Japan

Three years in Tokyo stemmed from one flippant comment. “Why not Japan?”

The clock was quickly ticking on our relationship. While both working on cruise ships, we realized the choice to stay together meant moving back to the real world- but where? Somewhere neutral, new. Challenging.  That’s when the comment came.

Don’t like your O-mikuji new year’s fortune? Tie it to the tree!

And so, upon completion of our final contract, I returned home, purchased two one-way tickets to Narita, and we flew out on New Year’s day. We boarded that plane with no apartment, jobs, visas, or knowledge of the language, just 2 giant pieces of luggage and big ideas. Years of packing up our lives every few month prepared us for this new adventure, and adventurous it was.

Hachiman Shrine near our second apartment in Tanashi, Nishitōkyō

That first evening, the chorus of irasshaimase welcomed us into the country as well as the restaurant. By randomly pointing to a menu, a single fish eyeball arrived on my plate, mutually staring at me.  When presented with sake in the traditional masu wooden box, we weren’t sure whether to drink it or wash our hands in it. And thus, our wild ride began.

The big reveal- Eyeball!!

We secured an apartment by day three, jobs and visas by the end of the first week. A second apartment by week four.  Fast forward another year, another apartment. A dog.  In short, we became a family.

Ichigo-chan’s first bath

I remember hanamis in Yoyogi Koen, empty sake bottles and bento boxes spilling over the confines of our blanket, sakura blossoms blizzarding.  Screams of “Arison Sensei!!” flooding down my school’s hallway, giggling 3 year old students following closely behind.  Gradually becoming comfortable with daily embarrassment.

Hanami in Yoyogi Koen

I remember visiting my friend’s family home in Nagoya for a ski trip, with no ski equipment, apparel, or skill.  Borrowing a snowsuit and boarding the lift for the first time, squished between my friend and a chatty 90 year old man. Seeing him smiling toothlessly, extolling his skiing prowess. Dismounting the lift, our tangled skis propelling the three of us face-first into the snow.  He righted himself and zipped downhill, leaving me red faced and schooled in my first Japanese curses.

I looked pretty similar to this snow monkey who just stepped out of the onsen at Jigokudani Wild Monkey Park

Returning home to soak sore muscles, I would have the first bath as the guest of honor in the house. A high-tech mosaic of kanji-spattered buttons lined the wall, a magnetic force emanating from the largest circle right in the middle. One single push. Alarms sounded, light flashed, and the whole family came running. Me, naked, and red all over. I had accidentally pushed the emergency button for elderly family members- the Japanese equivalent of “I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up”. Once they realized I was, in fact, alive, the nervous laughter became contagious. I was definitely now part of the family.

Metaphorically as well as literally

I remember leaving straight from work on the season’s final hiking day for Mt Fuji. The bus depositing us halfway up the hill, and beginning the hike at 10pm. Neither of us in hiking gear, he was wearing flip flops. Tying garbage bags over our heads as the rain began, fluctuating between sweating and freezing. A foot-traffic jam at the final ascent, the excessive crowds causing our pace to slow to a crawl. Missing the sunrise because of it, but not caring as exhilaration gave way to satisfaction, then exhaustion.

At the precipice of Mt Fuji

I remember embarking on a Golden Week holiday to Izu islands’ O Shima, to lounge with all the other surfer dudes and beach bums.  Boarding the ferries with fellow vacationers, and falling asleep on the top deck. Awaking to the screeching of urgent-sounding announcements, and thinking we had reached our destination. Watching the ferry sail away with those surfers still aboard, and realizing we were on the wrong island. Backpacking from Kozu Shima pier to a deserted hilltop, setting up our tent, and truly living off the land for the entire following week.

Our private fishing hole- we wold do the cucaracha dance before descending to scare away the millions of roaches hiding in the crevices

I remember Okinawa, with its wonderfully bizarre mash-up of cultures, foods, landscapes. Scuba diving off of Zamami island, my Divemaster plucking a sea snake from the ocean floor for me to hold, to learn later that it was poisonous and could have killed me.

Jar of Habushu, or snake wine. Excellent for the libido…

Drinking habushu (alcoholic awamori , infused with fully intact venomous snakes coiled at the base) with a retired 75 year old whale shark keeper from the aquarium. Eating whole pig face for breakfast.

Shrink wrapped spicy pig face- the collagen is supposedly wonderful for the skin.

I remember my first company trip to an onsen. After being thrown naked into a bathing room with my husband’s co-workers’ wives, I was taught how to bathe properly. With only a small washcloth for my entire gaijin body, strategically deciding where to place it for the walk from the shower to the bath.

Ali G would be proud

Sitting in a stone tub so hot and small, our knees and floaty bits occasionally touched.  Hearing our husbands’ chatter from the next bath, and knowing they were in the identical position.

Black eggs in Ōwakudani, Hakone, cooked in the volcanic hot springs. Eating them increases longevity

I remember the severity of change between one part of Tokyo and the next. The serenity of Meiji Shrine adjacent to hectic Harajuku, the history of Hon-Kawagoe contrasting with the futuristic Shibuya.

Nihon Sumo Kyokai

Green mountains 30 minutes to the north, the southern Kanagawa coast’s glimmering beaches. Hopping on the Shinkansen, and being transported through time.

Kiyomizudera Shrine light show in eastern Kyoto

What I don’t remember is the exact moment when I started thinking of certain Japanese words before English ones. The first time I was able to complete a transaction without scrutinizing the conversation. When I realized that Japan was not the place for me.

Kawazu Sakura Festival float

I moved back to New York a very different woman. Japan was very important piece of my puzzle, and I am grateful for all that it gave me over those years. But it stole some things too. Four years have passed, and I will be returning for the first time this March. I am very curious to re-learn Tokyo; my Japanese skills have faded along with the details of my memories, and I now have difficulty remembering directions that I used to know like a native.  I am also stronger now, have seen and done much more. When we are re-introduced, I hope to find that we both have changed for the better.

Hakone Shrine Torii looking out over Lake Ashi