Seven counts of aggravated meddling

After a thoroughly useless morning of sightseeing (the ceramic history museum doesn’t have a single piece of clay that’s older than I am, the “Forest of Magician’s Clay” is a path around some amorphous marble blobs in between some trees, and the azalea park probably looks a lot better when the azaleas are actually in bloom), I stopped by the International Institute to return the books I’d borrowed and get some new ones. On my way out, I got sucked into a “Saturday Salon” (groups of people that meet to drink tea and discuss other cultures – apparently they don’t often get a non-Japanese participant so I was the zoo animal for the day). But since they were willing to talk in English, I wasn’t really complaining.

It turns out that Mito has several “sister cities” around the world, one of which is Anaheim, CA. On hearing that I’m from California, the first question out of all of their mouths is if I’ve ever been there. I try to convey to them how big California really is, and that if I spent the next year traveling non-stop, I still couldn’t see it all. But it doesn’t sink in. They just all assume that *of course* I’ve been to Disneyworld (or land – I can never remember which is in Ca and which is in Fl). Not having any desire to go to such a Mecca is apparently inconceivable.

Anyway, the conversation gradually veered around to what I thought of Japan, what sites I’d already seen, etc. Then they figured out that I was doing all this sightseeing on my own. Now, until this point, Helpful Meddler had managed to blend into the crowd and look like just one more middle aged Japanese man. But now he just couldn’t contain himself anymore. His disguise was stripped away and his true from revealed as he went into a long lecture on how I shouldn’t be out on my own. As if he was my dad. Just how old does he think I am anyway? Now, annoyance aside, it’s a very nice sentiment and it has occurred to me that when I traipse off after some random thing in the guidebook, I should perhaps at least leave a note telling someone where my body is likely to be. But as for not going out by myself – what am I supposed to do? Wait patiently in the apartment until someone decides to come by, knock on my door, and take me somewhere? I seem to remember Mom warning me not to get in cars with strangers...

He wound down after a while and we continued talking. I happened to ask if people are allowed to swim in the large lake downtown (allowed to, yes; want to, no. I never did quite catch exactly why, but the implication was clear - if I didn’t grow a second head, I’d turn purple with green stripes). But they asked if I’d been to the ocean, and when I admitted I’d already gone to most of the local beaches, Helpful Meddler started in again. And this time he was really excited about the whole thing. He got so worked up that he found two university freshmen studying English to be my tour guides next weekend. I have no idea what they had planned for the day, or if they even have any interest in the longest slide in Japan, but I don’t mind the company if they want to come along. So I’m meeting them at the train station at 10 and if they giggle too much, I’m dropping them on Helpful Meddler’s doorstep and going by myself after all.

(For those of you likely to worry, rest assured that I haven’t been out swimming by myself. Wave jumping, yes, but not swimming. Partly because the ex-lifeguard in me knows how stupid it is and partly because I didn’t think to bring the key floatie and I’m not about to chance having to dive for my car keys in a country where I can’t even ask where the American consulate is. But it’s the same result either way.)