I came. I saw. I got hit several times by cars. Living in Japan truly is an assault on the senses: the blinding neon glare of pachinko parlors, the cadence of the Japanese language, the wafting scent of incense in a Shinto shrine, the tension of an ink-laden calligraphy brush rasping across paper, the little slice of heaven known as mochi, or sweet rice cakes.
Then, of course, there are the car-versus- bike accidents. And trust me, the bike always loses. Even when it’s a Red Cross van.
Japan whittled all these lessons into me during my time on the Japan Exchange and Teaching program, July 2003 to July 2005. JET is an international exchange program that seeks a bit of culture-swapping: a bit of English, taught to Japanese public school students, for a bit of appreciation for Japanese culture. Given this arrangement, the JETs, as they are known, almost always emerge the victors. What are a few hours of English-language instruction a day compared with months of fish-out-of-water adaptation?
I came from the United States to live in the city of Tokushima in the northeastern corner of Shikoku, the smallest of Japan’s four main islands. Tokushima has a population of 270,000, some of them the worst drivers in the country, but, excluding the drivers, many of them kind and decent people. I worked as an assistant language teacher at two junior high schools, plus three elementary schools.
I did not conquer Japan. Japan conquered me. It is, at once, an immoveable iceberg and bolt of lightning. The culture is so old, there is a protocol for everything: color-coded towels for wiping hands, wiping surfaces, drying things; marked trash bins for burnables, nonburnables, plastics; an express way to carry out partying: when to begin, when to eat, how to end. Yet a store that was there yesterday will be gone — and I mean gone: no store, no sign, no building — the next.
From this strange and wonderful land that offers egg vending machines, Sony Playstations and green tea, this was my story.