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Published: June 15th 2009
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The Somen Slider
Watching the noodles slide down. Just stick your chopsticks in and grab as they go! After 10 months of being kept at arm’s length by the Japanese community, I was finally able to infiltrate an important aspect of their society, and it could not have been a more enjoyable experience. On a Thursday night, I happened to bump into my Japanese friend, Chiemi, and her mom at the mall. Chiemi recently returned to Japan after spending a few years in Europe studying fine art and English, so when she came back, she quickly fell in with the foreigner community here. Chiemi grew up in a real small, real country, town that I also happen to teach in. When we ran into each other, she casually invited me to her house for a “dinner party” at her and her parents’ house, and that a few of my foreigner friends were already planning on being there. I accepted, and expecting a small, low-key gathering, I showed up with a bottle of red wine with the intention of going home early.
Within seconds of getting off the train with my four American friends, I could tell that we were in for something a little different. We were picked up by Chiemi and her sister in their van, and
Group shot
About 4 generations represented. driven deep into the countryside where we finally pulled into a long driveway leading to their house. Awaiting our arrival were Chiemi’s mother and father, a picnic table full of food, a keg of beer, and the contraption known as a somen slider. A somen slider is a half-pipe of hollowed bamboo that serves as the slide for the somen (similar to ramen) noodles that are being funneled down in a basin reservoir. Soon, more people were flowing out of the house to greet us and fill our mugs with frosty brew. Here was Chiemi’s brother, along with his wife and two kids. And here was his childhood friend, still living in the neighborhood, with HIS wife and two kids. Here was Chiemi’s dad’s friend, who helped build the family house. All were toasting our presence and our company as more food magically appeared before us.
Of course, this was not the first time that I’ve shared a beer with a Japanese person, or even been to a party where food and drink was so abundant that it seemed limitless. What struck me differently at this party was how familiar the experience felt. It was not too unlike a
"Nomunication"
One of the elder statesmen shows off his drinking skills. Fourth of July family barbeque. A beautiful sunset gave way to a pleasant evening. More people from the neighborhood shuffled into the yard, small children in tow, and were greeted just as warmly as we were. As I began asking about the relationships between the guests, I was told that the most common thread was through Chiemi’s older brother. Almost all of the young men (now in their 30s) grew up in the same neighborhood, playing Junior High School baseball, fishing on the weekends, before going their separate ways for high school and university. As the social norm dictates, the eldest sons returned to their hometown to take care of the aging parents. Some of the young men had met their wives at that point, and new bride would join the household as a wife and mother. All these young men and their families grew up and still live within walking distance of each other, and having this kind of party was far from a special occasion, it was a way of life. The notion of having a weekly party with my best friends, their wives, their kids seemed so appealing. The sense of community and family I felt at
Fun!
This guy's kids are running around somewhere. Wonder if he knows... this gathering was simply awesome.
It also simultaneously shattered some of the conceptions that I had developed of Japanese society. It seemed to me that people here were rather insulated from those around them. It’s hard to explain, but I just got the notion that Japanese people never really extended themselves to others by more than the expected politeness and etiquette. Furthermore, the contrasts between the rural and urban perspective was far greater than I imagined. One can imagine families in Tokyo and other metropolitan Japanese cities being crammed into 2 room apartments, living among the anonymity of millions of others just like them. Here, we were in a large (not just for Japanese standards) home that housed maybe seven or eight people, which also served as the neighborhood recreational and social epicenter.
The party progressed as any typical Japanese drinking party would; the men would prove their masculinity by consuming more alcohol than their bodies are genetically predisposed to handle, and the ladies would giggle at their husbands’ outlandish actions while continuing to fill their cup with liquid encouragement. There is a great Japanese expression called “nomunication”, which combines the word “communication” with the Japanese verb “nomu”, which means “to drink”. It is a well-known fact in Japan that alcohol serves as the lubricant to the strict social code of politeness, shyness, and generally uptightness. Japanese people, especially around foreigners, are painfully shy…until they’ve had a beer (which is enough to do the job). They believe whole-heartedly in “nomunication”, and it is through this that most foreigners will have their most memorable (depending on the sobriety of the foreigner) interactions with them.
Before becoming the sounding board for dirty Japanese jokes that I never fully understand, I was held captive by the 1 year old girl offering me, in her best baby-talk, polite Japanese, packages of string cheese, only to return seconds later asking for it back. We played this game for a good 30 minutes, and if you had been there, you would have been turned to mush. It was beyond cute.
As it got later, we moved the party inside. Even though it was well past 11pm, the kids were still bouncing around the room, some playing board games with their grandfather, while the adults kept the reverie alive. As the crowd began to thin out, we put out our futons, and called it a night.
I was touched by the gathering in many ways, but mostly for the fact that on this night, I felt both comforted by the familiarity and inclusion of the occasion, and also sad that I can’t share the same experience with my most-loved ones back in the States. In the end, I thanked Chiemi for deciding to go to the mall the night before. It turned out to be a “dinner party” that I did not want to miss.
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