The Life of an Imported Housewife

Since my rent for staying at her place was cleaning her house, I was both relieved and terrified at how messy everything was. Nicole had left little stick-it notes around the house, in case I arrived before she could get out of work. The note to my room read: “Your room/Closet.” It’s a tatami mat room, about one and half mats by two mats, and it usually serves as where she hangs her laundry to dry. It also has a western-style closet and her dresser, so she was using it as a bit of a walk- in dressing room.

She had set out a futon for me and laid out all the blankets she had on top, along with a rice pillow and a western pillow. I knew I didn’t have to, but I had brought a set of sheets—one fitted, one flat—from home for just this occasion. But I took one look at all the dust bunnies and decided I would cleanse the area before using my sheets.

You have to understand: I lived with Nicole at Wesleyan, and I know she’s not a hoarder or true slob. But it was obvious she didn’t have enough time to do a “proper clean up” as my mother would say. In Nicole’s defence, my room WAS the cleanest. The rest of the house she asked me not to photograph at its worst, so I didn’t. Suffice to say, my fears about taking advantage of her were unfounded. I had LOTS of work to do.

First, I dealt with the laundry in my room. In Japan, washers are in pretty much every home but dryers are REALLY expensive. So to compensate, the Japanese have evolved the old-fashioned clothes hanging method into an efficient mix of rectangle frames with clips for clothes and circular frames with clips for underthings. They still have huge outside metal rods for big things like sheets and blankets and futons, as well as clothes. Nicole had some already clean but not put away clothes I could attack first, so I did. I rearranged her closet as well.

Now, it’s not like I’m a neat freak. Because I like my chaotic mess as much as the next person. The thing is that Nicole leads an extremely busy life, though it doesn’t sound like much on paper. She teaches/stays at work for at least 8 hours a day if not a little extra (I’ll explain the BOE later) and then attends kendo at the local sports center. On top of that, she’s 7^th chair first violinist in the Obihiro Orchestra, though she got promoted to 5^th chair during the concert I saw (another one I’ll get to- sheesh! Give me some time here!)

So, she works full time and has two extra activities. Big deal, right? Well, it’s more the physical strain that takes a toll with Kendo that wipes her out at least twice a week, and for orchestra she has to drive around 45 minutes to an hour both ways to Obihiro for practice, on top of learning and practicing her individual part. She really doesn’t have much time to breathe during the week, and when she does it’s spent trying to relax rather than dealing with the Japanese garbage system.

Taking Out The Trash-- A Study in Culture Shock

This is something I’m going to hit on right here, since it’s been the bane of my existence. In America, we think we recycle. We sort our aluminum and cardboard, maybe our glass. Then we pitch the rest. In Japan it’s not so simple.

There’s burnable garbage like biodegradable stuff and paper. Then there’s cardboard, which should be broken down if it’s a box. Then you have PET bottles, which are the staple bottle of the Japanese vending machine and are to be washed before recycling. Next is regular plastic, though if you get food from 7/11 or the plastic Styrofoam bentos those should be washed and sorted as well. After that you get to aluminum and glass, which should be washed and sorted into separate containers. After that you have non-burnable garbage which takes care of clothing, metal, etc.

And to top it all off everything needs to be in it’s own special bag provided by the government. In Nicole’s town you have to go and buy “Burnable” bags from the convenience stores, which have the burnable logo on them:

Luckily the rest just has to go in plastic bags unless its “Non-Burnable” which goes in a blue bag. I’ve seen places that have up to five different colored bags for trash, though, so it can get worse.

So the way Nicole’s place got so bad is really simple. You’re hungry or thirsty: get something from the convenience store. You’re on a time table, though, so you wash the stuff but it has to dry. You say, “I’ll put that away when I get home” and leave: Get home and totally forget/crash for the night. Repeat steps until you have something like this:

Main Living Room/Dining Room, in the process of sorting and cleaning

And THAT is after I’ve been at the place for a while. These are the rooms I’ve already hit: 

Entry Way

         

My Room/Closet

Kitchen Area

And I suppose you’ll have to take my word on the improvement. The only room I haven’t really touched is this, which I will post here as a reference point:

Yeah. Lots of work. So I ended up getting behind on this blog because I a) have a job to do and b) just really, REALLY want to be able to live in semi-cleanliness. But now I've made a dent, and we just got back from a two-day trip to an onsen which deserves it's own set of posts, so I'm doing my own relaxing and catching up here.

