愛する - Intro to Japan

I've heard of people loving places. They talk about these places they love and their eyes alight, they gleam. They gush about their favourite spots to hang out, their favourite things to do there. If it's a city, there's the best bar, best park, best restaurant, or skyscraper. If it's a location, there's a the best hiking trail, the best activity to do, the best local holiday to take part in. All the things that they can do and be there that they can't do and be anywhere else.

They speak with mesmerization. And if you haven't been there yet, they're sure to tell you that you must and with certainty in their voice they say "you're going to love it!" (I absolutely hate being told I'm going to love something. How the hell would you know what I'll love? We just met 20 minutes ago).

The best part of Medellin being the best part of Medellin

I listened to these descriptions over the course of the last year more times than I care to count. I listened to it about places I've never heard of and places I've always dreamed of going to, often from other travelers. Many times, the local opinion was the opposite of that of the traveler. No matter what, a bad word wasn't uttered.

"Isn't Medellin amaaaaaazing?!" EVERY TOURIST in South America EVER, said.

"It was alright." I respond. I'm met with shock mixed with disappointment. Some people even seem offended, as if I'd aimed the comment directly at them. They follow up by something like: oh you must not have experienced the right side of town, or, what's wrong with you, don't you enjoy nightlife?! Or, what are you talking about, I lived there for two months and it was the best part of my life.

I shrug.

I think about where they must have partied. Likely where all the tourists party. I considered the night that I went out in Cartagena, on the "wrong" side of town. Gun shots fired as the crowd, dancing feverishly to Colombian Cumbia, overtook the backroads. Even the locals amongst us were eager to leave. I was pretty sure that's not what these particular people meant by 'nightlife'.

One thought led to another and I recalled the cab driver who refused to take us up to Santo Domingo, the most dangerous neighborhood in Medellin. 'sta loca? no voy ir alla. No no no, s muy pelligroso. He warned us. He dropped us off at the station. Take the cable car up, he said. Be careful. Especially you, gringa.

Why me? I asked. Stupid question, I realized.

Because you're a pretty lady. I shut the door and he sped off, nearly hitting a crowd of people on his way.

Because I'm the only female, you mean.

I wake up from my daydream and return to the faces still staring at me in disbelief.

"It's a sprawled out city like any sprawled out city" I add. I take a moment to try to meet them halfway.

It's very colorful. I liked the street art. I say, offering a smile.

*

"I love New York! It's my favourite place in the world! Why would you ever leave?!" She exclaimed. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that. It's true. I answered. New York is amazing. It's one of a kind, that's for sure. But it's not everything you think it is.

"But I've been there so many times. I know I know, it gets cold in the winter. But I love snow!"

You think you love snow. I wanted to say. You love snow when you don't have to dig your car out of it in the morning and hack off the under-layers of ice until you can't feel your fingers. Or when you don't have to perform Disney-On-Ice on your morning walk to the subway, or accidentally mistake an abysmal pothole full of mucky ice-water for a small pile of left over snow and end up at work drenched from the knee down. When you have to move your outdoor activities indoors, or dodge chunks of sidewalk salt in your high heels.

"Don't you love New York?"

I do.

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion. What was my problem, they were asking me.

Hanging out in old stomping grounds. East Village, NYC. Side note; in my ±25 years living in NYC, this was my first time touching the cube.

What is it to love a place? Is it to think it's perfect? To gush about it like a high school student who doodles a crush's name all over their notebook? Isn't that what we call lust?

When do you love a person? When they can do no wrong. When their flaws are endearing. when through the haze of your imagination, the red lights that should alert you seem a lovely shade pink. When everything they are is acceptable. I think that's what we call obsession, or at the very least, desire.

No. I think it's when they're sick, snot dripping out of their nose, their faces pale and drained, that you hug them, and you don't care. You just want them to feel better. It's when you nearly want to strangle your sibling, because they're breathing too loud, but you couldn't imagine what your life would be like if they weren't there. Or when you look at your partner, the person you share your life with, and you suddenly can't stand the way they hold their fork, or spoon food into their mouths, that you absolutely detest them and you don't know why. Yet at that very same moment, you'd be in ruins if they were to disappear. It's when you have a fight and you sleep on the couch, and they wake up to drape a blanket over you so that you don't get cold. It's when you give in, because you want to. You don't accept all of their flaws, you love them in spite of them. You love them as they are, and yet you want them to be better. Their best selves. You see everything they are and everything they could be- the good, and the bad. And you will stand by them to the bitter end almost as if you have no choice, knowing that you do.

A place is no different. If you can only sing its praises, only see how it is wonderful and perfect for you. If you can't recognize it's flaws, if you never hated it just as much as you loved it, you don't love it. You're just imposing your own imagination and desires on an ideal and perfect reality that cannot exist. Not in New York, or Sao Paolo, or Brno, or London, or Pusan, or Papau New Guinea.

Walking through the Shirakawa river headwaters in Kyoto, on my first trip to Japan. Dated 502 B.C.

What I'm about to tell is my love story with Japan. And everything bad that I say, comes from a deeply quiet but full well of real, actual, aware, love. So deep that if you could free-dive to the other end of this well, you'd come out on the opposite end of the earth- New York, as it were.

It's a sudden, unexpected love story that begins in a nameless cafe in Downtown Manhattan, much like in cliche movies or bad novels. It begins with a simple innocent question and develops into an ongoing saga.

So when I tell you everything that is wrong with Japan, remember, that it's with concern, and of course, love. And no, I absolutely will not recommend that you visit Japan.

Why would I? You'll ruin it for the rest of us!

#japan #traveler #femaletraveller #backpacking