sitting on the floor while eating dinner. Cool, I thought.

Her mother said something to her in Japanese and Sachiko asked if I’d like to take a bath before dinner. I thought about it and said, “No thanks, I took a shower last night.” I preferred showers anyway. Besides, I didn’t have a change of underwear I told her. (How American!)

“Don’t worry,” she said. “We have new ones of my brothers; they should fit.” She then leaned over to me and whispered, “In Japan we take a bath every night. It’s custom.”

Ohhhh kay, I guess I better take one, I thought. “Sure, I’ll take one,” I told her.

She then went into a room next to the toilet and came back out. “It’s heating up. It’ll be ready in about 40 minutes,” she said.

Heating up? Why don’t you just run the hot water? I thought. I remembered about the hot water heater over the kitchen sink and figured that was how the bath was being made, but I didn’t hear any water running. After a while all I heard was a kind of hissing and rumbling sound from the bath room.

Sachiko re-entered the bath room a few times during the next 30 or so minutes and I heard water swishing around. What she was doing was mixing the water as it heated up. Soon it was ready and I was about to take my first Japanese bath.

I was also about to make a major cultural blunder that I still remember to this day with laughter and some embarrassment. However, like my entire experience that day so far, it was a learning experience that I would never forget.

To be continued…….

Crash Course In Japanese Culture (Part III)

I slipped my feet into the slippers in the hallway and nervously followed her into the kitchen where her mother, father, and younger brother were seated at the table. I noticed the distinct odor of fish and welcomed the toasty warmth from the kerosene heater that had a kettle of water on top with steam coming out of the spout. The heat permeated the entire room.

She introduced me in Japanese and her mother stood up, smiled, bowed and said something I did not understand. She had on a gray everyday kimono with white apron and, when she smiled, I noticed a couple of gold capped teeth. I looked at Sachiko and she said, “My mother is glad to meet you and wants to know if you are hungry.” I was so nervous I wasn’t the least bit hungry. I smiled awkwardly back at the mother and said to Sachiko that I was glad to meet her mother also and that I would like some coffee. She translated this and the mother took the kettle off the heater to make my coffee.

She motioned that I sit down and I nervously took a seat while her mother took out a jar of Nescafe Instant Coffee and proceeded to make me a cup. To my left was her father, seated at the head of the table and across from me was her brother who seemed to be about my age. She then introduced me to her father who looked at me for a second and said something I didn’t understand. Sachiko translated that he was glad to meet me also. He didn’t offer his hand or anything and neither did I. He just sort of nodded and continued eating. I estimated her parents to be in their late forties or early fifties.

She went on to introduce me to her brother. He just looked at me and said something real short while holding a rice bowl up to his mouth and shoveling rice into his mouth with chop sticks. I instantly got the distinct feeling that he didn’t much like me. “He’s glad to meet you also”, Sachiko translated. Yeah right. I’m real sure he is. And I’m really sure that your father is glad also, I thought sarcastically to myself. I also wondered where her sister was.

On the table was a wide variety of food and plates. Everyone had about three or four different plates in front of them: A rice bowl, a small soup bowl, a flat, rectangular plate that had cooked fish (head and all!) and fish bones on them, and a small round cup with no handles for drinking tea. In the center of the table were a few plates that had what looked like red, green, and yellow pickles and cabbage in them. Another plate had some rectangular, what seemed to me to be black paper. This I later found out was dried seaweed for wrapping in rice. I had never seen so many plates on one table before.

No one said anything as they continued eating and I just sat there nervously waiting for the “hammer to fall” and the father to start questioning me. One thing I observed was that there was no silverware on the table and no one used a spoon while drinking the soup. They just drank it directly from the bowl and picked out some food with their chopsticks. Weird, I thought. I also found it amazing how expertly they ate their rice and fish with the chop sticks as I had never observed up close a whole family eating with these utensils.

