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Published: August 14th 2004
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Early March in Tokyo. Spring beckons. Shop windows display softer hues and lighter wares. Sitting still for a moment on a park bench. Wind blows, birds twitter, leaves rustle, traffic swirls, glides , scrapes, travels, presses into the narrow stream. Giant concrete rectangles, perforated with glazed eyes, silent, anonymous. Bright plum blossoms. Salary man, a silhouette beneath the tree between the office blocks, reads the paper and sips his beer. I read from a biography of Galileo. I'm in Padua, Firenze, Roma, Pisa. Where is the centre of the universe?
Patrick flies west overhead home to Belgium. He sits in Economy class writing in his journal, reliving our frantic ten day journey across west Japan, compares the Shinkansen with empty train stations in the countryside serenaded by electronic jingles, single car locals full of happy young faces in navy school uniforms. He retraces his digestive tract: okonomiyaki, unagi, udon, obento, sushi, sashimi, yakiniku, shochu. Rock gardens, bamboo groves, strolls, early morning, late night, mountain hikes, bike rides along the river, bus rides into the unknown and back, trams, historical sights, hysterical sights, kind strangers, neon lights, laughter, futon, ryokan, onsen, Ocha, souvenirs, sake blurred. A last night in Tokyo, I
meet a local for a date, window shopping, people watching in Ginza, dinner and a club and an afterclub in Roppongi. It's good fun until the next afternoon when I admit I will never be nineteen again.
In the beginning, I'd come to Japan to make my own noise, a polite Canadian noise. Instead I am filled with silence. I don't leave a lasting impression. Most of my conversations are with drunks. I avoid strangers, holding back, content in the non-existence of my perfect cube. I see and feel my difference. Asia's history and people remain a mystery. I hope to change this. Some of my colleagues prepare for their lives post-JET. One will teach high school in San Francisco, another just married will have her child here in Japan, another will become an adventure tour guide in South America. I shall try and let my roots grow deeper. While some branches shall need cutting, friends back home write less and less, a sentence or two to confirm one's life, lover, family, promotion, investments.
Late March, following the Spring equinox, a national holiday in Japan, noisy electric or noxious kerosene heaters are packed away. Students change into their
hiking above Kure, April 1st
Laurie, Luis, Kirsty, Big John, Indiana Jon Spring uniform, replacing their blazers with a sweater. ( Elementary school kids wear short shorts the whole year.) The sun rises exactly at six and sets exactly twelve hours later. And the days passing grow ever so slightly longer while the paved city streets grow ever so slightly warmer. The hay fever season is replaced by allergies to the yellow dust sweeping in from the deserts of northern China. The Cherry blossoms flourish and the anticipating crowds rush with their blue tarpaulins to reserve a patch in the scarce urban parks where salary men gather around the hibachi. The fiscal year begins, Japan's unofficial new year; the school season begins anew with countless assemblies and extra-curricular rallies, companies welcome fresh employees with special training and seminars. It is a relaxed time, a chance to exhale following a very stressing March when all of Japan is either writing entrance exams, thesis papers or rushing deadlines.
A month later the fans are unpacked or the air-cons turned on. For one week the start of May, several national holidays combine to form Golden Week, a bonanza for the tourism industry when all hotels, inns, airlines, and tours raise their fees substantially. The
delicate blooms of Spring are exhausted and a plethora of more vibrant, more fragrant species colour the small garden plots and fill the sidewalk with strange perfumes. I have returned to Japan with new perspective and appreciation following two weeks in and around Beijing. I fill my apartment with newly acquired wall hangings, paintings, lanterns, figurines, a table from the antique market. Today's traveller is a consumer. One day in Beijing, I had to stop myself. I purposely left my camera in the hotel room. Wandering the city, I felt less like a tourist, more like a visitor.
Summer Sets In
Sleep pattern has been disrupted. Tired all afternoon, napping after work and up late into the night. The humidity is increasingly oppressive, energy-draining, muscle-aching. Routine has ensnared my imagination and for the most part, small town Japan has lost its curios diverting qualities. Following a business conference in Kobe, a visit to China Town, an evening's meal of Kobe beef and a delicious night out at a Belgian bar, my house mate and I spent a weekend in Osaka, his first capsule hotel and gay bar. Gay bars in Japan are a riot. Get out the karaoke
first year boys on Team Blue, Sports Day, Kure High School
One whole day each year is dedicated to perfectly choreographed marching and physical exercise, comeradery between the juniors and seniors, and earnest memory making machine and suddenly everybody thinks they're Donna Summers. My friend & I spent the next day nursing ourselves on iced lattes, people watching in the shopping district full of young hip couples. I bought a hat in America-mura, 30$ for style. I embrace Japan a little closer.
12 months abroad at 285 km/h
Newness, uncertainty and determination steer a steady course, assimilating old habits into a new routine, relieving stress only to create more. Easily apparent to the newcomer is the nation's love affair with
convenience, a sort of deux ex machina. Group mentality is likewise noticeable, clubs, uniforms, public mannerisms, silent communication and a behind-the-times social hierarchy that permeates nearly all facets of daily life, oiled with bows, humble expressions, a surface politeness that keep it from reaching a grinding halt. Alone time, down time, re-energize from the stress of alienation at work, in the grocer, everywhere except for house parties and the karaoke, gives reflection and clarity. Voice grow mysteriously quiet, self falling into black and white images of the world, refusing to share my colour and keeping that distance. Pleasantly disrupted by adventure eye-opening and heart rendering. A wise man in the mountains in Vietnam
tells me, "There is no normal. It's all okay. It's all good." Winter is the same thing all over again but grey and Spring its rebirth. In China, I meet a man from Holland, a travel writer, my reflection thirty years from now. And I look happy. The world and I are one strange place.
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Scott
non-member comment
You are OLD!!
did they have cell phones yet back in 2004????lol love the blogs, keep em coming