Whenever we are traveling (which is often!), we like to get off the beaten path, immerse ourselves in the culture of the place we’re visiting. To do this, we do a lot of walking around, we strike up conversations with locals in coffee houses and shops, and we navigate using the local metro services instead of taxis whenever possible. It’s fair to say we’re seasoned travelers, but today we were put to the test – and given the wonderous blessing of perspective. Today, we were given the smallest taste of what it must be like to be a foreign immigrant, or refugee, coming to America. Let me explain . . . We left our hotel early this morning on foot, headed for the nearest Tokyo Metro station. We do this EVERY TIME we travel, so in preparation, we had planned out where we were headed, which trains we would need to take, where our transfers would be, and it’s Saturday so the infamous workday crowds on the Tokyo subway should be at a minimum. We’ve done this so many times, this should be no biggie, right? Ha, ha! WRONG!! The amount of time and energy we spent attempting to decipher the automated ticketing system was comical. Even using the English translated version didn’t help us – none of the train line names or stops matched our preplanned route. After struggling with this for about 30 minutes, a friendly Japanese woman approached us, and offered her assistance. Lesson #1: There are 3 separate train systems operating in Tokyo. None of the train lines matched our plans, because we were trying to buy tickets to the wrong system! After being directed to the correct ticket machine, and purchasing our tickets, we thought we were good to go. WRONG AGAIN! Naturally, everything in the Metro system is written in Japanese – ads, directional signs, you name it. And where the characters were beautiful to behold, without some form of reference for meaning, they were equally indecipherable. Thankfully, the train lines were color coded, and the Japanese people are polite and helpful to visitors in distress. Lesson #2: This is what it feels like to be illiterate. Actually, it was worse than that. When you’re illiterate, you are unable to read or write. We were also unable to speak, or understand the language being spoken all around us. Everywhere we turned, we were confronted with this language barrier, which brought an additional level of complexity to the most common decisions. When we were ready to eat lunch, we were confronted with signs that looked like this: Even our attempts to make conversation with locals for the most part fell short. Smiles, gestures and menus with pictures were helpful, but mostly because of the grace and patience of the people willing to help us. The experiences of the day were frustrating and exhausting, but at the same time positive and humbling. We bumbled through, and by the end of the day, we have a newfound respect for anyone who has the courage to leave the familiar, and brave the unknown, in hopes of a better life for themselves and their children.
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Lisa LynchLisa is a world traveling mom that took the ultimate adventure Archives
December 2012
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