First Impressions of Japan
For most people, Japan remains a distant abstraction, an economics-related news headline, a woodblock postcard, or perhaps a late-night cable TV documentary. As for me, the country was only a hodgepodge collection of images in my mind-sword-swinging samurai glaring sternly from beneath warrior helmets, rush-hour trains packed with businessmen in identical black suits, slender cranes dancing white on white in the Hokkaido snow, the clichÃ?©d Tokyo Tower (which I still have yet to see in person), and never-ending conveyer belt sushi… It was, all in all, merely a distant location on the far side of the Pacific full of shrines, tall buildings, and, of course, masses of people speaking Japanese.And then, in an instant, after years of language study and months of paperwork and preparation, on the ninth of March, 2005 I suddenly found myself walking in circles around the Narita airport baggage claim and wondering just where exactly I’d find my luggage. When Iretold this story to my parents, their first reaction was to draw a comparison to the recent movie, “Lost in Translation,” and I had to admit to a certain similarity. But my subsequent experiences have been so completey different from the film’s contents, that now I insist to everyone that the movie doesn’t even come close to capturing that elusive concept of the “real Japan.”If I had to choose just one moment to represent the two months I’ve spent in th land of the rising sun thus far, I wouldn’t have to hesitate before selecting a certain afternoon in the little town of Kiso-Fukushima perched high in the Japanese Alps. I’d spent the morning in Tsumgo, one of the eleven post towns on the Edo-era Nakasendo Highway that Tokugawa Ieyasu had constructed to connect Kyoto and Edo. The ground was dusted white from early-morning snow, and as the day progressed, despite the bright afternoon sun, the temperature continued to drop. By the time I reached Kiso-Fukushima, the last thing I wanted to do was find the local bus to Ohara, where the area’s only youth hostel was located. It actually took me four tries to board the correct bus (a process which involved me asking each bus’s driver if his route went to my destination), and when I was finally on my way bouncing out into the countryside, the air was once again heavy with snow. This was, mind you, the end of March. I debated with myself all throughout the 40 minute ride–would all this effort somehow be worth it? And despite my doubts (and cold toes), it certainly was. There were just four guests that night: myself, a girl from Ireland, a man from Switzerland and another from Japan. The YH manager fixed nabe (a Japanese dish which involves submerging meat, noodles, and vegetables in a huge communial pot of boiling water and sharing the contents around the table), and the hostel’s ofuro (Japanese bath) was delightfully warm compared to the snow outside. I still exchange email with the people who I met that night.There are so many annecdotes, so many memories that I’ll carry back with me to the US, but I think most importantly, I have to remind myself every day–when I’m feeling tired or frustrated or just plain lazy–that studying abroad, no matter where one travels to, is only what you make it. Just wishing for good experiences isn’t enough to make the most of the few short months I have to explore Japan and to replace the images from my imagination with memories of new experiences. It’s a wonderful opportunity to be able to study all the way across the world; I only hope that I’ll never forget a moment.
