Tokyo to Toya.

The change from Tokyo to Toya is quite a stark one. We went from skyscrapers, multiculturalism and dripping humidity to single story buildings, moderate temperature and being literally the only westerners in the village. We we're met off the plane by some people from the board of education. Erica our host (essentially our minder for the year), and the president of the Toya international exchange association (not as fancy as it sounds) Taka-san, which we would to come to know as our crazy Japanese granddad. We we're brought for some lunch which consisted of Tempura and Squid Sashimi (raw squid). Although the Tempura was delicious I had mixed feelings about the squid but I forced it down to polite...a decision I would later regret.

Squid Sashimi....bad bad bad bad bad.

On the car ride from the airport I had time to observe the surrounding areas. I was struck with how similar the landscape was to Ireland. It had the same green colour although painted on a much more rugged landscape. We passed several signs with warnings about bears in Japanese which filled me with glee and anticipation but our hosts quickly shat on my dreams by informing us that running into bears in the wild almost never happens...I'm still clinging onto that "almost". Soon we arrived in Toya by which point I was seriously regretting the squid earlier on. Thanking my lucky stars to be out of the car and at my new home we burst in the door to see a whole tray of welcoming food accompanied by the lovely woman who made it for us. James and our hosts seemed quite happy while I was cursing whatever sadistic god or twist of faith would thrust me into such an uncomfortable situation. The others made small talk while I played with my food and pretended to eat and enjoy it in a desperate attempt to stave of any filthy looks from the cook who was sitting right next to me. The others soon left and I promptly sprinted into the bathroom and got sick......fucking squid.

Our living room...not bad considering some of the horror stories I've heard about other volunteer accommodations.

After this however I felt relatively better and proceeded to look around our new home. The house is big enough with me and James having a comfortably sized living room, a bedroom each, a spare room, a kitchen and bathroom. Although the bedrooms and living room offer size and luxury that a student could not possibly expect on his gap year we pay the price in our kitchen and bathroom which are little more than matchstick boxes with plumbing. In the spare room there is a treasure trove of various items left over from previous volunteers. The real jewel in which is the folder of letters. At the end of every year the volunteers who are about to depart write a letter to the next pair about to arrive. This is a wonderful tradition and one that stretches back to before I was born. It`s strange reading advice about my Project that was written before I even came into existence. Nevertheless though it feels amazing to be part of such a longstanding tradition and larger process. Along with the collection of letters there is a collection of photos of the past volunteers. As I gaze at their faces while I`m writing this sentence I can`t help but feel connected to them in some small way, even if I will never meet most, if any of them.

The magical folder of letters.

The contents of the letters ranges from encouraging advice to mind numbing tips about how to work the television. I hate these letters as A most of them are from 15 years ago and B even if our television worked I wouldn't want to use it anyway. I can watch TV any time, I`m not going to waste this year sitting in front of the tube....I`m going to waste it sitting in front of a computer...ranting to people I've never met before....(sigh...).

Some of the past volunteers.