Ending the Itinerary of Doom

MAY 16, 2012

“-Depart Jimmyz Backpackers, Sapporo: 8:30 am**Food?!?!-Board Train: 9:04 am:-Sapporo (JR) Track 7-LTD. EXP SUPER OZORA 3(4,620 Yen)”

-Itinerary of Doom, Chapter 3, Verse 1

“Got up at 7:30, left by 8:30, and totally didn’t count on my walk back to the subway being 30 minutes. Then, I got on the wrong blasted subway train again, but by then I had missed my express to Ikeda so thoroughly hurrying anywhere was useless. I had picked the earliest express on purpose, to get to Urahoro faster, but that also gave me a respectable 3 other choices for trains.”                                   

-Travel Log, Sapporo Japan

“-Depart Sapporo station 11:50, Express Ozora-Arrive Ikeda Station 14:15”

-Itinerary of Doom, Book of Reality, Verse 1

"Know your limits, or end up like Sarah!"

“-Depart Train: Ikeda (Hokkaido) 11:51 am
**Definitely Food-Board Train: 1:19 pm
-Depart Train: Urahoro (Hokkaido) 1:49 pm”                                 

 -Itinerary of Doom, Chapter 3, Verse 2

"Always have a back-up plan!"

“Depart Train: Ikeda, 14:15Board Train: ASAPDepart Train: Around 15:00”

-Itinerary of Doom, Book of Reality, Verse 2

NICOLE!!!!

            By the time I finally made it to Urahoro, I had more knots in my shoulders than muscles and was so happy to see Nicole I pretty much attacked her. I had tried calling her at the station a few times to tell her I had changed trains, since she was sending me a ride (her superior at work, 19-yr-old Torita) and I was still three hours away when he was at the station looking for me. But the phone number I used didn’t work, so I was up a creek.

Scenic Urahoro: MOUNTAINS!

            Luckily, I knew I was in the right place from the pictures Nicole had posted on Facebook of her “new town.” I made my way to the tourist center of sorts, a building that was close to the station and looked official. I was trying to find another payphone.

            All’s well that ends well, but the main lesson I took from the half hour or so I spent in the center was colloquialisms don’t translate well—even ones you think are international. I spent 15 minutes trying to explain that I didn’t have Nicole’s address, because “It’s on my email” made no sense whatsoever to the poor Japanese man trying to help me.

            Now that I think about it, though, that is a pretty strange phrase. How does one break down something like that? I tried a number of ways, mostly with hand gestures. But at the root of it was the problem that really, how is something ON a purely digital medium? ON is a basic directional modifier: For the non-fluent, it usually means the position of something tangible. But for simplicity’s sake, the phrase “on my email” got into circulation to shorten an otherwise stupidly long explanation.

            Because if “on my email” didn’t go over well, trying to explain “Do you have internet? Because… on the computer, email? Yes. I no write address, because address is on computer. Inside computer, inside email… she sent address on email, no write… No address, because no computer” REALLY didn’t go well. It was like that scene in Zoolander when the male models break open the computer to get to the files “inside,” only worse, because it was in real life.

Sunset in Urahoro, Day 1

            Eventually, though, the man at the center called one of Nicole’s schools, which called her BOE, which sent her over with Torita to collect me. It was seriously embarrassing, but I was just so happy to have made it I really didn’t care how stupid I looked. Nicole left work at 5pm, and we went to dinner at a place near her house. Then we went to her place, and I unpacked while we talked. She gave me a basic house tour, and later we walked to the 7/11 where we got snacks. Then we went to bed.

DON’T BLINK: The 48-Hour “It-Seemed-Like-A-Good-Idea-At-The-Time” Itinerary, Part II

MAY 15, 2012

“-Arrive Narita Airport: 3:30 pm

**Food/Dinner-Depart Narita Airport: 8:10 pm, FLIGHT SKY879”

-Itinerary Of Doom, Chapter One, Verse Two 

“I arrived maybe half an hour ago at Narita via Terminal 1. It took me a good twenty minutes to figure out that I wanted to board a bus, not a train, to get to Terminal 2, where all the Domestic flights leave from…”                                    

-Travel Log, Narita Japan

            When you plan a trip to a foreign country on a budget, you’re going to have to make sacrifices. Sleep deprivation being one of them. Anyone who has ever flown from one hemisphere to the next, regardless of sleep time en route, will tell you: You will experience jet lag. In my case, as a teenager and adult, I’ve never really been one for a regular sleep schedule. This hasn’t spared me jet lag so much as made it a few days of inconvenient sleepiness rather than temporary narcolepsy.

