Yakushima Island: A Voyage of Choices & Luck

What a quirk of human nature that we dream of faraway places yet fail to go out and take in parts of the world closest to us. I'm from New Jersey. Not a big place in relative terms. Yet in the course of traveling a good bit of the world there remains plenty for me to explore in my own home state.

I'm similarly guilty regarding my eight years in Washington, DC and my subsequent five years in Colorado. Not that I didn't get out. It was just that when it came time to leave I felt like I still had unfinished business.

Things changed in 2001. I signed up for a charity bike ride in Alaska and, remembering I had no bike, bought one. At the end of the ride I shipped that bike to Fukushima, Japan. I met up with it a few weeks later in this brand new home of mine and immediately set out to see every town, mountain and river on the map of Japan hanging on the western wall of my shoebox apartment.

Fast forward to 2015: in a fortuitous turn of events I snagged a side gig as a tour guide, leading groups of Slovenians by train and bus from Nagasaki to Tokyo and a dozen cities in between. The next year, in  a sleepy bed and breakfast at the bottom of the Izu Peninsula I picked up a local magazine and muddled through an article about a guy in the area who ran a cycling tour operation. Back home I spent an hour and a half pecking out an email in Japanese, asking him if he was looking for extra hands.

He was.

Since then I've had opportunity to go on a dozen cycling tours through the beautiful, scarcely-traveled Japanese countryside and on some of the archipelago's furthest-flung islands, including the one called Yakushima.

Luck comes in the course of the choices we make.

In 2004 I was considering spending my two-week winter vacation cycling to Yakushima from my place in Osaka. The trip would have involved several ferries and, now that I think about it, considerably more than two weeks. For better or for worse, I opted instead to go back to Fukushima and ask my girlfriend's father for his permission to marry his daughter.

She would, a few years later, introduce me to a Slovenian guy who owned a tour guide company.

Guiding with that gent brought me to Yakushima in two ways. The experience I gained with him got me the cycling tour gig, through which I've been able to go to Yakushima three times on two different tours. Tasked with booking hotels for our Slovenian guests, I became friends with some hotel owners who invited me to spend this past winter break working at their recently-acquired hotel on Yakushima.

Cycling tours, I have to say, are infinitely more fun than working in a hotel.

I'm sure I'd still be dreaming of Yakushima if it weren't for the work that fell into my lap. Same with Rishiri Island way up north, part of a cycling tour of Hokkaido. Most visitors to Japan don't make it to the far ends of the country. Heck, most Japanese never see these places.

Moving to Japan back in 2001 was a conscious decision. But even that was helped along by my luck in finding, quite accidentally, an Internet ad for a job teaching English in Japan - a discovery I would not have made if the poor customer service rep on the other end of the line hadn't given into my pleadings for one more free trial month of dial-up AOL.

Not knowing what life in Japan would bring only added to the allure of the place. Not knowing how long I'd be sticking around, I hit the road as soon as I'd put my bike back together.

We make our choices. Then we do our best with what they bring.

The picture at the top of this post was taken from the lobby of the Yakushima hotel where I worked. The picture below shows the incongruous snows of sub-tropical Yakushima and 60-meter Senpiro Falls. Note that sixty meters is about two hundred feet, the approximate height of a 20-story building.

Soji-ji Soin: Buddhism in the Noto Boondocks

The Noto Peninsula looks like a hitchhiker’s thumb that has been run over a couple of times. Hilly in the middle and lined with some of the country’s most varied and alluring coastline, this quiet, crooked, 75-mile spit of land sticking out into the Sea of Japan is littered with treasures that demand time and effort if they are to be enjoyed.

One of these treasures is Soji-ji Soin, a Zen Buddhist temple born from pursuits of benevolence, raised in juvenile conflict, and now standing with long-time rival Eihei-ji at the center of the largest school of Zen Buddhism in Japan.

The Costs and Rewards of Being Nice

In 683 a fifteen-year-old boy named Gyōki traveled from his home in the Kawachi Province (near present-day Osaka) to Nara’s Asuka-dera, one of Japan’s oldest temples, to begin his life as a monk. Twenty years later he returned home to share the teachings of Buddhism while actively practicing what he preached: with the help of an army of volunteers, Gyōki built nearly fifty Buddhist monasteries and nunneries that doubled as hospitals for the poor.

