21 Months

Twenty-one months. That’s how long I’ve been living in Gifu. Hard to believe, and hard to count. It’s such a random number. More than a year and a half, but not quite two years. When people ask me now how long I’ve been here, I take my time answering. It probably seems like I’m lying or something.

Part of the reason I decided not to stay another year here was because I’ve felt it becoming too familiar. Not that there’s anything wrong with getting used to a place. In fact, I stayed a second year precisely because I wanted to get to that familiar stage with Gifu. But there are different levels of familiarity. And staying a third year seemed like a way of settling, in a place where I don’t want to settle… at least not now.

Last week I discovered what’s already become one of my favorite websites, matadortravel.com.
One of their articles (http://thetravelersnotebook.com/how-to/how-to-travel-at-home/)has articulated a lot of the things I haven’t been able to describe so far. How travel lets you be present in the moment, opens your eyes to every tiny detail around you, and gives you new perspectives on the world, people and yourself.

My first year in Japan went by in a blur of frantic sightseeing, new friends, parties, weekend trips, karaoke and mild homesickness. Year Two started out with some new responsibilities and a resolve to make the most of my final year here. Mostly, it’s been pleasant feeling more settled and competent than last year. But there were definitely periods when I felt I had fallen into a rut. It’s much more frustrating to be in a rut when you’re overseas than in your home country. There’s the added pressure of feeling like you should be enjoying this rare opportunity. Of course, as the article above describes, there are ways to drag yourself out of said rut.

With my remaining time here quickly diminishing, I’m trying to see and do all the things that I meant to but never got around to (I know, good luck to me). Like ride my bike to Gifu city and back. This ended up being one of my most memorable evenings in Japan. I’d always assumed it was too far, or too hard to find the way, but it was only a 40-minute ride, following the train line. Staring out the train window on my way to Gifu, I’d always felt the urge to bike through the rice fields between K-town and Gifu. The roads were so flat, so unobstructed. As wide open a space as you’re ever likely to get in Japan. So I set off, one springy evening after work. Keeping Tower 43 in my sights, I pedaled up and down hills, over streams, through tunnels and past rice fields. It really gave me a new perspective on the area, and I sensed a different vibe to Gifu. Travelling by train, it had always felt that my journey from K-town to Gifu was a country-to-city trip. But now it was more of an adventure between towns.

The way back was even better. I’d bought some donuts in Gifu station with the intention of eating them at home. The sun was setting behind me and the moon rose in front of me. It started out a faint pink color and as it climbed higher, it became redder and more visible. I stopped by the river to eat my donuts and admire the view. Everything seemed fresh and full of possibilities, more so because it was finally spring and the trees were sprouting new leaves.

You see the most affecting things when you’re not looking for them. I came across what I thought was the best view of the night- the moon through some cherry blossoms. The air was balmy and sweet with spring. A river was burbling nearby and insects were chirping. Real picture-book stuff. Further up, I saw that the stream was lined with more cherry trees in bloom, with small red and pink lanterns glowing amongst the trees. The unbelievable thing was that the area was absolutely deserted. It looked like the perfect setting for a hanami festival, but not a soul was in sight. I was touched by the fact that this spot had been decorated, almost like a form of nature-worship. Not necessarily for the benefit of the hoardes coming to admire it; just because it was spring and the blossoms were out and the world was alive once again. I almost felt like there were spirits of some sort (ancestors, river sprites?) admiring the spot along with me.

For once, I was glad I didn’t have my camera. Photos wouldn’t have done the experience justice, and there are times when a camera can be too much of a filter between you and reality. I’m grateful I got to see, hear and feel it all, completely unobstructed.

Zen and the Art of Trains

I witnessed my first system failure in Japan the other day. Ok, maybe not complete failure. But things went wrong, in a place where things rarely go wrong. Especially when they involve public transport. The train system is definitely one of Japan’s strong suits; something it rightly boasts as the best in the world. The punctuality, the cleanliness, the unsurpassed efficiency of it… all characteristics of something I hold in reverence. Trains have been my passport to Japan since I arrived- shuttling me here and there between my smallish town and the castles, metropolises, temples, villages, mountains and oceans beyond.



