My Little Surfing Town

Otherwise known as How I Lived Small, so That I Could Live Large!

I mentioned in Watashi No Nihonjin Haha that my Japanese mother, Yon-chan, and her husband, Kazuo were instrumental in my return to Japan.  After writing Friday night about my singular modeling experience for Berlitz in They Want Me?, I thought it might be good time to share with you about my little surfing town, Kugenuma Kaigan. (pronounced koogenoomuh kiegahn-- both gs are hard and the i is long).  This post is sprinkled with Japanese.  The reader will find it helpful to pronounce the Japanese words as one would speak Spanish-- "a"s are ah, "e"s are pronounced as a long a, "i"s are pronounced as a long e, "o"s are long, and "u" is oo.  Wakaru?  (Got it?)

There are a number of characters who made my life in Kugenuma Kaigan infinitely interesting. 
  
My fairy godmother.  Yon-chan was a good and benevolent friend.  She took me to the land agent and made the introductions so that the agent would show a gaigin (foreigner) nice apartments in Kugenuma Kaigan.  She knew that Kugenuma Kaigan would be the perfect town for me to live in.  It was a five minute train ride to Fujisawa, where my Berlitz branch was located, and it was small enough to where I could get around easily on foot and bicycle, but big enough to have a variety of restaurants, shops, and the like, to enjoy my life.  It was also a beach town, full of surfers with their boards on a rack as they rode their bicycles to the ocean in the summertime.  The land agent was initially suspicious of me, because we walked in without an appointment, but once Yon-chan explained my situation to them, they were very welcoming and asked me to come back at 2:00 the next afternoon, when the agent would show me some apartments.  I would return to that office each month to pay my $600 rent.  I loved going to their office, because there were two dogs that came to work with the owner.  I am not sure of their breed, but they were little balls of fluff named Happy and Lucky, always dressed in cute little doggy t-shirts. 

When I flew back to Japan, work visa firmly attached to passport, Yon-chan picked me up in Yokohama after I took the YCAT express bus from Narita Airport to Yokohama Station.  When I walked inside the apartment we chose with the land agent, Yon-chan had provided me a little refrigerator, a clothes washer, the smallest kotatsu I've ever seen (the low Japanese table that has a warmer on the underside of the tabletop), and a futon.  This is not the futon you are thinking of... a traditional Japanese futon is basically a mattress that folds into a third of its size when not in use.  I had a cover for it when it was folded up, and it doubled as my only non-floor seating.  I knew how fortunate I was to have Yon-chan in my life.  She truly was my fairy godmother, and really made my little place feel like home before I could add my own personal touches to it.  Later I would buy four zabuton (big square floor cushions) to put around the kotatsu when I had company.  I also purchased cute red and white checked curtains for the windows and I have to say the apartment, while it was small, was adorable.  

The tiniest apartment I've ever loved.  Picture a front door opening into a narrow corridor... the right side of the corridor had cabinets, two gas-powered burners, and a little fish grill that I usually used to toast thick slices of white bread for breakfast that I would top with honey.   The left side of the corridor contained a door... upon opening the door and taking a liberal step up was the bathroom, constructed of one molded piece of plastic, aside from the sink, the toilet, and the shower fixture.  Continuing down the corridor (keep in mind that the hallway was only about 10 feet long at best) the apartment opened up to the bedroom, the living room, the dining room.  It was all one room, about twelve feet by twelve feet.  This place was tiny.  However, it was located a mere five-minute walk from the beach, five minutes from the train station, and about a ten-minute bike ride to Yon-chan's house.  The grocery store was about five minutes away by bicycle, there was a convenience store just up the street, as well as a really cute Italian restaurant, a dry cleaners, and a bank.  What more could I need?  It was just fifteen minutes from my work, door to door.  (Five minutes to the station, five minutes on the train, and five minutes from the station to Berlitz.) 

The evil landlord and his lovely wife.  My unit was located right next to my landlord's lovely two-story home, and Yon-chan had encouraged me to bring my landlord and his wife an omiage (a souvenir-gift) from America.  Since I am from Florida, and Japanese call all Americans Yankees, I brought them a key lime-scented Yankee Candle.  I thought it was a good gift!  They expressed their appreciation for the gift, and Mrs. Tanaka was lovely... but Mr. Tanaka... was another case entirely.  I knew he did not like having a gaigin (foreigner) in his apartment building. How did I know this?  The only expression I ever got from him (aside from the day I moved out) was complete and total disdain.  If I encountered him on the street, I would attempt to greet him, but he would pretend not to see me.  He did not treat all of his tenants in this manner, because one day I saw my upstairs neighbor, "Stomp-san", walking a bit ahead of me, on the street.  Not only did Mr. Tanaka greet her, he bowed-- and smiled!

