A trip through Studio Ghibli

Taking the train from Osaka to Wakayama is like taking a trip through a Studio Ghibli filmography.

Buildings and highways are quickly replaced with rice fields and mist shrouded mountains.  You pass the old house and forested hill where you know Totoro is sleeping soundly.  You snake along the coast, your eyes locked on the surf, looking for Ponyo racing along with you.  Another turn reveals a stretch of beautiful coast hemmed in by dark green mountains.  Reluctantly turning away from the vast expanse of the ocean, you glance inland to see if you can spot the flags of Coquelicot Manor, Umi’s home.  Your gaze flows uphill toward the forested peaks behind.  You wonder if you got off the train at the next stop and wandered these beautiful mountains if you could find Chihiro’s gateway.  Maybe another day. The train pulls away from the coast, back toward the countryside, where scarecrows dot the gardens, and you wonder if any of them have a turnip for a head.

The train speeds on and soon you have reached your destination.  You must leave the world of Ghibli behind, but not too far.  Totoro’s mountains are just a few steps outside your door, after all.

Making a home

Because Wakayama City is much smaller than Osaka, finding housing is a bit more difficult.  I was unable to find another share house, so I was forced to move into an apartment.  While the process wasn’t the easiest, I was lucky and found a really helpful employee at one of the few gaijin housing agencies.  Her English was great and she did so much to help me find the perfect place.

Still, as I stood in the middle of my bare new apartment, it was a little overwhelming.  Living on my own was exciting, but the challenge of making this stark place into a home was daunting.

I started with unpacking the one suitcase I brought with me.  Mostly clothes.  Then, many trips back and forth to Osaka later, my possessions slowly started to find their place in my new space.  Buying dishes, household goods, and little bits and pieces of my new life helped a little, but the space was still not a home.  Otose’s place was full of warmth, laughter, and the rich smell of tatami.  This new place was bright (made even more so by the plain white walls), but it lacked the warmth of a home.  However, work started, the ball of life started rolling, and there was little time to worry about it.  I had a space to sleep, cook, and exist.  Toriaizu ii desu.

Days turned to a week, and I found myself getting more comfortable in my new apartment.  I managed to procure the essentials (and some not so essentials).  I was settling in.  But home was still Osaka.  It even said so on Google Maps.  Then one day, with the simplest thing, it changed.

Walking home from the grocery, I passed by one of the many large gardens near me.  This one has a small table at the entrance where they put out produce for a hundred yen.  This day they had onions, but also a blue plastic bucket of fresh cut bouquets. 

Smiling, I bought a bouquet with daisies, freesia, and an assortment of purple, orange, and white flowers.  I had no vase, so I put this vibrant treasure in a plastic Gintoki cup and placed it on my table.  Suddenly my apartment became my home.

Growing up, Otosan had always kept the yard beautiful.  It was his job, but also his passion.  There were always flowers in spring and summer.  Anytime there was a party or company came for a visit, or just because the flowers were exceptionally beautiful, he would make arrangements and put them all over the house – the kitchen table, the bathroom, my bedroom.  It was always something that made me happy.  One of the little things that made our house a home.

I sat down at my computer, next to the little bunch of flowers, and updated the home location on Google Maps.

Reflections on rain

One day it started raining, and it didn't quit for four months. We been through every kind of rain there is. Little bitty stingin' rain... and big ol' fat rain. Rain that flew in sideways. And sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath. Shoot, it even rained at night...

                                                                                                                                            -Forest Gump

As I sit through yet another rainy afternoon, I reflect on the many types of rain, and their corresponding seasons that I have experienced in my brief time here.  Japan is not always rainy, but there is a reason umbrellas appear so frequently and play such a significant role in their history, literature, and entertainment.

