Today, I learnt the origins of three phrases. All come from the woolen cloth trade in Exeter.
"Piss poor": so poor that you have to sell your piss.
"Taking the piss": you go to sell your piss and the buyer gives you a low price.
"On tenterhooks": the cloth was dried under tension on tenting poles. Tenterhooks were used to create the tension.
Also, Exonians appear to have a more-British-than-British sense of humour. For example, these signs.
We try our best with our (doubtless atrociously pronounced) "sumimasen", "konnichiwa" and "arigatou", with an occasional "eego o hanashimasu ka?" thrown in. In most places, those, plus some English words from the people we speak to and the classic travellers' gestures get us through. There are smiles and happiness (albeit perhaps a little awkwardness) and we move on.
Then, sometimes, the immense amount of goodwill we are shown blows me away, and I remember again and again why I love talking to strangers so much, especially strangers from places other than my own.
It was our first full day in Kyoto today, as stinking hot and muggy as you might expect in late June. (The weather here, including the way it rains, reminds me of Sydney in February.) We managed to hit the road by 10 am - not a bad effort with two children, and X.
We got down to the Higashi Honganji Temple in good order, but by the time we made it to the Daitokuji grounds, it was midday and we were hot, sticky and footsore.
And that was how, despite a general prejudice against anywhere that looks like it sells western food, we ended up at the Cafe du Mon.
The lunch special was fantastic (fusion, Japanese style - and they were very happy to change it for our non-lactose-consumer), the egg and ham sandwiches among the best P. had ever tasted, and the iced green tea really hit the spot. But what, or rather who, made it such a great place to spend some time, were the amazingly friendly owners and staff.
It started out as a fairly straightforward interaction, but everyone was so friendly and interested in the kids, and the forbidden rice that none of us could fit in so good, we decided to ask something that we had been wondering: is it ok to ask in a restaurant if we could take leftovers away? And if so, could we take the rice?
The fact that it was impossible to explain what we were trying to ask really told us what we needed to know, but X. came up with the idea of using Google translate. I would love to know how that got translated, because the owner laughed his head off about it, a great big infectious laugh. The answer, it turns out, is no, not really, but he was very happy to make our leftover rice into rice balls for us to take with us and to tell us some of his views about people and life, and explain that, as we were in Kyoto, we should say "okini" instead of "arigatou".
Shortly after that, some canele were brought to our table, gratis, made by the owner's French-patisserie-trained wife. Followed by biscotti when they remembered the lactose problem.
Even the fussy 4 y.o. agreed, despite initial skepticism before being convinced to at least take a tiny bite, that the canele were something special.
By then, it was a bit cooler, and we enjoyed Daitoju much more than we would have otherwise. Although I think the 4 y.o. thought it odd that a monk at the Daisin-in Zen garden suddenly sang "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" at her (he was thrilled she said "konnichiwa" so nicely).
After we got home, X. and I headed out in search of a toy for the baby. We managed this errand quite efficiently, but got distracted on the way home by a small kimono for the 4 y.o. (X.) and ceramics (me). Everyone we spoke to was lovely, but none more so than the couple in the ceramics shop.
From the moment we walked in, they seemed really happy to have us in their shop, particularly after hearing we were from Australia, but what really sealed the friendship was our demonstration of a pottery wheel (me spinning around) and potter (X. demonstrating with her hands above my head). Gales of laughter resulted, together with an answer to the question I'd been trying to ask (did the potter use a wheel - answer, yes). Other highlights of that conversation included an enormous amount of incredulity that X. had two children - they had thought we were students. And it ended with something of a discount - unasked - on the bowl I bought.
In both the cafe and the ceramics shop, I know my memory will morph so that I instinctively remember our hosts speaking more English than they actually did (even though I will intellectually remember the language barriers that were integral parts of the experiences) - my brain will process it as "must have been speaking the same language" because we communicated so effectively and with so much delight.
I have been in Japan for less than 3 hours, and have already seen some great examples of Engrish.
At the airport, the temperature control was being executed.
On the shuttle bus, some of the seating was forbidden because of carrying baggages.
At the hotel restaurant, you are advised to avoid the hour of 7 am to 8 am for breakfast, and otherwise to hurry.
And my favourite: the phone in the hotel has a massage button. The note next to the phone says one can receive massages on the phone.
(Quite seriously, when I first saw that one, I thought the bed might be some clever Japanese gadget operated by that button. I was a bit disappointed when I realised the truth. I blame my slight delirium - and maybe wishful thinking - on the day spent in airports and on planes.)
(Also, it's still far better than my nihongo, aka Japanese, so I'm not really making fun of it. Just enjoying the concepts of the literal meanings.)
