iamdanichan

When you ask people to imagine living in Japan, you can almost guarantee that a certain set of images will be rapidly and enthusiastically fired back at you. Days are spent weaving through thronging intersections, an ant adrift in a sea of skyscrapers. At night, after topping up your neon tan in an underground restaurant, you squeeze onto a subway train for an hour with hundreds of strangers, all desperately trying not to break wind into the fabric of someone else’s suit. When you emerge, gasping, into the midnight afterglow, it’s only to return to an apartment where there isn’t enough room to swing a tin of cat food, let alone a cat. Well, where I lived in Kyushu, that’s not exactly the case. If there’s one thing that Saga has, it’s space. Lots and lots of space.

The funny thing about space is that, usually, it’s empty. Since Saga has so much space, basic logic dictates that Saga is also a pretty desolate place to be. This is a little unfair. It’s right, but unfair. This isn’t Tokyo, where businessmen can practically taste each other’s breakfast on the morning commute. It’s also not Kyoto, where you’re jostled by so many World Heritage sites that you wonder if coughing in the wrong direction would get you deported. Attractions are few and far between. The far between usually consists of rice fields, residential areas and the occasional mountain. It takes time to get to places, and those places are usually pretty understated when you eventually arrive.

As a mildly enthusiastic and entitled traveller, this was initially a real pain. After a year of living in Kyoto Prefecture, I was used to having Japan’s famous rail and bus network at my beck and call. In Saga, more often than not, I was the one on my knees at the station begging for business. The easy answer to this is to get a car. I don’t drive. Bicycle? I went down the hill at my local park on one as a kid, decided that once was good enough and promptly never used a bike again. This left me only one option. Walk, everywhere, all the time.

In two and a half years, I clocked up hundreds of miles around Saga city, much to the derision of my friends. But as they zipped around in their cars complaining of nothing to see or do, I was experiencing a secret side of Saga. With only a few small destinations dotted around, the focus is really on the journey through the Japanese countryside. Even better, you usually have it to yourself. If you love a quiet amble through the fields on a Sunday, you could do an awful lot worse than Saga. So strap on some walking boots, steal a dog, and let me show you my three favourite afternoon walks in the Saga area. After all, I like to consider myself something of an expert.

Saga Station to Kono Park (????)

Time: 20 mins one way

This is an easy walk through a residential area, made all the more interesting by the prospect of beer at the end. Kono Park can be reached by anyone who has ever heard of exercise, even if they think it’s a swear word. From the north side of the station, turn left and head along the road until you hit a small river. Turn right along the footpath for one block. The park entrance should be opposite.

While the walk itself is fairly standard, it’s worth doing to check out the park, which has a small teahouse on one side of the central pond. It’s mildly famous amongst the locals for a very simple reason. During the cherry blossom season, the place is filled with people drinking and having picnics. It’s one of the better places in Saga to experience these hanami parties and is a beautiful sight. If you have children who are very easily impressed, there’s also a small theme park on the grounds. I can’t tell you if it’s any good, as I’m too tall for the rides. It’s probably not.

Tafuse River (????)

Time: 1 hr 10 mins one way

While beer is a good excuse for anything, people who really want to stretch their legs probably won’t feel like the walk to Kono Park is far enough. Luckily, it’s possible to extend the route beyond the park and out into the far reaches of Saga. The best way to do this is to continue following the river on the east side of the park up and away from the station. This is the Tafuse River, one of many little waterways that carve Saga into slices. It’s a pleasant walk at all times of the year, with the many bridges and temples that dot the path. Like many other places in Japan, it’s also inundated with cherry trees. For me, though, the real treat is at the far end of the river, where the buildings fall away and you can see right to the foothills of the mountains. If you walk far enough, there’s also a little park which plays host to some spectacular sunsets. The bursts of colour over the mountains stacked up in green and grey are really something to behold. Just make sure you bring a snack or drink to enjoy it with.

Ushizu Station to Myohoji (???)

Time: 1 hr one way

OK, this is the big one. It’s my secret. Most locals have never been here, but it is breathtaking. From the train, shortly after leaving Saga, it’s possible to see a white stupa watching over the plains from a cloistered position atop a mountain. It looks remote and inaccessible, a little slice of Tibet in the Japanese countryside. However, it’s actually possible to walk there from Ushizu Station. Come out of the station, turn left and follow that road all the way to the highway. Cross over, pass the love hotel and go straight up towards the mountain. If you can read a little bit of Japanese, follow signs to the park.

It’s a pretty exerting walk towards the end, but it allows you to experience one of the best things about Saga. For the last part of the walk, along the deserted mountain lanes, you are totally alone. In places, it feels like you are the first human ever to set foot there. The stupa has the same feeling. In several visits there, I’ve only ever seen one other person. After spending time jostling for space at famous sites across Japan, having a place of this size all to yourself is a rare treat.

The temple itself has a huge, golden Buddha staring out across the valley, vast and immovable. That’s no surprise, because the view from the temple is amazing. Saga is surrounded by mountains on three sides, with the sea to the south. On a clear day, the entire plain can be seen laid out below, with the occasional sounds of city life drifting up on the wind. With the ambient noise, the lack of tourists and the Buddha’s watchful gaze on your back, it’s easy to lose track of time. In fact, I highly recommend it. Descending the mountain at sunset with shafts of golden light piercing through the valleys is the perfect way to cap off an afternoon.

I’m well aware that the above sounds like a lot of effort for very little reward. After all, it’s just a couple of small temples and a nice view. It’s fair to say that Saga can’t compete with the mind-boggling size and scope of places like Kyoto and Tokyo. However, Saga has something that’s extremely rare in Japan’s famous places. It has an aura of undisturbed, unspoilt calm. Watching the sunset sear across the mountain ranges or resting on one of the Buddha’s cool, white balconies, there’s a feeling of privilege that wells up from somewhere. Being in these places is like hearing a secret whispered on the wind. It’s a veil drawn back, just for you, on a unique experience.

So for your next trip, whether you’ve seen the sights before or you’re looking to lie low after stealing one too many dogs, I’d highly recommend going somewhere off the beaten track and getting out and about on your own two feet. You might find nothing. Or, if you stay open to new possibilities, you might find exactly what you needed. A bike shop. Saga drivers might do their best to knock you off it, but that’s a story for another time.

It’s called Hell Valley for a reason. The vent up ahead cloys the air with its sulphurous belches. It spews mightily, staining the rocks yellow, but it still can’t melt the snow that lies, deadweight, on the mountainside. This side of the river is strewn with pipes and wires that burrow from the vent, through the snow and stretch across to the frozen hut opposite. It’s almost difficult to tell what is feeding what. Although it vomits and strains against its chains, most of the tourists have zero interest in the sulphur spring, or even the panorama created by the river curving through the valley. They are busy disturbing monkeys.

