Japan: The Land of Permanent Moisture

There’s a good reason why Japanese people only wear black, white, navy blue and the occasional shade of khaki: these colors are quite good at hiding any sort of moisture, whether it be sweat or rain. I’ve also discovered why Japanese people are so keen upon conversing about the weather. Many a Japanese person will walk up to you and start a conversation with “atsui desuneeee” meaning “God damn it’s hot, ain’t it?”

Today however it was impossible for a Japanese to start a conversation with this menial phrase. Why? Because it was raining like mad and not hot in the least. On days like this when the Gods have been angered the only proper thing to do is to drink hot chocolate and stay in bed reading comic books and playing gameboy. I, however, had other obligations. * Bubble popped *

It was only misting when I had to leave to attend my Japanese lesson which is a good thirty minute bike ride away. Despite the fact that it is a semi-mountainous ride from my apartment to the language center I arrived only slightly out of breath. However, after a one-on-one lesson with a teacher who oddly enough has my mother’s maiden name (must be Fate) and a delightful lunch (consisting of a sesame bagel with chicken teriyaki – I swear it’s not as gross as it sounds) with some other fellow JETS I had to make the perilous trip back to school… in the mountains… in the pouring rain.

Cursing and glaring at the little old ladies who passed me by on their electric bikes outfitted with a spiffy umbrella holding device, I slowly pedaled my way back to school. Everyday I arrive to school looking more and more decrepit and damper than I did the previous day. Regardless, I still manage to prance into the staff room with a chipper “konichiwa.” There I am met with the beginning of a startled glance that is quickly squelched and a polite response that masks their horror at the fact that I am dripping pools of perspiration, rain or a mixture of the two onto their shoes.

Japan is the land of permanent moisture. It’s impossible to get from point A to point B and remain dry. You will either be dripping and standing in a pool of your own sweat or you will be spit on from the Gods above.

I casually mentioned that I needed to buy some sort of rain garment to the office lady who has been my savior since I got here. She has kindly offered to bring me one from her home on Monday (huzzah for my pathetic level of Japanese!). My New York fashion sense is tingling, telling me that it will bear a remarkable resemblance to a Glad trash bag TM for recyclables or something that a homeless person might wear, but I don’t care. No one in this town matches anyway. However, it’s still infuriating that these little old grandmothers somehow are able to balance an umbrella, steer a bike and read a novel all at the same time. Meanwhile, I still have to concentrate on pedaling correctly so that I don’t topple over, fall into traffic and die. I must be doing something wrong.

Even though I spent half the day looking like a drowned mouse, I was cheered up when Manabe-san (the office lady) went out of her way to take me on a little joy ride during the hours when I was supposed to be at school. After running a couple of errands that I needed to take care of she took a detour and brought me to a Japanese okashi shop where she bought me several kinds of dorayaki and dango. Being able to relay things that I find delicious has helped me immensely in this country. If I wasn’t able to speak a lick of Japanese people might be trying to get me to try raw horsemeat and goat livers. Yum.

Anyway. Typhoons. They’re a coming to the land of permanent moisture.

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Published:
8.18.06 / 5pm
Category:
what i call life, culture