I arrived in summer, the end of the rainy season.  Even before the heavens opened up, it felt like you were underwater.  Cicadas seemed to be the only things alive, their voices carried on the palpable air.  You could watch the storm build, white clouds piling higher and higher against clear blue skies.  Like the ice cream you were too hot to move for, but desperately wanted.  Then, in the afternoon a gust of wind would suddenly clear the hot stuffy air and you knew it was time.  If you were outside, you dashed for the nearest building.  If you were inside, you just settled in to watch and listen.  The rain was the only thing loud enough to drown out the cicadas.  Soon the roar would subside then die out all together.  For a brief moment the air would be cool and fresh before the heat started to rise again and the whole process repeated.

I am not sure exactly when the rainy season ended, but summer turned to fall and the downpours subsided.  Now the rain came slower and colder.  It lingered for hours when it came, keeping you inside, forcing you to acknowledge the coming winter.  Rainy days were few, but they made you shockingly aware of how unprepared you were for being cooped up all winter.  Fall rain smelled of tatami and damp leaves.  Heavy and rich.  Sticking to your hair and clothes.  Filling your head with memories of summer.  But where the stifling heat of summer had driven you out into the rain, the cool breezes of fall encouraged you to stay indoors with a cup of tea and a good book, listening to the gentle patter of rain on the window.  This was a time for naps, day dreaming, and being alone.

Winter rain was the worst.  A cold that seeps into your very bones, even if you don’t get wet.  Clouds hung low, concealing the tops of mountains and skyscrapers.  It seemed the sun was gone for good as one rainy day bled into another.  Dampness clung to everything, even your soul, as the endless drizzle washed away the very colors around you.  Winter rain was a world of grays.  People shuffled with heads down under black umbrellas.  You dreaded being outside, but it seemed the rain could even follow you inside through single pane windows and thin walls.  The smell of wet wool swirled around you as the wind tugged at your umbrella.  You prayed for spring fearing it would never come.

But eventually the rain grew less cold.  The sun returned.  Spring was coming.  The days of endless rain somehow seemed more hopeful.  Maybe it was the fact they happened less frequently.  Maybe it was because in the brief moments between rains, you could feel the air getting warmer and warmer until the rain was no longer cold at all.  You lingered in the showers, rather than rush on to the next building.  You felt yourself growing, just like the buds on the trees and the bulbs still under the ground.  You soaked up the warm rain and your soul began to bloom with the spring.  The smell of fresh earth.  The first bird songs ringing through rain cleaned air.  Where winter rain bathed the world in grays, spring rain intensified the colors around you.  Greens were greener, reds redder, pinks pinker.  Raindrops clung to new flowers like jewels sparking in the sun.  Everything felt fresh and clean.  The staleness of winter melted away in the warm rain, soaking into the ground to give strength to new life.

The days grow longer and hotter.  The cicadas start to sing.  You watch the first summer storm building in the distance.

New beginnings in Wakayama

At the end of last school year, I was faced with a tough decision.  I would not be able to stay in Osaka, as there wasn’t a job for me.  However, I could move to an unknown destination in Wakayama Prefecture and stay in Japan for another year.  While I obviously decided to move, it was not an easy choice.  The information I could find on Wakayama didn’t paint it in the best light.  Largely rural (by Japanese standards), it was an area hard hit by Japan’s economic troubles and shifting populations.  While rich in natural beauty, it didn’t seem like a really great place to spend the next year.  Good thing I don’t believe everything I read on the internet.

I was placed in Wakayama City, the area I was hoping for when I reluctantly agreed to stay with my company.  Although there are signs of economic hardships, it is in no way the Detroit sized problem the internet made it sound.  And as far as the lack of bright lights and constant distractions, Wakayama more than makes up for it with abundant natural beauty, clean air with a hint of the sea, and a slower pace of life.  Here people spend Saturdays fishing as a family, working in huge (by Japanese standards) gardens, or enjoying barbeques on the beach.  It is a much simpler existence filled with early morning bird songs, dark nights full of stars, and people chatting the evening away on balconies and porches.

