I was thinking about giving this blog up when I returned from Japan. I think I thought that my life in Canada would somehow lose some of its intensity or magic somehow... you know, become less noteworthy. Less interesting. Well, let me tell you, every life is just as rich and complex as you expect it to be. And as I am always expecting excitement and diversity, that's what I get.

You can count on the Law of Attraction that way.

The bus ride from Courtenay to Port Hardy was beautiful and comfortable-- two seats to myself, a good book, and nine black bear sightings. The best was the mama and the three yearling cubs... they graze on the grass by the side of the highways when they come out of their winter slumber. I guess the roughage gets their digestive tracts-- uhh-- functioning again.

I was 'adopted' by a fast-talking 17-year-old high school drop-out from the Yukon named Amanda as soon as I stepped off the bus at my port of departure. She eyed me up and down quickly while smoking her cigarette and wrapping herself in a giant fuzzy 'Scarface' blanket.

"You alone?"

"Uh... yeah..."

"Good! You wanna hang out with me? You can share my blanket! Do like Scarface? I hate hanging out alone! It's SO-o-o-o boring..."

I was entertained by Amanda's boundless and far-ranging chatter from when we got to the terminal at about 4pm until we finally boarded the ferry at about 7:30pm. We got rolling at 8pm. Only two hours late... Amanda instructed me on everything from where to put my suitcase to the benefits of apprenticing as a car mechanic. Oh, the boundless knowledge of the newly adult! She managed to boss another passenger, a speed-boarding sweetheart named Nathan, into joining us. (Speedboarding is a kind of freakishly dangerous skateboarding, from what I could gather. He had the gimpy knee and broken collar bone to prove it.) He and I hit it off, and ended up chatting for most of the trip, especially when we accompanied Amanda out on the frigid decks of the ferry for her frequent smoke breaks. Sleep was long in coming, as the boat was swarming with exuberant kids, heading back to the tiny coastal village of Bella Bella. We stopped there at 3am, and our ferry (the newest in the fleet, I might add) suffered a power failure. We were immobilized for three hours. The boat was still, and the kids were gone- that's when I slept. At 7am, a kind native woman told me that due to the delay, breakfast was free until 8am- FREE! I roused my travelling partners and headed to the cafeteria. Mmmm! Ferry eggs and soggy toast! Saltysalty bacon! Glad it was free.

Nathan's native mother was born in one of the tiny little coastal communities on the Inside Passage, now mostly abandoned and slowly sinking back into the little bay. What was it called-- Butedale? We stood together and admired it from afar as the ferry slowly passed it by.

Now I'm in Prince Rupert, also known as "The quaint little drinking town with a fishing habit". Don't laugh. It's true.

I've been here for two days, and can see why people stay, and why people leave. It's infinitely beautiful here when the sun shines. The fishing is good, and the people are friendly. The rent is low. But jobs are hard to find, the economy isn't so hot, and you need a fifty-dollar permit to paint your house. Litter is a big problem, as are drugs, and yes, drinking. It's a saltysalty town.

Anyhooo--- I'm at the internet cafe (when am I not) and my aunt just came in to fetch me-- the Shepherd wagon awaits me. Off I go. Until next time...

Namaste (and wish me luck)

endrene

I'm still on Vancouver Island, currently in Courtenay. I've marked a couple more things off of my 'to do in Canada' list.
I've been to Coombs to see the goats that live on the roof of the crazy everything-international-nut-bread-and-doohickey hippie store (but the goats were off the roof at the time; they're waiting for warmer weather).
I've eaten: crabs, prawns, goats' cheese, REAL bread, chocolate with chili spices from Denman Island, and MORE real bread and MORE real cheeses. Did I ever mention how one time in Japan I bought "Blue Cheese" and it turned out to be dyed-blue Camembert? It's a Camembert nation, cheese-wise.

