So today marks the one year anniversary of my return from Japan. One year ago today I was on a plane flying to Vancouver to visit my ex and check out the Pacific Northwest for the first time. Since I hated the 14 hour cramped uncomfort and customer diservice of the Northwest flight out of Detroit on the way to Japan back in April of 2004, I thought I'd break up the trip back home and see something new on the way. Having heard so many good things about the west coast and in particular British Columbia itself, I figured I'd give it a go (as my Aussie friends like to say) to see what all the fuss was about. I was not disappointed. I had originally planned to do some snowboarding in Whistler but it turned out to be too far away, and then tried to book accomodation at the closer, less popular and less expensive Mount Washington, but was still unable to make the cut. In fact, from a financial standpoint, I picked a pretty dumb time to leave. I should have calcuated all the last minute bill paying I was going to have to do, perhaps waiting until after I had received my last paycheck before I left, because I ended up having to borrow 500 yen from a neighbor just to pay the bus fare to the airport. I had thought I would have just enough cash to get there, but after the train of utility folks had come to collect their final bills--a madenning revolving door of head scratching, sucking of teeth, bows, and thumping balances with index fingers-- I realized I had become (except for my last 1000 yen note) completely skint (as my English friends like to say). And what's more, I wanted to pay my final cell phone bill by credit card in the airport, but of course they don't often accept credit cards in many places in Japan (you would think that the airport would be an exception), so I had to tap out cash on said credit card just to be able to pay the bill.

Initially I arrived in Vancouver, met up with Sonia who was working as a travel agent, and took the ferry over to Victoria. From there we hopped on the bus to her place, dropped off the stuff and took a look around. Victoria, I thought was a fantastic place, though perhaps a little too small for my tastes as a place to settle down. And then we went to Tofino, a quiet seaside town that had plenty to offer in terms of relaxation and natural beauty. The air was so clear, the sunset so beautiful, and the experience of hanging out with the ex not nearly as weird as I had anticpated it to be. We toured some of the provincial parks on the cost, impressed by the thick pines as we watched the driftwood buffeted on the shores. All in all, it was a good experience, and one which to my mind was a much better way to slowly reintegrate yourself into your native culture after an extensive time abroad. After all, think of all the physical things you have to re-acclimate yourself to-- the time difference, the difference in temperature, humidity, air pressure, elevation, flora and fauna, allergens, etc.-- let alone the cultural challenges.

It's interesting when you realize how much is written about travel experience, and the musings of a culture from a foreign perspective, but you find very little about reintegration and the difficulties of overcoming reverse culture shock. Part of which is how naked your home culture becomes upon returning. The opportunity to travel and live in a foreign culture provides the opportunity to not only objectively assess that culture, but to give you a fuller understanding of your own. I came to places like Japan and the Czech Republic only to find myself ruing the seeming lack of any particular defining American culture when compared with the rich historical traditions the other places possess. Even our language is borrowed, and we have no truly defining native ethnicity, except for the Amer-Indian tribes dwelling on Reservations and in relative obscurity in the national limelight. As well, many of us non-native Americans feel cut off from our own cultural heritage. Many first generation immigrants see their children completely losing touch with their past. And the only thing that seems to connect us is our desire for material gain. Our culture, in large part, is defined by our materials: our cars, our stars, our pop icons, our brand names and restaurant chains. It's not surprising then that the things that most expats say they miss when abroad are restaurant franchises. I've been guilty of same of course, looking at my fourth bowl of noodles in as many nights and thinking, "Damn I could go for some IHOP pancakes right about now." At least Christmas is one tradition we manage to keep above being exploited for material gain . . . Bwa ha ha!!