I am Japanese, but not really.  Although I am of Japanese ancestry, I am no more Japanese than my wife is Hungarian.  My wife always thought she was Polish as her mother’s maiden name was Kibosh.   We recently, however, found out that my wife’s ancestors were Hungarian.  Now that my wife knows that she is Hungarian, it has not made a big difference in her life.  We have a three-foot globe in our home.  I could see that my wife was having difficulty finding Hungary on the globe.  I told her to find Poland and then turn right.  Now that she knows she is Hungarian, she has no more interest in Hungary than before she had this information.  She cannot speak a single word of Hungarian unless you count the word goulash. Other than English, the only other language I can speak is Spanish.  Since I have an OB/GYN practice in California, I have had to learn to speak some Spanish out of necessity.  My Hispanic patients are often surprised that a “japones” can speak to them in their native tongue.  My Spanish is very basic but I can immediately see the gratitude in my patient’s smile.  We have a telephone translator service available to us but the patient feels much more welcome if the doctor has made the effort to learn her language. When it comes to Japanese, I can barely speak enough to order in a Japanese restaurant in the U.S.  The first time I entered a sushi restaurant the sushi chef startled me with a loud greeting of “Irasshaimase!”  I responded with an equally loud, “What did you just say?” It turns out that irasshaimase means, “Welcome to the store!” or “Come on in!” I have had many native Japanese women come to see me as a patient.  They quickly show their disappointment when they realize that I don’t speak Japanese.  Somehow the expectation is that if I have a Japanese surname, I should be able to speak Japanese. I have often asked myself why people would expect me to speak Japanese.  When one meets an African-American one does not ever ask if he can still speak his original African language.  One would not expect an American named Murphy to speak any Gaelic.  Well, to be fair, I don’t even think the Murphys in Ireland speak Gaelic anymore. I think the difference is that we came from the old country later than African and European Americans.  Also, our physical features set us apart.  Sometimes a Jew could pass for a German but an Asian could not. I don’t want to travel the world being mistaken for a Japanese tourist but I don’t really have a choice.  I look the part.  My ancestors came to the United States in the 19^th century from northern Japan.  Unlike my children, who are of mixed race, I am of pure Japanese descent, thus my features are indistinguishable from a native Japanese.  Following are some of my stories of being mistaken for a Japanese tourist: PARIS The first time I noticed that foreigners thought I was from Japan was many years ago when I took my family to Paris.  I had rented an apartment for a week near the Eiffel Tower.  I would wake each morning, admire the most recognizable monument in Europe, and then head for the boulangerie to bring back pastries for my family’s breakfast. Near our apartment, I found a bakery that had beautiful pastries in the display window.  One could not help but stop and admire the beautiful fresh frambois and citron tarts even if you weren’t going to make a purchase.  It was like walking by kittens in a store window.  Each morning I would greet the baker with, “Bonjour Monsieur Duquesne.  Comment allez-vous?”  He would then respond with something I could not understand.  I would then ask him to repeat himself, but more slowly:  “Excusez-moi, repetez s’il vous plait, lentement.”  I would still not understand his response so I would just say okay in French:  “D’accord.”  He was impressed that I knew the word “D’accord” and he would laugh. I had been warned that the French may be rude to us American tourists but I found this baker to be very friendly.  I assumed that most Americans do not make the effort to try to speak to him in French. This trip to Paris was quite a number of years ago when it was common to use Traveler’s checks.  One morning I noticed I was running low on cash so I asked him if he would cash a Traveler’s check for me.  “Acceptez-vous des cheques de voyage?” I asked. He asked me the denomination of the check I was trying to cash.   I told him it was for $100.  He said the amount was too large and that he would not cash it. I then said, “Well, you French are rather arrogant considering we saved your ass in World War Two.”  He got a very surprised look on his face and said, “Oh mon Dieu, I thought you were Japonaise.” I replied indignantly, “No, je suis Americain!”  I started to laugh and he could see that I had been kidding him.  Fortunately, he had a sense of humor.  I would not have wanted to start an international incident.  He cashed my check. JAPAN When I visited Japan for the first time, the people there could not always tell that I was an American.  There, people would often start speaking to me in Japanese.  I would always respond with a phrase I had committed to memory, “Nihongo-ga wakari masen.”  That means, “I don’t understand Japanese.”  The person to whom I was speaking would then get a puzzled look on his face but I was helpless to explain why I couldn’t speak Japanese.  My friend Dr. Edward says the Japanese people must think that I am mentally retarded.  