I went to Japan in June last year, looking to live a dream of seeing the island that birthed the ninja, sushi, and PlayStation. I don't like admitting this but the thing that first got me interested in Japan was the movie The Last Samurai. After seeing it, I bought a wooden sword, learned off the values of Bushido and read up about the samurai. So the first person I have to thank for my obsession is Tom Cruise. Thank you, Tom.
The second is my Junior Certificate history teacher. I had very little interest in history but that wasn’t his fault. He was excellent. Dolmens just couldn’t compete with katana swords and kimono and Zen. I told my teacher, he took no offence.
Weeks later, he had a package for me. I brought it home and tore open the envelope. It was full of magazines, pamphlets, and booklets about Japan. Inside was a note with directions to the Japanese embassy and an invitation to drop by whenever I wanted. My teacher had contacted the embassy for me, who then sent that heap of reading material. I even read the ones about architecture. They’re sitting in a box somewhere at home. Thank you, Sir. I made it to Japan eventually.
Life there was both more beautiful and more harsh than I expected.
Starting with the obvious, vending machines are everywhere. The most I ever found in a row was 11. “Kawaii” (pronounced kah-wah-eee, the culture of cuteness) reigns heavily on aesthetics. There are cute things in abundance - mascots, characters, toddlers - all adorable. They have characters for parks, train stations, cities, everything. Even the government recently said that they have too many to be practical.
The streets are generally clean, people are curious about foreigners, and polite to a fault. Sometimes they stare - especially children. You get used to this. Smoking is much more common than here in Ireland and alcohol is available around the clock. In Osaka, where I lived, people are snappy dressers and have lively personalities. Japanese television is full of people eating food. Not cooking. Just eating and talking about how delicious it is.
It’s as strange as it sounds.
The sense of novelty there is a little dangerous. You can work at a bar or teach at an English school for years until suddenly you haven’t made any progress, barely made any money, and don’t have anything to go back to. For some of the older foreigners I met, immigrant life takes a toll regardless of language ability. This wasn’t true for everybody but it was a pattern. I think Japan is a sort of a dreamland for foreigners. There’s a sense of life not being real. Besides, the long-term prospects for a Humanities graduate are equally bad on either side of the planet.
This makes Japan sound like a bad place to be. It’s not. It’s great. The natural scenery is amazing, the society is strange, and if you like carbohydrates you’re in heaven. The people are beautiful and excellent dressers and make for great friends.
I spent most of my time teaching English to kindergarten children, and lived long-term in a hostel that accommodated people like me. I snuck a few day trips in on weekends and holidays, and made good friends with the barman around the corner, as well as other long-termers.
I went there knowing I had an idealised image of Japan, and after seeing the day-to-day of Japanese life, I realised the place that samurai and the ninja and Zen occupy in me is not really related to reality. It’s kind of like thinking Connemara is all of Ireland.
Once I had seen some sights and felt I had a hold of the place, it was time to move on. I realised life is very short and while my family are still alive and healthy, I’d rather be near them. While my friends are still alive and healthy, I’d rather be near them too.
If I’m going to spend my days with funny, warm-hearted islanders who love cans and chatting to foreigners, I’ll do it on an island full of draft stout, dark wood, roaring fires, lovely rain, and those I love only a couple of hours away.
Japan isn’t going anywhere and I can always go back, so I came home.
