The Pull of Japan

Try as I might, I can’t quite leave Japan behind. Spending the lion’s share of my 20s in the Northern reaches of Japan has all but guaranteed that I will always long for those “halcyon days of my youth”. There is no doubt that a lot of my time in Japan was central to shaping me into an adult, something my driver’s license assures me I am. So maybe it is to be expected that I still feel the pull of Japan - or more specifically Aomori - despite now having a career, a home and a family all rooted here in Canada. That said, I worry that the call of Japan may just be a siren’s song.

Memory is a faulty and often outright false mechanism in even the best of minds, but it’s all we got. I remember the unbelievable pink of the cherry blossoms along kanchogaidori, the main street running past city hall in Towada. I remember biking down towards what was then Towadako Machi and seeing the freshly planted rice fields quilted across the landscape, butting right against the feet of mountains. I remember walking the Oirase Gorge paths under trees dense with leaves and every surface being covered in mosses, like a forest ripped from deep time.

Many of my best memories are like that. A bit of alone time in what has to be one of the most beautiful places on earth. What memory tends to omit is that these moments were necessary for me. They were the times when I could drop all the different characters I played in Japan and just enjoy the moment. Many of these moments were in the early years of my stay, before I was able to get beyond some of the interpersonal layers and genuinely connect with a small number of people. But that took years. Years.

That’s not to say there weren’t great moments despite the distance most Japanese people kept. I remember finishing teaching a class and walking away from the school vibrating with the energy the kids throw at you when you are absolutely killing your delivery, feeling like I wouldn’t sleep for days. There were also too many acts of kindness to list, part of an overall desire to make sure the latest long-term guest in town enjoyed his time. Some were anonymous, like the bags of vegetables, rice and even apples I would find on my porch. Others were obvious like the time the local brewery stayed open with staff on hand so I could take a visiting friend there well after they were supposed to have closed for the night.

To be clear, I wouldn’t trade my time in Japan for anything, and not just because that is where I met my wife. It shaped me like few experiences did before or since. Going there, I started with the disadvantages of being illiterate and barely verbal, essentially the mind of an adult with the communication skills of a toddler. Building up to where I could function as an adult in Japanese is still one of my proudest achievements, even though I never achieved true fluency. The experience of being involved but always apart was also incredibly important as it focused me to reassess many parts of my personality and what I really needed to be happy. And even playing all the characters - the inquisitive tourist, the entertaining foreigner, the eager worker, the properly awed cultural adventurer, the grizzled ex-pat - has made me much better at adapting on the fly to whatever professional or personal situation I find myself in.

With time, the upsides of even the worst parts of my time in Japan stick with me, as do the best memories - and my overtaxed brain minimizes or outright deletes the downsides. I had to go back to old notebooks and journals to remind myself how tired I was of standing out wherever I went and recall the angst that the bureaucracy of Japan caused in me. There was also the career limitations inherent in the position I held.

Again, there is my tendency to emphasize the upsides. Those career limitations were one of the reasons I was diligent in keeping up my freelancing, avoiding the skill/experience gap that can lock an ex-pat into staying because it is all they know. But it was soul crushing at the time to think that there could never be space in Towada - the only place in Japan I wanted to live - for me to do anything other than teach English. I loved Towada and still do, but I wasn’t convinced that the feeling was mutual enough to leverage my future on it. I imagine it is hard to get kids excited about learning fruits and numbers in English when you are past middle age with arthritis creeping in.

I do wonder about the alternate universe Andy that never left Japan. I can make some fairly informed guesses based on the experiences of fellow ex-pats who stayed. We would probably be making ends meet with my wife still teaching and myself stitching together teaching gigs, some freelance work and overseas contracting. We would likely not own a house, but we’d be renting one at a ridiculously low rate. Our cost of living would be less and our food fresher and more varied. We’d be a part of the community and still actively participating in sports, riding our bikes around town and looking forward to a different regional event or festival every month.

