Shreddies

With three days left in my three-week visit home in August, my mother mentioned that there was a bag full of my documents in a cupboard in my room. So, on a rainy afternoon, I sat on the floor and weeded through evidence of what I was doing during the Reagan Administration (1981-1989).

One revelation was that my handwriting has not really deteriorated in the past 20-odd years: it’s just bad in a different way. Most of the papers were just old notes from lectures at Dalhousie University, nothing really gripping. One pleasant surprise was a cache of philosophy homework from my freshman year which showed that I wasn’t as confused and distracted as I remember being (that came later). A less pleasant surprise was a German test with the comment “Das ist NICHT GUT!” written on the front page in red. Letters from people I no longer recall (discarded), cards from people no longer alive (carefully put away), correspondence from people I still know (some returned for posterity– and space), these are what really brought the passage of time home to me. Also included were drawings and cartoons which, surprisingly, weren’t bad, and poetry which, cringingly, was. My father has a shredder: I got to work. Not even the garbage men were going to laugh at my doggerel.

What I saved was packed in a few shoe boxes and put back in the cupboard. So much for that eight years. Of course, I used to write a lot of letters back then, and I guess a few of them are in attics around Canada (although I can think of a few that I hope were used to start campfires or something – God forbid anyone would read them now!). The subsequent years of correspondence, especially the past seven, wouldn’t amount to much: it’s almost all e-mail, much of it lost in countless unbacked-up crashes. I don’t think I’m unique in that respect. I wonder what future historians will have to go on when they come to research anyone’s life, post-1995 or so?

Haven’t Been There, Haven’t Done That

It amazes me sometimes just how much people who are on a short stay in Japan manage to actually see and do. After 17 years, off and on, I am no longer just a visitor here (the government and many of my neighbours would probably beg to differ), but I’m nowhere near seeing all of the famous sites/sights of Japan. Maybe that’s what the problem is – a resident sees the touristy things a lot differently. There’s always time to see them if you live here, isn’t there? And of course, many of them are over-rated (or, like that line from The Holy Grail, they’re “only a model.”), but many are not.

It’s always been this way. When I was at university, one of my summer jobs was to show Québec high school kids around Halifax, where they were studying English immersion. Among other things, I took them to museums, parks, the Nova Scotia Legislature, City Hall (to meet the mayor, who frankly wasn’t doing much else anyway), and the Citadel, the old British hill fortress which looms over downtown and is now a National Historic Site. Before starting my job, I had to run around the city checking these places out myself – I grew up not 25 miles away from Halifax and had never (with the exception of the Natural History Museum when I was in Grade 3) been to any of them.

I know Osaka inside out, and the Kansai (basically Osaka plus Nara, Kyoto, Wakayama and Kobe), know Tokyo pretty well, and have been to Hiroshima once and Shikoku a couple of times. I have not, however:

• been to Kyushu, Hokkaido or Okinawa. Something always comes up to keep me away from Kyushu (although I’d love to see Nagasaki and Fukuoka). Hokkaido seems too much like Nova Scotia to be worth the expense, and as for Okinawa, I have no excuse whatsoever.

• seen much of anything between Osaka and Tokyo (although once, out of sheer boredom, I jumped on the first available train to Nagoya and walked around there for a Sunday afternoon; it didn’t do much for my boredom, I’m afraid); a day-trip to a gallery in Shiga last spring doesn’t really count. I don’t ski or snowboard, but the hot spring resorts of Nagano and Gifu are said to be amazing. Probably.

• climbed Mt. Fuji. Fred of Vancouver did it over 15 years ago, put a tuxedo on when he got to the top and had himself photographed drinking champagne. I’ll have to wear a full formal kimono and hakama to top that, or I may as well not bother.

• been to Tokyo Disneyland (actually, I consider this a personal victory).

So when you live somewhere, with no concrete plans to leave, you get into your routine, as people do. You go to work, you meet your friends, you see a movie or go to a gallery or a restaurant; you’ve got your local shops, local pubs. You get comfortable. That’s not such a bad thing, of course, but every now and then, a co-worker who’s been here less than a year announces that he’s leaving, and then relates all that he’s done in the short time he’s been here. And then, like Charlie Brown, my stomach hurts.

I guess it all comes down to this: I’ve got four days off in March (four whole days! I really am starting to think Japanese) and I’d really hate to waste them. Where to go? What to do?

Of course, as I was thinking last night at dinner, there’s always Korea…

Halifax/Montreal/Vancouver/Osaka

On Sunday the 7th, I caught a 6:30 AM Air Canada flight out of Halifax. Three flights, five movies, three repulsive meals (one of which was a stale Subway™ sandwich for which I paid $5), 13 time zones, and about 2 hours of accumulated sleep later, I arrived at Kansai Airport in Osaka at 5:30 PM on Monday (I was greeted by a “Ground-Staff” who chirpily informed me that my suitcase would arrive the next day). Time elapsed: exactly 24 hours. I’m getting too old for this. Once upon a time, the jet-lag only affected me on the flight to North America. Now I get it even worse coming this way. What’s up with that? At any rate, I woke up this morning at 5:45 feeling somewhat human for the first time in four days. Eventually, I’ll get back to waking up at 8, as God intended, and all will be well.

What I noticed in the past two weeks -

• I went to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve and noted that anyone I recognized was either gray-haired or bald.

• I contented myself by reading the Chronicle-Herald over breakfast, or flipping through pictures and hockey stories in the Daily News until my grandmother took it away to do the crossword. I did not have any direct access to the internet and did not miss it much. I don’t know how long that feeling would have lasted if I’d had, say, a month off. I did miss being able to send e-mail, and would probably have started writing letters again, if I’d remembered to bring my address book with me…

• Unless there is an earthquake, a tsunami or an election, there is never any news about Japan in a Canadian paper. Nothing. Ever. Three days out of Japan, it felt as though I’d left ten years ago.

• Although Christmas with family was great, the best part of my holiday was after New Year’s, when I could lay on my bed, listen to CBC Radio, and re-read old books with a clear conscience.

• All Americans on daytime television sound deranged. I assume this is not true of the population at large.

• I’ve been away long enough to be aware of a Nova Scotian accent. Usually, when you go back to your hometown, there’s that feeling that everyone is speaking normally. I don’t feel that anymore. I wonder what my unconsciously- homogenized gaijin accent sounds like to them.

• Canada with no snow in December is a pretty glum place.

• Don’t ask me why, but a cup of tea tastes best in Nova Scotia.