            But be aware: Jet lag will attack like a shark with blood in the water if you’re not careful. Even if you aren’t tired, sleep as much as you can during your travel period. If you have to stay up all night before your flight to sleep twelve hours on the plane, do it—it actually may help.

            Adrenaline will usually get you through the first day, provided you have a destination in mind. When I travel, I’ve found that the promise of an actual bed and safe place to rest is a good motivator not to nod off during a layover and miss my flight. Caffeine helps, too.

            When I arrived at Narita, I asked for directions to the domestic terminal, and after some issues I got on board a nice bus that took me to Terminal 2, the domestic terminal. I arrived with five hours before my next flight with nothing to do except journal and wait, so I got some food from the convenience store on level one and a melon soda from the coffee stand.

The convenience store I sat in front of waiting to check in
for my flight.

            When arriving someplace new all on your own, your first instinct may be to look for comfort food—something to make things seem more “normal.” In Europe, you may get lucky and find some sort of western food that looks and smells American enough to settle your nerves. In Japan, especially the domestic terminal, I wouldn’t hold out too much hope. I made do with a rice ball stuffed with beef and a milk coffee for my main course.

Luckily, since I had been in Japan before I had a craving for a type of soda I’ve only had there: Melon. This helped settle me down because I could concentrate on the novelty of having one after so long instead of other things, like the fact that SkyAirlines didn’t have check-in until 6pm and the guy behind the counter hadn’t spoken very good English. 

Melon Soda!

The coffee shop across from the
convenience store, where I got...

I was hoping not, since I had a tight schedule after I got to Hokkaido: 24 minutes to get my bags and myself on the infamous Japanese Railway (JR), and hope I was going the right direction to make my connecting subway line to Sapporo. 

“-Arrive Sapporo/New Chitose Airport: 9:50 pm

-Depart Sapporo/New Chitose Airport: 10:14 pm, AIRPORT TRAIN 223

-Arrive Sapporo (JR) Arrival Track 1: 10:52 pm”

-Itinerary Of Doom, Chapter Two, Verse 1 

“…Sometimes, your face turns such an alarming shade of red compared to your blonde hair and navy blue blazer that the security people take your bags for you, send them through the scanner, and while you’re apologizing and trying not to look at the security guard because you’re breaking all the rules and he could totally arrest you, you turn around and that same security guard looks so nice and just plain concerned you’re about to have a heart attack he just waves you through…”

-Travel Log, Narita Japan

            To say that I was “exhausted” by the time I found my way to the departure gate in Terminal 2 would be too kind. “Death warmed over” would be more accurate, except if I were dead I wouldn’t have felt so freaking exhausted. I had entered a sort of grey limbo world where the only explanation for my suffering was that I was actually the avatar in some freakish role playing game, and the real person in charge of me didn’t know how to play.

            I walked in circles around a post, hoping to find the entrance to the staircase going down. I stopped periodically to get coffee from vending machines. I walked past the same sign three times, going different directions. In short, I was in a maze out of an old video game and the departure gate was the opening to the next level, but instead of fighting random bosses I was being sapped of my strength by the horrible specter of “Jet Lag” that I had so foolishly trifled with.

            My stats would have read somewhere along the lines of “Awareness: 50%; Strength: 25%; Money: 99.98%; Caffeine/Blood ratio: 99:1.” By the time 8 pm rolled around and we started to board I could have cared less how foreign I looked, acted, or sounded. Chameleon plan be damned—I needed to get to Hokkaido. If I could just get to Hokkaido, I could pass out or call Nicole or maybe even crawl to the hostel where a nice shower and bed were waiting for me… But: ONLY. IF. I. GET. TO. HOKKAIDO.  

            And this flight was my one chance, since I could barely stand let alone swim through an ocean.

            Luckily, the flight was pretty much empty. I was the only foreigner, but without the blonde hair I would have stood out as the only idiot with three pieces of luggage as carry-ons, one of which was a huge bright green backpack that took a flight attendant and very nice man five minutes to wrestle into an overhead compartment while I just sort of stood in the aisle awkwardly.

            When I sat down, the nice flight attendant who had helped with my backpack told me I could put my bags wherever I wanted. Then I was left sitting in a row with a junior high girl, and across the aisle from three giggling school kids who obviously found my whole situation hilariously stupid. I agreed, but if I started laughing with them they would probably have really thought I was crazy. Laughing was too much energy, anyway.