The mother placed the cup of coffee next to me and placed a small container of milk and a small bowl of sugar next to the coffee along with a spoon. I mixed the sugar and milk into the cup and took a sip. WOW! Talk about strong coffee. She must’ve put in a lot of coffee or this is the most concentrated coffee I ever drank as I was used to “weak” American coffee. I sipped at the hot coffee which burned my lips.

The mother sat down and said something to Sachiko. I heard the words “Zama” and “Joe” and I looked at Sachiko. She immediately said that her mother wanted to know my name and where I was stationed. They went on talking and then the father spoke and the three of them began speaking while I just sipped my coffee. I did understand the phrase “Ah soo” that the father said a few times indicating that he was saying “Is that right?” I figured that he was questioning Sachiko about me. Damn, I have to learn this language I thought.

For about the next 15 minutes I got the 20 question routine about where I was born, my family, what did I think of Japan, how long I was here and when I would leave; did I like Japanese food, what I did at the base, etc., etc.  As the parents asked, Sachiko translated. Even though I told her the answers to most of their questions the previous night, I politely answered. The brother didn’t say anything.

By now, the caffeine from the coffee started to kick in and I was getting quite a buzz. The father looked at me and asked a direct question in Japanese. I looked at Sachiko and she said, “My father wants to know if you have to work today or tomorrow.” I answered that no, I didn’t. She translated, her father answered, and then she said, “My father wants to know if you will stay again tonight and have dinner with us?”

What? I was really taken aback at this. It was not what I expected. This was all so fascinating and interesting that I told her that, yes, I would. I wasn’t doing anything anyway. Besides, I thought, this would be a great way to get to know the Japanese people and their customs. I may never get a chance like this again. I’m really in an actual Japanese house with real Japanese people. They seemed to be really nice and not the least bit angry or upset that I had spent the night in their daughters’ room. They talked and acted as if they’d known me all their life. What a great country this is, I thought, as I sipped my coffee. And kind of weird too.

For some unknown reason that I cannot explain, I began to feel at ease and comfortable in this small kitchen and with the people around me whom I had known for a little over thirty minutes. They really made me feel welcome and I felt as if I “belonged” there if that makes any sense.

After a while, the father and brother got up, put on their coats and left. Her father was tall for a Japanese man. I estimated his height at about 6 ft. I was right as he was actually a little under 2 meters. Now I knew why his daughter was so tall for a Japanese woman.

Sachiko mentioned that they were going to work. I was later told that the father had his own plumbing business, a three man operation, and was contracted to do various work in Yokohama and Tokyo.

After they left I silently breathed a sigh of relief. Sachiko and her mother began to clean off the table, leaving the pickles, and the mother began washing the dishes in the sink. Sachiko sat down across from me, poured herself some green tea, and I asked her about her sister. She said that she was at work and worked for a major hotel near Yokohama station. Her brother was a senior in high school and would be working with his father full-time after graduation this month.

After the mother finished, she asked again if I was hungry. By this time I had calmed down, my breathing returned to normal and, yes, I was hungry. Sachiko asked if I wanted what they had.

Fish for breakfast? Those colored pickles and that black paper? Rice? No way, I thought. I can’t eat that for breakfast.

I asked her if she had any eggs and toast. She replied that she did and the mother made me a couple of fried eggs with what was the thickest toast I had ever had ever seen. It must’ve been a half an inch thick. But it was the freshest, softest, and best tasting toast I’d ever eaten. I was surprised that bread this thick could fit into a toaster. Man was it good. I asked her if she made it herself and she laughed and said that it was store bought. This store bought?

I was also given a bowl of a cloudy, brownish soup with cubes of some white stuff and onions. I was to later learn that this was miso (fermented soy bean paste) soup with tofu. The tofu was tasteless and reminded me of soft Jello, but the soup was delicious. Sachiko laughed as I ate the soup with a spoon as I was accustomed to. She explained that, in Japan, you just bring the bowl up to your mouth and drink it and eat the food inside with chopsticks or a spoon. Cool, I thought. It was a lot easier and less tedious than eating it with a spoon even though I was awkward with the chopsticks. I asked for more.