From there Gyōki and his followers began roaming the countryside, bringing Buddhism to people who had only ever known Shinto; building more temples (which also served as community centers); and spearheading public works projects (irrigation systems were his thing).

Sounds like a great guy to have around – unless you are the government and can’t handle monks doing anything outside the walls of their monasteries because hey that is against the law and besides who wants robed men freely walking the city streets being nice to people without authorization?

'Kyo-zo' - The Sutra Depository

Gyōki bypassed the government's childishness by going out and raising hell wherever he pleased as an unofficial, private monk. This bent the local officials all out of shape, raising cries of damnation for him not being registered as a Buddhist priest on some list at some sham bureaucratic entity called the Office of Priestly Affairs.

Power to the people, Gyōki beat the beat-down thanks to his popularity among the commoners not to mention his skill in developing public works. (Then, as now, it seems, citizens were only as good as their usefulness to the government.)

The 'San-mon' Temple Gate

          

Among the temples Gyoki built was Morooka-dera, a Shingon Buddhist temple that actually sat on the grounds of a Shinto shrine, Morooka Hiko Jinja. Once called Tetsukawa-jinja, Morooka Hiko Jinja sat way out in the sticks, up where the thumb of Noto bends east.

Over the years Morooka-dera grew, and by the end of the 13th Century it had built up enough mojo to afford a full-time priest and a master ajari whose task it was to teach students the Way of Furthering the Mojo.

In 1321 the shrine was moved a couple of kilometers west, noticeably closer to the beach. The ajari at the time was a priest (and, rumor has it, an avid surfer) named Joken. So excited was he to live closer to the break that when he moved to the shrine's new digs he forgot all about Morooka-dera, leaving it behind for a monk named Keizan Jōkin to deal with. Upon inheriting Morooka-dera, Keizan turned it into a Soto Zen temple, renaming it Shogakuzan Soji-ji.

In 1322 Emperor Go-Daigo, in all his Imperial magnanimity, bestowed upon Soji-ji the honorary title of chokuganjo, meaning a temple built at the request of the emperor – which, according the math, is bullshit.

The Dento-in, the most sacred building of Soji-ji, preserves the spirit of Keizan.

The Creation of a Soto Zen Master

Keizan Jōkin was, according to records, born in 1268, exactly six hundred years after Gyoki. Unlike Gyoki, Keizan didn’t wait until his teenage years to get his Buddhist mojo on. How could he? First of all, his mother Ekan was the founder and abbess of Jōju-ji, a temple of Soto Zen, a school of Buddhism derived from teachings brought to Japan from China by a monk named Dōgen. She was an active proponent of teaching Buddhism to women, and as such was also a fan of Kannon, the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy.

Busy as Ekan was, founding Jōju-ji and another temple, Hōō-ji, it fell to Grandma Myōchi to take care of Keizan during his youngest years. Like Ekan, Myōchi was hooked on Soto Zen. This one-two punch of devout Buddhist influence led Keizan to quickly embark on his own road to monkhood, entering the temple of Eihei-ji at the grizzled old age of eight.

The aforementioned Dōgen had traveled to China in search of a better brand of Buddhism, and found it in a man named Rujing. Dōgen returned to Japan around 1227 and tried to assimilate what he learned in China into the current Buddhist teachings. Kyoto, however, was at the time overrun by holy robes entrenched in their Tendai school of Buddhism, and Dōgen was less than welcome to show up and tell everyone to start practicing zazen.

After a time he left, and in 1244 established Eihei-ji temple in the Echizen countryside near present-day Fukui. Eihei-ji would thus become the head temple of the new and growing Soto school of Zen.

The Butsu-den, where the Buddhist deity Shakamuni-Nyorai is enshrined.

But not for long. Keizan had already founded another Soto temple, Yoko-ji, and the priests there were basically fighting the priests of Soji-ji for spiritual preeminence. (Fighting may not be the right word. I can’t imagine a bunch of bald men in flowing robes brawling.) (Actually yes I can. It’s kind of funny.)

Over time Soji-ji won out, having grown its influence through the monks’ practice of traveling the countryside and bringing small village temples from (usually) Shingon and Tendai over to the Soto mojo, much like Gyoki did six centuries prior.