The macaques are huddled in the trenches that the warm pipes melt in the snow, trying to pick up some residue warmth for the long night ahead. They look on forlornly, apparently too cold to be bothered by the endless photoshoot. However, these aren’t the monkeys that the tourists came for. The really interesting monkeys are having a bath over the rise.

The macaques of Jigokudani Yaen-Koen get a fair amount of attention for this unique behaviour in response to the harshness of their environment. They live in a national park in the far north of Nagano Prefecture, deep within the Japanese Alps. Winters here are bitter, with heavy snowfall that lasts for days at a time. Since frozen fingers and toes aren’t great for a tree dwelling species, the monkeys here have taken over a remote hot spring, or onsen, to help them warm up during the day. This initially appears a little short-sighted. Being covered in wet fur and knee deep in snow seems like a swift end to life in the mountain wilderness. However, as the park signs explain, monkeys don’t sweat in the same way as humans. Their relative lack of pores means that water can keep them warm for far longer. The hot springs in the Snow Monkey Park provide them with natural heating and boost their chances of surviving the long nights in the trees.

Apparently, the monkeys have been visiting the area for at least 60 years, since they discovered that a local inn was also an occasional source of food that wasn’t buried in snow. [1] The creation of the park was of benefit to everyone: the monkeys received a protected habitat and their own private bath, while the humans weren’t constantly pestered by hungry macaques. It also helps to keep the other onsen free of monkey poo. In the winter, the food and the onsen make the monkeys an almost guaranteed sight, so for photographers it’s definitely worth making the journey to see them.

But how easy is it to get to the park? Nagano may be deep into snow country, but the ski resorts in the area mean that the roads aren’t impassable. With snow tyres or chains, it’s possible to drive right up to the entrance of the park. Failing that, there’s a train line into Yudanaka Station, where it’s possible to take a bus to the park. [2] There are plenty of road signs to the monkey park from the town of Yamanouchi, although when driving it’s quite easy to miss the turning to the park itself. If the turning heads straight up the mountain to nothing, then it’s probably the right direction.

What’s more difficult is leaving civilisation behind and trudging for about 30 minutes through the snow of Jigokudani. While it’s not an experience reserved for the hardiest of souls, it’s a fair trek from the trailhead to the gate of the monkey onsen. In January, the path is ice for most of the way, with a steep drop through the pines on one side and a stream on the other that appears and disappears as the snow wills. It’s best to wrap up warm and bring hiking or snow boots to avoid an unscheduled skiing experience. These can be rented at the trailhead for a fairly extortionate price. In general, winter in Nagano isn’t kind to feet, so leave the sandals at home.

Eventually, the onsen buildings come into view around the crest and signs of primate life start to dot the mountainside. A couple of monkeys wander brazenly along the paths, looking unfriendly. However, unless they feel threatened, they are largely indifferent to people. It’s probably too cold for any monkey business. Don’t fill up the camera just yet, though. Head up the slope and through the ticket gate, where the real prize is to be found.

The majority of the troupe is submerged to the neck in the waters of a private pool, perched on a ledge above a river. Some of the larger monkeys stand guard on the edge of the onsen, eyes fixed on the forest above and the iron grey of the river below. The infants are the most active, dipping in and out of the pool and fighting on ledges out of the reach of tourists. Most of the adults are content to sit, grip the sides and perhaps be checked for ticks. Many have their eyes closed. It’s probably the only way to truly relax with a gaggle of tourists on two sides of the bath. Several of the sentries are perpetually ready for a close up, safe in the knowledge that this is their kingdom. Just don’t expect them to move too much.

It’s possible to go right up to the edge of the pool on one side, but generally the monkeys seem to prefer facing away in the direction of the river. There is also a lowered area on that side for people to take photos. This is probably where the best Instagram shots are taken, but be prepared to wait for an opening, as it’s usually crowded with ridiculously oversized lenses and selfie sticks. It’s worth braving the ice and jostling for an opening:

 

One of the most torturous things about the Snow Monkey Park is that the monkeys are enshrined in the steam, loving every minute, while the frozen tourists can only look on enviously. After stumbling through the cold, slipping on the ice and numbing fingers to take photos of monkeys languishing in the heat, the feeling of being pressed up against the glass can be difficult to take. The actual monkey onsen would probably be a horrible experience, since it’s filled with monkey litter. However, after a couple of hours out in the snow, it’s nice to round off the day with a hot bath of one’s own. Luckily, Yamanouchi and the surrounding area have a range of onsen experiences for humans to choose from. There are several bath houses within easy driving distance and even a couple of onsen towns, Yudanaka and Shibu, close by. [3] These provide a range of experiences. The best however, are the outdoor pools, where the worry is less about the cold air and more about sitting incredibly still. Some onsen are so hot that waves lapping against the skin make the waterline feel like the inside of a kettle. A little further out, Maguse Onsen in Iiyama has an outside pool with a stunning view. It comes highly recommended as a way to finish the day.

Soon winter will end, the snow will melt and the monkeys will return to the forest. This is an event that happens in a remote valley, for a couple of months a year, with no guarantee that the monkeys will be here beyond a certain date. But that is no reason not to go. It’s never been easier to get out into the Japanese wilderness. The shinkansen is still famously punctual, and with the Tokyo Olympics coming up, the whole of Japan is working on improving its tourism services and particularly its level of English. This means that the next few years are a golden opportunity to see the more remote parts of Japan. Tokyo and Osaka will be there forever. But what about the chance to travel deep into the Japanese wilderness, look nature in the face and feel the connection all living beings share in the struggle to survive? It’s better to come now. Who knows when winter will end and the chance will disappear over the horizon.

 

The following websites were helpful in the creation of this article. They may also be great inspiration for a trip to Nagano.

Go Nagano – the official tourism guide to Nagano Prefecture – http://www.go-nagano.net/shisetsu-detail?shisetsuid=107001001

Japan Guide – a one stop shop for practical information about the Snow Monkey Park, and Japan in general –  https://www.japan-guide.com/e/e6028.html

Snow Monkey Resorts – contains further information on the monkeys – http://www.snowmonkeyresorts.com/smr/snowmonkeypark/

 

References:

[1] http://www.snowmonkeyresorts.com/smr/snowmonkeypark/history-of-the-jigokudani-monkey-park/

[2] http://www.snowmonkeyresorts.com/2016/12/bus-or-train/

[3] https://www.japan-guide.com/e/e6028.html

Stepping off the train at Ogi Station, it’s easy to imagine that this is the last real outpost before the mountain wilderness beyond. With a snow-capped mountain in front and rice fields stretching away behind, the temptation is to sprint back onto the train and return to civilisation, rather than risk being abandoned in the sleepy town outside the station doors. The thought that this might be Kyushu’s ‘Little Kyoto’, or any kind of cultural hotspot at all, is almost laughable. However, Ogi is the kind of place that rewards a time investment. Sink beneath the somnambulant surface and the traditional Japanese way of life the town is preserving will emerge from behind all those closed doors.

