Tokyo Notebook

By L. Klein

Editor's note: Liese Klein is our reporter from Hombu dojo. She will be providing a picture of what it is like to live in Japan and practice at Aikikai Headquarters. Her column promises to be entertaining and can provide insight for those considering such a pilgrimage.

"You're going to Japan!!??! Har! You're the least Japanese person I know!" That was the typical response from my friends two years ago when I announced my plans to move to Japan to study Aikido. The consensus was that I was crazy and wouldn't last a month.

Not that I blame them, I'm not your typical candidate for transplant to another culture, especially one known for quietness and good manners. I'm a native New Yorker, and although my family escaped to Long Island soon after my birth, I don't seem to have lost the personality quirks of my native city. And except for Aikido and Sapporo beer, I can't say I had shown many signs of being enthralled with Japanese culture. Taiko drumming doesn't do it for me, I like sushi only in moderation, and some of the best naps I've ever had have been during tea ceremonies.

In fact, much of what I have disliked in the past about Aikido and the Aikido community I attributed to the Japanese culture that seems to be interwoven into the fabric of practice. For me, Japanese culture as it is expressed in Aikido frequently became some combination of authoritarianism, sexism and conformity. Many of the worst things I experienced in Aikido over the years started piling up under the label of "Japanese culture."

So, after some particularly painful experiences in recent years, it seemed to become imperative that I figure out for myself what Aikido was really about-- starting at its birthplace. How much of both the wonderful and terrible things you find in your neighborhood Aikido dojo are part of Japanese culture, and how much do we project on it from our own experience as Americans, Brazilians or whatever? With that figured out, I reasoned, maybe I could more confidently dedicate the rest of my life to this practice.

So, as much as I dreaded settling down in one of the world's most crowded and expensive cities, in the winter of 1997 I packed up my stuff, quit my job and set off for Tokyo.

What have I found here? A lot of contradictory things, at the extreme ends of both rotten and wonderful. I had planned to stay only a year, but I'm currently closing in on two, and still have a contract and lease to finish out. The experience changes every day, and the jury is still out. All I know is that I'm still here, still practicing and still making some kind of life in Japan.

So what is my life here? I live in a decent-sized apartment (about as big as four parking spaces) a two-minute walk from Hombu dojo. I work every day >from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. as an editor at a Japanese company, then practice an hour or two at Hombu dojo, health and schedule permitting. The rest of the day is spent studying Japanese, hanging out with friends or drinking with my co-workers (an essential part of Japanese company life.)

With this column I hope I can communicate some of the details of living in Japan and training in Aikido here, as well as some insights on Japanese culture in this context. I'm far from an expert on Japan, but I have worked as a journalist since I was 15 years old (I'm now 31) and I speak enough Japanese to ask people to talk to me in English.

What qualifies me for writing about Aikido? Not much really, just a desire to communicate my experiences living here and training at Hombu dojo. Ironically, none of the established Aikido magazines have any writers or editors who train here at all, even those based in Japan. I can also bring to this column a lot of experience at US dojos, thanks to my habit of moving every year or so. And as far as I know I'm the only USAF member living in Tokyo and training regularly here at Hombu.

Most of all, I hope that some people will read these pieces and perhaps be inspired to come here and see for themselves. It's not as hard as you think. Just buy a ticket and come over. We've got a parking space waiting for you (or maybe four).