Two Realities: Japan and Canada

Walking into a convenience store in Vancouver on summer vacation, I was greeted by the store clerk with a bright "Hullo!" and an earnest smile. When he rang up my purchase he asked me, "so how are you doing today?" and I was a little takenaback. No Japanese store clerk would engage a customer in such a personal exchange. Japan life had trained me to pay for my soda and go.

That summer, I was constantly jolted back to my first reality, my Canadian life, by the contrast with my second life, which I was currently living in Japan. Reverse culture shock is a peculiar effect suffered by foreigners who have spent some time in another country and then return to the home country.

Circumstances I took for granted in Canada now sharply contrast with my Japanese experience. For example, on rush hour public transit in my hometown, passengers faced with a crowded train wait for the next departure, and occasionally friendly passengers will encourage you to get on, even telling you that there is room for one more. What a difference from the Tokyo crush of silent salarymen bracing themselves against the doorway, pushing into an overstuffed car. I'm always taken aback by Vancouver commuters' need for more personal space, and more relaxed attitude toward the morning rush.

When it comes to roads, my hometown has wide thoroughfares that were built exclusively for cars, quite unlike Japan where, historically, the roads are rather narrow lanes. At home, the car rules the road, to the peril of cyclists and pedestrians. However, in Japan, as long as you are moving, on foot, on a bicycle or scooter, in a car, pulling a rickshaw or pushing a cart, you are regarded as traffic. It is an unpleasant shock to have drivers behind me honk horns when I'm flying along in rush hour traffic in downtown Vancouver. Cyclist commuters are still a novelty at home, and are still regarded with disdain by some drivers.

In my reasonably safe hometown, there are habits that are best left in Japan. For example, I would never venture out tipsy or let my girlfriends go home alone after a few drinks. Yet in Japan, I often see lone women wobbling onto the train late in the evening. Once, in Vancouver, I fell asleep on a bus and was woken by a kind passenger who warned me that I could be relieved of my bag if I dozed. After that I was vigilantly awake on trains and buses. Yet, on Tokyo's trains, I gradually learned to nap without worry for my person or possessions. When I go home, I'm still careful, but disappointed that I can't nap between destinations.

The space constraints of Japan have left an indellible impression on me. In the tight quarters of my six mat apartment with a loft just big enough for a futon, I've learned to accommodate house guests. From my one-gas-ring kitchen, single basin sink and toy fridge, I've made meals to feed six. In my hometown, I'm always startled by people who lament that their one bedroom apartments -- including a full kitchen, living room, dining space and bathroom -- are too small. Although my Japanese home is tiny, I find that housekeeping takes no time and lost items can't hide. In my vast family home in Vancouver, I'm always a little lost, wondering where odd implements have gotten to, and ever searching for a cozy spot to curl up in.

The most curious cultural nuance I've encountered surfaced when making a date with a Japan-resident Canadian friend. As we talked about the time and place, we deferred to each other, which meant lengthy negotiations. When we had settled, we had a good laugh, realizing we had reached a compromise, and dare I say, a consensus on the point, and appreciating the culture we had brought home, as trying and as charming as it is.