Like all things in Japan, Ogi’s attractions are rooted in the changing of the seasons. Ogi Park is garlanded with cherry blossom in the spring and draws visitors from across the prefecture for hanami parties, topped off with youkan, a red bean or matcha flavoured snack that is the staple of anyone in Ogi with a sweet tooth. The foothills of the mountains beyond help the town to mark progress through the year. Fireflies dance above the rivers in early summer, while hidden valleys fill with crimson leaves as the nights draw in.

One event that the town particularly looks forward to happens in mid-November, as the leaves begin to fall. The Kiyomizu Falls in the foothills of Mt Tenzan put on a week-long private show that even some residents of nearby Saga remain blissfully unaware of. Kiyomizu shares its name with the famous temple in Kyoto and, like its namesake, has an excellent view for those prepared to search for it. On a clear day, the temple perched above the falls has a vista that stretches across two prefectures. From the stage, it’s possible to gaze down the valley, across the Ariake Sea and all the way to the distant mountains of Unzen. For a short period, though, the attraction is in the park below. As the changing of the red leaves reaches its peak, the garden at the base of the waterfall is filled with hundreds of bamboo carvings and night lights. The waterfall becomes a shrine to the seasons and a celebration that autumn has come again.

Driving up the winding roads towards the smattering of houses around the waterfall, it almost feels that the festival is the one bright spot for miles around. However, the temple entrance is far from lonely. The steady stream of people walking down from parking on the mountain roads provide plenty of friendly warmth. Throughout the village there is a feeling that the community is out for the evening. Stalls perched on the steep slopes do a steady trade and some houses even put their own decorations out. Inside the festival, there are plenty of people out to admire the lights, but there are still enough lulls in the traffic to take decent photos. All of this combines to hit a festival sweet spot. It feels like an important event in the local calendar, but it’s still personal and contained. A secret world in a fragile bubble, uncovered by the rustling of the forest.

The lights stretch from the entrance of the park to the base of the waterfall. Carved and painted bamboo tubes turn the thousands of tea lights into a swirl of patterns and images that stretch around and along the path, accentuating the last of the autumn leaves as they fall from the trees. The waterfall is at the centre of a grotto, a background in green and blue to the patterns of lights in orange and red. Several larger artworks are placed around a pagoda, which is the perfect place to sit and take everything in. Twinkling lights along the footbridges create plenty of spots for photos, where couples cuddle and schoolchildren huddle. It only takes 10 – 15 minutes to walk through the main display, but everyone leaves smiling.

 

On the way out, the villagers have put out food stalls around a huge bonfire, where people stop to warm up with a hot drink. The light of the fire reflects off the red leaves hanging overhead, warmth oozing from every corner. There are plenty of seats from which to watch children playing in the lights across the stream, or catch up with friends over a bowl of oden or a couple of dumplings. The buzz of chatter and hearty food provides a cosy cocoon to pause in before heading home.

Kiyomizu is not a unique sight, nor is it a place that will ever make it into guidebooks. For most of the year, it’s a tranquil spot in an out of the way village, not even seen from the train line as people zoom past to bigger sights in Fukuoka or Nagasaki. When travelling, it’s very easy to get caught up in the guidebook’s ‘Things to See’, and with good reason. Sometimes, though, it’s good to slow down, look around and even allow the trip to be swept off course. For it’s in places like Ogi that the quintessentially Japanese way of life is preserved. It will not scream and shout to be heard. Instead, it waits its turn and then, at the proper time and in the proper manner, it offers up something understated and delicate – something that wouldn’t work, unless it was done in Japan.

It took until the end of November for the summer heat to finally, finally die off completely. Last week, I pulled all of my jumpers out of my wardrobe with glee and have been nesting in them ever since. I’ve spent the majority of the summer explaining to various people that the British aren’t great in the heat and no, I didn’t just jump in a lake. It’s been relentless, but coming from someone that starts to melt when the temperature squeezes above 20C, that doesn’t really mean much. All that English rain has made me very delicate. Japanese people, on the other hand, seem to like that feeling of airless humidity so much that they use the heating on the train while it’s still in the high teens outside. In Japan, dressing and acting appropriately for the season is often more important than the actual day to day weather. Indian summer or not, the heating goes on and the heavy duty coats come out the second the seasons officially change. You would not believe how ready I am to complain about the cold.

Even when I’m grumpy, autumn is my favourite season in Japan. The red leaves transform the mountainsides and hidden temples open their gates for a few days as the nights draw in. I think. My journey to work doesn’t take me past many forests. It’s easy to blink and feel like you’ve missed everything.

Living in Saga doesn’t help this feeling. Having been sleepy and largely devoid of action for most of the year, the prefecture holds its two biggest events over one long weekend in early November. The Balloon Festival engulfs my town for a few days and briefly gives me abandonment issues. I don’t know who all those other foreigners are, but I don’t like that they steal my limelight.

In an attempt to feel special again, I went with a few of Saga’s resident foreigners to see the other big event: the Karatsu Kunchi. Karatsu is a seaside town on the northern coast of Kyushu, about an hour and a half from Saga and Fukuoka by train or car. It has a famous castle and, erm, other things. Forgetting the sights is quite a common problem in Saga. Much like Saga and the Balloon Festival, the Karatsu Kunchi is the one event of the year that livens up the city and comes highly recommended by anyone with ties to the place. Twice a week, for most of October. I have enthusiastic colleagues.

The Karatsu Kunchi is a three day parade that has been put on by the local shrine for several centuries, where the city is filled with food stalls, a festive atmosphere and the occasional confused foreigner. On the second day, 14 huge floats representing legends, historical figures and mythical creatures are pulled through the streets, with each district of the city taking charge of one. Honestly, it’s a miracle that anyone else in the town is left to watch. Even the local schoolchildren are involved. While they are also paraded on the other days, the second day usually falls on a national holiday and has the longest parade route, so it’s the best day to go and experience the event.

After charging down from the mountains in a worryingly overfilled K-car (think a hatchback, but slow and square), we arrived in the city with the parade in full swing. The parade finishes outside of a high school west of Karatsu Castle, so we set up camp just around the corner. This allowed us to see the floats go past and also watch them being dragged through the sand of the school yard in an impressive show of strength. Apparently, they used to do this on the beach a few hundred metres away. Maybe the Europeans leaving their towels out at breakfast time ruined it for them.

You hear the floats coming before you see them. Each float has flautists and drummers setting a rhythm, and as they approach cries of “Enya!” become distinguishable above the general hubbub of the crowd. This is apparently a sound made in Japanese when you’re trying to move something heavy, and not a tribute to the Irish singer. That particular meme hasn’t made it here yet. Not long after this, the float bursts into view and careers around the corner. They are very old, expensive and often have people standing on them, so this can be a buttock-clenching moment.