I’ve come to know the different types of trains well (brand-new five-star shinkansens, generic local trains, tiny, rickety ‘one-man’ cars), their various smells (the wet-dog funk of a rainy day, the sticky, sweaty aroma of summer, the acrid stench of alcohol on the last train home), and the unspoken rules of on-board etiquette (never look someone in the eyes, take up as little space as possible, don’t engage in lively conversation before 7pm on a weekday). By now, it’s pretty safe to say that where trains are concerned, I’ve turned Japanese.



To think of Japan’s train lines as its arteries and veins (with Tokyo the heart, and Nagoya and Osaka other vital organs) wouldn’t be too fanciful.

So when trains here are late, you know something bad has happened. You learn that the most likely explanation for a train delay in super-efficient Japan is a suicide. Yep, someone has jumped onto the tracks, and usually succeeded in their mission.

Yesterday, my Belgian friend Aurelie (who I met in Canada and was now hosting in Japan- hello globalization) and I boarded the train for Takayama. We were heading up there to see an ukiyoe exhibit, lured by the offer of free tickets from another friend. All was well at first, bar a run-in with the third middle-aged man in two days to forcibly engage us in English conversation practice. Having shaken him off with a train-change, we settled contentedly into our seats on the express bound for Toyama. But on arrival at Hida Kanayama station (i.e. middle of nowhere), the train stopped, and didn’t get going again FOR FIVE HOURS.

Of course there was no indication that we were in for five hours of suspended animation. As far as I was concerned, this was an unusual, if not unprecedented, train delay, and we would be only a little late meeting my friend. At first Aurelie and I were wrapped up in conversation so it didn’t bother us in the slightest. But after two hours we were getting restless. There had been announcements, but no explanation of the problem- that I, with my conversational Japanese, could decipher. After hour three, I was starting to think that this wasn’t a case of “someone on the tracks”. We were even getting to the point of losing sympathy for the hypothetical victim, and discussed how long it should reasonably take to clean up after such an incident.

A few times, Aurelie and I left the train and sauntered around the platform, to battle a growing case of cabin fever. Passengers in the train stuck going the other direction stared woefully out at us. A local wandered out of his house to gawk at the motionless trains and peer down the tracks, all the while tucking in his shirt. At least the view was pretty. That part of Hida is gorgeous. The station was nestled among small mountain houses surrounded by lush spring greenery spilling down from the forest.





What struck me most about the whole experience was the behavior of the other (Japanese) passengers. For the most part, there was no behavior. They stayed in their seats and dozed, or stared at their mobile phone screens. There was an air of resignation about the whole thing. And this was despite a lack of information from the authorities. No one really knew what was going on, but apparently no one really cared. There was a middle-aged woman scurrying around, hassling the conductors with questions of “when?”, but mostly people just stayed put and waited it out. With not so much as a sigh of impatience.

It got me thinking. I know I’ve changed, being here in Japan. I’ve definitely developed more patience and a greater ability to just ‘let things go’. This is a result of both absorbing some of the cultural norms and the fact that there’s so much more I can’t control here, being a foreigner. For the most part, patience and endurance are a virtue. Certainly they were in the delayed train situation. But I maybe they can also signal apathy and aversion to change. I couldn’t help but think that had there actually been an emergency, where passengers could have done something to help or escape danger, that they would have just stayed put and waited for instructions from the authorities.

I’m sure plenty of people were fuming inside, in their own way. But Japanese culture trains them (no pun intended) to hide outward expressions of strong negative emotions, so they’re masters at concealing frustration. Although strange, the quiet atmosphere in the face of a major disruption to the day was refreshing for me. For the time that I was able to, it was soothing to just accept that our day of sightseeing was shot, sit back, and listen to my iPod, safe in the knowledge that whoever needed to was busily and efficiently working at a solution to the problem.