The bowls of pickles were in front of me and Sachiko asked that I try some. I picked out a green one and tasted it. Man was it salty. But being a salt freak anyway I enjoyed it. I then tried the yellow one. It was also salty, but a little less tasty and man did it stink. The odor reminded me of dirty feet. I only had one of those. The cabbage was also salty and tasted better with a little soy sauce that Sachiko put on it. She then asked if I wanted any rice. Rice? For breakfast? I politely declined. I had never eaten rice for breakfast before. However, one thing I distinctly noticed was that all the Japanese food was salty.

I finished it up and the mother made me another cup of coffee. All in all it was a pretty decent first semi-Japanese breakfast with my first taste of miso soup, tofu, and Japanese pickles. However, the best was yet to come.

What I didn’t know at the time, was, that this was the weekend I was being introduced to the Japanese culture and their way of life. It was the beginning of a love affair with a country, her people and customs that continues to this day and would change my life forever and send me in a whole new direction. There are a few important so-called “turning points” in one’s life and this was one of them.

A Crash Course in Japanese Culture (Part II)

The first thing I noticed upon entering this room was that there was also no heat in there and it was quite cold. On the floor was some bedding and there was what I noticed to be a woman sleeping there! A WOMAN! Now I was really confused and didn’t know what the hell to think or do. A thousand thoughts went through my head in a millisecond. What’s going on here? I thought. Who’s this? Oh wow, a threesome! No, maybe it’s her roommate. Maybe it’s her mother! A friend?  Her Sister?  Her boyfriend? Her brother? I didn’t know what to make of this strange turn of events and I became a little nervous. I leaned over to her and whispered, “Who’s that?”

“That’s my sister”, she replied as nonchalantly as if this were the most normal thing in the world. WHAT? HER SISTER??

She then proceeded to take off her clothes like she’d known me all her life and she didn’t seem the least bit shy about it. I just stood there dumbfounded. I was so shocked to see her sister sleeping there that I wasn’t even excited to see her removing her clothes. Are we going to all sleep together? I thought. Will this be something I will write Penthouse about? “Dear Penthouse, you’re never going to believe this, but…”  I still didn’t know what to make of this strange turn of events. Surprisingly, her sister didn’t wake up. If she did, she didn’t let on.

In her bra and panties, Sachiko opened a set of sliding doors, took out some pajamas, removed her bra and slipped into the pajamas. Still I just stood there in the dim light bewildered. Then she took out some bedding that I was soon to know as futons. She took out two thick mattresses and laid them on the floor next to her sister. She then placed a thinner mattress on top and then some heavy blankets along with two small pillows. The “blankets”, I found out later, are what are called futons not the mattress itself and I still just stood there like a statue watching her and glancing to her sister sleeping on the floor and trying to figure out just what the hell is really going on here.

She asked me to get undressed and I complied. I started to shiver as I shyly took off my clothes and placed them on the floor next to the futon. She eased herself into the futon next to her sister and patted mine with her hand suggesting that I get in. I got in next to her and remember how warm her body felt next to mine. I also remember how heavy the “blankets” felt and soon I was warm. There was a clock on the floor and the time was 2:25am.

I was still so confused that I just laid there, staring at the little bulb in the lamp on the ceiling, kind of sober now, and wondering if this is normal in Japan. Do people here sleep together; sisters and strange men in the same room? What if I were a rapist or madman? How could someone trust someone they just met so easily?

I slipped my arm under her neck. She draped her arm across my chest, snuggled her head into my shoulder, said “good night” and was soon asleep. Me, I just lay awake for a while fascinated that I was actually in a foreign country, in a real Japanese house, and “in bed” with two Japanese women. Who’s ever going to believe this and that nothing happened? Before finally falling asleep myself, I tried to figure out this weird turn of events and this strange country and customs.

