Ever since I graduated from college in May of 2022, I’ve been fluidly living through different iterations of how I thought I wanted my life to pan out. I’ve donned different hats, worked variously ranging jobs, and traveled through diverse landscapes across the globe. I’ve had a perpetually extinguishing and reigniting hope that I’d decipher what to do with my life. After numerous desires and envisioned paths had faded in disillusioned disappointment, I felt more strongly than ever that a life in rural Japan was what called to me. It was a situation that seemed to be in perfect resonance with who I am as a person and what I wanted from life. I was to live a tranquil life in the cascading ridges where samurai once roamed, completely immersed in the animistic Shinto perception, where every aspect and force of the natural world abound has the spark of life and divinity inherent in it. And so, with a fervent passion for Japanese culture and an intrigue for the Asiatic mystery, I got a job teaching English in Japan and moved to rural Hokkaido to initiate this next phase of my life.
Iwanai 岩内
From mid March until early August, I lived in a small seaside village in Hokkaido called Iwanai. It’s about an hour drive from the touristy ski town of Niseko where I taught, and about 40 minutes from the majestic giant Mount Yotei. Spelled with the kanji for boulder (岩) and inside (内), Iwanai is a long sustained fishing village nestled within a ring of mountains. It’s situated on the Sea of Japan and far removed from the mainland of Honshu, and virtually out of reach from any urban influence. It was exactly the location I had envisioned in my imaginal fantasies: away from the endlessly innovative creature comforts of modern city life and absolutely absorbed in authentic rural tradition.
With a population of around 12,000 people, it’s by no means a shabby village. It has an audacious and sincere pride that’s apparent from the casual encounters with local restaurant owners or shopkeepers. It even once had a very strong Yakuza influence, probably due to the oceanside locale that offered easy import/export access… as well as many other potential uses.
Even though my company picked my house and assigned my location, I wouldn’t have picked anywhere else to live. Iwanai had the freshest seafood I’d ever had in my life, even down to the grocery store sashimi that would’ve gone for quite the penny if you were to buy that kind of quality anywhere in the states. I’d spend my weekends roaming the nearby hiking trails or marveling at the cliffs soaring above the salty spray, with a landscape so jagged and epic that it was as if the seas took special care in carving out that primordial masterpiece.
Sansannoyu (さんさんの湯)
When I look back on my months spent in Iwanai, my overall reminisces will always be fondly entangled with my trips taken to the local onsen, Sansannoyu. For anybody unaccustomed to Japanese culture or having never visited the country, the onsen experience may be something wildly foreign and radical, and maybe even unsettling. Onsens are local bathhouses with natural hot spring water funneled directly from the source, usually with a strong sulphuric content that is palpable from the smell that bombards your senses. Sansannoyu’s baths ranged from 45 °C -47 °C , so it definitely took some time to become adapted to it. Your first couple dips might feel like your submerging into Satan’s cauldron, but you get used to it and soon develop a love for the burn. The hotter the water, the more purifying it can be for your body and mind. The most tantalizing aspect of onsens is that your buck ass naked with a bunch of random people. Crazy, I know, but also utterly amazing, as well as a great opportunity for working on your meager Japanese and making some friends in the process.
While there are many onsens that cater to tourists and are equipped with countless different baths, saunas, cold plunges, and many other enticing features, these usually are relatively expensive for a day trip. However, the onsens that you know are the go-tos for the locals (such as sansannoyu) usually provide the most authentic experience, even though it may be without frills and comparatively basic. Despite that, I’d much rather pay $4 and share a 20ft x 20ft bathhouse with a bunch of old naked Japanese guys then anything else.
Iwanai Shrine
The Iwanai shrine was a place I quickly developed an intimate connection to. From my first day trip to my would be home, I walked through the shrine grounds as a humble visitor and felt a palpable presence enclosed within that sacred space. In Japan, shrines abound all over. From a western-tourist perspective, there may not be much that distinguishes one from another. Although I’m not capable of truly discerning differences between them, I at least strive to do so. All Shinto shrines are devoted towards different spiritual beings, usually the spirits inhabiting the nearby adjacent natural world. Like all places of worship, they’re a bubble of the sacred set apart from the profane. Along with the thousands of Buddhist temples, Shinto shrines are the spiritual undercurrent of Japanese society. They support and revivify the reverent attitude the Japanese psyche has towards their daily lives as a whole.