            I took what was left of my dignity (read: nothing) and sat down, strapped in, and listened to the flight attendant give the pre-flight directions in Japanese. The whole flight, which was actually pretty smooth given the rainy season, I just sat with my eyes closed. I opened them as we were landing, when they actually translated the landing procedure into English as well as saying it in Japanese. I ended up staring at the kanji for “emergency exit” for about five minutes, and actually memorized it based on a story I made up to go with the pictures.

First Picture: All people run to the aisle
Second Picture: A person running with their hair blowing and one arm bent in front
Third Picture: The opening to the light at the end of the tunnel

            No idea how to pronounce it, but if I’m ever in an emergency and need to find the exit, I’m set for life.

“-Arrive Jimmyz Backpackers Hostel, Sapporo: 11:15 pm ”                                    

-Itinerary of Doom, Chapter 2, Verse 2  

“…I asked my way to the train station three times just to be sure. Because I didn’t check anything, I made it to the earlier train at 22:00—which saved me 15 minutes. Which was good, because true to my nature I got off the rapid express from New Chitose, followed the arrows to the Toho subway line, paid, and got on the train going the exact opposite way I wanted to go.”                                    

-Travel Log, Sapporo Japan

            The amazing thing about Japanese transportation has got to be the fact that it’s so easy to fix your mistakes, once you realize them. It took me four stops to figure out I was going the wrong way on the Toho line. Instead of panicking, I surprised myself by pretty calmly getting off the train and walking literally across the platform and onto the waiting train going the direction I wanted.

            I stayed in that sort of zen-like “what happens, happens” state all the way to the Hosui Susukino stop where I got off, pretended I could still feel my arms, and found Exit 5. From there, I decided that since it was 22:45 if I felt uncomfortable I would just spring for a taxi. But it turned out to be a nice night. The air was really refreshing, and the directions to the hostel were so detailed that even I didn’t mess up even once.

            Once I got to Jimmyz Backpackers Hostel my whole adrenaline zen world crashed down on my head. The man who runs the hostel, “Jimmy,” was seriously amazing. Not only did he know my name, because I had emailed about arriving after 22:00, but he spoke fluent English. No more pointing and mimicking, no more 40% chance communication failure.

The living room at Jimmyz. Tatami mats on the left. The
hostel used to be an actual house before it was converted.

It was beautiful. I settled up the remainder of my account, since I had paid a reservation fee when I had booked online at hostelworld.com, and he gave me a set of keys to a locker, the dorm door, and the lock on the front door. Then he asked me if I was going out that night, and I couldn’t help it—I started laughing. Or, tried to laugh. Like I said, I didn’t really have the energy. Instead, I asked if it was true the shower was 24 hours, and if I could rent a towel. He said yes, and that the towel was free. Then he helped me take my stuff to the dormer, where I thought I would be sharing with three other girls.

I got free reign of the kitchen, including free tea. 

It turns out I was the only girl that night, and I only saw one guy. So I got to spread out my stuff, go take a life-giving hot shower, and re-pack everything so it was easier to carry. I went to sleep and set my timer on my cell phone so I would wake up at 7:30 am to check out by 8:30. I still had a long way to go. 

DON’T BLINK: The 48-Hour “It-Seemed-Like-A-Good-Idea-At-The-Time” Itinerary

DON’T BLINK: The 48-Hour “It-Seemed-Like-A-Good-Idea-At-The-Time” Itinerary

MAY 14, 2012

“-Arrive O’Hare Airport: 10 am

-Depart O’Hare Airport:  12:36 pm, FLIGHT UA881”

-Itinerary Of Doom, Chapter One, Verse One

            I don’t remember much of May 14^th, but that’s probably because I only stayed in one hemisphere long enough to see around half of it. Rule one of Going East: They don’t just steal your money on airfare; they steal an actual, Gregorian calendar day of your life. Don’t worry, it just means you’ll get to live whatever day you return back West on twice. Hope it’s a good one.

            It takes around 12 hours of flight time to jump from O’Hare to Narita. We went the land route, crossing all the way over to Alaska and down the Aleutian Islands before hitting water. The flight was a double-decker, seating eleven across with five in the middle section. I had an isle seat by design: 38G. I like to be able to move around during long flights, and trying to step over people constantly makes me feel rude.

            I checked my backpack and took two carry-ons: a bag full of omiyage or gifts for the BOE Nicole works for, and an actual carry-on for my stuff. The flight itself was nice, thought the plane was older and the individual TVs I had come to expect on international flights weren’t there. 