Meanwhile Soji-ji was also competing with Eihei-ji, which perhaps rightfully considered itself the true head of Soto Zen since it was established by Dōgen, father of the Soto school. But the monks of Eihei-ji carried out their teaching of and instruction in Buddhism strictly within the confines of their temple. Once again, with Keizan's priests out there pounding the dirt paths of the surrounding countryside, Soji-ji’s mojo spread further across the region.

Dōgen’s death in 1253 led to infighting over who should assume abbotship (i.e. control) of Eihei-ji. The pillow fights went on for two centuries until 1468 (exactly eight hundred years after Gyoki’s birth, and exactly two hundred years after Keizan’s) when the lineage of Keizan’s Soji-ji took over Eihei-ji. This would make Soji-ji the Grand Poobah of the thousands of Soto Zen temples now spread throughout Japan.

By the end of the 16^th Century Soji-ji was officially recognized by the Imperial Court as Japan's head Soto Zen Buddhist temple. Yet the slap fights between Soji-ji and Eihei-ji would continue, until the Meiji Restoration (and the end of meaningful imperial influence) brought a sort of truce. It was agreed, at least on paper, that Soto Zen Buddhism would follow the maxims of Dōgen and the inspiration of Keizan, and Soji-ji and Eihei-ji would stand as equals at the head of what had become Japan's largest school of Buddhism.

Soji-ji was completely destroyed by fire in 1898. The temple was rebuilt in 1911 in Tsurumi, Yokohama, to bring more of that Soto mojo to eastern Japan. The Soji-ji here in Noto remains a training ground for Soto monks, and is called Soji-ji Soin, the ‘father’ temple.

For all its history and aesthetic allure, Soji-ji Soin rarely makes it onto anyone's list of must-see places. Must have something to do with its location out in the boondocks of Noto. But as a part of an exploratory expedition around the peninsula it's worth seeking out.

One Naughty Ogre, One Naughty Dance, & Eight Million Gods: Takachiho Gorge, Miyazaki, Japan

Japan's long volcanic history has produced scenery of immeasurable fascination. Some of the country’s most visible, stunning and active geological sites can be found on Kyushu, the furthest southwest of Japan’s four main islands.

Mt. Aso, sitting a bit north of the center of the island, has by all evidence blown its massive top four times over the last 270,000 years, resulting in a caldera 25 kilometers long and 18 kilometers wide. Aso-san thus stands as Japan’s second biggest, the world’s second biggest active, and the world’s largest inhabited caldera.

Mt. Aso, smoking in the caldera.

While belching millions of tons of hot nasty stuff into the air over the eons, some of it landing a hundred miles away, Mt. Aso has covered the surrounding landscape with millions more tons of lava which, as it cooled, formed the basalt columns and the wrinkled layers of rock seen all along the Takachiho Gorge.

It took eons, but the Gokase River has managed to create a kilometer-long place of playful geological intrigue (and, in turn, polite pockets of Japanese tourism).

I’ve read there’s a trail, some twelve kilometers long, that runs from the visitor center in the town of Takachiho, past the below-mentioned Takachiho Shrine, along the gorge and into the nearby hills to another shrine before winding back toward town where you will find plenty of encouragement in spending your yen to rehabilitate your parched, famished, wobbly-legged carcass.

Koya-san 2004: No Crowds, No Plans & No Digital Camera

Our train rattled and shook as we wound higher through the ancient forests that blanket the mountains of Wakayama. Through my window I watched the rough and rocky Fudotani River appear and disappear again, then turned to my friend and co-worker Amos. “You know anything about this Koya-san place, by the way?”

Amos laughed. He was the kind of guy who, when he wasn't already laughing, was getting ready to. “Yeah, I hear the illegal camping is fantastic!”

Koya-san, the mountaintop temple complex we were ostensibly heading for, was still a virtual mystery to me - one because I’d never been there before, and two because I’d done zero research on the place. But this was all par for the course. I find out a place exists and I want to go, for no other reason than I’ve never been there. The research part I prefer to do on the spot. Evidently Amos was one to do the same.

So it was in the summer of 2004 when I found myself making the clackety trip up to the roof of Japan’s Kii Peninsula with my co-worker of a month and a half.