What I thought would be a wild, abandoned night of wild sex with a beautiful woman was anything but. And if you think I was shocked by her sister and all of us sleeping in the same room, that was nothing compared to what I experienced the next morning.

I awoke the next morning and it was light and cold. Man was it cold. It was so cold that I could see my breath. Did I say how cold it was? I realized I was alone in the room and I sat up and looked to the right. There was no bedding where I thought her sister was sleeping the previous night; just the futon where Sachiko was sleeping and an empty pillow. I racked my brain, wondering if there really was another woman sleeping there the night before besides the one who took me home or was it all just my imagination and the alcohol.

I lay back down and brought the futon up to my neck to get warm again. Here I was, a foreigner in a strange country, in a strange room, thinking that, yes, I did meet a woman last night and she did take me home. Her sister was sleeping in the same room. There was a strange toilet. It was cold. We drank some beer in the kitchen. “Dee Da Dee Da Dee Da Dee Da”, I could here the theme from the “Twilight Zone” going through my head as I stared at the ceiling trying to get my bearings. Yes, I am actually in a Japanese house and this is no dream.

I sat back up in the futon and looked around. The room was bare save for a tall chest in the corner and a small square table next to it. To my left were two wide, frosted on the bottom and clear on the top, sliding windows with the curtains open that led to what seemed like an outside garden. The windows went three quarters to the ceiling and took up almost the length of the room on that side. I noticed it was cloudy outside. Between the room and the windows was a narrow patch of polished brown wood about 3 or 4 feet wide that stretched the length of the room. I leaned over and noticed that it led to another sliding door that probably led to another room. In fact I could see that room to the left from the windows. Directly in front of me were what I assumed to be the sliding doors from the hallway and kitchen. To the right were two more sliding doors that held the bedding. Behind me, in the corner, was what looked like a small make-up table with a mirror. I looked at the floor and it seemed to be yellow straw mats with green boarders. I didn’t know it then, but it was an eight tatami mat room. One thing I remember thinking was that all the doors and windows slid open. It was just odd to me.

I distinctly heard voices from behind the door in front of me. I crawled out of the futon towards the doors and looked at the clock on the floor. The time was 8:40am. On my knees I gently opened the sliding door a bit and peered down the hallway towards the kitchen. I saw an older woman sitting at the table and Sachiko seated next to her. The older woman looked my way and I quickly closed the door.

Holy Shit! What the hell is this? I thought. Who in God’s name is that older woman?  Is it her mother? No way, I thought. Maybe it’s her older sister, but she looked too old. I then heard a man’s voice and instantly thought, Fuck! This is her parent’s house! I’m dead now. They’ll kill me.

I started to panic as a thousand thoughts ran through my head and my heart raced as I tried to figure a way out of there. Hell, I didn’t even know what city I was in and, even if I did slip out, I wouldn’t even know how to get back to the base!

Can you imagine how dumbfounded, confused and scared I was at this point? I mean, here I meet a great looking woman who takes me home, and, expecting a great night of bliss, I find her sister in the bedroom. Then there are these strange people in the kitchen when I wake up and they are probably her parents! Yikes! In the states I would be a dead man for sure.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was only about a minute, the sliding door opened and Sachiko entered. “Good morning”, she said. “Did you sleep well?”

“Sleep shit”, I said. “Who are those people out there?” I said still in a panic. I could feel my heart beating against my chest I was so anxious.

“Oh, my family. You want eat something?” she said as calmly as can be.

“No! I don’t want anything to eat! Just get me out of here please. Why didn’t you tell me you lived with your parents?”

She answered to the effect that she didn’t think it mattered or that I wouldn’t mind. I can’t remember exactly what her answer was.

