The Green, Green Plastic of Home
Enough general knowledge of Japanese customs has
now spread around the world to ensure that few newcomers to this
country are surprised to find they must remove their shoes when
entering someone's home. But most of those who stay for longer
periods are generally surprised to learn that there is more to it
than the simple equation: outdoors = shoes on ... indoors = shoes
off. There are quite a number of rules governing the use of footwear
around the home, and even in a small place like my 3DK apartment, it
can get ridiculously complicated. The entire floor space here is only
about 60 square meters, yet it contains no less than five distinct
'zones', in each one of which different footwear is required.
The 'genkan' is the first zone one encounters.
Although actually located in the home, inside the front door, it is
of course considered to be 'outdoors'. No matter how cleanly it may
have been scrubbed, and how bright the floor tiles, it is 'dirty',
and no one from the house could possibly step into it without wearing
outdoor footwear.
From the genkan into the house proper, there is
always a step up. In a traditional house, this may be quite a
substantial stretch upwards, necessitating the use of an intermediate
stone step, but in modern apartments like mine, it is usually reduced
to a three or four centimetre 'bump' where the wooden flooring
starts. But the change in level is mandatory, and guests are normally
greeted with the words 'oagari
kudasai' ... 'Please come on up.' And as
they step up, stepping out of their shoes in the process, they
usually find awaiting them on the new level, a pair of
slippers.
There are great opportunities for personal
expression in this slipper-donning ritual, and the performance can
actually reach virtuosic heights. To loosen one's shoes, step out of
them smoothly, leave them positioned off to one side where they won't
disturb the person coming in behind you, of course 'turned around' so
they will be ready to step into when you leave later (all this
without using your hands), and then to triumphantly slide into the
waiting slippers, without either leaning against the wall, or missing
a beat in your greeting ... Yes, true virtuosity!
This ordeal over, you are now in the main 'zone'
of the home, the slipper zone, these days usually wooden flooring or
carpet. Although it is certainly permitted to move around this area
in stocking feet, a guest will not generally be allowed to do this,
and will be constantly pressed to wear the slippers. But what is far
more confusing to the novice, is to find that these slippers, donned
with so much difficulty at the genkan, must be removed just a few
moments later, as he reaches the next 'level', the tatami
room.
One could no more wear slippers on tatami, than
one could wear muddy boots in the rest of the house. Although the
ostensible reason is to protect the surface of the mats from abrasion
by footwear, the real motivation is to reinforce the feeling of
moving up to the new 'higher' level. So off they come, and during the
time one is in this room, no other footwear will be permitted.
So our guest can finally relax here in his socks
... at least until the effect of the numerous cups of tea he has been
served start to take effect, leading to the next stage in the
footwear adventure ... Stepping off the tatami back into the
slippers, which his considerate host will have turned around for him,
he is directed to the small room containing the toilet (a room for
which we have no word in English ... It's not a bathroom, is it?) As
he opens the door to this cubicle, he finds yet another pair of
slippers facing him, as the slippers he is wearing must not be
allowed to become sullied by use in this room. He must repeat his
genkan contortions, stepping out of one pair, straight into the
other, although this time with far less space in which to
maneuver.
Once his business is finished, the process is
repeated in reverse. To commit the sin of walking back through the
house wearing those 'filthy' toilet slippers! Of course, they will
actually be 'hospital' clean, but it's the thought that counts
...
Safely back on the tatami, our guest may think
that he has seen all that this home has to offer in the way of
footwear, but he would be mistaken. Perhaps his host is a fancier of
'bonsai' and extends an invitation to inspect his latest tiny
creation ... out on the balcony. Out on the balcony where ... you
guessed it, more slippers await. This time one steps down, as befits
the change from 'inside' to 'outside'.
Those slippers will be 'dedicated' to balcony use,
but in homes where the garden can be reached this way, through
sliding doors off one room, even more slippers are of course
positioned at the ready, below the door. In this case, there is
likely to be quite a flock of them waiting there. This is due to the
fact that people quite frequently leave and enter their home by
different routes. Out the sliding door into the garden ... back in
through the genkan ... There thus has to be enough footwear lying all
over the place to ensure that something is always there ready at each
exit. So even households with only a few members will still have
enough footwear on hand to outfit an army, and the mountains of shoes
and slippers to be found scattered all around the home of large
families must be seen to be believed. (Actually, there are still
other 'zones' demanding specific types of footwear, but as guests are
not likely to find themselves standing in plastic booties cleaning
the bath, it's probably best to leave it here ...)
Now after this rather longish introduction, I
should perhaps finally get to the thing I intended to mention when I
picked up my pencil this evening ... I recently made a small
alteration in my home, one that I am enjoying immensely, but which
has had the side effect of confusing all my Japanese visitors. Shoes
on? Shoes off? They can't figure out what to do.
What did I do to cause this confusion? Simply I
went to a nearby 'home centre' and picked up a few cartons of
artificial turf, but instead of using it in the garden as they
advertised, I covered the dirty concrete surface of my balcony with
it. This 'turf' has a raised plastic base on which tufts of green
plastic are mounted, and water thus drains away through it easily. So
although our balcony is exposed to rain, it is now always dry to the
step. And as the rain washes away any dust and dirt, this green
surface is always very clean. In my mind, the balcony is now a
'no-shoes' zone ... an extension of our living space. I sit out there
and read books, eat lunch at a low table, or even stretch out on the
'grass' for naps. It has become my favourite 'room', and I truly wish
that I had done this years ago.
But guests? They can't figure out what to do! They
pause at the door, ready to step out onto the green surface, and look
around for slippers. But of course there aren't any, and they thus
remain frozen in the doorway. Even seeing me standing out there in my
bare feet or socks isn't enough to convince them that it's really OK
to come out. Their conditioning is simply much too strong. On the
balcony ... with no shoes ... On grass ... with no shoes ...
Impossible!
I certainly get a bit of a laugh out of seeing
them caught in the same type of situation that I faced so many times
when first in this country ... So dare I say it? Now the shoe is on
the other foot!