Ryan and Jess and I have been having a blast-- although I suspect I'm having the biggest blast, since I don't have to go to work. Last night we went out on a long rocky finger of sand and driftwood called Goose Spit and had a bonfire. We roasted smokies and marshmallows for s'mores (on almond cookies instead of graham wafers-- I highly recommend this!!) and they even set up a little Easter hunt for me! A week or so late, but who cares! It was absolutely fun, AND it involved chocolate! We watched the sun go down and admired the myriads of blues and purples that hazed across the sky. We moved in a little closer to the fire. I asked them what it was like to be married (my current favorite question for married couples-- the variety of answers is astounding). They were both very enthusiastic. In the end, Ryan managed to sum it up nicely: You may not know when it's the Right Person, but you definitely know when it's the Wrong Person. So don't waste your time with the Wrong Person.
Good advice, I think.

Tomorrow I'll be boarding the ferry bound for Prince Rupert. I sure hope I have enough warm clothes...

Well, today marks my two-week anniversary of being back in Canada.

I'm glad to say there are things about BC that are shining dazzlingly in my newly widened field of vision; masses of trees in their spring-green glory, expanses of sky and field and rock and ocean, as yet uncluttered and unlittered by human hands, etc, et al. There is also lovely mindless crappy television, and pet fur on my sweaters, and giant barbequed steaks and baked potatoes. There are welcoming family members that have plied me with wine and sparkling conversation and rides on a fishing boat. To get prawns. And crabs. Which we ate and ate and ate!

Sea creatures beware! I will EAT YOU!

Many of my Japanese friends and ex-students have been faithfully emailing me and updating me on the weather and general happenings in Tokushima. Some mornings I wake up, and it is inconceivable to me that I won't be hopping on my bike and coasting to Kitajima. I have a divided sense of 'belonging' now. I think I knew that it would be like this. It's not hard. It's not easy. It's just... meeehhhhh. I miss working. I miss the students. I miss Bubu and Haruko, okonomiyaki and my blue Crispy bike. But there are a million things here that have been made new and fresh from time and space, and I would be a fool to sink into reverie when I could be enjoying life. Right?

Right.

So today I will live the comfy Cobble Hill cowboy home of my cousin Scott and his wife Kelly-Anne (and their currently travelling daughter, Charlotte, whose bed I have been sleeping in-- thanks Charlotte), and go a little further up the coast of Vancouver Island, to Courtenay, BC. I'll reconnect with my old coworker, Jess, and her husband Ryan, and have a look at their fruit trees and drink Ryan's flawless coffee. Then on I go, up up up to Port Hardy BC, then on a twenty-hour ferry ride to Prince Rupert, BC, to see my folks. Then... well, don't ask me.

The adventure continues.

Packing is my kryptonite. Packing is not as much fun as cleaning a cat's litter box, not as much fun as standing in line at Customs for two-and-a-half hours, definitely not as much fun as giving blood-- especially since nobody gives you cookies when you're finished! Therefore, it shouldn't come as any surprise that my grand plan of using my final week in Japan (Days 1-3 Pack, Days 4-7 Enjoy)-- did not go as planned.

My dad has always said that I am a procrastinator. I wish he wouldn't say it, because people have an annoying habit of living up to expectations. However, I am happy to say that it is a habit that I have mostly overcome. Mostly. The thing is, people wouldn't perpetuate a bad habit unless they were receiving some sort of satisfaction from it. A smoker doesn't smoke because she wants to die from lung disease; she smokes because for a little while, it makes her feel good. Short term benefits outweigh long-term difficulties. So I had to ask myself-- why-- why, why, WHY do I procrastinate when it comes to packing? What about it feels good? The answer: Procrastination delays change. Change is scary. And for all of my stay/go lists, my dissertations and considerations, my final decision to go; leaving Tokushima was really, really hard.

Spring had sprung. The grass had riz. The cherry blossoms had burst forth in a riot of pink froth, the jungle birds were singing their early-morning water songs, and even the voices of the yelling garbage men sounded suddenly sweet.

