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My
year in Chibu taught me that the very things
we seek to make our life convenient are often
the things that make our life more complicated.
Born in Tasmania, Australia's only island state, I have, from a young age, had
the feeling of being an “islander”. Life on an island brings with it an interesting
paradox ﾐ the things that make life inconvenient and difficult are the same things
that make life rich and interesting. The smaller the island and more distant it
is from larger centres, geographically and in terms of development, the more evident
this paradox becomes. I had the chance to experience this first-hand when given
the opportunity to live and work as a JET CIR on Chibu, the smallest of Shimane's
Oki Islands.
For those unfamiliar with Chibu, it lies approximately 50km (31 miles) off Shimane's
coast. With a population of 783 and land area of 13.5sqkm, it is the smallest
and least populated of the Oki Islands.
There are no convenience stores or supermarkets on Chibu. Instead, there are small
grocery stores scattered throughout the villages of the island, with no obvious
pattern of when they will be open or closed. With only a handful of places to
eat out, these small grocery stores provide locals with what they need for daily
meals, as well as seasonal specials ﾐ such as ice creams and peaches through summer
and a plentiful range of nabe ingredients over winter. While there was not the
range of your local Mishimaya supermarket (especially when the ferries were cancelled
for any length of time), these small shops had their own appeal. Every time I
would buy my groceries, the total would always be rounded down to the nearest
10 yen ﾐ who can be bothered with those annoying 1 and 5 yen coins and, of course,
there were no pesky receipts to dispose of! Then there were the occasional surprises:
a can of Asahi's new line of beer (just for me to try); the occasional ice cream
that was nearing its expiration date; a freshly roasted sweet potato on a blustery
cold winter's day.
It was always amusing for me to find that the same people I worked with were the
same people I played volleyball with, who were the same people I met in the grocery
store and met on the ferry to the mainland. As anyone who has ever lived in a
small community knows, everyone knowing who you are and what you do has its advantages
and disadvantages. The “information network” that had people I had not met before
proclaiming I don't like natto is the same information network that had people
bringing snacks, fruit and supplement drinks to me when I was struck down with
a bad cold.
Living on an island brings a lack of many practical conveniences that most people
of mainland Japan take for granted. My house on Chibu had a pit-toilet, no hot
water in the kitchen, and a floor that sloped so much that if you dropped something
it would roll all the way into the genkan. Having to boil your water to wash-up
was an inconvenience to begin with, but one I soon became used to. Having a pit
toilet was no problem as long as you kept the appropriate doors closed, and during
Oki's coldest winter in 26 years, it proved to be an advantage as I witnessed
the frustration of many fellow islanders whose flushing toilet had frozen.
Boat travel, an inescapable part of island life, is also something that brought
an ironic mix of “the best and worst” to my time on Oki. Fortunately, I was never
affected by motion sickness when travelling to and from the mainland or between
islands, and, admittedly, a real problem with motion sickness could turn the hardiest
adventurer off a long stint living on an island, but for me, travelling by boats
was one of the exciting features of being an Oki Islander.
After moving to Chibu, I soon realised that the boat timetables were something
to live with rather than fight against. Instead of complicating matters, I found
the timetable brought simplicity to decision-making and encouraged me to become
a better planner. With typhoons in summer and cold winds from Russia over winter,
there are many times when the ferries and boats that service the Oki Islands are
unable to make their voyage. Cancelled boats, while an inconvenience to any best
laid plans, were often a blessing in disguise. Sometimes, it would mean an extra
day on the mainland before returning from travels, or your visiting friends stayed
a bit longer than expected. As the locals advised me very early on, it is necessary
to take a “shikata ga nai” (there is nothing you can do about it) approach. There
is no benefit in worrying about things beyond your control.
I never tired of travelling by boat. The scenery was always dramatic and, on occasions,
so was the journey itself. On one wintery day, as I was travelling back to Chibu
from a neighbouring island, the boat met some unusually rough water and we began
to really feel the climb up the wave and the inevitable crash down that would
follow. I thought I was the only one enjoying this exciting ride until I heard
a couple of older female passengers in fits of laughter, shrieking as we crashed
over the crest of each wave. When we finally arrived in the calm waters of the
port, the atmosphere was reminiscent of a rollercoaster coming to a stop. I was
not the only one to draw this parallel as those around me commented on the boat's
likeness to a theme park attraction. We agreed our 300 yen fare was a cheap price
to pay for the thrill.
My year in Chibu taught me that the very things
we seek to make our life convenient are often
the things that make our life more complicated.
In a world where you can have whatever you want,
whenever you want it, there is no need to be
patient, no need to improvise, and every reason
to be lazy. The things I thought would be an
inconvenience of living on a small island, turned
out to be the things I most enjoyed, learnt
the most from, and will remember for a long
time. I feel very privileged to have had the
opportunity to experience the best and worst
of living on a small island and realise now
that sometimes “the best and the worst” are
one and the same thing.
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