Below:  On the left I decided to get four packages of Fanny May white-chocolate-covered pretzels for Nicole's direct superiors. On the right I decided to get Fanny May artisan petite fours for Nicole's two upper-level bosses.

*Note: I did NOT have to do this, since I am not doing direct business with these people. But since I will be going to Nicole's schools as a "show and tell" item, I brought gifts more to say "Thank you for letting me be a part of this," basically reinforcing that I understand I am an outsider, and that I am very grateful for this opportunity.  

Omiyage gifts: Gifts traditionally given during a business exchange or cultural exchange between parties. Food is best, and the closer to something uniquely found in your immediate home town the better. 

I sat next to a nice guy who was in the Navy Reserves for Intelligence. They were sending him to Singapore for piracy issues. We talked a bit about the type of writing we each did, and came to the conclusion that plagiarism standards suck. He told me that so much of what he’s expected to write has to be accurate and source-based that he feels like he’s basically plagiarizing the whole thing. He also knew a girl with a creative writing degree that he worked with, and the dry style of writing they had to do drove her crazy.

There were a lot of service men on the plane—at least 3 or four in uniform, then the guy sitting next to me. After we got off the plane, I got behind another guy who turned out to be a) sort of clueless about customs and b) Another Navy guy. We didn’t really discuss anything, but I learned he was heading to a base in southern Okinawa. He told me he knew at least five other guys who were all spread out down there, and I helped him find his bag when it didn’t come off the plane with all the rest.

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to meet so many service men going to Japan—after all, Okinawa is about 40% American bases. But when you’re in the heartland of the Midwest, you never see soldiers getting their gear going OFF to active duty; it’s always someone coming home. 

A Directionally Challenged Special: How NOT to Order Medication Before Going Oversees

A Directionally Challenged Special: How NOT to Order Medication Before Going Oversees

            This really should go in “Travel Generics” but since not everybody has to keep their medication on them at all times while travelling, I figured it would be superfluous. Today, however, I realized that what I have learned through necessity may come in handy during random travels, and not just abroad (though mostly abroad).

            As everyone in America knows, insurance can be a nasty piece of work. I’m partially convinced that every pharmacist in America has a holographic projector like Darth Vader in The Empire Strikes Back, where they kneel on a circular dais and the holographic logo of the insurance company they want to speak with appears before them.

            Theatrics aside, it’s important to let your doctors know when you’re skipping town for a month. There may be vaccines you need, or other tests you will need to get when you come back depending on where you go. For instance, when I was small(er) my family went on a cruise through the Panama canal courtesy of my late Grammy. It was amazing, but when we got back to America my brother and I went in for a check up at the pediatrician: turns out, TB was still an issue in some areas of South America so one lucky volunteer got a TB test. If it came back negative, odds were none of us were exposed. If it came back positive, everyone else would get tested and treated as needed.

            This wasn’t the last time this particular thing would happen, and I always ended up winning the “lab rat” lottery. If you’ve never had a TB test, those things hurt—they don’t jab you with one needle, it’s more like a cluster. I suppose it could be worse, though, since my mother still has the scar from her small pox vaccination.

            Anyway, when you leave town and all needles and vaccines aside, any medication you’re currently taking needs to be refilled by your doctor, especially if you’re staying longer than a month. Always take the bottle with the prescription on it: Never carry unlabeled pills through security, let alone customs. This is for your own insurance, in case you loose your meds, and so that the TSA doesn’t confiscate your antibiotics thinking its LSD.

            Now ideally—and you’d think I’d KNOW this by now—you should start the process of calling your doctors, etc. at least two weeks before hand. That way, if your insurance decides to put up any barriers you have time to weasel your way around them. Most insurance companies have what they call a “vacation override” that lets you refill your meds for no extra fee. Depending on the provider, this can happen multiple times or just once a year.

            This morning, Mother’s Day Sunday, I awoke without having gotten an email from Walgreens about my pills. I had waited until the week before (read: last Wen.) to call my doctor for the refill, and I had thought it would be taken care of by Friday at least. So I called Walgreens.

            Turns out, they had gotten the order for 90 days but my insurance had put a hold on it because I had just done a regular monthly refill about a week earlier around the 5^th. I started panicking. It’s Sunday, the day before I leave, a “Hallmark Holiday,” and somehow the Walgreens pharmacy was going to make contact with the Mother Ship at BlueCross/Shield HQ before their pharmacy closed at 5pm?!

            Luckily, the head pharmacist on call at Walgreens worked a minor miracle and within two hours of calling I had my once-yearly 90-day “vacation override” for all my meds, ready to be picked up at no additional co-pay.