We were lucky enough to be stood at a spot where the floats wait as the one before is dragged through the sand. When they got a break, the men pulling the floats descended into chaos. The teams on the two tow ropes yelled “Enya!”, trying to outshout each other until someone gave up, trailing off into a Wilhelm Scream. They threw purification salt, ran over to the float and generally tried to avoid the grumpy older men who were trying to restore order. At times, it was reminiscent of a rock concert, only the bouncer was in a loincloth and had a bamboo stick that he was itching to break over someone’s back. Eventually, they came back to their ropes and began to pull again to the beat of the drum, doing their best to keep everyone on the float upright and avoid snagging millions of pounds of important cultural heritage on telephone wires and traffic lights.

There was some explanation in English that was very occasionally audible over the melee. This is actually quite rare in Kyushu, so I was doing my best to listen. It turns out each float on the parade has subtle differences in the way they do things, based on the history of the float and who or what it represents. Often these come about because someone involved has been mind-meltingly Japanese. For example, two of the floats represent local daimyo, or lords, from the Takeda and Uesugi families. The two daimyo lived fairly close together and, naturally, hated each other. This is fair enough, since there probably wasn’t a huge amount to do back then except strap on a helmet and try to loosen a few of your neighbour’s teeth. During one of what was probably a series of campaigns, Takeda and his bruisers were holed up in a retreat somewhere and running dangerously short on salt. Worms in your food and crippling deficiencies aren’t particularly wonderful, so this would seem like a good time for Uesugi to do some squashing. However, the daimyo, in his great wisdom, decided to actually send a huge load of salt to his enemy. This was apparently so that if he ever managed to wear Takeda’s intestines as a necklace, he could say he bested him in a fair fight. As a result, the Takeda float at the festival doesn’t scatter salt even for religious purposes, out of respect to the man Takeda wanted to perform medieval surgery on. Lost opportunity for some smack talk there, big T. Both families are now represented in the parade and, since they are apparently the best of enemies, their two floats sit next to each other on the parade ground. Even in the middle of a group of fantastical creatures they can’t get away from each other. There’s a lesson in there somewhere, but I’m damned if I know what it is.

 

Once we were done comparing the moustaches on the helmets of those two bad boys, we decided to have some festival food. Street food in Japan is mostly exclusive to events and while it’s expensive, the quality is usually pretty good. At the Karatsu Kunchi, the floats sit on display for a couple of hours before being pulled back, so there’s plenty of time to wander around, find some food to eat, kick back and relax. Outside the shrine there is a huge row of stalls selling all kinds of Japanese food and also a bouncy castle if you fancy tossing your child in and making a break for it. Even if you don’t intend to watch the floats return, it’s worth sticking around for a while and trying to soak up the atmosphere. You may even make a new drunk friend. At 1pm. Oh dear, Japan.

We stuck around for a bit, had some yakisoba and a drink before barrelling back through the mountains in our souped up go kart. As the sunset burned across the skyline and the wheels of the car threatened to fall off, I reflected a little on my colleague’s enthusiasm. In a place that doesn’t receive many tourists and which has a reputation for being boring and sleepy, it’s understandable to be a little overexcited when events occasionally come along. While it may not be Tokyo, all the locals of Saga that I know are keen that visitors enjoy themselves here, even if the prefecture lacks a world famous site. There is always something to do if you look hard enough. Who knows? If you throw yourself into the small things and the recommendations of others, you might find yourself surprised. They could be a window into a side of Japan that most people never get to experience. At the end of the day, that’s why people travel.

Fun fact: I’m not dead. But I am quite worried. Not just about England’s performances at the Euros, either. I may be pocketed away in a forgotten corner of Japan right now, but that has not stopped me looking on with increasing concern as events in the UK have grown from a passionate political debate into something that I find really quite alarming. Hooliganism, racism and murder? What is going on over there? Britain is in the spotlight right now and even here, I feel a vague sense of dread that someone is going to call on me as The British Guy to explain the situation.

I have generally tried to keep my blogging lighthearted, but sometimes an issue comes up that is impossible to ignore. I have been pro-EU since I studied it for my A Levels, but I’m generally happy to let people make up their own minds. This time, though, I’m caught with a foot in both worlds. I’m British and an immigrant, honoured to have friends from across the EU and the Commonwealth. As such, I feel that to be silent in the face of creeping racism and xenophobia is to be complicit in it and I would like to be able to look my friends in the eye after Thursday.

Besides that, sometimes it’s good to get a fresh perspective on things from a place that is sort of oblivious to what is going on. There are a million wonderful sources on economic facts and the workings of the EU which I encourage you to read, but let’s think about some other things here using Japan as a comparison. Despite the many differences that I ham up on this blog and elsewhere, Japan is actually quite similar to Britain in many ways. In some respects it’s the nation that Brexit campaigners would like: an independent, conservative, generally prosperous chain of islands with a marked feeling of difference from the mainland. With this in mind, let’s look at a few issues that I feel have some bearing on the xenophobia surrounding the EU referendum, particularly the Leave campaign. That’s right, this blog is even less democratic than the European Commission. I hope you like what you see.

The Weight of History

I shouldn’t have to explain too much when I say that events in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945 still reverberate around Japan today. The atomic bombings stunned a nation on its knees and began a long process of recovery that has made a love of peace one of the most important values a Japanese person can have. Last month, I accompanied my second year students on a trip to the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum with the explicit aim of ‘learning about peace’ at a private memorial service. All students in my school will do this and they are far from alone, as the thousands of origami cranes at the site attest. Japan will not forget, but it has forgiven. So, all’s well that ends well, right?

Debatable. Since the war, Europe has had a collective rebuilding process, consciously uniting its economies into a single market and forging stronger political ties in a way that will hopefully prevent the rise of fascism in Europe again. Apologies have been made and enemies reconciled. The EU is our statement of peace and brotherhood. In Asia, Japan has also focused on peace. Yet China and South Korea remain suspicious and unimpressed. For them, the atomic bombs gave Japan a ‘get out of jail free’ card, covering up their own war crimes. Chief among these Japanese war crimes are the Rape of Nanjing, which left somewhere between 40,000 and 300,000 Chinese civilians dead, and the kidnapping of South Korean women for use as ‘comfort women’. Japan has apologised many times, but it has never been truly accepted. For the Chinese and Koreans, sorry is not enough and now Japan is tired of them not listening. It’s not for me to judge who is right, but it’s also not a stretch to say that WWII is still having a real, destabilising influence in East Asia in a way that we Europeans have somehow lucked out of.

