One month ago, I stepped off the plane at Narita Airport armed with 2 semesters of Japanese language instruction, a handful of Japanese guidebooks/dictionaries, and a naïve confidence of my communication abilities. Although I realized that I was far from fluent, I was sure that I could easily get in a cab, check into my apartment, and get dinner, at the very least. I was wrong.

The Taxi Ride
Nearly sideswiped by the automatic doors of the taxi, I hopped into the taxi with a map, pointed and stated “Tokyo Weekly Mansions Onegaishimasu.” He then stared at the map blankly, obviously not understanding where to go. After he said a string of incredibly fast Japanese (much faster than the audio recordings played for me in my college classroom), I gave up understanding and repeatedly jabbed at my map saying “Koko! Koko!” It took an hour for him to find my apartment complex, which I later discovered to be a 5-minute walk from where I called the cab.

The Apartment
After running into the automatic sliding doors (a rough way to figure out that they open up slower than the ones in America), I reached the lobby of the apartment complex and tried to check in. Emphasis on tried. I thought the payment had been worked out before I came. I was staying for 2 months and my college was taking care of all the major finances. There was an obvious miscommunication when they asked for a 5-figure deposit when I had little else but a few coins with holes in it. (It took me a week to figure out that they were 5 yen). I was never taught the vocabulary necessary to communicate the fact that the rent was supposed to have been taken care of before I arrived, and that I didn’t have enough money on me yet. Eventually after 5-6 phone calls to various people, the situation worked itself out.

The Dinner
At this point, I was starving and craving notoriously delicious Japanese cuisine. I walked around Akasaka overwhelmed by the numerous restaurant choices. Eventually I settled on a decent looking place that ended up being a Yakitori restaurant. I strolled in, was greeted by a loud “Irrashaimase!”, and took a seat at the counter. Ready to put into practice a phrase I knew I’d use countless times, I asked,

“Eigo no menyu ga arimasuka?”
“…Iie.”

Oops. My plan backfired. The menu was in all Japanese, with no pictures, I really had no idea what to order. Luckily the chef saw my confusion and pointed to his recommendation.

Unfortunately for me, I was soon served up several skewers of chicken gizzard and liver. I promised myself I would try new foods to completely immerse myself into Japanese culture, but was hoping it would be more of a transition. While I chewed on my stick of chicken gizzard, I contemplated the difficulties of my journey thus far.

Many of the grammar, vocabulary, and culture points I learned in the classroom proved useless when I arrived. What is taught in a classroom in a year, let alone in many years of studies can only demonstrate a very small aspect of Japanese language and the culture that is so interconnected with the language. I’ve been here for one month already and feel I still have so much to learn. I’m starting to understand that only by coming to this fantastic country can one really understand the intricacies and eccentricities of Japan.