It is obvious to them that I am old enough to be speaking. I have a physician friend that is a Mormon.  He spent several years in Japan as a missionary.  He suggested that we both vacation in Japan some time and he would go as my translator.  This would be quite a sight as he is a blond Caucasian who speaks fluent Japanese. My wife cannot tell the difference between the various Asian ethnic groups.   She cannot tell the difference between a Filipino, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Vietnamese, etc.  I asked her if there are any races she could easily identify.  She says she can recognize blacks.  She says she can also point out a Mexican if he is wearing a sombrero. I can usually tell the difference between the different Asian races.  I can even tell the difference between first-generation (Issei) and second-generation (Nisei) Japanese-Americans.  I myself am a fourth-generation (Yonsei) Japanese-American.  If you are at Disneyland and you see four Japanese males walking abreast, all in suits and ties, you can assume that these men are Japanese nationals.  Endless bowing is another clue. ANGKOR WAT A few years ago I took my family to the incredible ruins of Angkor Wat in Cambodia.  Unfortunately, I had not done enough research before embarking on this trip so we arrived during the monsoon season.  It was very hot and humid.  I found myself sitting on the steps of a 900-year-old temple in the midday sun, taking a break and drinking from my bottle of water.  Next to me, also sitting and taking a break, were two young men from the Netherlands.  We were surrounded by Asian tourists.  One of the men remarked to the other, “Do you know how many more of them there are than us in the world?”  I responded, in perfect English, “There are a billion more of us and someday we’re taking over.”  For one uncomfortable moment, they looked at me in astonishment as they were not expecting me to understand English.  I then said, “Aw, I’m just messing with you.”  We had a good laugh. Our hotel was located close to the ancient temples in a lovely town call Siem Reap.  We would come back to our hotel around 4 pm each day so that my wife could shop. My wife finds shopping to be the best part of tourism.  Once we visited Blarney Castle in Ireland. She found a huge gift shop there with many high-quality woolen goods for sale.  She found this to be a great opportunity for her to do her Christmas shopping.  Several hours passed.  Before she had time to see the Blarney Castle it was time to board the tour bus and head towards our next destination.   My wife had no regrets.  She said, “In Europe, castles and cathedrals are commonplace but shopping is always a new adventure.” I don’t care for shopping in Cambodia or anywhere else.   Silk scarves can only hold my attention for so long.  I do enjoy talking to young sales ladies.  I ask them if they have any souvenirs to sell.  For many of them, that is all they sell so they respond with an enthusiastic, “Yes, yes, I make you good price!” The vendors in Siem Reap will often try to get you to leave a neighboring stall to buy from them.  They call out, “Same, same but better,” or “Same, same but different.”  It is such a common saying that they print those phrases on tee shirts. I found an attractive woman in her late teens at the back of a shopping area looking very bored as most tourists did not venture back to her area of the market.  She greeted me in English and not in Japanese:  “You want to buy?”  I asked her how she knew I was an American tourist and not a Japanese tourist.  She said she could tell I was an American by the way I walked.  I said, “Really, do I have a swagger like John Wayne?”  She actually knew who John Wayne was from watching American movies.  I decided to do my impersonation of John Wayne for her.  I walked back up to her with a wide stance and in a deep slow voice I said, “Konichiwa, pilgrim.”  She laughed. My son Eric then came by looking for me.  I told the young woman, “This is my son Eric.”  She was very playful and said, “Are you sure?  He no look like you.”  I laughed and said, “Yes, I am sure.”  She then smiled and said, “Are you one hundred percent?”  I gave her a squeeze and said, “You are very funny.”  She then said, “Where your wife?”  I said, “She is down there looking for scarves.”  She responded with, “Oh, oh, she want to buy?” OAHU When it comes to vacationing in the United States, I love Ko Olina, Oahu.  I could see from my sixth-floor condo that the hot tub spa by the pool was empty.  I like using the spa but I prefer not having to share it with strangers.  I quickly changed into my swim attire but by the time I got to the spa, there were two older Caucasian women already in the water.  (By older, I mean my age.) The women did not have the jet bubbles running and I find the bubbles to be the best part of the spa experience.  I did not want to be rude and turn on the bubbles as obviously, these women preferred to have the bubbles off.  Maybe they enjoyed the quiet of having the bubbles off so they could talk or maybe they just didn’t like the bubbles. Every so often I would splash a bit so they would have to recognize that I was in the spa with them.  I was hoping one of them would ask me if I would like the bubbles turned on.  Finally, one of the women got out of the spa and went to the control knob.  She thought that I did not speak English.  