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.