Close Encounters of a Cultural Kind

Lessons for business, negotiation and friendship

Richard Lewis

• Publisher: Nicholas Brealey Publishing
• Year: 2020
• Print ISBN: 9781529308136
• eBook ISBN: 9781529308143
• Topic: Business
• Subtopic: Workplace Culture
• Index: Business

Richard Lewis - world famous lecturer on intercultural issues and best-selling author of WHEN CULTURES COLLIDE - has collected 50 unique, critical cross-cultural incidents during his encounters in 135 countries around the globe.
Some of these anecdotes are humorous, some are poignant, some are mysterious - all are insightful snapshots of the complex tapestry of cross-cultural business. If you're dining with a Finn, negotiating with the Japanese or attempting to climb a mountain with a team of diffident Italians, you need this book. "Historically, 'cultural encounters' have often created wars and split people. In this precious little gem of a book, Richard shows how beautifully cultural barriers can be overcome when people meet face-to-face. How we, despite different outlooks, can build bridges across cultural gaps with mindful, respectful and humorous approaches. The stories, told in a vibrant and captivating voice, ranging from thought provoking and insightful to adventurous and hilarious, are a delightful read. The charming characters of broad cultural variety bring the whole world into your hands, making hearts bond over a jolly good laugh.
And frankly, - what can be better?"
Marit Imeland Gjesme, Founder of CultureCatch®, intercultural training consultancy

1

BANGOR, NORTH WALES

In the days when we used St Mary’s College, Bangor, in North Wales, for English Language summer courses, we organized a different nationality mix every year. After a few years we decided some mixes were better than others and began to experiment in our recruiting. Spaniards, Italians and Portuguese were a bad mix as, at mealtimes, they tended to speak a mix of Romance languages that I thought of as ‘neo-Latin’ instead of practising their English. Greeks and Turks, Iranians and Iraqis, were a bad mix for other reasons.

One year we decided to recruit in just three countries, speaking languages so different that they would be obliged to communicate socially in English, and which were so far apart geographically that there would be no ‘bad neighbour’ problems. The recruiting grounds we chose were Finland, Italy and Japan. It was a compact three-week middle-level English course consisting of 50 keen students, mostly young businesspeople in their thirties. There were 20 Finns, 20 Italians and 10 Japanese. It was a nice triangle as each national group showed great interest in the ‘exotic’ nature of the two other countries. They garbled away eagerly (in English) during the opening cocktail. We congratulated ourselves.

The lessons went smoothly. We divided the students into five mixed-nationality groups of 10, depending on language levels. They all became good chums. The language units ran from 9am to 5pm with a one-and-a-half-hour lunch break and an evening social programme. We had wine-tasting evenings, conjurors, Scottish dancing, bellringing and singing competitions. Every Tuesday night we had a dance after dinner, and on Wednesdays we organized a full-day excursion to a place of historical interest (Welsh castles, Chester, Liverpool, etc.).

On the second Wednesday we planned to climb Mount Snowdon, Britain’s second highest peak, which was situated only a few miles from the college. Though of impressive altitude, Snowdon is not a difficult mountain to climb. You can bus people halfway up it, and the rest is an invigorating four-hour slog to the summit, where a magnificent panorama of North Wales, the Mersey, Anglesey and half of Lancashire is on offer. All the students were enthusiastic about this particular excursion in the extreme. It made a welcome physical break from sitting six to seven hours a day in the classroom. The departure by bus was booked for 8.30 on the Wednesday morning.

On the Tuesday evening we had our usual dance after dinner. The pattern was familiar. The Italian men danced with the blonde Finnish women, the Finnish males occupied the bar (they would dance with the Italian women later) and the 10 Japanese stood modestly at one end of the dance floor watching everybody’s feet to learn the steps. Everyone was having a good time.

Around 8pm it began to rain and by 8.30 it could be described as a downpour. Huge raindrops spattered on the windowpanes and rivulets could be seen flowing down the steep slope outside the college front door. At nine o’clock it was still raining cats and dogs. At this point three of the Finnish men uncharacteristically deserted the bar and came over to talk to me. They were Lehtonen, Lahtinen and Virtanen, three of the more advanced students.

‘Mr Lewis.’

‘Yes, gentlemen.’

‘It is raining.’

‘It is.’

‘It is raining hard.’

‘Very hard,’ added Lahtinen.

‘The rain will make Snowdon very – how do you say – muddy, tomorrow,’ said Lehtonen.

I agreed with them.

‘Mr Lewis, lets cancel the excursion,’ suggested Virtanen.

I had to agree this was a sensible course of action. I had climbed Snowdon before on a wet day and knew it was a most unrewarding exercise. I went to the microphone and signalled to the band to stop playing.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement. In view of the inclement weather, we have decided to cancel tomorrow’s excursion.’ Howls of dismay erupted from all the Italian men.

‘What do you mean, cancel the excursion? It is the highlight of the week! It’s included in our fee. Whose idea was this?’

