I moved to a small fishing village in Japan to experience a lifestyle in danger of disappearing

Ena, Japan (CNN) – “Have you seen Mr. of the oranges?”, Asked my neighbor, in Japanese.

She was on my doorstep, huddled under a small umbrella in the rain on a Wednesday afternoon. I was in the middle of my lunch.

I had not seen it.

He looked around as if he was going to appear, and then left to meet a group of people. They continued up the mountain in search of the peasant, whom they finally found.

Although the encounter was brief, it was the moment when I realized that I was in a very remote community, and that I had somehow become a small part of it.

It was September 2018 when I moved to Japan and made it my home, deep in the Japanese countryside, on the Kii Peninsula.

I never thought it would be so isolating to live in such a beautiful place, but that’s how life was in Ena.

Surrounded by mountains on all sides, except for the sea, this tiny fishing village overlooks a single and lonely island. There is only one store: a place that sells fishing equipment, snacks and sake. Ena’s only cafe is only open on sunny days and closes at dusk.

Farmers grow oranges on the hills or tend the crops in the terraced fields.

As a foreigner, I stood out. Cars slowed down, occupants wanted to take a look at me as I made my way to the store, locals wondered what the hell I was doing there.

Goodbye tokyo

I flew from London to Tokyo and spent two weeks soaking up the energy of the Japanese capital before contacting my friend Manami, whom I met while backpacking Japan a few years earlier, to tell her that I was looking for a place to live. .

“You can stay at my house,” he replied.

It was a relief: I was burning my budget on hotels in the city and needed a base from which to start my life in Japan; A home address is crucial for several bureaucratic reasons. Meanwhile, he also had to meet the writing deadlines.

Three days later I was on the bullet train to Osaka, speeding across the country, scared and excited.

If Tokyo had seemed like a long way from my home in the UK, surely a small fishing village would make me feel like I was slipping into a totally different dimension.

From Osaka, I took a local train to get out of the city. Then another even more local train. With my big suitcase and bag of snacks, I felt very distant from the groups of children in their neat uniforms who were coming home by train from school.

When the train entered a desolate rural station, I thought, “What am I doing?”

The sea and the island

Manami was waiting for me when I got off the train. It was a relief to see a familiar face.

As I drove, the road snaked up a mountain and our destination appeared on the other side: Ena.

This is not a place where foreign visitors go, and neither are many Japanese.

The fishing villages are gradually becoming a relic of the past, the local youth are more interested in the life of the big city than in following in their parents’ footsteps.

The house I was moving into was actually made up of two buildings.

Manami had bought a traditional Japanese house and then built a modern country house next door. The property, located on the side of a mountain, offered spectacular views of the sea.

I would sit and look through the sliding doors at the dark silhouette of Kuroshima, the island on the shore, and the boats slowly passing in the distance.

He had a view on the life of the whole town. But somehow, up here I was even more isolated.

The most basic needs

The next day, Manami took me to the village post office to open a bank account and register my new address. Then he left.

I was left alone. The sun was beginning to set, and wine was needed to celebrate my new home.

I walked down the hill, 10 minutes or so, to the little shop in town. Their shelves had few merchandise. The shop owner, coming out of her living room, was surprised to see me, but was unfazed.

“Welcome,” he said to me in Japanese, with a different accent than I had heard in Tokyo. He chatted while I tried to pay for my drink.

I quickly realized that I didn’t know enough Japanese. I had no idea what he was saying, maybe something about the weather. I smiled and apologized for my terrible lack of language as I left.

The next problem was food. Luckily, technology had come to this Japanese fishing village and I was able to order food online.

Friday was a great day: my food arrived. He was on the deck and could see the delivery truck parked underneath. The driver seemed confused by the directions.

“It’s for the foreign lady, up the hill!” Shouted an older neighbor who had come out of her house downstairs and pointed at me.

The village People

Life unfolds in Ena as it has for decades, possibly centuries.

For me, mornings started on my futon (there was no bed). I leaned out of the circular window above my head to see the island as always in the distance, the fishing boats already busy, the orange farmers passing by in mini “kei” trucks on their way up the mountain.

