“Shibuya in Action”, digika

Of course I had outings with Americans, Kiwis, English, Aussies, Canadians, even the occasional Jamaican… but 90% of the time, the Japanese language was my sole source of communication with others. I can just imagine my typical evening after AEON hours:

1. Finish my office paperwork and bid coworkers farewell with the customary “otsu kare sama deshita“. Emerge from the building on a cold winter’s night, just opposite a gas station.

2. I might pass a student, a kid, or a random passerby. Perhaps a friendly “konbanwa“.

3. Lawson convenience store for my usual turkey and pasta bento, with a heated bottle of green tea. Do I want it heated? Hai, shite kudasai. Any chopsticks with that? Hai, ippun o kudasai. Arigatou gozaimasu.

4. Finish the walk to my apartment building. I’ll probably catch another tenant in the elevator:

“Ahhh… Kimura-san. Ogenki desu ka?”
(I’m fine, Turner-san. How are you?)
“Genki des yo. Oyasumi nasai.”

Only when I’m back in my cramped 6-tatami mat quarters do I truly relax. After all, the internet is language neutral, though I’m sure most would agree English dominates. And this is a light, carefree evening. Imagine a full day of all Japanese. Now imagine a week. A month. A year. Five years…

There’s more to living abroad than embracing a different culture and being comfortable with your changing environment; the pressure of communicating in a foreign language builds up inside your brain without any realization. After all, you’re in Japan! An amazing, exciting experience! Who wouldn’t trade places with you?

I love Japan and I love traveling, but I get tired. There are long stretches when I wouldn’t wish to be anywhere else on the planet, but there are also plenty of times when I would give my heart and soul to be surrounded by countrymen who understand my words, my upbringing, my way of thinking. How did I combat this in Japan, once I had learned to live well?

GetHiroshima Classifieds and Events

Hiroshima doesn’t exactly have the largest population of foreign residents in Japan, but there is a sizable number… enough to warrant the publication of a online resource for expats: GetHiroshima. Culture salons, 10Ks, Japanese wanting friends… I even got replies for a Texas Hold ‘Em group; we were soon meeting once a month for a nice cash game.

Nightclubs and Bars

I admit it, I went downtown many Saturday nights in effort not to hook up with random Japanese girls, but just to sit at the bar of an Irish pub and listen to background conversations… in English. Call me a language whore.

Blog Searches

By using Google Blogsearch, I was able to find many expats in my general area, and learn a great deal about them and their travel experience. You never know who’s reading.

I followed these same techniques in Kagoshima, and found the prefecture’s JET participants had a decent Facebook page; without that, I never would have ended up volunteering at an orphanage in Aira or cycling all the way around Sakurajima for the first time.

Everyone has their own ways of coping with this pressure of feeling like you’re the only one on the planet. Lost in Translation was such a success for showing this through film. Sometimes you do have to travel halfway around the planet… to come full circle.

“Vibram Fivefingers”, EricByers

I was so lazy this past weekend in Auckland and didn’t even find the details for the Human Race (why didn’t they post the starting time/place?) Also been oversleeping for morning runs a lot lately. My body is still getting used to all the physical activity required as the caretaker of a forest monastery – weeding, construction, heavy lifting, hiking – and I’m torn between getting up early and running on an empty stomach or heading out immediately after my shift when my body is worn out and dehydrated.

Still, with my weekly total at zero on a Thursday, I felt compelled to go for a long run. Setting the goal of obtaining a coveted Bundaberg ginger beer in Bombay certainly helped. I was literally past the point of no return from the moment I slipped on my Vibram Fivefingers and began the ascent to Paparata Road.

What a day. My legs were heavy, but more in a pleasantly-used sense rather than worn out. The wind was incredible and against me as I set out towards the setting sun. I love the sensation of barefoot running – in fact, I caught myself landing on the balls of my feet (as opposed to the heel, with shoes) as I dashed around downtown Auckland on Saturday looking for a friend. I know it’s better for form and endurance – burns fat, not carbs – but every now and then along the paved road I’ll let a rock slip under the arch of my foot and make me consider the virtues of “normal” running shoes. Still, the fact that I am writing this at my starting point with a cup of green tea and weary yet perfectly comfortable legs suggests I might be on to something with the Fivefingers.

In any case, the thought of drinking an ice-cold beverage is my driving force as I edge onto the side of the road for car after car. The wind is rustling the trees so loudly I can’t hear anything approaching until it’s right on top of me, but drivers in this area are pretty observant; well, I’m still alive, anyway…

The 3k mark at the T-junction gives me pause… I hadn’t gone past 6k for a few weeks, and although I knew I could just run one way for another few kilometers and hitchhike back, the smarter part of me knew I could never let myself get that close to the finish without pulling through.

The hill at the 4k doesn’t even change my heart rate – a good sign; I must be in better shape than I had thought. A quasi-vegetarian diet and seven hours’ physical labor every day will do that, even if both your legs aren’t off the ground. But now the challenge begins: a big dip to the 5k mark at the turnoff to the Simunovich Olive Estate and from there it’s all uphill for 2-3k. I’ve tried to make the trek over to the store along this route before, only to get winded about 500 meters into the uphill. Not today. Not with ginger beer, chocolate, and a good story at stake. I shift to the left side to take advantage of the sunshine, and try my best to keep pace with the changing grade: 1%, 3%… as the final stretch looms, I can see it’s at least a 5-6% grade, mocking me, daring me to conquer it with my feet. Not so easy after all. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way while running: CHALLENGED.

And I see, I remember that these moments in training or in races are the only parts worth running for, when you’re really not sure if you have the ability to keep going, but will tear yourself apart to find out. One foot in front of the other…

After that little test of humanity, I’m free and clear, a gentle coasting 2k to the convenience store, where I happen to catch the latest headline: someone is training to run the Taupo Ironman wearing a full Darth Vader costume? Craziness. Oh, and if you don’t believe in karma, I should point out it took a full two minutes for a familiar face to give me a lift back to the monastery.