As soon as one approaches the entrance to a shrine, they’re met by the looming Tori gate that designate the crossing into realms beyond. Bowing towards the central building before walking under, you step through the gate and enter into another air. Iwanai shrine had an expansive and all pervading equanimity that swept through the entire area. Every Saturday and Sunday, I would begin my day off with a languid stroll to the shrine. I’d enter that area with forced poise and awareness, trying to quiet my mind’s churning and keep thoughts of triviality at bay. These shrines have been worshipped as portals to the divine for thousands of years, and I endeavored to cultivate some sort of relationship to the space and feel into what made them so special.
I’d always bypass the main building of worship and instead head towards a stone monument off to the left. Walking through a second and more seemingly archaic Tori gate, past the vigilant gaze of two Komainu (lion-dog statues), I’d gaze up at the pines billowing before me and imagine them as keepers for that realm between worlds. Despite never discovering what the prominent stone was in memorial to, it was a special spot for me. I always meditated beneath its tutelage, striving to tap into the energetic currents that coursed from the well-spring of other worlds.
Daily Life
In addition to the parts of my routine that were utterly unique to my life back home, I discovered that my days in Iwanai mirrored some of the most beloved features of my life back home. I played pickup basketball a couple times a week with local guys and girls in Iwanai at the town middle school, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night. I looked forward to these runs every day at while working at school, and was constantly reminded that talk on the court transcends all limitations of verbal communication. I quickly developed close friendships with the people I’d play with, who probably were surprised to be routinely sharing a court with one of the only foreigners they’ve ever known to live in their town. Middle schoolers and high schoolers would often play with everybody else, and it was always a joy playing with the youngins and seeing their passion for the game that has thrived in my heart for many years.
I’d get my coffee every day at 7/11. After a few weeks, the workers would unhesitatingly put the cup on the counter as soon as they saw me enter the store. Their warm smiles and infectious grace would ignite my mornings with gratitude. The different ways they’d give me their “arrigatou gozaimasu” (thank you very much) as I’d walk out became a symphony to my ears, each with different intonations and chime that hinted at their personal character. For 180¥ ($1.25), the coffee from Japanese 7/11 was on par with the best cafes in Philly.
On afternoons and nights where I wasn’t playing basketball, I’d usually study Japanese when I got home. In addition to using my 2 hours in the car to do some audio lessons, I religiously studied kanji every day on my computer using WaniKani. I’d often cap my study off with some sake while I enjoyed a book/anime with dinner, and often go for long meandering strolls at night. I’d walk away from the sea and up towards the mountains, past the dimly lit street lamps and up towards the open fields and forested streets. The darkness would shroud my doubt and mental deliberatins in a blanket of mystery, and my path would lit by the white dazzle of stars that shone unimpeded by artificial light. Nighttime walks have been a staple for me the past few years. I’ve used them like liquor, clinging to their comfort in my most draining phases of melancholic malaise, straining towards the darkness for some reassurance that I’m walking steady on my path through life.
The Road Goes Ever On
I’ll definitely miss Iwanai, but I quickly realized I wasn’t quite capable of living a settled life like that. It was everything and more that I envisioned, but in life your dreams always seem to grow and evolve as soon as you accomplish whatever it was you set out to do. Once my heart started soaring towards other ventures, it was difficult to be as radically present in Iwanai as I ideally wanted to be. Maybe that’s more of a personal limitation to be present, rather than a common feature of shared by other people. Either way, my path in life seems to always be moving me forward, and I’m grateful I was able to call Iwanai home for a short while. My past years have been colored by places and experiences where I could root for some time, but I always find myself leaving and clinging to some hope of what’s beyond. I like to hope my internal compass is guiding me towards that place where I can truly call home, but to where exactly that is and how far I’m called to walk before I can get there… who’s to say.
Leave a Reply