We took the train as far as Hosokawa, getting off at a tiny wooden train station that was utterly deserted save for a couple of flying insects and some half-dried bird poop. This was, according to the map we’d picked up while switching trains in Osaka, where we would find the trailhead for a ten-kilometer stretch of woods and (maybe) isolation that would take us up to the Koya-san plateau and the temple complex founded by a monk named Kukai well over a thousand years ago.

A few hours walking through unknown woods is a fine way to sate one's appetite for mild adventure, though hiking up from Hosokawa would serve a couple of additional purposes. Cutting the train ride short and skipping the cable car to Koya-san would save us a fair bit of pocket change, which would prove helpful should we happen to find a place in Koya-san that sold food.

There was also the fact that we'd just spent another week indoors teaching English. We were like a couple of dogs that had been in the car too long. We needed to let ourselves loose for a while. This was one way we knew how.

We found what we thought was the trail and started walking.

This being 2004, I was still using a film camera. Me being me, I don’t have a clear recollection of the hike outside of the few pictures I took. This only makes me want to go do the hike again. I wonder what Amos is up to this weekend.

The trail spit us out at the western edge of the serene temple sprawl of Koya-san where we were greeted by Daimon, a 25-meter-tall orange gate with the twin Buddha-guarding demons known as Nio making furious faces from inside their cages. I'd say that after a thousand years they probably feel like a couple of cooped-up dogs too, even if they are made of wood.

Though the original, and the second, and the third and maybe the fourth Daimon had burned down over the centuries, the one standing before us now had been here for over three hundred years. Someday this one too would likely burn to the ground, but what were the chances that it would happen tonight? If there were an ATM around I would have been willing to bet someone a few yen. And if it rained? Daimon's eaves reached several meters out over its concrete base, on either side. With overnight rain possible and the chances of fire infinitesimal this seemed as good a place as any to pitch our tent.

Later. After dark. Very quietly.

Amos and I stumbled around for a few hours, gawking lazily at the various reconstructions of the age-old temples that make up this western section of Koya-san. Kondo, the massive hall built by Kukai for Buddhist rituals and dance parties, was originally constructed in 819. Since then it has burned down a lucky seven times. The present building dates from 1932.

Konpon Daito is a tall, bright orange pagoda-like affair. The second level is rounded, like a huge marshmallow being gently smushed between the square first and second story roofs.

Kongobu-ji Temple serves as the administrative center of the three thousand and whatever hundred Shingon Buddhism temples that exist in Japan. Among the many rooms of Kongobu is the Yanagi-no-ma, beautifully adorned with exquisite 16th Century paintings that have overseen, among other events, Toyotomi Hidetsugu’s ritual seppuku suicide. There is also a fantastically-detailed rock garden out back - so I hear. Amos and I didn’t see that or anything else because we elected to save the five hundred yen entrance fee since we still hadn’t eaten since our rice ball breakfast.

Also residing on the West Side of Koya-san are structures called Toto, Saito, Miedo and Fudodo, which may sound like characters in a Japanese cartoon about four puppy siblings but they are actually buildings with serious purposes though I’ll be honest and say I don’t know what.

Amos and I didn't completely bail on the historical details of Koya-san. Having saved on Kongobu-ji we decided to splurge and fork over the one hundred yen fee to enter the outer edges of Tokugawa Reidai Mausoleum.

That's right, the outer edges. Sweaty, smelly English teachers (and everyone else) are apparently prohibited from checking out the interior. As consolation we got pamphlets with nice photos of all the cool things we weren't allowed to see for ourselves.

Our pamphlet tried to tell us that this was the mausoleum for three Tokugawa shoguns, including Ieyasu, the man who unified Japan in 1600 and thereby established the Tokugawa Shogunate as the ruling clan for the next two hundred and sixty-odd years. But I distinctly remembered visiting Ieyasu’s tomb up north in Nikko in 2002. Either I don’t understand what’s going on with the mausoleums around here or the Tokugawas had a thing for building lavish and wasteful duplicates of the places they’ll rot away in. Probably both.

This dual-mausoleum issue was as far as my knowledge of Japanese history went – and it didn't even get me an answer. Amos was no help either. Naturally, to a couple of guys who hadn’t done their research on the history of all the things we’d traveled all morning and hiked three hours to see, finding food was the highlight of the afternoon.

