Dispatches from Nippon

MAEBASHI, Japan -- Things have changed since I was last here.

I'm no international sociologist with my finger on the pulse of Japanese culture, but this city appears to have transformed into an imperialistic tourist's wet dream. To wit, I can look out my window and gaze into the depressing plastic nightmare of a McDonald's sign. Down the road from that endless symbol of American flatulence, I arrive at a shopping mall, complete with alien florescence and trendy fashion shops.

Now this might not seem like a big deal to the average American, but to somebody who was here just eight years ago and hadn't even considered the possibility of a shopping mall, it was a frightening blow of reverse culture shock. The mall's consumerist glory actually made me feel at home, which is exactly what I was trying to avoid by coming here. Who wants to fly 10 hours over the Pacific Ocean and feel at home?

Yet, I'm also reminded of the simple, chaotic beauty of this place. Aside from the corporate fast food chains and capitalistic shopping extravaganzas, this country has taken every aspect of American culture and reversed it. I am constantly plunged into a state of acceptence and friendliness. I was in a restaurant today, and my server was delighted by the fact that I didn't speak a lick of Japanese. In America -- where those who lack English skills are demonized and insidious lawmakers attempt to pass Official Language laws -- my lack of communication ability would be looked at with scorn. Here, it's just amusing. I feel a constant sense of adventure with my inability to read or speak, mostly because getting lost isn't really a big deal. An overwhelming sense of safety permeates this land, whereas in America, a wrong turn in a similar big city could lead to disaster.

Being American in this town is probably similar to being black in Eugene, minus the racism. Here, I'm part of a very small minority. It feels oddly refreshing. The people here are gracious and welcoming, and it's hard not to feel a little like a rock star. People are curious, and they stare, but only because it's such a rarity for an American to walk down the street.

This weekend I hope to travel to the countryside, where the real rugged beauty of Japan emerges. It's simply impossible to experience this unspoiled wilderness and come out without a renewed sense of humanity. It's probably the closest thing to spiritual enlightenment that a career nonbeliever like myself will ever achieve.

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Yesterday I played with my little sister for the first time in too many years. The last time I saw her, she was just about big enough for me to hold with one arm. I have a vivid memory of taking her into the China Sea -- her first experience in a large body of water -- and watching with amusement as the Japanese beachgoers stared at this foreigner strutting down the sand with a cute 2-year-old in tow. This was, of course, back when I could take off my shirt at the beach and not feel flubby -- the unfortunate result of beer, pizza and a day job.

My sister is half Japanese, but I can see the resemblence to my bloodline very clearly. Her mouth is, unfortunately, a victim of the Montry family heritage of bad teeth (as is my little brother's acne), but her smile is contagious. We went to the park, and she attempted to translate the rules of her Japanese games in a way I would understand. I pretended to know what she was talking about, but in the end I was only able to comprehend a mix between soccer and hide-and-seek. She seemed content with that, and the fact that she was mercilessly kicking my ass at this game.

Later, we played Uno, and I had no choice but to smile and laugh when she blatently cheated. With one eye on me at all times to ensure I didn't notice, she would deal herself a bunch of Draw 4 cards, and at the end of the game she would lay them all down in victory. I couldn't possibly stop her. Her eyes would grow very wide after the cards were dealt, and she would exclaim, as if in total surprise at her good fortune: "Oooooh, rucky!" Even with American blood pumping through her veins, the characteristic Japanese inability to pronounced the "L" sound was too hilarious for me to pass up. Then we ate sushi.