She turned to me and asked, “You like, you like?” I immediately became indignant.  How dare she?  Who did she think she was?  Did she think that I was “fresh off the boat?”  I decided that I would have to teach this woman a lesson.  However, if there is one racial stereotype that I believe in, it is that the Japanese are non-confrontational.  Although my ancestors arrived here by boat in the nineteenth century, that part of me had come through the generations.  I would try to teach this woman a lesson – but in a nice way. I responded, “Me like, me like.”  I then added, “Yo quero mucho.” The woman now looked confused.  She asked, “Where are you from?” I couldn’t resist.  I said, “I come from the land down under, where women glow and men plunder.” I thought she would next say, “Does that mean you are from Australia?” I was wrong, she then asked, “Isn’t that one of the lyrics from the band Men at Work?” I said, “Yes, it is.” She asked, “Whatever happened to them?” I responded, “They are unemployed.” I don’t know why this one time I had become so annoyed.  I think it is because these were Americans and I am an American.  To me, it would be like an Englishman asking Queen Elizabeth if she was from England. OUDE KIRK, AMSTERDAM On arriving in Amsterdam I decided that my first destination would be the famous Rijksmuseum. I found the curator and asked, “Would you please direct me to Rembrandt’s:  The Night Watch?  I have admired that painting since I was in college and never dreamed I would ever actually get to see the genuine article.  I would also like to see some Vermeer paintings.  I would love to stay and see all that your museum has to offer but after seeing those paintings, I must be off to see the other wonderful sights of your city such as the Van Gogh Museum, Ann Frank’s house and last but not least, the Red Light District.  I’m sorry for talking so fast but I am very excited.” She looked at me in astonishment and said, “Oh my God, your English is so good!   You have almost no accent!  How did you learn to speak English so good?” I replied, “Did you mean to ask how I learned to speak English so well?” She anxiously said, “Yes, yes, how did you learn to speak English so well?” At first, I just stood there.  I didn’t really understand what she was saying to me.  Why wouldn’t I speak English well?  Then I realized that she thought I was a Japanese tourist and assumed I would be speaking Japanese or possibly English with a strong accent. I laughed and said, “Well, I was listening to an English language disc and fell asleep with it on.  When I awoke, I was speaking like this.”  The curator’s mouth dropped. She then said that she had a few questions for me if I had time for them.  I said, “Of course.” She asked me what I liked about Amsterdam.  I told her that there was so much to see but it was a much more relaxed city than say Paris.  Paris is exciting but exhausting.  I also enjoyed being in a city that tolerates drugs, prostitution, and accepted homosexuals before it became fashionable to do so. She then thanked me.  Maybe at this point, I should have mentioned that I can’t speak Japanese. Later that same evening my family and I had dinner in a Malaysian restaurant.  After dinner, the sun was still fairly high in the sky so we decided to walk to the Red Light District.  Although it was a red-light district it didn’t seem that seedy.  It appeared to be a clean and safe area with many tourists walking around.  Like much of Amsterdam, it was lined with canals. The old part of Amsterdam city is so very quaint with its cobbled narrow streets and 16th-century buildings.  As we rounded a corner there was a church.  It shared the street with the prostitutes’ windowed storefronts.  I could not take my eyes off the church.  It was closed so I walked around it.  My daughter Kristen caught up with me and asked why I was looking at a church instead of the pretty women in the windows. I said to her, “Kristen, this is the Oude Kerk, or Old Church.  I read about this in a guidebook. This stone church was built in the 1300s.  Rembrandt used to attend services here.  Look, it has flying buttresses like the Notre Dame in Paris!  I can imagine the sailors from the Dutch East India Company coming into port here centuries ago.  They may have enjoyed the brothels and then come to this church to beg forgiveness.” “There are women in the windows here but we have women at home.  We have nothing like this at home.”  I think my daughter understood because then she started to inspect the church with me. As my daughter and I walked around the church I thought:  This is the essence of the joy of traveling – not knowing what amazing thing awaits you around the next corner. As the soft hazy summer sky turned grey, I thought about how fortunate I was, the son of a Japanese gardener, to be able to afford to take my family to a place that most people can only read about.  On that trip, my children were in their teens but not quite old enough to protest vacationing with their parents.  As we walked down the street, Oudekerksplien, back towards our hotel, I felt a moment of reflection and grace that I have so rarely experienced in life.   I realized I would always look back on this trip with fond memories despite the difficulties of flying economy for twelve hours, eating beans for breakfast at Heathrow, being told you can easily get your Value Added Tax back at the airport and being mistaken for a Japanese tourist.