            Bottom line: Don’t wait until the weekend before you leave to get your meds. And to the valiant Walgreen’s Pharmacist, if you ever read this: Thank You. You are truly a woman worthy of many praises and awards, and I will make a special toast to you once I get to Hokkaido. Or three. 

International Travel: The Generics, Part IV

Dress Code: What Not to Wear to Not Lose Your Wallet

            The Chameleon Operation

           

            When you go on a vacation or a walking trip, your first instinct is to pack comfortable clothing that you wear on vacation or walking—like jeans, tennis shoes, and t-shirts or tanks.  And most of the time, there’s nothing wrong with this packing strategy.

            What I learned from various websites, other travelers and common sense, however, is that if you look like a tourist you’ll get treated like a tourist. Everywhere you go, there will be people trying to sell you things, trying to take advantage of your lack of “inside knowledge.” I even heard somewhere that pickpockets target people in tennis shoes and jeans, because they know they’re most likely to be out of towners carrying lots of cash for souvenirs.

            Also, when travelling to foreign places you’ll encounter rules for entering and enjoying some of the most famous attractions around the globe: Cathedrals and churches. Most places of worship have rules about attire, especially for women: No bare shoulders, and in some cases nothing that shows the knees. I’ve been some places, like mosks, that hand out scarves for women to cover their heads and where all females were encouraged to wear either dress pants or skirts below the knee. If all you have in your bag is shorts and tank tops, you’ll be out of luck.

            When I went to Europe in 2010 we decided to make every effort we could to look as anti-tourist as possible. We were three women, early twenties, all on our own across an ocean. We didn’t want any trouble, and it was easier to just pack shirts that covered our shoulders and a mixture of shirts and capris rather than play around with a wardrobe change every time we wanted to enter a church or museum.

            It also pays off to wear clothing a little nicer than t-shirts and jeans if you want to be able to blend in with all walks of life. There were times we would ask an upscale-hotel concierge for directions—something I felt no problem doing, but a little guilty about since we weren’t staying at he hotel.  In that case, looking more put together than some random person off the street helped my confidence and made going into such a place feel more natural.

            Other times it paid off were when we were walking around in a crowd. Out of all the tourists, we didn’t scream “STEAL FROM ME, I’M FOREIGN” quite as much as the others. Like that man says to his friend in the woods while being chased by a bear: “I don’t have to outrun the bear, I just have to outrun YOU.” You may feel a kinship with your fellow tourists, but don’t let some mythical bond of travel-hood make you take a trip to the police or your embassy to report a stolen passport just because you didn’t want to look better than all the other tourists.

            Another, purely aesthetic reason for dressing better than the average tourist is that when you bumble along and ask locals for directions they look more kindly on a bunch of clean-cut, nicely dressed young women than scruffy jeans-wearing, tube-topped young women. In Barcelona, we had people in the more residential tourist districts actually offer their help when we looked lost. These offers came mostly from older people sitting around and people watching. One older man with white hair gave directions to my friend Alison, who spoke a little Spanish, and then told her she had beautiful eyes and to be careful before smiling and walking away.

           

            Now, I’m not saying you have to go and buy a whole new upscale wardrobe just to go abroad, but your nicer yet casual wear will go over much better than your most basic “roll-out-of-bed-put-on-t-shirt-for-class” look. What you DO want to invest in before you leave, or maybe after you arrive at your destination, is a scarf of some kind. Most churches will take SOME shoulder coverage over NO shoulder coverage, and if it is way too hot for short sleeves a scarf draped around the shoulders will do nicely, and can be tied around your waist or neck while not in use as a cover-up.

**Side Note**

            If you are travelling alone and a woman, never underestimate the power of a fake wedding ring, or any ring, on your left ring finger. It wards off unwanted attention, and gives the illusion that you’re probably not travelling alone. When pressed, you can use it as an excuse to leave; or you could say outright that your very tall, buff, manly-man husband who bench presses cows back home on the farm is waiting for your return. Either way, it may make your inner feminist cringe but some cultural cues are tradition in most of the western hemisphere; the marriage ring of “I’m TAKEN so LEAVE ME ALONE” being one of them.

            That about covers it for generalities. Unfortunately, all the tips I’ve just given you are “generalities” in that most westerners go to Europe for holiday, not Asia. Seeing as Japan is in Asia, my packing—while very similar to that of my European packing—doesn’t quite cut it. 

