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.