When touring a foreign country or an unfamiliar place closer to home, there is a direct connection between amount of time spent on site and the depth that is possible to understand about the cultural meanings, the layers of history shown in traces of livelihoods still visible, the personalities and the cycle of activities attracting local involvement, and so on.
This photo shows a regional center in the main valley of Fukui prefecture on the west coast of Japan’s main island around dusk. It is hardly a postcard picture, but it is an authentic view that is familiar to residents in the frame. Some of the small mountains have names known locally. The one in the middle of the frame in the distance is Atago-san, the site of stone-lined burials and also earthen mounds for dozens of worthies from the 500 to 700 CE. Neighbors would sometimes know who owns a particular rice paddy, or who it is leased to grow rice on it. The narrow streets and lanes, seasonal cycle of events, nearest shop to buy food or equipment, where to pay utility bills or top up a cellphone’s services, and so on fill in the picture of daily life and livelihoods. A passing tourist from outside the valley, including ones from overseas, would notice a few features, but be blind and deaf to the layers of local meaning today, as well as memories carried along from previous years and the aspirations of things yet to come.
This gap between residents and those just passing through is worth examining more carefully. By discovering how tourists can see and hear a bit of the local scene, but also to learn ways that people born and raised there would be able to appreciate some of the things overlooked or taken for granted also enriches them. Both outsiders and insiders can gain from a look at this gap between transient visitors and long-settled residents.
One approach is to ask what each side is missing in their experience of the place: residents (unless they go away for an extended time before returning again) lack critical distance. One thing leads to another; everything is relatable to everything else: people, events, locations. Timewise, there is no tourist schedule to speed the day along. So events and tasks and relationships with others do not always have to be hurried or single-encounters alone. Instead the interactions contribute, piece by piece, layer by layer, to ongoing and open-ended, low-stakes relationships capable of leading to many tangents. Spacewise, there is no tourist track to follow, so a person local to the area can travel all different routes to all sorts of destinations for multiple kinds of purpose.
What about the things lacking in the experiences of outsiders who are visiting: what is missing in their view of the place? Of course, there are the myriad relationships to places and people, and the local knowledge (and language, in the case of foreigners) that outsiders lack. Timewise, the knowledge and relationships include the past, present, and (aspired for; expectations or at least assumptions of) future. And spacewise, the visitor on a tight time schedule and restricted route is very limited on what they can see and hear. Rather than to wander or explore under their own instincts, the itinerary determines where to go (and not to venture) and what is told to them by guides, public signboards, and commentaries online or published. Naturally, a sincere and committed visitor cannot simply pour themselves into the place and instantly inhabit histories, current relationships and daily routines, or dream the dreams of local residents. But perhaps there are some ways for each side to adopt something from the other side: ways for insiders to glimpse things as outsiders do, and the outsiders to glimpse things as insiders do.
When learning about a new place or a new subject, it is worth acknowledging the power of the following insight offered to new educators from a long-time teacher. She advised the young educators to love his or her students. This was not a flippant remark about being pals with students, but rather a simple and effective way to establish a commitment to aiding the learners unconditionally. A related adage sometimes quoted is that “people don’t care what you know until they know that you care.” In other words, even the most knowledgeable teacher cannot lead students to new heights simply by drowning them in intelligent remarks. Learning is social and therefore the learners need some bit of goodwill from the teacher before they give their best efforts at gaining depth of knowledge.
Something analogous applies to “learning” a new place, too, whether as tourist, as short-term worker, or settling into life-long residency. If the knowledge source (the “teacher,” figuratively speaking) is the geographic place, then the learners have to establish some kind of social relationship; as if the “teacher” loves the student. Under those circumstances, the learner can expediently gather experiences and relationships to local people, as well as for landmarks and navigating around the cultural landscape. A corollary to “teacher should love the students” is that learners should love (not infatuation, not blindly, but instead in a committed way and without criticism unconditionally for the long term) what they are engaging in to study.
Putting this advice about “loving” a place into practical terms, an outsider can adopt an attitude of abiding in the place, wandering, not being constrained by time budget or itinerary routes. In order to be able to “read” the cultural landscape, one should “love” being there, allow time to flow freely, sitting with the place and people, moving through and around and across the place to know it in all weathers and seasons and hours of the day, but never in haste or with mind preoccupied by hurried impatience. Just freely passing the time available filled with admiration and a desire to learn the sound and look of the place and its many parts all together. In reality no visitor has unlimited time and energy and money, but perhaps 10 days to two weeks is long enough to wander, photograph, write commentary, loiter to hear conversations and watch events unfold, imagined “as if” belonging there oneself, too.
Returning to the local residents, maybe there are some things to borrow from outsiders in order to hear or see things with fresh eyes, as if visiting the (hometown) place for the first or second time. Much of the distance separating outsiders from the place (and people) around them comes from the surface layer they occupy. By downplaying memories and all manner of local knowledge and relationships it is possible to see just the external characteristics of the town’s layout and its major features and boundaries within the wider geographic setting. Another natural tendency for first-timers is to compare the place to other parts of the world nearby or distantly. Residents can make an effort at comparison to mimic something of the visitor vision. Even if the process of shedding insider social capital and cultural capital feels like weakening and impoverishing the place, the benefit comes from going back to the old familiar standpoint and truly be glad for the wealth of meanings inhabited there.
In the end, both parties gain something from this exercise. Locals with their knowledge, roots, and dreams (re)gain appreciation and valuing of their place; not to take it for granted, but instead to take precautions to preserve the goodness, to repair any tears in the social fabric. Outsiders with their critical distance and vision unburdened by historical baggage or any other source of grievance can now become more aware of all the undercurrents flowing around them and the local people, thus restoring some richness into a simple first impression normally held.
The physical facts of time, money, and movement around the spaces mean that few corners can be cut. A visitor who is committed to knowing a place well enough to claim that “yes, I know what it is like to be there, if only for a while,” needs perhaps a couple of weeks to wander, observe, listen, and interact with the people and the place. By putting in the time and adopting an attitude of belonging or abiding fully in the place, there is some possibility that the outsider will close part of the gap between local and visitor.