After the Holocaust, trench warfare and the fire-bombing of Dresden, the fact that we forgave the unforgivable to create the EU is a miracle. It stands for far more than endless bureaucracy about bananas. It is a symbol of peace, forgiveness and unity, a way of saying never again and no more. Obviously you can’t buy delicious and legally curvy bananas with symbols, but how you treat a symbol says a lot to outsiders about your country as a whole. Call me starry-eyed if you want, but soft power can be just as important as economic or military might. We stand to lose a lot of that if we stomp back across the Channel muttering about how we never liked Fritz anyway.

Sovereignty

I have heard this word a lot in the last few weeks, often from people who I suspect learned to spell it at some point during that time. Sovereignty is, to botch a complicated concept, the ability to govern exactly as you want within your territory, completely free of outside influences like the EU. It is generally accepted to be a good thing, or even a rainbow filled bubble of unicorn tears, money trees and England teams that win on penalties, depending on your point of view. It is also generally accepted to be a thing. But I like to mess with people’s heads, so let’s think about that for a second.

Japanese history has one of the best examples of sovereignty in practice that I can think of, outside of one other mystery modern state. I love quiz time, so the big reveal for that is below. During the sakoku, or closed country, period (1633-1853) no one was able to enter or leave Japan under pain of death. It was the sort of thing that gives Nigel Farage that fuzzy feeling: the Japanese doing Japanese things, keeping things just as they’d always been. The population boomed, infighting was ended and the economy didn’t do too badly either. Perfect. Until U.S. Commodore Matthew Perry turned up bristling with guns and broke the country open by force. Japan panicked and, in trying to make up lost ground, ended up with a suspiciously imperial and nationalistic democracy based on the Germans.

Now, if we leave the EU I don’t expect Arnold Schwarzenegger to ride a nuke across the Atlantic to ask why we haven’t caught up on Game of Thrones yet. But there are important lessons to be learned from this. Firstly, sovereignty doesn’t exist in a vacuum and therefore maybe doesn’t exist at all. There are always outside influences and the ones you like the least tend to be the most persistent. Maybe Switzerland and Norway are more sovereign than Britain, but the mere presence of the EU means that they have to pay millions into an economic system that they can’t control and accept policies that they can’t debate. Secondly, inward-looking countries get left behind. Japanese samurai and feudal systems are quaint and all, but they’re not worth much against global reach, money in the bank and a position on the cutting edge of technology. But why not, let’s take that economic dominance back from Brussels and nationalise the scone industry if we can. Speaking of inward looking countries…

Answer: if you went for The Splendiferous State of Kim ‘Sexy Eyes’ Jong-un and His Assortment of Unusual Haircuts, you’d be correct.

Democracy

By the people, for the people. That’s the dream anyway. Unfortunately, the tyranny of Brussels prevents St George II / Diana saving us from whatever catastrophe comes up that afternoon. Japan, of course, is not ruled by Brussels. It’s also conservative, patriotic and dedicated to the needs of its people. So naturally it never puts a foot wrong. Well…

It turns out that having a bunch of old, right-wing men in charge isn’t always the best thing for a country, particularly if the people in it are foreign. In 2014, Japan’s Supreme Court ruled that it is entirely legal to refuse welfare benefits to foreigners. Some people would argue that this is perfectly reasonable, but please remember that I also pay taxes in Japan. In fact, it’s illegal not to pay my taxes. I am forced to contribute to a system that I am not entitled to withdraw from, even in an hour of darkest need, simply because I was not born here. The same goes for foreigners with families here, people who will work and contribute to the Japanese economy for the lion’s share of their lives. But that doesn’t matter, because they’re not from round these parts. More on this can be found in the link below.

Although I find this quite staggering, I’m not here to complain about it. Instead, I think this illustrates an important point about democracy and the ruling elites. Small groups of people are not always good at electing the best people to govern and you can end up in some pretty unjust situations. This is exacerbated in England by a voting system that isn’t particularly democratic anyway. If we leave the EU, it’s not impossible that Nigel Farage, Michael Gove and Jeremy Hunt amongst others could end up wielding real, constitution-making power in Britain. If you know anything about those three, you may not be overjoyed at that. As it stands the democracy of the EU draws on a continental pool of moderate voters, helping to protect against lurches to the far right or left in any of the member states. The votes of moderates in Poland, Malta etc inform the decisions of the EU, helping to create a massive moderate bloc that shuts down dangerous local laws and prevents extremists from inflicting real damage on communities throughout the EU. When it comes to democracy, where you draw the boundaries is important. Japan can’t do this and as a result discrimination is a real, ratified thing here. I don’t think we need to give that a second chance back home.

One final aside: the greatest joke ever told on this blog is the fact that Nigel Farage calls the EU undemocratic. Britain is under-represented in Europe, but primarily because his UKIP MEPs refuse to show up and give us a voice in Brussels. They’re happy to collect their salary, though. Here’s hoping some of those scary immigrants steal his job some time soon.

Fin

I don’t claim to know everything about the EU. I don’t have a PhD in political science or even a list of facts to hand. But I hope rephrasing some of the questions provokes you to think your way entirely around the subject and make a more informed decision. I’m still looking for them, but I believe there are logical reasons to leave the EU free from the taint of xenophobia. The problem is that the debate is being warped into a referendum on foreigners and whether they are good enough for Britain. That is such a ridiculous question that we have to speak out.

At work, I stand in front of my students every day and encourage them to open their eyes to the world around them, to begin to grasp at the wonderful opportunities that come from empathy and interest in those around you. In solidarity with teaching staff everywhere, I try to show them that the best way to deal with a problem is through communication, teamwork and simple hard work, not through blind hatred and irrational violence. Both of these tasks will become much harder if my country, my culture, makes a decision that goes against all of that. A decision that, rightly or wrongly, is rapidly becoming defined by fear and intolerance of people that we do not understand. People like my students. That is why I could not remain silent.

Vote carefully and with a clear head. See you after the apocalypse.

 

http://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2014/07/19/national/social-issues/welfare-ruling-stuns-foreigners/#.V2krI9J95dh

Valentine’s Day has been and gone, but in Japan there is no escape. Once again I’m sat here contemplating being forever alone, because tomorrow is White Day. Rather than lump everything into one, sickeningly miserable day, the Japanese prefer to stretch it out over the course of a month. Girls give boys they like chocolate, flowers and various other small gifts on Valentine’s Day, with boys expected to return the favour a month later. Apparently, the tradition for tomorrow is to give the girl a present three times the value of what she gave you. I received nothing, so three times nothing is… Nothing. I didn’t even get a pity KitKat. My wallet is happy but my soul is sad.

This weekend has been rainy and cold (talk about pathetic fallacy), but last weekend I managed to get out to Fukuoka, the nearest giant city that nobody has ever heard of. Within Japan, Fukuoka is pretty famous for having great food and a plethora of clubs and bars. It’s the spiritual home of ramen, one of the world’s most addictive substances, and has been a key point of contact with the rest of Asia throughout Japanese history. I’d been to Fukuoka before, but only in the evening and then I’d struggled to get out of the restaurants. I can quit whenever I want, honest.