What I don’t know is if that healthy, happy couple - not wealthy, but doing ok - has any children with them. Is my wife still working 12 hour days and weekends going above and beyond what a Canadian elementary teacher would consider reasonable or even sane? Am I still leaving my classes every day feeling like I am making a difference? Do we still love our jobs or just our lifestyles? I wish alternate universe Andy would tell me some of these things. Because I still hear that siren’s song and in moments of struggle here in Canada, I feel like pointing our sails east again, come what may.

The Advantages of a Slightly Dumber Smartwatch

This Fall, I was pressing the button on my FitBit HR to turn off one of the alarms when the casing popped off and the button itself fell in my lap. It was well into the second year of service, so it wasn’t going to be a warranty replacement. This sent me down the rabbit hole of researching 1) other fitness trackers and 2) smartwatches in general.

After many months of FitBit, I at least knew the functions I had to have. Interestingly enough, the core function of the FitBit - activity tracking - was second on my list and the heart rate tracking didn’t make the cut. The most useful function for me by far was the silent alarms, as the birth of my daughter in January once again put quiet morning exits at a premium. The third function I somewhat liked was the caller ID on my wrist.

With this admittedly easy to fulfill list, I began looking at new features that I might be interested in. This included things like emailing from the watch, GPS, advanced activity tracking and so on. The other big thing was battery life. I understand the allure of an Apple Watch, but I am not going to plug a watch in every night as my priority function is the silent alarm - which kinda requires the device to be on my wrist overnight.

After ready too many reviews to count, I decided to go with the Pebble Time Smartwatch. It met my criteria with several days of battery on a charge, basic step counting and silent alarms with a bonus helping of alerts (text & email previews, sports scores, etc) to my wrist. The e-paper face doesn’t burn the battery as much as the more expensive watches, but I was pleasantly surprised at how slick some of the picture based faces can look. Although I am not someone you should listen to for any kind of fashion advice, I do think the Pebble looks pretty slick.

More importantly, I again found a function that I didn’t originally look for becoming indispensable to me. The music app allows you to skip songs from your wrist and I use it all the time. In fact, the alerts, the music app and an accurate weather report on the watchface mean that I rarely take my iPhone out of my pocket anymore.

So the choice of a slightly dumber smartwatch has worked for me. That, and the price point of $125 was less than it was going to cost me to replace the FitBit anyhow. It is also sturdier than I expected. So far it has handled the dings and dents that come with playing with the kids and generally being clumsy. In short, I think the Pebble is probably the way to go if you want some basic smartwatch and activity tracker functions on a budget. All in all, a good purchase.

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Update
Dammit. Well, FitBit just bought up the parts of Pebble worth anything and have generously agreed not to brick the devices for at least a year. Apparently I jinxed the whole thing by picking up a Pebble. Still love the watch, but now it is on a slow countdown to non-functionality...

Giving Up the Car and the 3 Phases of Biking

After two decades of uninterrupted car ownership spanning two countries, I’ve given up my car. Before the rush of applause starts, I need to confess that, as a household, we still have the van so my wife can cart the kids to where they need to be. Before kids, we were making it work with one car. I drove to work and my wife got by using transit. In fact, transit access was one of the things we looked for when searching for a house. Then, of course, kids. And all the things that magically pop into existence around kids, like toys, change tables, car seats and mysterious broken things that nobody touched, descended on us until the critical mass was reached to push us into buying a van. And, voila, one vehicle became two.

No matter what you buy them for, keeping two vehicles on the road gets expensive. So when the stars aligned this March and we had a chance to go back to a single vehicle family, I was genuinely excited. For the first time in my life, I have a job that can be reached by public transit in less than an hour. I was already used to a 45 minute commute by car to my previous job, so rather than signing on for the shorter drive, I decided to try out the 40 minute bus and train ride.