International Travel: The Generics, Part III

International Travel: The Generics, Part III

The Chameleon Operation

Travel Manners: The Perks of Being a Chameleon

            I debated writing this section for a while now, even though it was the first real tip I have and hold dear when it comes to travelling abroad. But after going back and forth over the pros and cons of putting this out there, I’ve decided to buckle down, bite the bullet and go ahead.

            For this to work, first I have a story to tell you.

Story Time 

           

            In 2010, during the trip to Europe my friends and I took we went to France. Now in France, there were three things we had to see: The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, and Notre Dame. Anything else was just icing on the cake.

            The day we visited Notre Dame we all put on our “Cathedral Clothes”, which pretty much meant the same clothing we usually wore, just no open shoulder tops. Having the only “purse” on the trip because I had to keep my medicine with me at all times, I also tied a scarf around my purse strap in case one of us didn’t pass muster at the front door.

Me, in blue dress ensemble with my friend,
Melanie: Notre Dame, Paris 2010

            But Notre Dame didn’t have the same rules that other cathedrals had, and we found ourselves dressed very well and with no complaints from any ushers, security guards, or scandalized old ladies. I had chosen one of my staple dresses for the visit, as well as a shrug—On the road, dresses that are made for wear and tear from Eddie Bauer or other sporting goods stores can work wonders, and can be used for both semi-formal occasions and sightseeing. Some clothing even has UPF built in, for pale people like me. I especially like this year's skirt/dress convertible by Travex, since it already has two different outfits in one without having to add a thing: 

Travex Astoria Convertible Skirt/Dress, UPF 30+

           

            But I apologize. Back to my story: So here I was in Notre Dame Cathedral, and it dawned on me that I had yet to get my mother a meaningful souvenir. I had always planned on getting her one in Paris, because she was a French teacher before I was born and had studied in Grenoble for a summer during her college years. My mother also collects Christmas ornaments, and wouldn’t you know: There, on a stand, were hand-stitched Christmas ornaments in various shapes with the lettering “NOTRE DAME” embroidered on them. I chose a dark red velvet cross with gold thread embossing, some colorful bead accents, and antique gold lettering.

            Then I got in line, and had to brace myself. My own mother, lover of all things Française, had warned me “don’t let the Parisians spoil Paris” and I was getting an earful from the lady behind the counter, speaking to some American tourists in front of me. To this day I don’t know what the American woman was trying to buy, but I will never forget the sound of “Thirty-five Euros!” said in the tones favored by middle-school lunch ladies dishing out beef and potatoes on a bad day. Eventually the woman paid and left, and I was face to face with the “Angry French Lunch Lady” behind the counter.

            But along with three years of high school French that never seemed to stick when I needed it for tests, I had grasped a great deal of French manners and culture. I braced myself, smiled, and to my complete surprise said in a passable accent: “Combien de?” holding up the ornament.

            If the sun could have shined a single ray upon the souvenir stand and if happy little birds were allowed inside the cathedral, I’m sure they would have appeared. The “Angry French Lunch Lady” looked at me, and her face nearly split with her smile. Her eyes got soft, and she replied “dix Euro” holding up her hands for emphasis. I kept smiling and said “Oui. Pour ma mere.” And put the ornament on the desk. She kept smiling and was downright chipper as she rung me up.

            I started relaxing. I mean, she wasn’t so bad, right? I had obviously done the right thing. It was truly amazing what a little attempt at the French language could do in France. I gave her my money and said “merci,” and she stopped for a moment and looked at me. It dawned on me that I must have done something wrong, but what? I was about ready for scary lunch lady mode again but she just shook her head, wrapped the cross and handed it to me with a “merci” which I returned. Then I beat a hasty retreat back to my friends.

            I’ve told this story to plenty of people, more as a lesson in what a little language knowledge and cultural courtesy can do for travellers abroad. But the only clue I got as to what made the woman give me that second glance was from my mother, who explained that from the pictures she saw I was looking very European: hair pulled back, dress, nice shrug. There was no way my accent was Parisian, but given all the other clues she had, the woman behind the counter probably assumed I was a tourist or exchange student from somewhere else in Europe, maybe Belgium or even Germany. My slip up may have given me away as American, but by that time I had proven to be polite and courteous, so I was saved the attitude I saw with the woman before me. 

When you travel abroad, you have to look at the Big Picture. This may include some homework on your part, so we’ll start with the most basic lesson and work our way up.

