Holidays in Japan Pt. I: Get on the Bus!

Many years ago, when I first came to Japan, I often watched in horror as, during every major holiday, wave upon wave of package tourists, belched forth from luxury buses, would descend on sightseeing spots, souvenir shops and roadside restaurants in an orgy of consumption and furious picture-taking. At those times, I swore to myself that I would never take part in such a bizarre form of socialization, never follow anyone waving a flag while blowing a whistle and walking backwards, never pose in any unsmiling group photographs. It all seemed like such a chore.

And yet - as I was to find out this past summer holiday - how wrong I was!

As it turns out, I joined a group bus tour to Shinshu in Nagano, which is a popular spot to escape the heat and humidity of the Japanese summer. But this experience was nothing like the ordeal that I had imagined it to be, and it led me to reflect upon the cultures of work and leisure in Japan. To my mind, these are two distinct, separate spheres of activity: however, here in Japan, it seems to me that they often overlap, frequently in surprising ways. I'm certain that many of us living or doing business in Japan have seen - more likely participated in - the more-or-less mandatory after-work drinking and eating rituals that cement relationships. Few foreign observers would likely classify these activities as "work," although in many ways they may prove crucial to one's career. Be that as it may, this group tour struck me as yet another example of the blurring between "work" and "play" in Japan, and it also provided a firsthand glimpse of the well-known "groupism" that characterizes Japanese society.

As you might imagine, being the only foreigner on the bus placed me somewhat "outside" the group, per se, and ended up attracting quite a lot of attention. Most of it was fine: polite curiosity about my country of birth, how long I had been living in Japan, and so forth. Then, of course, there was the other kind: "He can eat rice!" or "He can use chopsticks!" could be heard, in a kind of amazed murmur, whenever we stopped for a bite to eat. And it seemed that whenever I looked up I would catch at least half a dozen sets of eyes furtively watching me, regardless of the situation. Now, I couldn't imagine that the "gaijin's" reaction to, say, pickled field greens or horsemeat sashimi would be all that interesting - much less interesting than the sightseeing spots that we were visiting, in any case - but, happily, the novelty wore off after the first day, and I was more or less left to my own devices.

I admit that the heat, the many hours spent sitting in the bus, the traffic on virtually every road, the ubiquitous crowds and the hurried schedule could, at times, combine to make it all seem like hard work. But when I turned to look at my fellow passengers, dozing between stops, pleasantly chatting or snacking away on local delicacies, with their positive attitude and cheerfulness, I couldn't help but feel my flagging spirits begin to lift. After all, it's hard to complain about a cramped seat or a bit of humidity when you look across the aisle at a pair of smiling octogenarians who offer you an Onigiri (rice ball) and appear to be having the time of their lives.

I'm tempted to say that, as a "rugged individualist" from the US, I found the lack of individual freedom and the culture of "Amae" (dependency) suffocating. That would be partially true, but I hate to indulge in such stereotypes. And it's really not that simple.

You see; there is something universally reassuring about not having to bother to think or choose while on holiday—where everything has been planned, down to the meals. I had never been on such a tour before, but after many years of backpacking (marked, as it is, by constant haggling, occasional food poisoning, and the odd beating by border police) it came as a relief to surrender my will to the tour conductor and allow myself to be led, fed and otherwise indulged.

The only time I lost my patience was when, on the third day of the journey, and after a particularly grueling two-hour bus ride in the broiling heat, we were finally allowed to disembark, but only then to stand in the searing midday sun and listen to yet another tour guide, who lectured us in the parking lot of a Buddhist temple before taking us into the Hondo (Main Hall) for prayer. I was feeling a bit "stir-crazy" at that point, and wanted nothing more than to go off on my own, wander the temple precincts and take photos - which I did, but with a strange sense of isolation as I looked back, over my shoulder, at the group I was leaving behind. I might be paranoid, but it appeared to me that a few of the other passengers were looking at me disapprovingly. At any rate, after a brief taste of freedom, which I found oddly frightening, I rejoined the group and, to my great relief, was warmly accepted back into the fold.

To be completely honest, by the time we returned home - arriving very late in the evening, several hours beyond the limits of my endurance - I felt more exhausted than I had in a long, long time. Once home, I e-mailed a friend in the US that "it isn't any wonder to me that Japanese people spend so many hours at work - their holidays are torture!" and to another I wrote, "After two days on that bus, I was more than ready to go back to work!" To yet another, I half-jokingly remarked, "One of the toughest jobs I ever had was a Japanese vacation!"

But now, looking back, I have to say that one of my most lasting impressions was of that couple in their eighties, smiling and bowing as they exited the bus. Their hearty "Otsukaresamadeshita" (Great work!) and humble "Shitsureishimasu" (literally means "good bye" but from their facial expression, I suspect they were also apologizing for troubling us with their departure) made me realize how much I had taken for granted: how privileged I was, after all, to even be able to participate in such a tour, to have the leisure time and the financial means for such a holiday when so many others do not. And, most of all, their cheerfulness shamed me into understanding that one could indeed suffer with good humor, dignity and grace. I may not join any more tours in Japan in the future, but that lesson will stay with me for a long time to come.