Enemy, thy name is Stomp-san.  When I moved in, the land agent told me that I could be as loud as I wanted until 10:00 p.m.... after that, to be courteous to my neighbors, I needed to be quiet.  That was fair-- I completely understood.  I called my upstairs neighbor Stomp-san because if she so much as heard me talking on the telephone after 5 p.m. she would stomp her foot on her floor.  I tolerated it for the first four months I lived in the apartment.  On Christmas Eve, all dressed up and ready to go to dinner at Tony Roma's with Pierre followed by Midnight Mass, I walked upstairs and knocked on her door.  She opened the door part way, with the chain on the door safely between us.  Speaking in Japanese, I told her the following:

My name is Jennifer.  I live downstairs.  Tomorrow I am having friends over for a Christmas party.  Please, don't stomp your foot on the floor.  (I actually didn't know the words for stomp, so I mimed the action.)

But you are urusai!  (Loud with a negative connotation.)

I am not urusai, I am nigiyakana.  (Loud meaning "lively")  The land agent told me I can be loud until 10:00 p.m.  You stomp on the floor at 5:00.  Please, don't.  Tomorrow is Christmas.  Merry Christmas.

Hai, wakarimashita.  (Yes, I understand.)

I never had a problem with her unwelcome stomping again.  She still wasn't friendly towards me, but you can't win 'em all.  I had about ten friends over that Christmas Day-- Australians, Canadians, Japanese-- and we feasted on traditional Christmas food around the little kotatsu.  I roasted a turkey in Yon-chan's oven, and everything else I was able to prepare at home.  Everyone brought a little something to share, too.  It was a great party-- and one of the best Christmases I've ever had.

Please don't think that all Japanese dislike foreigners.  Aside from Mr. Tanaka and the rude neighbor, everyone else in my little town treated me with the utmost kindness and affability.  (Okay, that's not entirely true... there was also a scary, red-faced liquor store owner who stood outside his shop as if to dare people to enter.  I only went into that shop once during the whole two years I lived in Kugenuma, on a dare from a friend.)  These examples are definitely the exceptions rather than the rule-- at least in my experience.

Barba Trattoria.  Barba was a charming, delicious Japanese-Italian restaurant located just down the street from my apartment.  At Barba, folks could order M size or L size dishes, they would bring the pastas to the table, and give each diner their own empty plate, so that people could dine family style and try the different dishs.  They had the best thin-crusted pizza.  My favorite dish at Barba was the seafood pizza, which was served with squid, shrimp, and little bits of octopus topped with pesto and cheese.  So good!  I would often encounter the servers on the street having a smoke outside the restaurant as I ran for the train.  They would always greet me, smile, and bow.  I did the same. Whenever I left Barba, or any restaurant for that matter, I would offer the customary, Gochiso sama deshita!  (Thank-you for your hospitality!) 

They would reply, Hai!  Motta kitte kudasai!  (Please come again!)

Iida-san-- my own personal green grocer.  Yon-chan introduced me to Iida-san and his wife at their shop when I visited her in the summer of 2001.  Iida-san owned a fruit and vegetable stand that was about seven minutes from my apartment on foot.  The first time I went there on my own, we had a bit of a language problem.  I didn't know the Japanese for all the things I wanted to buy, so I would point to the item and he would tell me the Japanese word, and I would repeat.  I remember I was going to make a dish called okonomiyaki, which is kind of like a frittatta, with bean sprouts and cabbage and other vegetables cooked in egg.  I didn't know the word for bean sprouts.  Moyashi, Jennifer-san.  Oh, ok.  Moyashi, kudasai.  (Bean sprouts, please.)  He and Mrs. Iida never let me leave their shop without a little something for free-- a small bunch of grapes, a bit of freshly-squeezed juice, Mrs. Iida's pickles.  They were very, very good to me.  I also spent a lot of money there. 

The obachan.  A few minutes on foot from my apartment was a jogging path on the beach that marked each 1/2 kilometer, accessible via a highway overpass.  I would go running on this path a few days a week.  From October to mid-March, there was an incredible view of Mount Fuji.  It was highly motivating having this iconic mountain rising right in front of me as I ran up the beach.  The rest of the year the air was too humid and Fuji-san was hidden.  But those clear days... were simply amazing.   One day as I was completing my run, I bounded up the stairs that led to the highway overpass.  At the overpass stood an enormous group of obachan (super-cute old ladies).  They must have been a tourist group.  As I ran across the overpass, they kept calling to me, Ganbatte kudasai!  (Go for it!)  I replied, Hai, ganbattemasu (Yes, I'm going for it!), and raised my arms in triumph.  In my life, this was my Rocky moment.   

Everywhere I went, from the train station to the grocery store, I spoke Japanese.  If I was with my friends, we would speak a combination of Japanese and English.  I ordered food in Japanese, I banked in Japanese (this was hard!), and asked for directions in Japanese.  Whenever I approached people, I wore a smile and was as polite as possible-- I never had a problem.  Yon-chan said that people wanted to help me because I was so friendly and polite.  I repeat this to my students this as much as possible-- you can go far in life, but you must be polite.  People don't want to do things for you when you are rude and use bad language.

Often, when I was in Tokyo or Yokohama, I would see groups of American sailors who didn't know how to operate the train ticket machines to get home.  I would help them-- I knew how it felt to be somewhere and you don't quite know what to do and all you want is to get home.  I'd get them on the train and be on my way.  If we were going in the same direction, I would join them.  It was nice to chat with Americans and have company for at least part of the journey.  Then I would return to my little surfing town, the place where I lived small, so that I could live so very large.