I’d been in Japan almost three years by this point. Amos was still counting his time in Japan by weeks. So I let him do all the talking with the nice old woman at the nice old place we found. This was, in part, a strategy to hide my inability to read the menu items spelled out on the walls. But it was also good fun at Amos’s expense.

As we resumed bumming around West Koya it occurred to us: there was no one else around. This was June. Where were all the summer crowds? We were either doing something very wrong or very right.

Come early evening we did something that was probably very wrong: in the woods, just out of sight from anyone who might come by to take a look at Daimon, we set up camp for the night. No campfires, no music, and barely anything to do except watch the world get dark and hope that there were no bears around. Not that we had a single scrap of food between us to attract so much as an ant.

Morning brought the kind of misty, cloud-heavy view of the surrounding mountains that evokes fanciful images of what life was like up here a thousand years ago. Up here, it is written, there was peace and prosperity. For centuries countless students of both Jodo and Shingon Buddhism came here to pursue the intangible treasures of spirituality. At one point Koya-san was home to fifteen hundred monasteries and thousands of monks.

Then in the 16th Century an asshole named Oda Nobunaga decided he should prove his political and military worth by slaughtering a whole bunch of the monks who had been doing nothing but minding their own peaceful business. A century later the Tokugawas assumed the role of assholes and destroyed much of the spiritual and material wealth that the monks and lay priests of Koya-san enjoyed because nothing says power like sending in your armed troops to butcher a community of robed and barefoot monks.

Koya-san has since regained its peaceful allure – which in turn has been destroyed by the daily onslaught of the tourist hordes. Take heart though; there are a few ways to avoid the crush. You can make the trip up here off-season, meaning not during the summer and not during Japan’s Golden Week, a ten-day string of national holidays straddling April and May. You could also stay the night in one of the temples, which not only offers a glimpse into the monastic life but allows for peaceful, almost magical early morning and late evening walks. This I know from my second trip to Koya-san, fourteen years and an exponential increase of overseas travelers to Japan since my first.

And of course, you can do what only the most adventurous and untethered do: Get off the train at Hosokawa and start walking. I’m pretty sure there’s been no increase in this brand of travel.

Interview with Christopher Carr Of The Inductive - Part V

Fifth and Final Installment. It has been a fantastic pleasure working with Christopher Carr on this, and I look forward to 2011 when I will begin contributing regularly to The Inductive. Thanks for stopping by, and best of luck in all your endeavors in the coming year.

Christopher Carr: As for connecting with a local person, I recommend couch surfing. Other than that, I've heard Akita is a special place. It's the only area of Tohoku I've never been, and I'm planning a big trip up there next summer, so we'll see how that goes. Here is my final question for you: what do you think lies in the future for Japan and your own relationship to it?


Kevin Kato: Couch surfing, of course! How could I forget that one? I’ve actually surfed all over the place, and I’ve hosted some great people here which has actually helped deepen my own appreciation for Japan and Fukushima. Yes, definitely glad you brought that up. I must be getting tired.

Now, you want my take on the future of Japan? I’ll be honest, for as long as I’ve been here I know precious little of the machinations behind this country’s political and economic behavior, I’ll leave that to the pundits and bloggers who know what they are talking about. As far as my place in Japan, I really do feel at home here, bewildering though it can still be at times. On a personal level I’ve met and been befriended by countless wonderful people who would give me the shirt off their back if I needed it. I’ve eaten dinner with many a welcoming family and slept in their homes. I’ve been invited to partake in festivals and weddings. I’ve been forgiven by policemen and treated like royalty by strangers on the street. I wandered into the restricted area at the Hakodate fish market and found myself being given a guest pass and a complimentary sashimi breakfast. And none of it took more than a smile or a friendly word. To anyone who says Japanese people aren’t friendly, I say you aren’t doing your part.

On the other hand, in the grand societal scheme of things I don’t think I will ever feel like I am a full-fledged citizen of Japan. But why would I? In Slovenia or Morocco or Peru it would be the same. I’ve heard foreigners lament over and over about how they will never be treated as “Japanese”. Well guess what, gaijin, you aren’t Japanese. Of course I’d hope and expect to be treated fairly according to the law if such circumstances ever arose, but I certainly have never wished that people would stop seeing me for who I am: an American guy doing his best to find a place and a life for himself in a foreign world.