I went on to tell her that in my country, this just didn’t happen. It was not cool to take a man home for the night without meeting the family first. Besides, a father would never allow a strange man to sleep in the same room with his daughter, let alone two daughters even if he knew him!

She laughed and explained that everything was ok. This is Japan she explained, and unlike the US, she assured me her parents would not be angry or upset. She then asked that I get dressed and come into the kitchen.

After I calmed down a bit, I began to believe her and nervously got dressed while thinking “What the hell did I get myself into here? What kind of country is this?” I began to shiver and got into my clothes as quickly as I could while she neatly folded up the mattress and futons and placed them into the closet with the sliding doors. Pretty neat, I thought. Now the room looked quite large. She then placed the small table in the center of the room and waited for me to dress.

I sat on the floor and slipped on my socks. Then I stood up and readied myself to meet my fate. I had no idea what to expect, but man was I nervous and man was it cold!

A Crash Course in Japanese Culture (Part I)

This true life experience took place some 36 years ago and will be in about 6 parts and is one that I still look back on with fond memories. This is the story of how I was introduced head first and with no life preserver, into the Japanese culture. In the early 70’s the Japanese economy was just beginning to boom and the country, as a whole, was just emerging into being a major player on the world’s stage. A majority of households had still to feel the effects of this boom, but their income, livelihood, and standard of living was gradually on the rise.

March 16, 1973. Friday night. Party time!!

I was stationed at Camp Zama, a small US Army base (actually it was kind of a country club when it comes to military bases) located south of Tokyo along the Odakyu train line and had only been in Japan about five weeks when I met Sachiko. (To protect the innocent, that was not her real name.) We met at a night spot in the Honmoku section of Yokohama where servicemen from the Navy and Army hung out to party and, with any luck, meet Japanese women as they were known to frequent this place and it was one of the “hot spots” for meeting them. It wasn’t a hostess bar or anything. It was just a place for drinking, maybe do a little dancing, and listen to some American music, and was opened until 4 am. They also served pizza, fries, ramen and such.

I had made Sachiko’s acquaintance maybe once or twice before during my previous visits, but this was the first time we had a real opportunity to meet and talk. She was remarkably good looking and was quite tall for a Japanese woman at 5’ 6”, with long, straight, jet-black hair. How we exactly got together I can’t remember. I just remember us sitting at a table across from each other. Maybe we were introduced or I asked her to dance. For the life of me I can’t remember.

Anyway, my Japanese was nil at that time, but luckily, her English was fair and we held a pretty decent conversation. We talked about the usual things one does when first meeting a person and when the question of age came up, I told her I was 22. (Actually I had turned 18 about three months prior, and probably looked 16!). She had just turned 21. I had heard from friends that if you told a Japanese woman you were younger than they, you would probably lose any chance with them as they preferred men the same age or older. I was told that that was the way it was in Japan. Since she was so good looking, I lied.

We danced and talked the night away and hit it off really well. The songs I distinctly remember that we danced to were “Color my World” by Chicago, and the everlasting “Ebb Tide” by The Righteous Brothers. They are what the Japanese called “cheek songs”. We also had something to eat and I clearly recall that I really loved the “spaghetti soup” as I called it then. I was so green to Japan that I didn’t even know that it was called “ramen” and I never even had the pleasure of eating it before.

As time wore on she asked me what I was doing that night and I said I didn’t know. “Maybe go back to Zama with my friends as they have the car”, I told her. She then said that if I wanted to I could come to her place to spend the night. Silently pinching myself and thanking all gods past, present, and future, I thought, hell yes!  “Sure”, I told her.

Remember, this is the first night I got to know this woman and she was inviting me to her place for the night! However, don’t jump ahead here as Japanese culture is distinctly different as I was soon to find out, and things are not usually what you expect, especially in this case.

We continued talking and dancing till about midnight when she suggested that we leave. I informed my friends that I would be leaving with Sachiko and would find my way back to the base tomorrow – or Sunday if things went “really well”.