All in all, it has been a great change. As some studies have suggested, I experience way less stress riding versus driving. I’ve never been known for Gandhi-like patience, and driving often brought out the worst in me. There were many days where I would find myself swearing, shaking a fist, flipping the bird and even aggressively revving the engine, and sometimes that was before I even put the car in gear. So driving has never been a good fit as far as stress or blood pressure. Public transit, on the other hand, still feels like personal free time created out of thin air. I can read, listen to audiobooks or music, work on my tablet or even catch a quick nap. The other people taking transit at the prime hours are all pretty decent. I previously had a poor opinion of transit because I only took it very late at night when everyone on it - myself included - tends to be ridiculously drunk.

I also walk way more on a daily basis as a result of public transit. This became apparent on day one when my fitbit marked 10,000 steps over my lunchtime stroll rather than late in the evening (or not at all). Now four months later, I am actually a bit lighter than when I started and I willingly get off a stop early to add some extra walking distance to the commute. To be clear, I don’t think public transit will turn back the clock so I can fit the same pants size I wore a decade ago, but I do think it will help with general health and at least counteract some of the hours I spend in an office chair. Apparently sitting to work is the new smoking and I am definitely a three pack a day guy if that’s the case, so every little bit helps.

Between the time and the general health benefits, it was enough for me to park the car permanently. As of this July, we officially are a one car family. Another interesting development coming from the change is that I am actually excited to drive the van on the weekends. I used to hate driving any distance on my days off because I drove so much to, from and for work. Now it is a special pleasure. And, of course, there is the environmental benefit of taking a car off the road. In all honesty, I didn’t make the change for environmental reasons, but it is a nice knock-on benefit when combined with saving money, gaining time and getting a bit more fit.

That said, it is not all sunshine and roses. As part of this process, I flirted briefly with biking. I was able to cut out a bus and it shaved my commute down to 30 minutes because of the ability to go a direct route rather than the bus route designed to hit as many neighborhoods as possible before going to the train. I used to bike a lot when I lived in Japan. People in general bike a lot in Japan, although car ownership is also up there. Biking to and from work remains one of my favorite memories from living in Japan. Edmonton, however, is not Japan. It is not even half as bike friendly. I’d unscientifically estimate that one in every 30 or so Edmonton drivers is out to straight up murder you through either spite or idiocy.

I went through what I imagine to be common phases for Edmonton bike commuters. Phase 1 was the honeymoon where it was just awesome to feel the wind on my face again. During this phase I bought all the peripherals like the helmet and reflectors so that I felt well prepared to ride on the road. I was right in there with the traffic following the rules that I reread multiple times. I felt confident for the single left my route required. After several close calls - all of which occurred while going straight on residential roads rather than that tricky left - I entered Phase 2.

Phase 2 is where you know the rules, but you value your life more than you fear the ticket. You start using sidewalks, dismounting and using the crosswalk, and generally acting as a pedestrian that sometimes rides a bike. This worked better, but I felt the hatred of people watching me. Some seemed to want me to ride across and get the hell out of the way faster. Some probably would only be satisfied if I sprouted seven kinds of aggressive cancer and died in front of them, such was their need to get to the next red light. Some - and I will admit we are talking about only three over the period of a month - didn’t stop at all. I don’t know if they didn’t see the blinking lights, didn’t think a walking bicyclist counted as a pedestrian, or maybe thought it was a race to see who could occupy the space first. Either way, I entered Phase 3.

Phase 3 is where you leave your bike at home and just fricking walk. Which is what I do. I even stick out a hand before I enter the crosswalk now and make pointed eye contact with the drivers. They are more attentive when I don’t have the bike - again, not sure why. Since I don’t feel pressure to run across, I have more time to judge a non-stopper versus the I-hate-my-brakes-so-I-smash-them-last-minute stopper. People still neglect to stop sometimes but my hands are no longer occupied holding the handle bars, freeing them up for the double bird.