Rather cowardly, I said: ‘Well, the Finns thought …’

‘The Finns are supposed to be tough men!’ shouted another Italian.

The three Finnish males scowled.

‘What kind of tough men are these, when they are afraid to go out if a drop of water falls from the sky?’

The Italians continued to jeer at the unfortunate trio.

I wanted to tell them that Finnish men are not very fond of being laughed at or made fun of in public, particularly by Italian men. I could see an ugly situation developing. Then I had what I thought was a brilliant idea.

‘Let’s ask the Japanese,’ I said.

Fifty-year-old Yamamoto-san, the leader of the youngish Japanese group, stared at me, aghast, from the back of the dance floor.

‘Mr Yamamoto, what do the Japanese think about this?’

‘What do we think?’ repeated Mr Yamamoto mechanically. All the Japanese heads switched back and forth.

‘Choto matte kudasai’ (just a moment), said Yamamoto. The group of 10 retired to a huddle in the corner and conversed animatedly in Japanese for five minutes. Yamamoto returned to face me.

‘Lewis-san. The Japanese delegation has made a decision. If the Italians win the day, we will be happy to go up the mountain with the Italians. If, on the other hand, the Finns win the day, the Japanese group will be happy to stay in and study with the Finns.’

I could have kicked him out of the college.

‘Thank you, Mr Yamamoto, you have been most helpful.’

The Italian jeering continued and finally the Finns had no option.

‘No, sitten lähdetään – all right, we’ll go,’ snapped Lehtonen. The unhappy trio went back to the bar and the Italians continued their dance. The Finnish men went to bed early.

It rained all night and I slept badly. At eight I got up, made coffee in my room, packed a couple of sandwiches, put on my old clothes and took my mac. I heard the bus arrive at the front door where it waited with engine idling. At 8.31 precisely I went down and jumped a couple of puddles to board the bus. The driver, disconsolate, greeted me wearily:

‘Good morning, Mr Lewis.’

‘Good morning, driver.’

I turned to greet the students. On the bus were 20 scowling Finns, 10 smiling Japanese. No Italians.

We had a bad day. Slogging up the mountain in the mud and slush, we reached the summit, soaked to the skin, around one o’clock. It was foggy. Visibility was down to about 50 yards. At a height of 3000 feet, one felt this was a waste of altitude. Of course, the Japanese took pictures – of Finns, me and themselves. The Finns drank coffee from flasks and proposed an early descent. Sliding down mud is almost worse than going up it.

We arrived back at the college – in appearance a bunch of 31 tramps – about 4pm, when we saw the Italians, in miraculously sudden sunshine, taking tea on the terrace with chocolate biscuits (a Finnish favourite). As we passed them, Lehtonen snarled to the Italian ringleader:

‘Why didn’t you come with us up the mountain?’

‘We would have, but when we woke up it was raining,’ replied the Italian without batting an eyelid.

2

THE JAPANESE SALESMAN

Simpson was a ‘hotshot’ salesman who worked for AIG (American Insurance Group). His colleagues often used the term ‘hotshot’ to describe him, as his sales technique was characterized by enthusiasm, spontaneity and sporadic impetuosity tempered by his undoubted charisma. He did not beat about the bush; he unapologetically charmed his would-be clients and was generally successful in rapidly closing the sale. He was so successful that AIG transferred him to Tokyo where there was a lot of potential business among quickly expanding Japanese companies.

During his first six weeks in Tokyo, Simpson did not close a single sale. His American supervisor concluded that his charismatic style – so successful in New York and Los Angeles – was ineffective when dealing with calm, reserved Japanese insurance managers. He resolved to give Simpson a month’s training (which he should have had in the first place) to allow him to become acculturated to the Japanese mentality. He therefore assigned him to Ichiro Harada, AIG’s top Japanese salesman, who took Simpson with him as he made sales calls. Language was no problem as Harada spoke excellent English and interpreters were always available when required.

One morning, with a humbled Simpson in tow, Harada went for his appointment with Akio Watanabe, the CEO of a sizeable Japanese domestic appliance manufacturer that was doing very well exporting their products to a dozen foreign countries, including the United States.

It was not a cold call. AIG had secured the account three years earlier but knew that some Japanese insurance companies were after the business and sensibly visited Mr Watanabe regularly to maintain good relations. Ichiro Harada, as AIG’s star sales executive, had been given the responsibility of safeguarding the account. Simpson was eager to see how he did it.

Watanabe greeted Harada rather affably and seemed pleasantly disposed towards Simpson, who had been introduced as a trainee. Watanabe and Simpson exchanged visiting cards in the Japanese manner, and everyone took a seat. Watanabe offered green tea all round and he and Harada began to chat in Japanese. Their tone was very courteous as usual, also visibly relaxed. Simpson, who had taken a six-week Japanese course before coming to Tokyo, was able to follow the gist of the conversation, though understanding very little. What he was able to perceive, however, was that the two men were not talking about insurance. He gleaned certain references to baseball, a festival in Kyoto and, of course, golf. The weather was also mentioned, but as the conversation progressed, over a period of almost half an hour, Simpson’s understanding decreased as the two Japanese seemed to speak more rapidly, possibly more idiomatically. Certainly, they appeared more and more jovial.