He ate oranges for breakfast, drank tea, and looked out the door of the old house. On a good day, the sea shone in the sun, but when the rain came, the clouds covered the land and the sea disappeared.

Sometimes, if she was hanging out or coming back from a walk, the women picking oranges would stop her truck and insist that she take some. Most days I would see my nice neighbor, at the foot of the hill, sitting on the step of her house, knife in hand, gutting a fish.

All creatures great and small

Ena was also home to wildlife. Lots of wildlife. It was late summer, but the temperature was still warm and the insects were still in full swing.

Big golden spiders hung over the windows, which I didn’t care because they stayed outside, but the huge hunting spiders didn’t. I didn’t like having those housemates. Absolutely.

Then there were the praying mantises, which I had never seen in real life until I moved to Ena. I soon got used to his funny ways; one even landed on my shoulder while I cooked.

The tiny green frogs that live in the rice fields filled the night air with their chorus, and the mukade (large, poisonous centipedes) were not to be messed with.

The largest beasts were also closing in. Living on the mountainside, wild boars got so close that he could hear them sniffing.

They told me that bears also inhabit the area.

Weather warnings

At one point, I learned that a typhoon was going to hit the town. Manami called me to advise me: I needed supplies, a radio and a flashlight in case the power went out.

The typhoon arrived at night, after a day of rough seas and strong winds. I barricaded myself, with the blinds closed, and the television news echoing the warnings of landslides and flash floods. Being on a hill, I was especially concerned about a landslide. That night I drank sake as the storm shook the house like a ship at sea.

I woke up calm. The morning sun was shining and the town was quiet.

But the typhoon had made itself felt. The beach was completely transformed, reshaped by the high waves; Large rocks had completely bent the metal barriers that surrounded the arena. There was property damage. The store clerk asked me if I was okay; we had a fragmented conversation about how strong the wind was.

And then, two weeks later, allowing me to experience all the extremes of Japan, there was an earthquake. I was standing in the modern house when the ground started to rumble … and then it started to shake for real.

The earthquake alarm on my phone pierced my fear, warning “Earthquake! Earthquake!” in Japanese. I saw the fishing boats rush back to shore, in the event of a tsunami. Not knowing what to do, I hid in the bathroom, the floor moving from side to side.

The deep shaking stopped, but my heart kept beating.

Matsuri

After the typhoon and earthquake, things seemed to calm down until the day of the matsuri (festival). The main street was very busy, full of all the villagers; old and young had come to see the event.

The local Shinto altar was lowered and paraded on the shoulders of all the youth in the area.

There was a whiff of alcohol in the air as the men staggered and shook the altar. They paraded with him, lashing out at the wooden scaffolding and throwing him into the air, a ritual apparently meant to amuse the god within.

After a lot of effort, it was time for the lion dance and the music of the local school children.

A young couple came over to chat with me. “Why do you want to live here?” They asked me. “There is nothing here!” Former locals, they now lived in the city of Wakayama, about 30 miles away.

Go ahead

It is not so difficult to live in a town like Ena.

There are many places like this.

But while there are a handful of minshuku (Japanese-style hotels) in these small towns, you’re not likely to find them online; rentals and AirBnbs in these farthest corners of Japan are more common.

The Japanese who live in the city like to take a break in the countryside, often buying vacation homes to use, such as Manami’s “hut.”

It’s easy to search the internet on sites like Airbnb and VRBO. Talk to the owners, read the reviews, and get a feel for the place before you arrive.

The towns of the Japanese countryside are desperate for more people to live there or even visit them.

Despite the ease, few foreign visitors make it to Ena, or similar towns. It’s a daunting prospect: English isn’t widely spoken, it’s difficult to get around, and they don’t have the great cultural attractions of historic centers like Kyoto and Kanazawa.

Living in Ena was never among my plans, but I’m glad I did. Looking back on my two months there, I cannot believe that I have managed to live in such a remote place, far from modern conveniences.

After the storms, the earthquake and the wildlife, I feel ready for other challenges.

But the town and its black island will always be etched in my memory.