I'M NOT A TOURIST, I JUST LOOK LIKE ONE

Living in Japan as a Western foreigner can be rather interesting. People spot you, freeze, and then quietly decide not to engage unless absolutely necessary. It's entertaining, frustrating, and occasionally useful, depending on how much social interaction you're trying to avoid that day.

No matter how long I've lived here, my face will always be a dead giveaway that I'm not from around here. And with that comes a whole bouquet of assumptions – mostly about my ability to speak Japanese, which people often assume is closer to 'nonexistent' than to 'near-native'.

Take the other day. I stumbled upon a craft beer fair with free tastings. Everyone else was being warmly invited to sip and swirl. Me? I was politely being overlooked.

Now, I don’t take this personally. It’s not discrimination – it’s risk management. The staff probably thought, 'He won’t understand us, and we won’t understand him, so let’s just pretend he’s part of the scenery.' With the recent tourist boom, that risk has only increased.

But being 'unapproachable' also comes with its perks:

• No political campaigners trying to win my vote (besides, their efforts would be wasted on me, as I can’t vote anyway).

• No real estate agents pitching me dream houses I don’t need, as we are quite happy in our home, thank you very much.

• No charity collectors asking for donations.

• No strangers asking for directions (which I probably couldn’t give even if I tried).

Ironically, in Europe, I’m apparently the human embodiment of Google Maps, as people ask me for directions all the time. Presumably, not only do I seem trustworthy, but I also look like a local. The thing is that this always happens in places that are unfamiliar to me.

Once in Paris, my wife and I were on our way from the hotel to dinner, when we were stopped and asked – by a Frenchman – where the 'Rue de So-and-So' was. I almost felt bad for having to let the person down and tell him – in the best French I could muster – that we were not local and couldn't help.

But back to Japan.

There are exceptions from time to time. Just recently, in a Nagano electronics store, a SoftBank sales rep stopped me and started a conversation. I was so shocked I nearly dropped my purchase. He explained a phone campaign clearly, politely, and – miracle of miracles – without using either incomprehenible jargon or baby talk.

Coincidentally, my wife had just announced she wanted to get a new phone and switch the service provider. Sadly, she wasn’t with me, so I couldn’t take advantage of the campaign. But hey, I got a crash course in mobile plans and a rare moment of being treated like a customer worth talking to.

Usually, when we’re out together, my wife becomes the designated spokesperson – though not by choice. People assume she’s easier to talk to, which is true, but also mildly annoying for her. At restaurants, she’s the one who gets the menu questions. At shops, she’s the one who gets the sales pitch.

She sometimes insists I do the talking, which is great in theory – until we both realise the menu or the form in front of us is all in Japanese...

Case in point: last week's trip to the Mazda dealership to finalise our car purchase. We were handed a stack of paperwork so thick it could double as the UN Charter. The salesperson explained everything – mostly to my wife – but kept glancing at me like, fully aware that I was the one footing the bill and should probably be included in this ritual.

To be honest, even my wife wasn't entirely sure what we were signing. But in Japan, you just trust the process. I'm reasonably confident we didn't accidentally commit to a three-year contract to personally test-drive all future Mazda prototypes. And if we did, I'll start practising how to look impressed by engine specs I don't understand.

So, yes, life in Japan comes with its challenges. But on the bright side, there is practically zero chance anyone will ever ask me for directions...