I don’t mean to imply that I’ve decided to settle here, because I haven’t. I don’t see myself living here for the next fifty years if I’ve got that long. But with a Japanese wife and two boys here, I’ll have ties to this country for the rest of my life, regardless of where we eventually decide to live. Without this family I might one day leave Japan and never make it back. And that, on a personal level, would be a shame.

Assuming the dollar is worth something again someday.


** To view parts I - IV use the links to the right, or check out the interview in its entirety all in one shot here.

Interview with Christopher Carr of The Inductive - Part IV

For previous installments of this interview go to The Inductive or simply keep scrolling down.

Christopher Carr: In terms of traveling Japan, I imagine going by bike is one of the best possible ways. I've always preferred using the cheapest public transportation imaginable mixed with a small amount of hitchhiking. Getting back to your point about avoiding the touristy areas, which specifically would you avoid, and which do you think are must-see? Also, could you paint in broad strokes, how someone with no experiential knowledge of Japan might go about acquiring that knowledge as efficiently (yet enjoyably) as possible.


Kevin Kato: Which touristy areas to avoid? That’s actually a tough one to answer. I mean, by and large I’ve enjoyed what these heavily-touristed places have to offer, it’s just that conundrum of a place losing its aura because of all the people who wish to go see it. It’s just the nature of the beast. If you were out in the backwoods of Oita or Aomori and you stumbled on a Kiyomizudera that no one but the locals knew about…well, I’d certainly consider that an immensely more magical experience than visiting the ‘real’ Kiyomizudera in Kyoto. But Japan doesn’t tend to hide her treasures – I mean the ones that fit into the mainstream tourist’s interests. Okay, so what to avoid? One place that comes to mind is a theme park in Nikko called Edo-mura, which you can imagine is a recreation of an Edo-period village. Well, a very poorly-presented recreation. Really, it was terrible. Not the replicated village so much as the troupes of pseudo-bandoliers parading around like they were in some samurai movie set and hadn’t read the script. But Nikko itself was fantastic, from Toshogu Shrine to Lake Chuzenji to the gorge downriver from Kegon Falls, I can’t remember the name actually. But let’s see, a place to avoid… Maybe not so much to avoid but a place that in my opinion did not live up to my expectations was Amanohashidate. It was nice, but one of the three most beautiful sights in Japan? Great place, no debate; maybe what got to me, and if you’ve been there then maybe you can relate, was everyone up on that lookout spot standing up on that rock bent over and looking between their legs, which is supposed to make that strip of land look like it is rising up into heaven. For the few minutes I was up there waiting my turn, no one seemed to see anything more than I did, which was an upside down strip of land. But then afterward I went down and took a stroll across that strip of pine-covered sand and thought it was remarkable. Sat on the beach, went for a swim, it was great. So again, it was the human-added factor that put a check in the con column for me.

In a nutshell, I don’t think I can say with complete confidence there is any one place that should be strictly avoided. Except maybe Roppongi. Seriously, why come all the way here to go pay some guy named Bob eight hundred yen for a Bud and then hang out listening to Blink 182 and talking to people you might as well have grown up with? Must-see places? I’d say make sure to see Hiroshima or Nagasaki. If I had to pick one it would be Nagasaki, despite that atrocious blue statue. But a visit to either one is like a sledgehammer to the gut. Kyoto is an easy pick but I enjoyed Kamakura, I guess for the subdued, natural setting. Nikko for the same basic reason. And Hiraizumi in Iwate, aside from aesthetic allure, was at one time on par with Kyoto or Nara in terms of national cultural importance. My dark horse here is Akita Prefecture. Astounding in a sublime way, from Shirakami in the north to Chokai-san in the south, great beaches all up and down, Japan’s deepest lake, Tazawa-ko, which I believe is also the world’s second deepest after Baikal, world-class fireworks in summer, my personal favorite festival, the Kanto-matsuri, and perhaps my favorite spot in all of Japan, Sakurajima, along the coast out on Oga Hanto. Rock formations rising up out of the water, a free campground and, when I was there – both times – breath-taking sunsets. Just make sure you visit in the summer – I hear the winters are brutal. The trees along the Akita coast are actually, literally all slanted because the Siberian winds blow in so strong.

