Found in translation: Japanese vocabulary comes flooding back 25 years later

TOKYO — Calling the train we're riding into central Tokyo the "Narita Express" is generous, as it will take 85 minutes to reach our destination from the international airport.

But it's time that can be put to use brushing up on Japanese vocabulary to create the illusion of fluency when dealing with a hotel's front desk. Commandeering my stepson's pocket-sized phrasebook, I commence committing its "Finding Accommodations" section to memory.

Yoyaku = reservation. Makura = pillow. Spair no makura = extra pillow.

"Won't they speak English at the hotel?" queries my wife, preferring an attentive husband over one looking like a student cramming for finals.

She'll learn that conversation and socialization aren't prized activities on commuter trains, especially once jet lag seizes control of her eyelids.

The Japanese are, in fact, masters at hiding in plain sight; creating private spaces in tight public quarters. If not catnapping — another skill they've perfected — most train riders have their eyes glued to their cell phones, or their ears connected to an iPod or similar device, or their noses buried in a book or magazine.

My family is joining me traipsing places I came to know as a Mormon missionary in Yokohama and the surrounding Kanagawa region during the late 1970s.

Over these next four whirlwind days, I hope they'll gain similar measures of appreciation for this island nation filled with curiosities and contradictions that's given the world Three Wise Monkeys (see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil) and one insipid animated cat (Hello Kitty).

Sensory overload is ensured as modern and frenetic-paced Japan awaits us in underground train station labyrinths, Akihabara's Electric Street, and conveyor belt sushi bars.

All this is beautifully counterbalanced by a land that preens for travel posters. Rich in tradition and texture, it's filled with serene and ornate temples and shrines like those found at Nikko and Kamakura, striking views of Mt. Fuji (on a clear day), and colorful silk kimonos.

I feel fortunate to be returning to the scene of my personal two-year epiphany. Like many LDS men, my Japanese mission was life transforming — the springboard for any modest successes I've achieved since. It's where I learned to lead, as well as to follow.