Aside from the failed biking experiment, I’ve also had to pay more attention to weather. I’ve been drenched several times or ended up dressing for the 13 degrees when I leave rather than the 29 degrees when I return. So now I have a backpack filled with all sorts of useful stuff like windbreakers, hats and umbrellas. I still can’t shake the feeling that I am a kid again and that I should really have an adult checking my backpack to make sure I didn’t forget my lunch.

All in all though, the drawbacks have been small. And I get a little thrill telling people I don’t have a car, as this is the first time since I turned 16 that I could say that. To be sure, I am not going to swear off owning a car again. Jobs change, people move, and all of that changes the practicality of commuting. I also haven’t commuted through an Edmonton winter yet. However, with those caveats, giving up the car has been a great choice.

Thailand: You’re Going to Ride an Elephant, Just Accept It.

Like a great many tourists, I sometimes feel at odds with myself when I take the easy path and do the touristy thing in a given situation. I feel like there is some authentic experience I am missing out on - maybe apprenticing under some ancient looking master of glass blowing as the mists roll over the mountains behind us.

I am, however, a tourist. So even if an authentic experience presented itself to me, I would spend most of the time trying to get a picture of it rather than actually engaging. “Look at this picture,” I would tell my friends back home (none of whom really want to see a picture of me, whether it is of me blowing glass or even me on fire), “Isn’t it great?” And they’d be guilted into asking me how it was. To which, of course, my honest response would be “I guess it was ok. It was really hard to get the picture while holding the tube, so I actually just watched this old guy do it most of the time.”

I have come to terms with this essential flaw in my character and I accept that, if I am going to have any real connection with anything, I need time to steep it in. I am a bitter tea type of personality, I guess. This is why it took me over six years to properly wrap my head around one small city in Japan.

So when it came time for my trip to Thailand in 2004, I knew I was going to ride an elephant. It is one of those things tourists do in Thailand. I accepted it. And you should too.

I met my particular elephant on the island of Koh Samui in the south of Thailand. I was staying on Chaweng beach and had planned to make the full moon party (another tourist staple), but I’d failed to account for a Buddhist holiday. Koh Samui itself was beautiful, with jungles, beaches and an above 30 Celsius temperature during my entire stay. Of course, being of Scottish, Irish and German descent, I reacted to the sun like a hermit leaving his cave after 40 years of darkness.

So when it came time to visit the elephant show, I was resplendent in my wide-brim hat and well lubricated with several litres of sunscreen. The elephant show consisted of the mahout (a.k.a. elephant rider) taking the elephant through a workout regime similar to an early afternoon aerobics show on 80s television. The elephant backed up, lifted feet, stood up, shuffled and lifted logs with its trunk.

Elephants have a special way of doing this that conveys that shows they are still confused as to how these hairless primates ended up riding them, but they can’t be bothered enough to give a shit. After watching the elephant show, which bizarrely ends with the opportunity to shake hands with a monkey, we were finally allowed to fulfill our tourist dreams and ride the elephants.

Unlike the mahouts, who rode behind the ears of the big beasts, we got to sit in relatively comfortable seats tied to the elephant’s backs. We also mounted by walking up the steps to the loading platform rather than scrambling up the neck as the elephant kneeled before us. This was probably for the best, as many of us in the group were far beyond the age or body type needed to scramble up anything steeper than an ottoman.

I was travelling solo at this point, so I got the single seater elephant (better mileage, but more road noise). The first thing that hit me is that riding an elephant was actually kind of fun. The roll of the motion and the sense of the size of the animal carrying you is unique in my experience. The second thing that hit me was that elephants smell pretty much what you’d expect a very large animal to smell like. And they do everything large. One elephant in front of us in the tourist train stopped to piss and, by a modest estimate, released an entire lake’s worth of fluid.

So go ahead and ride that elephant when you have a chance. It isn’t going to change your life like learning to blow glass from a 100 year old monk on a mountain peak, but it is a genuinely satisfying experience that will make for a picture that no one but you actually wants to see. And, after all, isn’t that what travelling is all about?