A lot of the people I’ve met have struggled to give me recommendations for things to do that didn’t involve alcohol, so I was looking forward to seeing what the city had to offer on a climate-change inspired, sweltering March day. My friend and I arrived at lunchtime, which is never a great idea. After a brief relapse, we headed out to Ohori Park to see if we could find the castle and a good place to chill. Either we are blind or noodles really do have some sort of psychotropic properties, as the castle doesn’t seem to exist. The view from the walls that remain is pretty decent though. The mountains and Fukuoka Tower to the east overlook the park’s central lake, while it’s possible to watch planes coming in to land amongst the buildings to the west. Apparently there’s a beach in there somewhere too. I’ll believe it when I see it.

The main part of the park is dominated by the lake, split in two by a shaded walkway and a pavilion. It’s pretty busy on a sunny day with runners, couples and the occasional businessman sleeping off an entire bottle of wine. Involuntarily. Some things are the same all over the world. It’s a great place to relax and catch some rays. I insisted on taking my shoes off, so my friend spent half an hour standing twenty feet away from me and trying not to vomit. It turned out that this was worthwhile, as about ten turtles beached themselves near us. I imagine they wanted to complain about the spoiling of their natural habitat. They sat very still while everyone did their best to take good selfies in the glaring sunlight. I suppose turtles are more photogenic than pigeons.

Shoes firmly replaced, we wandered back across the city through the main nightlife district, Tenjin, to the river to watch the sunset.  The area was just starting to get busy with touts and leafleters preparing for the influx of businessmen and women. We walked through undisturbed, the polar opposite of what would happen in Europe. It’s so rare for them to brave white faces that I often end up taking their clutter because I’m impressed by their courage. There are plenty of foreigners here, but because the city is unknown outside of Japan there is still a residue of small town mentality. At least for now, it’s quite amusing to be gawped at on the street in a city of over 5 million people. I’m told the shine wears off after a while and I am particularly grumpy, so I expect to be annoyed by it next week.

We finished the day by the river, watching the sunset, the rise of the neon and Fukuoka’s famous food stalls setting up shop. There was ramen involved, but I prefer not to admit I have a problem. We spent a full day walking but I feel that there is still a bit more to be seen in the city over the next few months, which is great. I will occasionally need a getaway from my sleepy town. It was a reminder of happy days in Kyoto, which will hopefully be returning sooner rather than later…

Until next time, from rehab, have a wonderful week.

Bust out the shorts, it’s officially spring in Japan. At the beginning of the month a festival called Setsubun took place, which marks the final day of winter. There are a couple of events that take place throughout the day. I wish I was making it up when I said that small children make demon masks and run around throwing beans at each other, but evidently the Brothers Grimm never made it out this far east. You’re also supposed to eat a number of beans which matches your age. Presumably not the ones which have been on the floor. I ate about 10 with my school lunch. I’m not 10. Sad times. Later on in the day you’re also supposed to eat ehomaki, which is to all intents and purposes a giant California roll. To have good luck, you have to clear your plate in silence while facing in an auspicious direction. I fulfilled none of these requirements. Seaweed does not fill me with joy, I don’t know where south-east is and I’d just eaten a small family tub of ice cream. Looks like I’ll have to hole up in a padded room somewhere and wait 2016 out.

Apart from the bad luck dangling over my head, my life has finally started to settle into a routine. Wake up, grumble, pray for the day to end, rinse and repeat. This is different from my life before, I promise! I’m now able to get through the day without surprise octopus in my food and the sight of bills no longer fills me with dread, just the desire to flip the V sign at everything. This has allowed me to reserve a little time to think beyond ‘must eat’ and ‘bed comfy’ and compare my experiences in Saga so far with my last time out here in Kyoto. It turns out that there is one particularly striking difference:

Ain’t nobody speaking English out here.

This may seem pretty obvious, which it is. However, I’m an idiot, so this has surprised me. Coming from a place which was pretty tourist friendly and being in a faculty full of people who’d studied abroad meant that I was able to get around easily with only the odd word of Japanese last time. Saga is an entirely different animal.

The general reaction to English here isn’t screams of terror, but it’s not too far off. When faced with English, people here tend to resort to more Japanese, only now trembling slightly and with eyes like dinner plates. Occasionally a gaggle of elementary school kids will chase me through my town screaming “Hello” at me, but other than that Saga is generally a bit of a ghost town when it comes to English.

This wouldn’t be an issue if I was fluent in Japanese. Yeah. I have my reasons. I’m looking at you, biscuits. In reality, I’m probably the most accomplished mime in Saga, as I’ve perfected my ability to carry out all daily tasks in total silence. My ‘deer in the headlights’ expression is becoming a fan favourite. However, as difficult as it is, I can deal with occasionally eating chicken when I want pork. I can even handle making fearful mumbling sounds when I’m trying to ask for the toilet. I’ve never needed to know the Japanese for ‘clean up in aisle 3’. My biggest issue is that only knowing one language locks you into the world of that language. Here in Saga, the English language world isn’t exactly thriving. Despite living in Japan, I am unable to make too many local friends simply because we don’t share a language. I’m reliant on a tiny pool of foreigners and English-speaking locals in my battle against accidentally becoming a hermit. This sucks, because I know a lot of Japanese people from last time out and they tend to be great.

It turns out, then, that being able to speak the local language is actually a bit useful. My Japanese is, erm, not the best, which leaves me with only one course of action if I’m to avoid crippling loneliness and a fully-fledged addiction to comfort eating. This post marks the beginning of my new language mission:

Be able to speak Japanese to B1 level on the CEFR scale (almost fluency) by June 1^st.

I can almost feel your eyebrows raising in disbelief as you read that. Allow me to add to the feeling by saying that I also don’t intend to lock myself away from humanity while I do this. I have read and seen enough evidence over the last few months to know that this sort of goal is not impossible. In fact, if you work hard and focus it’s possible to go beyond the level I’ve set and reach fluency in 3 months. I’m going to be using methods inspired by Benny Lewis, Scott Young and Vat Jaiswal (links below), who have done this several times through immersing themselves in their target language and using the language as much as possible right from day 1. I’m not going to be doing too much sitting and memorizing tables of verb conjugations. My goal is to be able to speak Japanese with Japanese people, so a ton of practice will be far more useful. The best way to do this is to go out, meet people and challenge myself one step at a time in the language. I love it when a plan comes together. Sort of. I appreciate that this all sounds a bit vague, but hopefully all will become clearer as I progress. I need to start now, but I also want to save your eyesight. I am not responsible for any bills at the opticians resulting from the reading of excessively long blog posts.

