Scaring the Natives (Part I).

An amusing exchange took place between myself and a gaggle of middle-school boys at the Ishikawa Prefectural Museum of History today.

As I walked past the group, thinking to myself that it was time to hightail it out of the building now that the school groups were starting to show up, I overhead a voice say, "Hey there."

I turned around and found myself looking back at a pack of fourteen-year-old males, who were all grinning and shuffling and punching one another on the shoulder. The boy who presumably had called to me sketched a little salute and said, "Hello." I sketched one back, saying "Hello" as I did. This put them all into a little frenzy of excitement.

So I decided to be evil.

I walked straight up to the boy who'd called me, saying (in Japanese) "Do you speak English?"

"Oh my god, she's fluent!" one of the boys standing next to him exclaimed. (He used the same tone of voice one might employ to express the realization that someone was radioactive.)

"Uh, one more time please," the first boy asked, somewhat sheepishly.

I repeated my question.

"No, I don't speak English," he said.

"Oh," I said. "Your pronunciation of 'hello' was very good, so I thought you did."

This set off another frenzy. "Oh my god, she just praised him! What's he gonna do now?"

The boy expressed his thanks, then noted that it was strange to be complimented by me. I relented then and apologized.

"You boys have fun now," I admonished.

"We will," they chorused back to me, as I headed for the exit. (Because it's best to make a quick escape after teasing the wildlife. ;>) I suspect they'll all be talking about it for days.

Scaring the Natives (Part II).

On my first full day in Kanazawa I decided that I fancied doria for lunch, and with the unending downpour of rain I didn't want to hunt for it. So I made for a nearby shopping center and looked for their restaurant road. In a shop delightfully located on the eighth floor and boasting a gorgeous view of the surrounding autumn colors, I sat myself down by the window and waited for the waiter.

He arrived quickly, if furtively, with a glass of ice water, and an apologetic smile. "This menu's only in Japanese," he murmured (perhaps to himself).

"Oh, that's quite alright," I told him.

"My goodness, you speak Japanese!" he exclaimed. "Oh, I'm so sorry. That was terribly rude of me!"

I assured him that it was quite alright. It was a safe enough assumption to make, after all. Although it was an assumption and therefore dangerous. (As I discovered myself quite recently.) I appreciated his apology, though. It was sweet of him.

He took very good care of me throughout the meal, and when I was finished and went to pay we had another brief exchange.

I asked if it was alright to pay with a 10,000 yen note (the equivalent of about $100... well, not right now, but you get the idea).

"Of course, it's fine," he said. "Boy, you sure surprised me earlier. Your Japanese is so good!"

"Not at all," I declined. But then, mindful of Tomono-sensei's previous shock, I tacked on a brief "but thank you very much for saying so."

Playing against type sure is turning out to be a lot of fun.

Full accounts of my travels in Kanazawa to follow. Stay tuned...