Haircut Sir?

Now I've had a few dodgy haircuts in my time. For instance, when I had the quiffectomy in Palo Alto in 1997 and ended up looking like Julius Caesar.

When we lived in Kilburn my coiffure was attended to with varying degrees of competence by some very amiable Arsenal-supporting Kurdish refugees.

Only recently I had a worrying hair experience in Magherafelt with a hairstylist (?) from Toomebridge whose heavily bandaged finger made any sensible trimming impossible. Typically British, I cheerfully paid up, tipped the lady, and said thanks for a palpably wonky haircut.

In all of the above instances I was at least able to communicate with the person with the scissors, so the prospect of getting a haircut over here was a little bit daunting to say the least, especially as hair is a more valuable commodity for me these days.

As luck would have it, there is barbers just round the corner - a 'high-tech' barbers actually, as per the revolving sign outside. After consulting the Lonely Planet phrasebook, it looked a fairly straightforward process. "O-o-ne-gai shi-mas to-ri-min-gu" is "I'd like a trim please", although this just elicited a puzzled look from the middle-aged proprietor. She then asked some scruffy young kid in the queue what he thought it meant, and he just smirked. The general consensus seemed to be that it was a pretty odd request.

But I had a back-up plan - the universality of barbering means that a 'number three' should be the same anywhere in the world, and I know 'number three' in Japanese (san ban). So, no problem, with a few hand gestures, some buzz-buzz sounds and some san bans, my haircut specification could be adequately explained.

But there was a problem - the woman had no clippers (at the time, I thought this was a bit naff for a 'high-tech' barbers, but afterwards I studied the sign more carefully. This was in fact a 'high technique' barbers - see pic, right - so fair play to the lady, she had scissors and a cut-throat razor and that was your lot. She was an artisan.)

So eventually I did what all English people seem to do in this kind of situation. I explained what I wanted in English, regardless of the fact that she didn't understand a word, and sat down to let fate take its course.

And she did a top job. Far better than the trendy Cupertino stylist, the Kurdish rebels (but not the same banter), and the cack-handed Mid-Ulsterwoman. So I'll surely be going back ("Ma-e to o-na-ji" - "Same as before" please).

But this time I won't ask for a torimingu, as when I asked a colleague about this at work he said this was 'trim' in the context of dogs or hedges. No wondered she looked puzzled, and no wonder the kid smirked. And no wonder it's a bloody Lonely Planet for anyone using that phrasebook...

I Know We Shouldn't...

But it's just too tempting when you come across a poodle parlour that is trying to project a classy image, but calls itself...

And the clothing accessories emporium down the road is just plain WRONG...

Jessica's New School

Jessica is now into her third week of school and so far seems to be thoroughly enjoying herself.

St Michaels International School (http://smis.org/head.html) is situated opposite NHK (a useful landmark in the first week) on Nakayamate-Dori (dori means street). We leave our apartment in the morning, turn left and walk for 6 minutes, turn right and there it is. So we’re pretty close.

The school is next-door to the Kitano Meister Garden, a rather quaint building with little craft shops selling hand-made goodies including bread, jewelry, chocolate and ice-cream. So there’s often a stop-off there after school.

Her first day passed off much like any other first day back at school. A few nerves and some hand-holding, but as soon as the bell rang (or rather the clock chimed), all the children lined up and in they went. Jessica has been lucky in that over the summer the school has undergone a lot of refurbishment and her year is in a brand, spanking new classroom.

The school has around 155 pupils and there are 24 in Jessica’s class. Lessons are in English and Jessica seems already very fond of her teacher, Ms Shy. They have Japanese lessons, and though I’ve yet to hear any local lingo from Jessica, I’m sure she’s picking up plenty.

There are couple of other newbie kids as well, which helps, not only Jessica, but also myself with the usual mother’s playground chats. There was a ‘Meet and Greet’ for parents and teachers in the second week and it was good to speak to a few other parents in the same boat as ourselves.


School starts at 8.50 (although most kids seem to be there from 8.30) and finishes at 3.15. Homework can be pretty taxing and between ice-cream and little brothers there are plenty of distractions, but it eventually gets done.

So far Jessica has not shown any particular aptitude for sports but with PE twice a week and weekly swimming lessons, you never know.

Squirty Bum Toilets

While the Japanese are not much cop at inventing things themselves, they are streets ahead of anyone else when it comes to taking other people's ideas and making them actually functional. Take the bidet, for example. Invented by the French, but kind of useless. Normally found adjacent to the toilet, it not only necessitates an undignified repositioning of one's buttocks but wastes space to boot.

The savvy and space-conscious Japanese not only make the whole bottom-cleaning process much easier but chuck in some microelectronics as well! Take a look at this little beauty - the INAX CW-RZ101...

By far the coolest gadget in the house (beating the gadget that remotely programmes the bath to fill at your preferred temperature and depth, because all of the instructions are in Japanese so we can't...), all you have to do is press a single button and hey presto!, a pleasant and effective cleansing. Blue for boys and pink for girls. Two nozzles for the ladies - front AND back bottom.

The one thing we don't quite understand though is the fact that there is another remote on the wall, in addition to the one shown on the picture here, a mere two inches to the right of one's bottom, and which we would have thought to have been more than adequate.

Even more bizarre is the fact that we discovered that the remote is detachable from the wall (see above). Given that the toilet is almost microscopic in its dimensions, we can only assume that this is for playing bottom-cleansing pranks on unsuspecting gaijin guests.

You have been warned....

And just in case you think I'm making this up, you can find out more here: http://www.knovelty.com/bidets6.htm

Important note: Sarah does not approve of this particular Blog entry.....

Where We Live

We live close to the Kitano district of Kobe, just 10 minutes walk from the city's central station, Sannomiya.

Kitano is well known for its 'gaijin' community, which means we can buy Weetabix and Marmite with relative ease. Here is a picture of our apartment (right).

One of the the things that strikes you about Kobe is the dizzying array of street furniture. Or, to be more precise, air furniture, as every road is festooned with cables and what appear to be heavy duty transformers hanging from lamposts (see pic below). Obviously, given that we are in earthquake territory, there is good reason for not putting much underground, but it doesn't look pretty. In fact, as furniture goes, it's worse than 1970s Parker Knoll...

But then, just another 500m down the road, we have this beautiful garden. No nasty overhead cables here!

Jessica and Jack enjoy going to the Sorakuen Garden...

The only downside to this is Jessica now wants a dog...

First Impressions

Japan in the summer is a brutally inhospitable place for four palefaces from Northern Ireland, which is mainly why we started this blog so late. Temperatures in the mid-30s and humidity that hits you like a wet duvet as soon as you leave the confines of your apartment made our first weeks here somewhat undignified. So we didn't want to write about that.

However, as the temperature is now beginning to drop to a more agreeable 25 degrees, we can once again begin to function as human beings again instead of scaring passers-by and restauranteurs with our impressive feats of perspiration.