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Bird's Eye View
of Early Japan
By:
Yuki Allyson Honjo
It
seems every month or so, there is a new book by a foreigner writing
about his or her experiences in Japan.
Of late, self-obsession is the norm—this is, in itself, not
a bad thing in measured doses. Such a book may nominally take place
in Japan, but is in reality about the author's self-awareness—Japan
is merely the milieu through which the author came to a sometimes
rude awakening. Results can vary. Turning Japanese (1992)
by David Mura is a well-written memoir of a Japanese American poet's
self-discovery of the "Japanese" artist within himself. More recently,
Mike Millard's Leaving Japan (2001) leverages his personal
unhappiness living in Japan as a weak argument for re-vamping the
US-Japan relationship.
Then there is the travelogue. Travelogues of old are compendia of
observations-they transport the reader in time and place, and through
their senses, their writing, their eyes, we see and experience their
trip. There is no reading between the lines or inner journey, and
the story begins and ends when the boat steams in and out the harbor.
In a interconnected world of the internet, planes, trains, and mobiles,
the travelogue seems painfully old-fashioned-something out of the
world of Baedekers and wax jackets. A travelogue to Japan seems
archaic: why read about someone's trip when you can hop on a plane
and do it yourself? In this post-modern voyeuristic era, the reader
expects some sort of personal epiphany, prophetic utterances or
at the very least, the flagellation of old canards.
Isabella Bird's Unbeaten Tracks in Japan is the quintessential
travelogue. Written in 1878, and republished in 2001 by Traveler's
Tales Classics, it harkens back to the days in which a trip to Aomori
was an arduous month-long trek, rather than a one-hour plane ride.
Not surprisingly, Bird is occasionally subject to a racist Victorian
worldview—after all, she is a product of her time. However,
her writing and her observations are refreshingly free of the existential
angst that characterize modern travel writing on Japan and leaves
the reader free to experience her very interesting journey.
In April of 1887, Bird decided to visit the country and wrote a
series of letters to her sister, which eventually became Unbeaten
Tracks in Japan. From Tokyo and Nikko, she traveled northwards
through the interior of Hokkaido, then called Yezo.
The world was a much larger place in those days. No "English lady"
had traveled alone to the interior. Her journey required a 110 pounds
of luggage (which included a folding bed, chair, and Indian rubber
tub) and her man servant Ito, part Boy-Friday, part Machiavellian
schemer. Bird endures armies of fleas; "a stew of abominable things";
shoeless horses; brambles so thick they literally tore her dog-skin
gloves off her hands; the constant wet and mildew. On bad days,
her progress slowed to a dozen miles, yet remained remarkably stalwart
in her privations.
The Japan in which Bird encountered on her "unbeaten tracks" was
a rough one. She purposely choose difficult rarely traveled routes-hence
her title. Roads were at times non-existent, bridges swept away,
the accommodations often rather poor and dirty. In many portions
of her journey, Bird was the first western Japanese women that the
Japanese had ever seen-no surprise, since Japan had been "opened"
by the West only two dozen years earlier.
Bird describes all aspects of life-the travel conditions, the weather,
habits and customs. Using the advantage of her sex, she depicts
the rarely accounted the conditions of women and children of the
time. For example, she writes about men's involvement in child care,
children's clothes, and a Japanese woman at her toilette.
One very interesting and sometimes disturbing chapters (from the
viewpoint of political correctness) describes her visit to the Ainu.
Bird refers to them as a "stupid", "dirty" and "savage" people.
But she also cannot seem to hide her genuine affection for the people
who were her hosts. She even castigates her Japanese manservant,
urging him to treat these "dog people" with respect. While she was
repulsed by the Ainus' drinking and their unhygienic habits, she
compared their "riotous and stupid intoxication" as the same as
"a hundred places in Scotland every Saturday afternoon." She also
makes a number of shrewd comparisons of the Japanese government's
treatment of the Ainu with the American government's early policies
on Native Americans.
One can't help admiring Bird's gumption and determination. Born
in Yorkshire, England in 1831, she was told by her doctors that
her ill health and bad back required a "change of air." Instead
of the more customary trip to the south of France, Bird used her
doctor's advice as an excuse to travel to America, Japan, Tibet,
Hong Kong, Hawaii, Egypt and Morocco. She became a fellow of the
Royal Geographic Society long before British women could vote. With
a pair of unpolished leather boots, she marched, dragged and rode
through unbeaten tracks all over the world. Through her writing,
Bird not only supported herself and her travels, but also her sister.
Travelogue writing of Bird's caliber, like the genre itself, is
increasingly a lost art. While her accounts are not without a personal
touch, they are first and foremost about her trip. Her personal
triumphs, pains, fears, and prejudices came second to the task at
had of describing the sights and smells of her trip, the people
whom she met. She faithfully recorded what she encountered, and
while sometimes misunderstanding the sights around her, she traveled
with an open mind. Perhaps it is time for the old-fashioned travelogue
to be back in vogue. 
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Yuki Allyson
Honjo. "Bird's eye view of early Japan." The International
Herald Tribune-Asahi Shimbun. December 28, 2001. Pg. 23.
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While
[Isabella Bird] was repulsed by the Ainus' drinking and their unhygienic
habits, she compared their "riotous and stupid intoxication" as
the same as "a hundred places in Scotland every Saturday afternoon."
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