We went up the stairs and hailed a cab. It was maybe a half hour or so ride at that hour of night from Yokohama to where she lived (about 15-20 miles). Being the gentleman, I paid the cab fare. It was about 3,000 odd yen. Cabs were cheap back then. At that time yen was 300/US$1 and the cab fare only cost about US$10. Today that same ride, at that hour, would cost about 10-20,000 yen! US$100-200!! (Come to think of it, it really wasn’t that cheap as getting a salary of about $370/month it was about a days pay!)

We were let off on a dark, narrow main thoroughfare where we walked down a narrow path lit by thin fluorescent street lights and past quite a few houses on both sides that were closer than any houses I had ever seen. They seemed to be right on top of each other. A dog barked at us from one of the houses and I remember thinking that either she was wealthy and owned her own house, or her apartment was way in the back. After what seemed like a full minutes walk we came upon a house that was so close to two other houses that you could probably touch the other houses from the window or something. “Cool”, I thought. “She owns her own house”.

She put the key in and slid open the sliding frosted glass doors which made quite a racket. She put her finger to her lips and said “Shhh”. We went into the “genkan”, entranceway, and I followed behind her. The genkan was lit by a really dim light bulb that was probably 5 or 10 watts. She whispered to me to take off my shoes and took out some slippers from what looked like a box on the left and placed them on the floor about a foot above where we were standing.  I took off my shoes wondering why she was whispering and we stepped into the slippers and up into the house. The Japanese really do take off their shoes in the house, I remember thinking.

This was my first experience with anything of real Japanese culture. Prior to this day I had only visited gaijin bars (bars where foreigners frequented), a restaurant or two, a love motel and rode the trains, but never really experienced any real Japanese culture never mind actually visiting a real Japanese house. Living on base was no different, culturally, than living in the states, except that many Japanese worked there.

The first thing I noticed was how cold it was. It seemed there was absolutely no heat in the house and the outside temperature was about 40 degrees F. There was a room off to the right that had its sliding doors closed and we entered the kitchen where she turned on the fluorescent light.

The kitchen was small (at least to me), with a stainless steel sink at the far end with a white contraption over it with a hose coming down. (This was the hot water heater.) To the right of the sink was the smallest, what I figured to be a stove, I had ever seen. It was just a silver thing with two burners. To my right was also what I assumed to be a refrigerator, but it also, was the smallest one I had ever seen. There was a brown table in the middle with five chairs that seemed to take up the whole room. To my left was a small china cabinet with dishes in it. To the left of the cabinet was a door that led to the outside. It seemed you had to step down to exit the door and there was a pair of slippers on the concrete floor in front of the door. The kitchen floor was polished brown wood. As I sat in one of the chairs Sachiko bent down to a funny looking metal contraption that I soon came to know as a kerosene heater. (I had never seen one before.) She turned a knob, lifted the flue and lit the wick with some wooden matches. The room started to smell of kerosene and she opened a window.

She asked if I wanted a beer and I said “sure”. I was already feeling the effects of the previous beers, but I didn’t care. I was just anticipating what was to come! I noticed there was clock on the wall above the sink. The time was 12:50am.

She opened the “toy refrigerator.” I mean it was really small; maybe 4-5 ft tall and 3 ft wide. Compared to what I was used to, this was SMALL! She took out a large bottle of Kirin beer, placed it on the table, opened up a cabinet and brought out two glasses. She retrieved a bottle opener from a drawer, opened the beer and poured it into the glasses. She then took out some packages from a cabinet and put the contents into a plate and a small bowl. She told me the white stuff was dried squid and that the small brown things were rice crackers with peanuts. Squid! I had never eaten the stuff before and was quite repulsed at the thought. We sat facing each other and drank the beer while having small talk. The room started to heat up and I welcomed the warmth as we both still had on our coats.