I have a whole shopping cart of reasons why I’m attempting to do this, as well as justifications for why this is possible. However, the most powerful is the simple desire to see what I can do if I use the time I waste every day. The sheer amount of time I spend grazing through another tub of ice cream while staring vacantly at the ceiling is frightening. I’ve decided that I might as well battle procrastination in pursuit of a mad goal and get a little way than give Japanese by Osmosis a go for another year. If I am going to make new, long-lasting friendships with Japanese people in Saga, I have very little choice. Even if I don’t get very far, I will be better off than before I put down the spoon and tub and started trying. As nice as almond choc chip ice cream is, it’s never going to help me achieve anything. Except perhaps diabetes.

So how can you get involved? If you’re Japanese, let’s talk! I’m going to need all the practice I can get. If you’re not, then help me stick to my goal. Ask me questions, demand to know what I did with my day, beat me over the head with a dictionary, anything. Half the reason I’m doing this mission is to panic myself into achieving something. The other half is to be a human guinea pig and hopefully give everybody a fuzzy feeling from a satisfying conclusion. Try to leave the derisory laughter at the door, though. I’m quite good at providing that myself. I’ll be posting monthly updates on my progress that will hopefully shed a little more light on how I’m going about this. I’ll also be doing unrelated posts on life in Japan, so if this doesn’t rock your world, fear not. Until next time, where’s my ice cream?

 

The framework I’m using to define my goals is used across Europe to measure progress in a variety of languages. Fluency is generally believed to start at around B2 level: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_European_Framework_of_Reference_for_Languages

Benny Lewis’ ‘Fluent in 3 Months’. Dive into it and find all sorts of tips and tricks for language learning! http://www.fluentin3months.com/start-here/

Scott and Vat lived for a year without English and learned 4 languages. Read more about it here: https://www.scotthyoung.com/blog/myprojects/the-year-without-english-2/

“Saga’s not cold”, they said. “In fact, it has one of the mildest winters in Japan”, they said. You know that feeling you get when you drink a glass of water too soon after cleaning your teeth? Well, my whole body is rather minty fresh right now. This week has been a chilly one and Japanese architecture isn’t exactly built for heat retention. Single glazing in the snow has shot into my top 10 of things I don’t like, nestled between killer centipedes and stubbing my toe on things. Still, I guess I can’t complain. I’ve heard that Seoul this week is a sweltering -8 in the daytime.

In the interests of science, travel blogging and rolling around in the snow like a 5-year-old, I ventured out into the world to give you a taste of what there is to do around here. Don’t say I never do anything for you. I travelled far and wide, across moonlit deserts and steaming rainforests to bring you the best Saga has to offer. Well, not really. I just went to a shrine yesterday. I haven’t found too many deserts yet. Here’s what I found out:

The Yutoku Inari shrine is a Shinto complex in Kashima city, about half an hour from where I live. There are a whole bunch of different deities in Shinto, but this particular one is dedicated to the fox god. In fact, it’s the second biggest shrine to the fox god after Fushimi Inari, which is in Kyoto prefecture. If you’ve ever seen photos of loads of red Japanese gates stacked close together, that’s Fushimi. You also probably saw it on my Facebook, so I guess I should apologise. Anyway, Yutoku seems to be super proud of its size for some reason. Everywhere in Japan has to have something that makes it unique, even if it’s only that the town eats a disproportionate amount of Japanese sweets. The fox god, according to my brochure, is a ‘guardian deity of all aspects of life’, which sounds to me like a sly fox’s way of making money any time you think you need a prayer for something. I had a cold this week, so that was as good a reason as any to go. Maybe it’ll get rid of it for me if I write a nice review. Or give me a couple of million in a Swiss bank account. I’m not fussy.

Not too many foreign tourists go to Yutoku because it’s pretty out of the way. It’s about half an hour’s walk from the nearest station through some pretty deserted rice paddies. My friend and I even stocked up on food just in case, though the amount of sugar and fat in convenience food was far more likely to kill me than a period of solid exercise. It turned out to be unnecessary, as the approach to the shrine was filled with food stalls and shops selling statues and one-kilo bags of tea. It’s difficult to starve there, unless you don’t like battered octopus. I quite like battered octopus, as long as I don’t think too much about what the tentacles used to be attached to. Maybe I should retract my previous statement. It’s very easy to starve there.

The shrine itself was worth putting away the bag of crisps and getting out of my seat for. Most Japanese temples are understated and tranquil, exuding an air of refinement that makes you feel self-important and bohemian for the rest of the day. Perhaps because of its location, Yutoku didn’t really get the message. Most of it is painted bright orange. It still has the whole koi carp and sculpted gardens thing going on. Just in orange. Brightly coloured temples are much more common on the Asian mainland, so this was a pleasant change from trying really hard to find a meaning in the way a particular leaf has fallen to the ground. It makes for more impressive photos.

The showpiece is a giant structure built onto the side of the mountain in an imitation of some of the more famous temples of Japan, but obviously in orange. The main place of worship is at the top, jutting out into the sky. Surrounded by paintings in vermilion and gold, accompanied by the sound of drums and amongst sandalled priests in purple robes, you can gaze out into the valley below. In not too distant times, this would have been a view of virgin forest with the occasional humpback bridge on the slopes opposite. Now there’s, erm, a car park and a highway beyond the temple grounds. It lessens the effect a little. People-watching in the temple and at the summit is, luckily, far more interesting.

After paying your respects, it’s possible to walk up the mountain through the tiny statues and decaying lanterns dotted amongst the trees. Trust me, you’ll want to pay your respects. The steps back down from the summit are perilous. If you go in the rain, you will need the legs of a mountain goat and the soul of Evel Knievel to make it back to sea level. We sat at the top for a while as the snow began to fall and the birds flitted through the trees. You can see all the way to the Ariake sea and probably further on a clear day. It was nice to sit quietly and ponder a few deep questions, like why the Japanese have invented green tea sandwiches and whether the sheer amount of birds means there’s an awkward absence of foxes at the shrine. The scene was set for some sort of clichéd revelation, until a couple of Japanese men cleared the steps and collapsed at the top. My Japanese isn’t up to much, but I’m pretty sure one was cursing the other in between gasps of air for making him work so hard for such a scant reward, while the other was repeatedly saying how cold he was. The Japanese love talking about the weather.

All in all, Yutoku Inari is definitely worth visiting if you’re in the area. It’s an impressive way to fill an afternoon in a place that has echoes of many of the great temples of Japan, but with its own twist. But you won’t be in the area. Because nobody is in the area. Is that good enough for you, fox god?

Like this post? Want more of the same? Post a comment below and let me know! Or contact me on social media. Whatever.

Well, this almost died before it really began, didn’t it? There’s nothing like a new year beginning to remind you of all the things that you haven’t been doing. My list of neglected things is pretty long and currently includes eating healthily, moving once and for all out of my suitcase and generally being a successful, adult human being. If this continues much longer I’ll be able to provide concrete evidence for the devolution of species.