As for your last question, I’ve had more than a few people come to me asking what I think they should do and see in Japan – and I always struggle with my answer. It truly depends on what you are interested in, though it seems everyone pares down to the same list of places in the end anyway. Obviously there’s a tremendous wealth of information on the web, not only information but blogs and trip advisor and such from people who have traveled Japan. Take everything with a grain of salt though; Jenny might hate everything about Kamakura because she’s allergic to cedar pollen and her boyfriend ditched her the night before in Enoshima. Another possibility is to find a place on the web where you can correspond with a Japanese person directly; this idea just came to me, I don’t know if such resources exist but just communicating personally with someone who lives in the place you plan to visit would be a trip in itself, so to speak. But the best bet I’d say is to do your research, ask questions, pick a variety of places and go. If you have the time, take a random day trip and see what you find. Without any tourist attractions – or tourists – in your way you might stumble on something priceless. Oh, and by all means get yourself a bicycle! Or stick out your thumb, like you said.

Interview with Christopher Carr of The Inductive - Part II

This is Part II of a five-part interview. For Part I, click here.

Christopher Carr: My experience coming here was kind of the same. I actually never really chose to come to Japan, so that's always a tough question for me to answer when the students ask. From the time I graduated college to the time I had kids I just kind of floated through life. Would you say you had a similar experience? If so, do you believe that there was a kind of force of Fate or Destiny guiding you to Fukushima, or was saying "sure" a conscious decision?

Kevin Kato: Well, I certainly made the decision on my own to come here to Japan. Coming to Fukushima was part of the job offer, something I just accepted without much consideration. “Fukushima, Shimafuka, whatever, I’m going to go live in Japan!” was pretty much my take on the whole deal. Even if I knew I could have requested another location – which I could have – I don’t think I would have because I hadn’t done a whole lot of homework on Fukushima or anywhere else. So at the moment one place would have sounded just as good as the next – as long as it wasn’t Tokyo. ‘Fukushima? Never heard of it, sign me up.’ So in a sense, yeah, I can be a bit of a floater, taking the road that happens to roll out in front of me.

But really, in my years after getting my grad degree – in forensic science...you know, CSI Miami type stuff – I wasn’t floating; I was naively determined to wait until I got exactly the job offer I wanted, which from the outside can seem the same thing. I knew I wanted to work for the FBI as a profiler, and I was ready to accept nothing but the shortest route to that end. Fresh out of grad school I was rejected by the Bureau, so I said okay, I’ll work on the state level for a while first, or I’d go local but only in a place I thought would be cool. I applied for jobs in San Fran, Tampa Bay and Portland, Oregon, passing on jobs in Tulsa and Detroit and such. And I think I pretty much shot myself in the foot being so choosy – I ended up working further and further outside my degree until I found myself an operations manager at a storage and moving company in Colorado. ‘And you have a Master’s in forensics?’ No one could quite get their head around that one, and so a lot of people probably nailed me as a floater, even if that wasn’t the term they had in their head, you know?

By this time I knew one thing about myself: money did not motivate me. ‘You can become a millionaire in this business.’ This is what one of the owners of the moving company said to me once, no joke. But I just wanted out of that entire industry pronto. That was when I found this teaching job in Japan, and my wanderlust exploded to the forefront. And that is why I’ve been in Japan for 9+ years now; what I’ve been doing here has allowed me to travel far and wide and often, and even when I’m home I’m in a different world. Having a family has changed that dynamic, for sure, but since my first son was born 3 years ago we’ve spent...I don’t know, probably close to twelve months outside Japan all told. I do think about moving back to the US, and I think it would be good for the boys as far as their schooling, but in the back of my mind I feel that once we do move to the States, that’s it, we’re going to settle. And now even with another little boy in diapers I don’t think I’m ready to do that. There are still way too many places to see.

Yet getting engaged, and thus suddenly facing the prospect of having a family to feed, did change things. As soon as my brand new fiancée left Osaka, where I was living at the time, to go back home to Fukushima, I started scribbling like mad in any old notebook I could find, striking out on this new dream of becoming a writer. Five, no, almost six years later I am as deep and committed to it as ever. So to answer your question, as far as living, I feel like I’m floating a bit, because I’m in this self-imposed purgatory, and I won’t let myself out until I’ve gotten to a certain point with my writing. But like I was after grad school, I know right now what I am after, and I’m giving it all I’ve got. In this regard, no I am not floating around. It just looks that way!