As we talked, I glanced around the room and realized that this place seemed quite old. The walls and ceiling were faded from age and I also found it odd that there was no central heating. Maybe she’s poor and can’t afford it, I thought. I didn’t know at the time that 99% of Japanese houses in this area of Japan didn’t have central heating like I was used to in the US. Anyway, I was just amazed and dumbfounded that I was actually sitting in a real Japanese house with an extremely beautiful Japanese woman. Talk about a culture shock!

I asked her if this was her place and she said that no, it wasn’t; it was her parents house. Thinking that her parents owned the house and she just lived there, I didn’t give it much thought. I mean how many women would take a strange man they just met home to their parent’s house?  She urged me to try the squid and I reluctantly gave it a try. Hmm, I thought, a little salty and fishy, but not bad. Not bad at all. While we talked I noticed that she kind of kept her voice down and I did the same thinking that maybe the neighbors might hear us or something.

After a while I mentioned to her that I had to go to the bathroom and she directed me to a hallway behind me. She turned on a light to the left and said it was here. She slid open the door and motioned to the slippers on the floor and I stepped out of my “house slippers” into the “toilet slippers”. (These are the special slippers, usually vinyl, that are located in every almost every Japanese restroom in Japan. Please, whatever you do while in Japan, do not forget to step into these slippers! It’s akin to a sacrilege if you don’t!

I entered the room, closed the door behind me and was surprised at what I encountered. The room was really small, maybe 4ft x 4ft and was dimly lit by a really small light bulb. The walls were brown wood and there was a small porcelain Japanese toilet on the floor over an open hole that had water in it. I mean it was flush with the floor. Although the hole was small, the “depository” must’ve been about a meter square and about 2 meters deep.

Man did it smell horrible in there. And it was cold! I had never been in a “real” Japanese restroom before. Sure, I had seen Japanese toilets in the bars and such, but they were always the flush type. I’ve heard of outhouses in the states, but growing up in New York City I never saw one before. I guess you’d call this an “inhouse”.

Even though there were about three or four ball type ammonia air fresheners tacked to the wall, I still had to hold my breath as I deposited my “beer” into the hole. I mean you could see “everything” down there. I didn’t know how one would do “Number 2”, but I soon found out that you had to take everything out of your back pockets and squat! If not, you would probably lose your wallet. I was really amazed at this new experience of no flush toilets. Later on I discovered that, at that time, that less than 50% of Japanese dwellings had flush toilets.

Anyway, I finished my business and went back into the kitchen. Not realizing I still had on the bathroom slippers she laughed and said I shouldn’t wear them outside of the restroom. She brought them back to their proper place and brought me the “house slippers”. She then got a cloth from the sink, wetted it and proceeded to clean the floor where I had walked from the restroom to the kitchen. I remember thinking to myself that I had really made a mistake and that the Japanese really must value cleanliness. No shoes in the house and separate slippers for the restroom. One thing I really noticed was that I didn’t smell anything from the restroom. How strange, I thought.

We continued talking and I discovered that she was the fourth of five children. She had two older sisters who were married to US Navy men that used to be stationed at Yokosuka. One was living in the US, and the other was in Europe where her husband was stationed. Looking at her and realizing how pretty she was, I remember thinking, “maybe you’ll be number 3”.  She also had another older sister who was still single and a younger brother who was about my age. She was the fourth of five children. I guess that after the parents finally had a son they stopped. She also worked as a bank teller during the day.

We talked for about an hour over another beer and I really enjoyed the squid and rice crackers. Then it was time for bed. Finally! She turned off the kerosene heater and I followed her through the small hallway, past the restroom, where she opened another set of sliding doors into a room that was dimly lit by another tiny bulb in the lamp hanging from the ceiling. We took off our slippers before entering the room which felt strange to my feet. I had never felt tatami mats before. When my eyes adjusted to the light, what I saw in that room stunned the hell out of me!

To be continued……..