Lesson 1: The Globe

NOT the Entire Known World

            When all of the landmasses were finally discovered to be on a circular sort of orb that actually could be navigated without falling off the edge of the world into an abyss, it was a happy day for many trading companies and adventurers. And when all these new places were found on this great circle and put in place, they were immediately flattened out again and put on paper. The idea of this radical move was to provide knowledge about other lands and how to get there—preferably to make money, escape bad fortune, and perhaps found a penal colony that would one day become it’s own country (See

Australia) or perhaps a bastion of Southern Charm that houses some of the most beautiful homes you will find (see the State of Georgia).

The Entire Known World: Notice the difference in sizes, shapes, and colors. 

            As you can see, the world is bigger than most Americans would like to believe. A running international commentary on Americans is that “Americans don’t even know there ARE other countries outside their borders.” Now, the average American would deny this—after all, where would immigrants come from if we didn’t have other countries? But then again, I once asked a waitress at Applebee’s if there actually was an American Civil War or not, and she DIDN’T KNOW FOR SURE EITHER WAY. 

So, maybe we get immigrants from outer space, and the reason they all come here is because we’re the only country on the planet. 

That, and the armies of the American North and South sat down for tea and crumpets one day and settled their differences over a game of go-fish.

            Right. Well, back to the real world: We are not alone. And the best part is, while our neighbors aren’t always friendly, we can visit them without a space suit. In fact, most of us came from abroad: That’s right, friends; to steal a quote from Tolkien most of us who were around from the beginning of this great experiment in democracy are descended from “the lesser sons of greater houses.” Anyone with any money or land stayed at home in England—the second born were the ones willing to risk life and limb for land in the New World.

            In fact, before America was even thought of as America, we were at the mercy of other countries. Places we no longer count other than for tourist purposes or in history books came ashore with demands and business ventures, walked the streets with the aristocracy of the Colonies, and were seen and heard by all. Did you know that before Holland exported cute wooden shoes they brought the first slaves to America and had the most feared navy of the European theater? Must have been hidden behind the tulips and the windmills.

The Second Lesson: Know Before You Go

            As dry as most people find history and research with all those numbers and facts and figures, knowing the place your visiting—even a little of it’s past, and especially it’s customs—helps a smart traveller stay off the radar. If you stay off the radar, you will never find an end to the wonders a new place can bring. It also helps get you in the mindset of the people you’ll be mingling with, and give you great financial advice along the way.

            Tipping: In most European countries, tip is included in your meal: It will be under “service charge” on the bill.

            Seating: When you go abroad you will find lovely café’s with scenic views of rosy plazas painted in sunset hues, maybe even a fountain of some long-dead hero or martyr artistically arranged in all it’s oxidized glory. What you may not see is the fine print that states: Patio seating, X Euro’s additional fee. If you’re on a budget, these little things can really add up—and you can see the sunset for free if you take a walk.

            Water: In Europe, water is NEVER complimentary unless you are either on a tour, or at a five-star restaurant. You will also be asked if you would like sparkling or regular water in most places, especially sit-down eateries with things like table cloths and napkins. It will make you feel cheap, but check the pricing on bottled water versus tap water. There will be a difference, and in some cases buying bottled water will be cheaper than getting a pitcher of water, despite the packaging cost.

            Transportation: A huge chunk of your change will go to transportation despite your best efforts, but that chunk can be reduced by at least fifty dollars in three days if you know your country’s attractions and public walkways. Try to use things like the Tube in England only for long journeys—British currency exchange is usually floating somewhere around 3-5 American dollars to a single Pound. A bus trip of ten minutes from Victoria Station to Westminster Abbey will cost you at least 1.50 quid, which can cost YOU up to three American greenbacks. For ten minutes? Save it for the admission price.

            Maps: Do not fear the map. Especially if you’re in Europe, and your chances of translation are high, the map is your friend. It will help you plan trips in handy circles so you can save time and money on racing from one side of a city to another. If you ask at the train station, you can get decent maps for free: ask nicely, and you may even get a nice customer service rep to point out the best route to your destination.

            Research Your Attractions: I know, I used the “R” word… Research. But you know what? The internet can have you done in about fifteen minutes, and with a printer and a highlighter you can find out all sorts of things like times of operation, little notices about “CLOSED FOR MAJOR RENOVATION” and even prices for kids and adults. Some places, like the Vatican, offer nice discounts for pre-ordering tickets online before you arrive. Look into tourist packages as well: some will be amazing and worth every dime, like the Venice pass, which really was a complete steal. Others will be a total rip-off unless you never sleep and resolve to start your day at five am, like the Amsterdam pass.