Yesterday was an easy day. We both rested and had a long chat in the afternoon, and then went to the local train station to find a bite to eat for dinner. The day before, I saw a local kushikatsu restaurant as I was walking to the station and I had thought to myself – I will eat there one of these days. It reminded me of a wonderful memory in Tokyo. It was years ago, frankly I don’t remember which year, but it was a cold winter’s night in Roppongi. I was walking around with a friend, searching for a place to eat. In winter in Japan, the restaurants are even more private than usual. Cosy, noisy gatherings are hidden behind a wooden sliding door. As an outsider who doesn’t know how to read Japanese, you need only treat the night as a game and pick which door you want to open to see which world you will experience. On that particular night, we had entered the world of kushikatsu.
All those years ago… it was a quiet bar, not too many people and the television was playing, but we didn’t want to continue walking around hungry. We sat at the bar, dark wood and dimly lit, where two men were alternating between working and watching the television. One of them, a Japanese man with a short, black ponytail, approached us after a while and quietly explained how the ordering system works. Vegetables, meat, cheese on skewers… deep fried. We thought we’d give it a try. There was a bucket of sauce between us in a metal box, and he explained that we dip our skewers into the sauce but only once. He then gave us a big bowl of plain cabbage that we were to dip into the sauce… but only once, he kept insisting. It was a good memory, the atmosphere was relaxed, and I thought nothing much of the experience… until last night.
I walked with my friend to search for dinner in the early evening, and although it wasn’t yet dark the lanterns were starting to be turned on outside the restaurants. We didn’t feel like eating much but we did feel like a beer, so kushikatsu seemed like the perfect option. There was nothing written in English at the front of the store, so I started taking photos with my translation application on my phone to see if this was really going to be a good place to eat. To the right of the open wooden door we saw a row of little stools. Local people were already there waiting in line, but there was also a clipboard and sheet of paper with a chart hung up by the door… I didn’t know what it all meant. My friend looked to me, and I started to worry… but my confidence kicked in after a moment of hesitation. I told her to wait in the line, and I would go in and speak to the waiter.
A kind looking young man, with a purple t-shirt and bandana, noticed me and smiled. I asked him whether we could sit inside, and he immediately looked confused. I cursed myself for not having learned the words to say in Japanese, for not having put more effort in earlier to learn the language better. After a little confused exchange, he motioned at me to sit and wait, so I joined my friend at the end of the line and excuses started to multiply in my mind. While we were waiting, I explained to my friend that this was part of my anxiety in visiting a new country. I felt ashamed that I didn’t know the language, and I thought that other people watching on were annoyed by the fact that I didn’t know what to say. She looked at me as if that were the last thing on her mind, and that partially reassured me, but I still sat nervously. The young man came back to us and said sorry, we don’t have a table. I said to him okay, how do we reserve a table? He hesitated, but then asked us to wait and went back inside.
I started to wonder whether they were nervous that we didn’t speak Japanese well too. I had heard that in some places in Japan foreigners were banned, that’s how much they didn’t like the awkwardness of miscommunication. It was fair enough to avoid this situation, and I started to think that perhaps this restaurant was trying to avoid us. But, we sat and waited anyway… in my mind, there was also the possibility that I could be wrong. That’s when we met Ted. He was walking with his grand daughter on his back towards the restaurant, and as he saw us he gave us a big smile and said Good evening. We smiled and greeted him back, and then, to my surprise, he stopped to talk to us. His grand daughter climbed off and ran into the restaurant, while he asked us where we were from, and then he said that we had made a good choice: this restaurant has a good price, and great taste. He told us to enjoy and then walked in to join his family. A few moments later, we were invited inside. I am happy to admit that I was in fact, completely wrong in my earlier assumptions.
We were immediately greeted by a young man who had perfect English as we sat down. We ordered our beers, and a set of skewers. This system was different to what I had experienced in Tokyo, there was no big bucket of sauce to be found – there was only some metal trays and five bottles of different sauces. As the drinks and food arrived, I asked for instructions on how to eat and he gladly showed us what to do. We took our metal plates, poured our sauces into them as we liked… and began to dig in. The taste was indeed very good, and so was the atmosphere. It was loud. People were laughing, crowded together, there was the buzz of a care-free Saturday night in the air. Every now and then we heard a loud bell being sounded and we asked ourselves what it was. It turns out, that Ted was about to tell us why.
