Somen noodles put this small island on the map-sort of

Consider it blasphemy for the Japanese to have their soul crop, rice, step out of the lime light. For just a moment, rice's estranged second cousin, somen, needs a few praises to be sung.

In Shodoshima, a small island stranded without much awareness in the Seto Inland Sea, sandwiched between southern Hyogo and Shikoku, is not known for much. The majority of tourism comes from within Japan. and perhaps locals prefer it that way. With a panorama of ocean views and a sleepy, small town feel, Shodoshima may want to keep the subtle charms of the island to themselves.

Yet, a noodle known for a taste as simple as the island it comes from, has even foreigners wondering how these thin, surprisingly scrumptious starches are made. The answer is with complete care and an old fashioned know-how. When visiting a somen factory, the building itself is not a factory at all, but a small barn-like house that can give a start to finish tour in under an hour.

Ingredients are first mixed and processed into a pasta paste that are then elongated several times by different machines. Once as thin as shoestring, they are hung on huge racks and must be separated by hand.
Large wooden chopsticks are used to simply sift through the somen so that each strand of soon-to-be noodle wont stick to itself when set outside to dry. After about two hours of drying, the noodles are put on a machine where they are then cut into a shorter length where they can be packaged and sold.
Shodoshima may not have the waves of Miyazaki, the presence of big city Osaka, or Ise's pearls, but they do have noodles--and tasty ones at that.

On being foreign

In America, being foreign is status quo. Most, if not all, people hold their original roots overseas. In an idyllic, utopian sense, this is what America stands for—a free nation where people of any ethnicity can come and make a new home.

However, there are others who find home oppressive and foreignness liberating. They seek unknown lands and the urge to feel like an outsider trailblazing new paths. Their quest to become foreign themselves is nothing new. Because of the globalization of industries and ever-expanding educational systems, it has become easier than ever to live abroad. And with the current instability of the economy, especially in the US, it is a common alternative for adventurous Americans who would like to try a new lifestyle.

According to a recent Gallup poll, 700 million adults, or roughly 16% of the world’s population would like to permanently move to another country. Top destinations include Europe, America, Canada and Singapore. Yet, if all of us who can afford this international transition actually takes the leap, that leaves only the least desired destinations as a place where one can truly live as a foreigner. Thus, to get a strong sense of what it means to be foreign, you have to go to Africa, the Middle East, or parts of Asia where foreigners are few and far between.

Japan is a country where being foreign is a place marker for your role in society. In such a hugely populated, homogenous culture with a set of societal standards and rules that are staunchly obeyed by the Japanese people, foreigners maintain jobs and social status of a foreign class. Most expatriates living in Japan are working in English education, translation, or for a foreign corporation. It is more than difficult to assimilate as a foreigner when one will never be fully accepted as part of the native class; however, perhaps the challenge is what makes this lifestyle worth living.

In terms of language, Japanese is one of the harder languages to master if your linguistic base is in English or another Germanic/Latin based language. With characters rather than letters and a grammatical structure almost polar opposite from English, it takes nearly a decade to have fluent conversational skills and literacy. That fact alone separates the leavers from the lifers.

Communication is essential for those looking to be successful in a career or just handle daily life like choosing which brands to buy at the grocery store. If you’re without basic communication for an extended period of time, you start to feel stunted and your scope of understanding the culture is as obsolete as your ability to make a dinner reservation. Icons and butchered English can become commonplace for your communication standard, but after a while, one wishes for more.

However, there are some freeing aspects of a far removal from a functional member of society. Similar to a baby and their fresh view of the world, expatriates see everything about this country as an adventure and a challenge to overcome. Those who seek such a lifestyle often feel invigorated with daily minutia that was once boring. Life is exciting and with constant change brings new eyes for old and a sense of accomplishment at even the simplest of tasks.

By social standards, Japan is a law-biding country where people think of the greater good of the group rather than individual success. Citizens are conditioned to believe that their contribution to society must be equal and on par with everyone else’s. Any American-bred expat would consider this an assault on personal freedom; therefore, a balance must be made by foreigners attempting to respect and ultimately assimilate to a Japanese way of life while maintaining a personal identity that may have only been useful in a past life.

Again, on the other side, expatriates may enjoy this anomie and loss of self-identity. In Freud’s theory of melancholia, he explains that people often seek difficulty to harness a pain in which they feel is pleasurable. Similar to exile, expatriates want to live a life they are forced into. Yet, the reality of their situation is that it is by choice, and in today’s ever-growing globalized world, it is a popular choice at that.

full circle

Fishermen cast out their reels with red sensors attached to the end of the twine. Ahead and below is a bottomless night ocean. The red sensors beam with a stream of determination only to land like a floating buoy above water. Ahead a purple light streams from the illuminated monstrosity of the suspension bridge. It's true grandeur is diminished with the absence of daylight, but the little pegs of colored light outlining the bridge still can remind me of how small I and the fellow night fishermen are in comparison. The light from the bridge dusts the dark sea with a fuzzy blanket of color. Behind it, the island hillside is lit up with little specks of soft, yellow light like a Christmas tree. Passing ships chug along with little will, but simple goal in reaching the nearby port.

Standing here, at the edge of this dock, I once felt I had reached the end of the world. Nothing was around and everything was out of place. Again, standing in the same place, I've come full circle, but this time everything can be placed. The name of the island across the bay, the fishermen eager for their meager seafood dinner, the jogging path I chose from the first day I arrived.

Bait plinks into the ocean water with poise. Swift swishes of the thin twine whirr by my ear near enough to nip me. What is this melancholy now? Something usual, prescribed by Freud or perhaps all expatriates who feast on a sordid lot of unfamiliarity? I still feel like a stranger, but in the dark, I don't stand out as much.

