Land of the Rising Sun!

One of the most interesting communities I’ve been apart of was the one I automatically joined as an ex-pat living in Japan.

Here’s how it happened. Following university I decided to head off over the horizon to teach English with the JET Programme. I thought it a good idea to experience the place I wanted to study at grad school. The JET Programme – the government funded English teacher transplant programme – seemed like the best bet.

Each year, JET employs thousands of Americans, Canadians, Brits, Aussies, South Africans, and French (to name just a few) nationals to come to the inaka (rice paddies) and work with Japanese English teachers as they struggle to explain the basics to their pupils. The idea is that by putting a native speaker in the middle of the mono-linguistic countryside, the language will bleed into the populace, helping Japanese raise themselves to the English fluency levels of Western Europe. At least that was the hope.

After a quick orientation in Tokyo, I was placed in northern Japan in a prefecture called Aomori (known for their apples) along with a dozen other JETs. We were spread out over kilometers of rural mountains, rice paddies, and wind scarred hills. Surrounding us was the Sea of Japan on one side and the Pacific Ocean.

Gorgeous and isolating - the experience of an inaka JET

My new home for the next year was a small norther town called Kawauchi (literally house on the river). Kawauchi’s main industries were fishing and farming. It was situated in the rural north of Shimokita prefecture, about 20 min drive from the most northern rail link city of Mutsu. In the winter, when bales of snow fell turning the prefecture into a Japanese-style winter wonderland, the drive tended to take an hour. That’s an hour away from anyone who spoke fluent English.

Most people arrive who arrive in the country, come with at least a smattering of Japanese. I learned how to say “thank you” in Narita airport in Tokyo. By the time, I left (one year later), I hadn’t improved too much.  I’d rank my linguistic abilities between remedial and non-existent. You can imagine what this did to my social life.

The extreme geographic and linguistic isolation created a social and communal cohesion that I had never before seen.

Normally people hang out together and become friends because of common interest. Here the main bonding agent was proximity.  Out of this geographic tightness emerged a group of English speakers who hung out mainly because they were the only group of people they could hang out with. We all knew each other and many of us occupied a bizarre double life, working hard on the one hand to acquire a Japanese circle of friends while at the same time maintaining a connection with the English-teaching community.

yup - that's me with the trucker's hat on.

But like any double life, it can be easier said than done. Initially, on arrival the JET tends to be bombarded by dozens of festival, school event, book club, and other work invitations. It’s overwhelming and flattering. Soon though fall turns to winter and your on your own. When your Japanese is as horrible as mine was, that can leave you with few options outside the English speaking JET crew in the area. Sure you spend time on your own, cooking, onsening (more on that in another post), speak on the phone with friends and family from home or indulging in sake with your co-workers, but after half a dozen months, your so English starved, you often find yourself talking to yourself in your native language (a disconcerting realization I must tell you).

In the end, your only outlet is either stay integrally connected with the English speaking cadres who “understand” your isolation or “go native”.

That’s what Buck did (no he didn’t have a last name – just Buck). Early on, he must of realized Japan was the place for him. He’d been there for seven years. Instead of attempting to become fast friends with each incoming wave of JET teachers Buck struck out on his own. He became perfectly fluent and spent the vast majority of his time in a small rural town outside of Mutsu (the regional city) with local Japanese folks, practicing flower arrangement and karate (among other traditional Japanese hobbies). Every once and a while he’d emerge from his cocoon to watch Kill Bill with us or hit the bars hard (Buck was probably as close to a functioning alcoholic as you can get). We’d see him around – but rarely.

For the English Speaker community, these people were accepted, but not completely. Their choice to stray from the herd isolated them and their permanent stature in the community highlighted just how temporary most of us were (most JETs average a stay of one to two years). These “natives” weren’t just passing the time, earning money, or having an adventure but were there for the long haul.  Unlike us, they were not quite strangers in a strange land.

In the end this community, like most others thrived because it had a purpose – to maintain connection among strangers and remind them of what it was like to be from a Western home. When you’re as isolated as we were – this is the sort of thing that will connect you together like super glue.

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