Just when Simpson was beginning to wonder when Harada would get down to business (or at least mention insurance) Watanabe stood up, put his hand in the drawer of his desk and handed Harada a set of keys. Simpson knew the rule about meetings being concluded in Japan by the host getting to his feet, so he dutifully followed Harada out of the office of the CEO, who gave both Harada and himself a cheery goodbye for now.

Harada took the bewildered Simpson into a nearby coffee shop to give the American an immediate post-mortem on the sales call. Simpson’s questions were both to the point: why had Harada not even mentioned the account and why had Watanabe given him a set of keys?

Harada smiled indulgently as he explained, ‘There was no need to mention business, as the account remains secure, as long as I say nothing that displeases President Watanabe. As he likes baseball and is a keen golfer, these subjects, as well as some others, are safe ground for discussion. I support the same baseball team and my golf handicap is inferior to his. I never talk about anything that might be controversial. A half hour’s chat like this one, once a month, gives him occasions for relaxation. Normally he has to work 10 to 12-hour days and he welcomes this type of break. He cannot be bothered by strangers coming into his office trying to sell him insurance’.

‘But what were the keys?’

‘They are his car keys.’

‘What will you do with them?’

‘I will take his wife shopping.’

Simpson gaped. ‘Shopping?’

‘Yes, to the Takashimaya Department Store, which has some dresses she is interested in.’

‘And when will you do this?’

‘In half an hour’s time when I go to his house. I am sorry I have to leave you this morning, but I hope you can find your way back to the office.’

‘Yes, but can you explain a little more?’

This was the 1970s, when Japanese wives, as you probably know, tended to stay home during the day. Harada smiled patiently. ‘Mr Watanabe is a rich man. He has a lovely wife, two fine children, a big house, a luxury car and, of course, a good job. One thing he has not got is time. Mrs Watanabe does not like to make a one-hour journey on the Underground alone. She does not drive. Mr Watanabe drives into work – I shall pick up his car in the company garage in a few minutes. Of course, he could take his wife shopping on Sundays, but the department stores are hopelessly overcrowded at weekends and shopping can be exhausting and unpleasant. The best time to go shopping is on the morning of a weekday, that is NOW.’

‘And you will drive her?’

‘Of course. And at three or four in the afternoon I will drive her back home and then return the car, with keys, to Mr Watanabe’s garage between five and six.’

‘A full day’s work.’

‘That is correct.’

‘But no mention of business...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Praise for Close Encounters of a Cultural Kind
• Other Books by Richard D. Lewis
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• How to use this eBook
• Preface
• 1. BANGOR, NORTH WALES
• 2. THE JAPANESE SALESMAN
• 3. NAPOLEON’S CHANDELIER
• 4. THE LECTURE
• 5. FUJITSU IN SPAIN
• 6. TUNIS COCKTAIL PARTY
• 7. INDONESIAN IN FINLAND
• 8. NEXT, PLEASE!
• 9. THE MISSING SHOES
• 10. GUESTS OF THE STATE
• 11. DANISH IS GOOD FOR YOU
• 12. GREENLAND – WHY IS CULTURE SO DEEPLY ROOTED?
• 13. RATS IN CHONGQING
• 14. BIKES IN CHINA
• 15. BIKES IN ROMANIA
• 16. IN DARKEST FINLAND – 1952
• 17. RUSTIC WEDDING
• 18. THE MARVELLOUS FINNISH POLICE
• 19. PUKARO – A SPECIAL PLACE
• 20. TEATTERI-GRILLI
• 21. DONKEYS IN ST THOMAS
• 22. RAIN IN AGRIGENTO
• 23. LEFT IN OXFORD
• 24. THE SCIENTISTS
• 25. NORTH KOREA – THE CLOSED COUNTRY
• 26. ADAMS’ APPLES
• 27. BACK TO THE FUTURE
• 28. ALBEROLA AND THE LANDLORDS
• 29. MR KISHI’S TABLE
• 30. IN JAPAN
• 31. FIRE IN SHOTO-CHO
• 32. TAKADA COMES HOME
• 33. A PLACE FOR KATO
• 34. THE RENT IN VOLGOGRAD
• 35. THE BERLITZ FAMILY
• 36. STAGNARO
• 37. LASSE VIRÉN’S LIFE STORY
• 38. MAANINKA
• 39. ESTONIAN SOCCER RIOT
• 40. THE BEAUTIFUL NAMES OF ALLAH
• 41. CAMEL-BOYS IN HUDDERSFIELD
• 42. FIGHTING HARADA
• 43. THE KINGS COURT HOTEL
• 44. FACING TURBULENCE
• 45. THE GERMAN MODEL
• 46. TO ROME BY STAG
• 47. A JOKE IN ATLANTIC CITY
• 48. THE AKAKURA SKIER
• 49. BELIZE
• About the Author
• Copyright