He came to our table a number of times. First to ask us if we were okay and if there was anything that he could do for us. He explained that he had worked in the United States when he was younger, so he loved talking to foreigners. Then he came back and said that his family was very curious as to why we were at a very local restaurant – because it was not very often that foreigners dined there. We told him our stories, and he seemed very happy that we had chosen to enjoy something very local. Well, his smile was getting bigger with every subsequent time he visited our table. He wanted to ensure that we had a good time. Finally, he asked us – do you want to play a game?
My friend and I both looked at each other… a game? Do you only drink beer? Well, we said that we drink anything. Good, then maybe you can play a game that involves a drink called a highball. It turns out that my friend had just mentioned she’d like to try this drink – whisky in sparkling water – although we hadn’t envisaged that it would be that same night. We were still up for it. He continued… you play the dice, and depending on the combination, you get you can get a free drink or you can get half price. Sometimes you can get an extra large highball, sometimes you can get a normal size… it depends on the combination you get. Even though it wasn’t entirely clear, we’d decided we’d give it a go!
Before long, the young man who first served us came to our table ringing a big bell and holding a bowl with two little dice inside. Ahhh… so this is what the bell was for! We both looked at each other. My friend went first… and she was lucky. The combination she got had won her an extra large highball for no charge! Next it was my turn, and I rolled two 3’s. I won a normal size highball for no charge. To be honest, I am not entirely sure if these were the rules of the game, I think that they were all trying to make us feel welcome. It’s amazing how it only takes one kind person to turn your thinking around. Earlier in the night, I had felt so bad about myself that I had thought they were trying to avoid us… but having my friend there, who had a completely different point of view, opened my mind. I started to open myself to the possibility that I was wrong – and as soon as I was open to being wrong, we met Ted.
It just so happened that when the drinks arrived, they had mixed up our winnings – I received the extra large highball, and my friend started to drink the regular size. She was certainly happy that it had worked out that way. We laughed and talked for the rest of the night, as the whisky slowly started to get to our heads. We saw a nearby table was making takoyaki (a ball shaped snack, filled with battered octopus), and as we looked they seemed happy that we were showing interest. People weren’t annoyed that we couldn’t speak the language, they were simply happy that we were curious about their way of life. As we left Ted saw us and came to say goodbye with a high five and a warm handshake. He wished us the best for our travels.
On our walk back home, I realised that the only thing which caused me to become closed up was my own lack of belief in myself. I had over criticised my own abilities in speaking Japanese, and that had caused me to become defensive… I was on the edge of leaving and accepting that I would have a bad experience. It was only that little doubt that saved me. The doubt in my own words of criticism, the doubt in my own self doubt. And that little spark of faith that for others, life wasn’t a performance of ability but rather an opportunity to connect. Ted had only seen two people from another country sitting outside a restaurant, he thought nothing other than that. He took a brief moment to say hello, only a small amount of effort but with as much courage as it took for us to sit outside the restaurant and wait. That little amount turned things around… I love moments in life like this.
Thanks to him, we not only had a good night but my faith in myself and others was a little more renewed. I thought to myself, I wanted to be like Ted one day. I wanted to open myself to others, help them to feel encouraged and comfortable. To remind people that it doesn’t matter where you come from, there is always a way to meet in the middle. They understood that our presence at this restaurant meant that we were interested in Japanese culture, the culture of now – not the culture of the past. We wanted to know who Japan is at this very moment. He met us half way, and luckily he could do so because he knew enough English to start up a conversation.
It reminds me that this is why I’m a teacher and learner of languages – it’s actually more important than I had originally thought. I’d thought that teaching English was simply a passport to travelling around the world, a bit of fun… but in fact it is a way in which I can contribute to helping others make connections, to drop their guard a little and build bridges, form friendships, learn things that they never thought they’d learn before. I help enable people to enrich their lives, and stop clinging to the defensiveness that embarrassment tends to favour. These are the doors that can open when we take a little risk and allow ourselves to experience something new. Thanks to Ted, I remembered a little more of who I was and why I’m here.
Leave a Reply