Japanese society is, as so many have put it, a contradiction. Its conformity seems at times to clash with its penchant for outlandish individuality.  Its social welfare system that has virtually eliminated poverty doesn’t jive with the (uber)-polite homeless people in some big cities. The top-notch education system doesn’t explain the country’s protective isolationism, nor the lack of creative thinking.

Japan is a country posed to do great things, but seems to be stuck in an era of dependence, its self-esteem muddled by the influx of American culture.  I have often thought that Japan is one charismatic nationalist leader away from trying to take over the world again – except this time, they would easily succeed.  Their technological prowess has moved them way beyond the kamikaze – there’s no need for such sacrifice now. If Japan ever had to wage war again, you can be sure they would do it efficiently and effectively.

It’s been almost two years since I lived in Japan, but I still dwell on some of the quirks. As a foreigner, Japan was a difficult place to live. The homogeneous society doesn’t take kindly to people that are different, especially outside major cities.

Of course, there were exceptions.

A closed society like Japan had a certain admiration for the courageous few who would go over the top (a TV network favorite was Japanese men dressed like girls).

The complete lack of English in the country (even though every Japanese student is required to study English for 6 years) made communication difficult. But sometimes you didn’t need English to get the message.

After all, no one likes dog shit.

Except when it’s a golden dog shit souvenir for $40.

Then there is the boom of environmentalism sweeping Japan – every piece of garbage must be separated and recycled (there were 4 or 5 different garbage bags I had to purchase from the city to separate my trash). Even the national utensil is recycled.

But then again, environmentalism has its limits. There was the complete irreverence for endangered animals, from stuffed pandas…

…to glazed sea turtles…

…to whale curry (no, never tried it).

But I guess when an island country eats almost anything from the ocean, making the jump from raw shellfish to marine mammals isn’t all that far-fetched.

There was also a natural beauty in Japan like I’ve never seen, including inundated volcano craters.

Hiking was one of the best activities, and no one is quite as friendly and happy as a Japanese hiker, who greets everyone they pass with “Konnichiwa” and a smile.

Or one could spend an autumn day at the Kirin beer factory, among the cosmos fields that felt eerily like a scene from the Wizard of Oz.

And many places in Japan have created man-made beauty (though, unfortunately, most have been rebuilt since 1945 – the U.S. didn’t leave much standing).

The serenity of a temple at midnight in Tokyo made me wonder how a metropolis of nearly 30 million people could be so utterly safe.

But Japan has taken commercialism and consumption to a whole new level.

I mean – it’s a Hello Kitty shrine.  Seriously – they’ve turned Sanrio into a god.  American capitalists could learn something from this – all we’ve done is sell What Would Jesus Do? bumper stickers…

Though commercialism has it’s benefits, too. After all, an annual summer event in a small farming town in Kyushu was essentially one big pyrotechnic advertisement (even some of the fireworks actually spelled out brand names…).

But what an event  – two hours of the biggest fireworks you’ve ever seen – all from your seat on the river bank, complete with plenty of cold beer (and yet – perhaps Japan’s most significant sign of civilization – no matter how much alcohol was flowing, there was never any belligerent drunks).

And, in my humble opinion, Japan has the most exciting spectator sport (outside of NFL Football) – Sumo.

Tradition, culture, beer (there isn’t much in Japan that happens without beer…), and huge fat guys pushing each other around, all the while the audience watches with the horrid fear that they may witness a fatal wedgie.

But not to worry – because the unfortunate wrestler who falls victim to that wedgie can always go home and use specialty toilet paper.

Now the question is (in a country where the few people who do use English often unintentionally use very direct language) is it pronounced with a French accent – “Passage” – sounding more like “massage” and giving one the feeling of elegance and luxury?

Or is it pronounced with an American accent, a word meaning “a long narrow hole or tube in your body, which air or liquid can pass?”