It could be the transition of things--yet again. A general questioning of life and where it leads. But, instead of asking myself in a crossroad moment of confusion, "Where am I?", I'm better off asking myself, "Where haven't I been?"

So I stand alone, as solitary a soul as when I was first born, comfortable in the brazen darkness that could shroud the little lights along the bridge. Yet, instead the darkness makes them seem brighter, and each one uniquely part of the beautiful string they've created along the bridge. I've explored this coast, only to arrive where I began, and know the place anew. Still, it feels as if it's a secret--me and this ocean's edge. Fishing rods whip again like a sharp chill, but with a soft finish on an ocean mass that looks like jello mold. No one can find me here-- among these night fishermen.

kujira

The first taste of whale. An oily meat. Darker than expected and with little flavor other than a slight tang and chewy texture.

The southernmost prefecture of Shikoku, Kochi, is a hot spot for whale culture. In saying, "whale culture," it is a bit ambiguous, because it is an amalgam of cuisine and cuteness. There are whale icons everywhere and many boat tours take tourists out for whale watching excursions. However, whale is also featured on almost every menu in the city. Is this a sad game of sadistic irony Japan is playing on these massive mammals of the ocean deep? Or is it such a strong bond that every essence of the whale needs to be loved. Of course, the rest of the world would disagree with the latter. But, the Japanese feature whale like an exoticism of a culture past that shouldn't be sent to sea.

the Tokyo Complex

Every great metropolitan city has it's loyal fans. There are those of us who flock to big city living for a chance at a fast-paced style in place that is like an open oyster with many pearls. From fashion to fame, best rated restaurants and international savoir faire, these caliber cities are the mecca of all one could want from life. In it's populated streets and overcrowded transportation, people feel a convenience they couldn't find elsewhere. Big cities have an acclaim, a limelight that never dims if you harness it's energy.

So, what would behoove a worldly, cosmopolitan city-goer to think that there was anywhere else in the world left to see, since of course, where they are has it all. Cities such as New York, Sao Paulo, Hong Kong, Paris and Singapore command an inherent allegiance because of its stature as a culturally diverse beacon of the world's best offerings. Often with such exaltation and air of sophistication comes equal antagonism.

Many often feel that this metropolitan rat race is too hefty of a price to pay for a seeming lap of luxury. The convenience found in global cuisine and high powered jobs are more than willing to be traded for a more subdued lifestyle that adorns smaller cities with less international street cred.

Tokyo is one of the biggest cities in the world and with it comes those who believe Japan offers nothing greater beyond the boundaries of the Tokyo wards. Yet, take a believer out of his prized patch of Japanese city allure and allow him to see the other 46 prefectures. Temples aplenty, abounding natural hot springs, mountainous land and a local ocean breeze.

Venturing over to Kansai, Tokyo devotees see a simpler style of life, but lacking nonetheless in big cities and cultural energy. With Osaka, Kyoto and Kobe, city life can be divided around the area and each seen with a different appeal. Osaka brings the grit, Kyoto the tradition and Kobe the class. In between are smaller cities that are easily accessible by train and each have a distinct feel and a warmth about the people that is often lost amongst the clutter of a big city.

Of course, the razzle dazzle of the big city can charm you with a weekend away, but for practical living, perhaps venturing to the less likely cities will provide a different appeal that will allow a more relaxed lifestyle and a chance to see a side of Japan that is just that--Japanese.

A Sakura Spring

Winter's cold has broken with the first buds of the cherry blossoms. The air is still crisply cool, but just warm enough to host some of the most beautiful natural scenery Japan has to offer. Sakura, or cherry blossoms, glaze tree tops with a beautiful pink and white floral frosting.

The blossoms themselves brighten the sky and canopy walkways with angelic haze that seems to draw sunlight into each petal and enliven trees from the winter's discontent.

When there is a seasonal activity in Japan, people flock to parks and recreational areas and remind us all of how populated this country really is. Considering sakura season is a short and sweet two or three weeks, the famous viewing areas are always the most crowded.

Venturing out of the larger cities and into local areas wont fend off much of a crowd. If there is a cherry blossom tree around, chances are there is a hanami party under it.

Hanami is a simple picnic party in honor of the coming of spring and a chance to view sakura while they're in full bloom. At first, the buds perk open with a virginal white color and as they mature, their color changes to a soft pink.

In Hyogo prefecture, one of the best places for sakura viewing is Akashi park. This park has 1,200 cherry blossom trees, most of which surround the pond in the middle of the park. There are smaller spots tucked away with just a few trees, but the lining of the pond as all the trees hug the edge of the water, is the prime spot for hanami.

In admiring all things sweet and cute, Japan is fortunate to have sakura sprinkle the subtle start of Spring around the country. Sakura season is an embodiment of the classical romantic idea of Spring and it shows in the tired faces of businessmen who have taken respite in a bottle of sake and the company of their co-workers. And in the families and friends who prepare delicious bentos to be shared and savored in the softened sun.

It's a wonderful time of year in Japan and sakura is an excellent adornment for the turn of the Spring season. If only it weren't so long until the same time next year.

been blocked: a lamentation

I hate the false sense of power the Internet holds over people's relationships. What sort of stance are you taking when you block someone or take them off of your chat list? Does it reassure you that some sort of defiance has been taken to sever ties? And the freaking Facebook--it's such narcissism to think that everyone needs to know what you're thinking or exactly how you feel at a particular moment. Are our own lives that uninteresting, and are we that unfulfilled with what we're actually doing that we need to report on it endlessly through a steady stream of social networking for some public validation? I guess this lamentation in itself is a self-indulgent proclamation on a social networking platform. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?