It is also a whole different kind of Japan.  The streets are narrow and they loop, zigzag, and dead end.  Cars have to wait, since many places aren’t wide enough for two to pass.  Ancient houses hide long family histories and immaculate Japanese style gardens behind high walls, glimpsed through always open gates.  Fresh produce and flowers are everywhere; sold in grocery stores and at little local stands where you just leave your money in a can.  In many ways, it is the polar opposite of Osaka.  This is a good thing.  It will make my transition back to South Dakota so much easier when I finally return.

Wakayama is a hidden gem, it seems.  Filled with all the things I never realized Osaka was missing, but still close enough to Osaka for a quick trip to eat at my favorite restaurants or to spend a day with my friends.  In my short time in Wakayama many people have asked me to compare my new home with my old one.  I tell them it is impossible.  Wakayama wa Wakayama.  Osaka wa Osaka.  It can’t be done.  But one visit and many of my Osaka friends fall in love with this quiet city.  The same way I did.  There are things here I never found in Osaka – darkness, thrift stores, amazing pizza, and the stunning natural beauty of the Japanese coast.  But I have also been able to find many of the things that made Osaka so comfortable – friendly people, welcoming hole in the wall restaurants, and an easy, laid back style of living.

I have only been here a few weeks, but I have a feeling I am in the right place at the right time yet again.  I think living here will challenge, inspire, and strengthen me.  It will give me the time and peaceful environment I need to focus on my personal growth.  It will force me to remember how to do housework and otherwise be a responsible adult (Otose spoiled me with utilities included and cleaning of common areas).  The sights, smells, and sounds will ignite my imagination and rejuvenate my spirit.  There are things I will miss about Osaka, mostly the amazing people I gratefully call my friends, but I will make the most of this new home.  Ikimashou!

Sayonara Osaka

They say all good things must come to an end.  Sadly, with the new school year, I had to leave Osaka for a new position in Wakayama City.

When I got the call last June (or was it July) and found out I would be moving to Osaka, I had never heard of the place.  My understanding of Japanese geography was pretty non-existent.  But the more I read about Osaka, the more it seemed like the perfect place for me to find myself in Japan.

Osaka is the black sheep of Japan.  Compared to the rest of the country, Osaka is supposedly full of loud, crude, country bumpkins.  But this is not what I found at all.  In Osaka I found kind, friendly people who will stop you on a street corner and talk to you.  They go out of their way to make everyone feel comfortable.  They like to laugh and have a good time.  It is a city of delicious food, lots of bright lights, and friends you haven't met yet.  They embraced their differences with the rest of Japan and created their own vibrant culture.  They have a respect for the traditional ways to do things and the proper manners that Japan is so known for, but they don't stand on these.  They let people be themselves and take things at face value.  They are quite frank when compared to other Japanese people, but for a foreigner, that was a blessing.  They embraced me with open arms.  They made me feel at home.  They helped me see and understand this wonderful country in a way I don't think I could have done from any other city.  It really was the perfect place for this boisterous, fun-loving American.

I learned a lot about Japan and myself in my short time in Osaka.  Leaving was one of the hardest things I have had to do.  Not just because moving all of my stuff by train and car was a nightmare (how does one accumulate so much stuff in seven short months?), but because I was leaving a place that had really become home.  In seven months I had made many friends.  I had built a life for myself surrounded by people who supported me and gave me strength when Japan got a little too much for me.  But part of what they helped me realize, is that I am strong.  And this next adventure will be just another test of that strength.  I will have to start over, but I am smarter and better prepared now.  I also have people here I can count on for help.

To all of my friends in Osaka and Sakai, honto ni arigato gozaimus!  You have shown me how beautiful this country is.  You have helped me through so much.  You have made Japan feel like home.  I am grateful for every moment and every memory.  I can keep going because of all you have done for me.  I can start a new adventure in Wakayama with confidence and excitement.  Thank you.

But this isn't really goodbye.  Wakayama is only a couple hours south.  I will be back before you know it.  And then I will have more stories to share over a saucer of sake.

The first step of my next thousand mile journey...