After the uncertainty of my last blog post I was hit with an avalanche of things to do, which I’m only just climbing out of. Since then I have travelled halfway across Japan, moved into my new apartment and started my new job. Those have all been largely fine. It’s the little things that really destroy my sanity. I have to reschedule a delivery for a parcel, which is an interesting experience when you can’t remember your address and all the post offices are closed for the holidays. After three days of charging around Saga, notice held valiantly aloft, I took a moment to actually look at the thing and saw an English helpline printed in tiny letters across the bottom. I’ve left convenience store workers across the city trembling in my wake for this. Dark moments.

 

The apartment I have so catastrophically failed to make homely in the last few weeks is in the centre of Saga city, the capital of Saga prefecture. It’s all about the scenery here. My balcony opens out onto a stunning vista that includes a car park. That’s it. There are some office buildings behind, but mostly it’s the car park. The inside is pretty economical with space and reminds me a little of an IKEA showroom. Either way, I’m pretty happy with it and by Japanese standards I have quite a large apartment. It also seems to be pretty central. Once I figure out where the centre is.

This is actually much more difficult than it sounds. Around 200,000 people live in Saga city, but the prefecture in general is known for being the middle of nowhere. Even the residents seem surprised to find that other people actually live here. This means that when I’ve asked people about places to go, things to see or restaurant recommendations, I’ve been met with a slight tilt of the head and a puzzled expression. This appears to be Japanese for “do you have any idea where you are or are you genuinely mad?” Despite this, there do seem to be a few things to do around town, which I’ve spent the holiday period investigating. I’ve probably taken far more photos than these things deserved. If all else fails, the train lines to Fukuoka, Nagasaki and the connections to the bullet train are pretty decent, so I’m holding out hope that I won’t struggle for material!

The holidays have been generally pretty quiet. Most Japanese people don’t really do Christmas and then go home for their New Year celebrations. This seems to be the only country in the world where New Year’s Eve is not an event at all. The fact that I managed to find an open bar to sit in with a friend suggests that I might have some level of alcohol dependency. There’s only one thing that gets remotely busy this time of year, which is the local shrine. Today, Saga shrine was filled with queues of people waiting to pray and buy fortunes. You can buy all sorts of charms, arrows and scrolls to try to ensure an auspicious year, but the only people guaranteed it are the food stall owners dotted around the temple. I’ve never seen them before, so they must have to work just the one day a year. I went along to watch the melee unfold and remind myself what humans look like. It also allowed me to do a bit of grumbling about queues. You can take the man out of Britain…

I appreciate that this blog post has taken a bit of a shotgun approach, but I hope it paints some sort of picture of where I am and what my life is like at the moment. If you can make any sense of it, please call me. As you can probably guess, I’m still finding my bearings and haven’t managed to achieve any sense of normality just yet, particularly with the abrupt arrival of the holidays. This is never an easy time to be away from home and I’m only just starting to establish friendships, so I’d be lying if I said things were rosy all the time. Switching cultures takes time and effort, but I am definitely making progress. Thanks for all your messages; any contact from home encourages me and keeps me grounded. Please be assured that I haven’t forgotten how to eat or breathe and intend to continue doing that for the foreseeable future.

So, before I can hear the cries for mercy from nine time zones away, I think that’s all for now. Have a happy new year and stay tuned for more adventures in small town Japan, coming much faster than this blog post did. Just as soon as I’ve found them.

A regular schedule for this site is being developed and will be announced soon. I have several ideas in the works, but I’d be interested to know what sort of content you’d like to see here. Whether you want focused posts about day trips, everyday life in Japan, explanations of Japanese culture or just more posts about ramen, let me know any ideas you have either in the comments below or on social media. Let me be your disgruntled blog genie!

Ohayoo gozaimasu! Seven days, two hotels and a disturbing number of bowls of ramen after landing in Tokyo, I felt that my first update on my Japanese adventures was long overdue. I’m currently in downtown Hiroshima, a stone’s throw from the A-bomb dome, after a pretty clichéd day of Japanese travel. Bullet train, Fuji, ramen… I may as well come home now.

Unfortunately for the few remaining people in England that can stomach me, home is not on the agenda for the near future. A few months ago, I made the decision to book a one-way flight to Japan and take up a position as an English language teacher. Despite it being common knowledge back home that I’ve lived here before, telling people this tends to earn me the raised eyebrows usually reserved for intergalactic colonisers and tin-foil hat models. I thought it might be a good idea to clarify a few things for the benefit of these people right at the beginning, since I haven’t really done anything noteworthy this week apart from attempting not to die. Here we go:

Japan!?

Yes.

Oh right, do you like it then?

I assume that people ask this to give themselves breathing space to think of more questions, but since they’ve been kind enough to ask, no. I am so thoroughly sick of Japan that I decided to go out of my way to spend a frightening amount of money on flights here. Conquer your fears and all that.

What are you going to be doing?

Interesting one, this. The truth is that until last Monday, I had a job title and a vague idea of what it was going to be like, but not much else. I’m going to be working as an Assistant Language Teacher in at least one Japanese public school. I could be in primary or secondary, but I’m still waiting for final confirmation of my schools. The job largely involves helping children to learn and practice English in lessons, around the school and in the community, while also being a cultural ambassador in the area. Britons, I am your mouthpiece. Beg for mercy.

So can you speak Japanese, then?

Aha. That would make things easy.

Where are you going to be living?

This was another unknown until a few days ago. I’m going to be living in Saga Prefecture in the far west of Japan. It’s on the island of Kyushu, about an hour and a half from Nagasaki and Fukuoka. I’ve been led to believe that it’s pretty quiet, laidback and rural. That’s all I know. Hopefully over the next few months this blog will paint a better picture of what it’s like to live in a fairly forgotten part of Japan. At the very least it will be an adventure. For now, if you planned to crash on my couch in central Tokyo, cancel your reservations.

What are you doing right now?

This one I can answer! Right now I’m sitting in my hotel, drinking orange juice and praying that the scary old lady in the corridor doesn’t figure out how to use a fire axe. If my imminent death might put a dampener on your evening, just pretend that Pikachu and I are going to hit up a maid café and sing some karaoke afterwards. Beyond that, I have a second week of some sort of training in Hiroshima before moving onto my final location. I’m not being vague. I just have no idea what’s going on.

So that’s it. Unless I’m missing something major, that is the extent of my knowledge. I appreciate that this sort of thing raises more questions than it answers. For those concerned or amused by the amount of unknowns in my life, please know that I’m being well looked after. I’m also incredibly busy, so until a few more pieces fall into place I can’t promise regular updates. The only thing I know for sure is that this is going to be an entirely different experience to my life in Kyoto a year and a half ago. But that’s what I came for. I hope that you’ll join me for the ride.