Japanese proficiency in English is not high generally speaking especially when compared with people from the Rest of the World. Partly as a result of being slow on the uptake, and more commendably due to a desire to retain the importance of their own language and not be forced into learning, to pander to American political and economic strength. Whilst foreigners living in their homes from home in Tokyo or Osaka, need never learn anything beyond "arigato", people living in rural areas require a much more inclusive knowledge to survive, especially in rare circumstances. And so it was, I came to be thrown into such a situation while snowboarding near my home in Shimane Prefecture, Western Japan.

After one wrong turn on the slope, followed by a triple somersault with pique featuring all the grace of a "rikishi" being hurled from the ring, I arrived in the local hospital. No problems here, I thought; a quick splint on the leg, some sympathy from the nurses and just enough time for a cup of "O'Cha" then out and back to normal. Unfortunately, however, I had managed to dislocate my hip, which was to require four weeks connected to a traction device, unable to leave bed followed by a further couple of months' rehabilitation. This would require patience, and not being a Saint, I realized I was in for a hard time.

Fortunately, however, as with most tough situations, a few gems were unearthed that made the whole thing a lot more endurable. These were my nurses. Their genki-ness, curiosity and general good nature made each day a lot brighter. Like hospitals all over the World there was a good cross-section. The old matronly ones going about their business of give, take, scrub, and feed in the same way as millions like them. A group of subordinates underneath them, who made it their duty to learn English at the same time as I was mastering phrases like "stronger sleeping pills please" and "I'm not keen on injections!"

Their fascination with my lanky frame dangling inches off the end of the Japanese-size bed, my hatred of Miso Soup and clumsiness with Japanese all provoked good natured banter and laughing. And lastly the younger crowd, straight from nursing school most probably, suffering from "Japanese schoolgirl to foreign man syndrome", only surfacing occasionally with shy glances and stifled giggles amongst themselves. My situation, however, would have been almost the same anywhere in the world had it not been for a few anomalies which reinforced just how ill-suited my body is to Japan.

Daily Trials
The aforementioned beds which cavernously swallowed up my elderly Japanese neighbours, barely managed to contain my legs, that hung like limp flowers off the bottom edge waiting to be pruned. This pruning usually took the form of a misdirected passing wheelchair, but was occasionally realized by the eccentric guy next to me, who took great delight in crashing into my bed each morning, muttering to himself. The general discomfort, pain and constant horizontal position, all colluded to ensure restlessness during the night for which I was given sleeping pills.

Unfortunately, these were also designed with the Japanese in mind, and while the dosage successfully managed to send my big toe into a deep sleep, the rest of my body usually twitched in a frustrating inertia of sleep deprivation. They could increase the dosage they said, but this would mean changing to tranquillisers. I couldn't help imagining a crowd of nurses standing at the door of the ward with a blowpipe and dart, like salivating bushmen stalking a herd of elephants, so I stuck with the sleeping pills.

The rest of the stay went fairly uneventfully as my strength increased and the discomfort subsided, but four months later I am still waiting for Rip-Van-Toe to awaken. Nevertheless, I was beginning to feel like a caged animal, something which bizarrely added to the experience in purely positive ways. I was the daily exhibit for my fellow "hip-cripples" in the ward, lying helplessly as they prodded, muttered and contemplated my situation.

All good-natured though, and I was eventually able to persuade them that Scotland isn't just cold with lots of sheep. I couldn't help but compare them with the numerous Americans I've met who have commented, "Scotland, that's just outside London isn't it?" And the World's shrinking and becoming internationalized is it? Oh well, I guess that's the price for living in an MTV age, and neither side can be lambasted for knowing more about what kind of g-strings J-Lo wears than about some useless piece of moor land stuck on the posterior of Europe.

In Conclusion – Japanese and the World
Generally though, the experience left me with the same impressions of rural Japanese people, I already kept. Initial curiosity about my country, perhaps due to the shock of hearing the name, quickly regresses into a one-way discussion whereby they offer previously held assumptions while I attempt in vain to dispel and correct them. At the end, we part with the same knowledge and assumptions retained on both sides and we remain equally none the wiser.

This eternal battle of wits, misunderstandings and confusion is the essence of the beauty and frustration of Japan. Perhaps the best way to approach life in the Japanese countryside is to keep distanced and take people's reactions with a pinch of salt. For the most part you can satisfy yourself with discussions about sheep and the brutality of the weather or whatever information has filtered through the stiff, lower bow about your own home country.