Therefore, up until the day before my last day, I was still in and out of my apartment, sorting, chucking, hefting, cleaning, jamming, wiping, etcetera. Thank god for Bubu, who came to my apartment for two afternoons to stand amid my little chaos and boss me around and light a fire under my ass (a phrase which I taught him and he liked immediately). Thank god for Ryo, who took me and four big boxes to the post office in a taxi, and then helped me for three hours to unpack each box, weigh and itemize each individual book and sock (as per the Japanese Customs Agency's requests), and brush aside my infuriated protests and tears.

Ohhh, but the last days were beautiful, too. I had a goodbye party with my students; I have pictures of Melissa scoffing natto and of me and Yuko arm wrestling. I went to a beautiful park in Takamatsu with a dear friend to see the sakura (cherry blossoms- but only at 20-40% full bloom) and feed the carp. Bubu's family had a yaki niku party for me (sweet, sweet Japanese barbeque), and-- joy of joys-- I attended hanami (cherry blossom viewing).

I arrived at hanami on foot, as I had sold my bicycle a few days previously. I was sweaty and disconcerted; I had just canceled my cell phone contract and was feeling strangely disconnected from my known universe. I traversed the edge of the sakura park, carefully searching the throngs of flushed people for a familiar face. Ryo came rushing up, grinning like a boddhivista. I gratefully took his arm and was led to his big blue tarp, where friendly faces from Ryo's bar welcomed me and offered me a plastic cup full of Asahi beer. I took off my shoes, and settled down on my seat of sky blue, with the clouds of pink above me. I was rather melancholy, as my slow packing efforts had left me with only these last few poignant hours in Tokushima. There was to be no last karaoke song at Ingrid's, no last long bike ride out to Komatsu beach, no last night at the onsen with Miho and Kayo. I caught Ryo staring at me. I looked back, brimming with tears and regret, and he said very quietly, "There is no need."
I started to protest-- there was still so much to do, to see, to experience in Japan, and--- but he cut me off.
"Now, you need to look around you. See the many people, who are enjoying this day, and this happy energy. You need to feel this energy! Tomorrow, you can think about tomorrow, and maybe you can be sad then. But now, there is no need."
I decided to agree with him. To choose to be happy. To be a honey sponge, and soak up these last golden moments, and the communal celebration of the beauty of spring. My lesson, over and over. Choose to be happy. Decide to be happy. Make a habit of happiness.

The hanami party was my last 'to-do' in Tokushima; I left for the airport that very evening. It was perfect. The cherry blossoms were at 100% full bloom and the afternoon crowd was ebulient, listening to sakura songs and eating bento and potato chips and drinking sake. I wandered from Ryo's camp to where Ingrid's gaijin party was going on to say my goodbyes. Ingrid hugged me, refused to say goodbye, said only, "See you again." She got Joe to take a picture of us hugging on her cell phone camera, and promised to send it to me. I said thank you's and hello's, and long-time-no-see-but-I'm-leaving-now's and I got Norm's email address. I told Jon how lucky he was to be dating a hot chick like Chiaki-- and she agreed. I had my photograph taken with Satoshi, and saw pictures of Mike's new baby, Haruki. I felt the intensity of these exchanges with a new gratitude. Eventually I drifted away; there were so many unfamiliar faces. So many people come and go from the little English community of Tokushima in a year.

Back on Ryo's tarp, I accepted another cup of beer and laughed as a sakura petal drifted into one fellow's bottle of Zima. We declared it art and took pictures. The air was warm; we lounged, we laughed. Gently, it began to rain. The crowd began to unhurriedly pack up-- some die-hards put up umbrellas and continued to merry-make. The gaijin brigade didn't budge. I packed up with Ryo's group and left quietly with them, carrying a plastic sack of uneaten sweets and empty beer bottles. I didn't say go over to the gaijin tarp again. After all, Ingrid was right. There's no way it was goodbye. We part only to meet again.