By Galina Khoikhina

In August 2020, I went to Hida Furukawa, located in Gifu Prefecture. I was an exchange student in Japan and travelled to this small city as a part of my term paper project about the relationship between anime pilgrimage and rural revitalization. Anime pilgrimage (anime seichi junrei) is a type of tourism based on people visiting places that appear in an anime. Hida Furukawa, became famous as a destination for anime tourism in 2016, just after the release of Makoto Shinkai’s animated film “Your Name (Kimi no na wa)”. 

The animated film “Your Name” tells the story of Mitsuha, a girl from the countryside and Taki, a boy from Tokyo. Although they are strangers, they begin to switch bodies from time to time, and through this experience learn more about each other’s life. According to the plot, Mitsuha lives in the small town of Itomori. It is a fictional town, but many locations could be found in Hida Furukawa and its surroundings. 

The goal of my project was to find out how the release of the animated film “Your Name” affected the tourism industry in Hida Furukawa. To answer my research question, I went to Hida Furukawa and visited tourist information centers, kumihimo workshops and the city library. I also talked with residents. 

First thing I found out was that the tourist information centers offer a map for anime pilgrims. It shows the locations of the places, which appeared in the film, and provides general information about the city. 

The release of the anime film “Your name” also influenced the souvenirs sold to tourists. In addition to selling official anime goods, souvenir shops also sell local products, which are adjusted specially for anime pilgrims. For example, local sake is sold in the same bottles that appear in the anime. 

Furthermore, kumihimo workshops were organized for anime tourists. Kumihimo is the Japanese art of making cords, and it plays an important role in the anime “Your Name”. These workshops allow residents to interact with tourists. 

Some restaurants have also changed their marketing campaigns to attract anime pilgrims. Eateries offer discounts to tourists who came to Hida Furukawa to visit “the sacred sites”. 

Another interesting location is the city library.  Since it played a big part in the anime, tourists began to visit it a lot. Some of them disturbed the readers, so the staff even had to introduce rules for anime pilgrims. However, the librarians are very friendly to properly behaved anime pilgrims. They created a special “Your Name” corner, where visitors can make photos and leave feedback.  

To conclude, Hida Furukawa is an example of how anime content can be successfully integrated into existing tourism strategies and provide citizens working in this industry with a high level of interaction with anime pilgrims. 

*Galina Khoikhina is a BA student in Freie Universität Berlin’s Japanese Studies program. She is currently working on her BA thesis about tourism in rural Japan. 

by Cornelia Reiher

During the Covid-19 pandemic, more Japanese than usual became interested in or actually moved to rural areas [1]. To those interested in relocating to the countryside, several events and fairs provide information about the relocation process, support programs and different areas and municipalities. However, due to the pandemic, many of these events were cancelled or held online. This includes events like the so-called ijū fea (relocation fairs) organized by national organizations like the Japan Organization for Internal Migration (JOIN) or the Furusato kaiki shien sentā (NPO) as well as events organized by prefectures and municipalities. The formats vary from presentations for a larger audience to individual online counselling.

Since Japan’s borders are still closed to foreigners, we cannot do onsite fieldwork in Japan. Therefore, participating in such online events turned out to be a great opportunity to learn more about our research topic and relevant stakeholders and to reflect about (future and digital) access to the field. In April, I participated in an event organized by one prefectural government in Kyūshū that introduced the Chiiki okoshi kyōryokutai (COKT) program. This program was initiated by the Japanese Ministry of Internal Affairs and Communication (Sōmushō) in 2009 and provides municipalities in rural Japan with resources to support people from urban areas to move to their communities and to promote revitalization activities. [2] The event was chaired by an employee from the prefectural office. Two COKT participants from different towns spoke about their experiences and two employees from the municipal halls of the respective towns introduced their municipalities.

I learned a lot about specific issues related to relocation via the COKT program and the individual experiences of the two former COKT members. Both talked about strong social networks in rural towns as a benefit of rural life and gave advice to future applicants to the program. They encouraged them to visit the place they want to relocate to before applying for the program. All speakers stressed that the application should be written with passion.  It was also very interesting to learn about how representatives from the two municipalities promoted their towns to people interested in relocating to Fukuoka prefecture. While one particular emphasized the convenient infrastructure and family-friendly atmosphere, the other promoted housing support via the local database for abandoned houses (akiya banku).

I approached this event as I would have approached any event during onsite fieldwork and took notes during and after the event. On the downside, this format only allowed for one-way communication. Because Zoom was set in a way that only speakers were visible, I didn’t know how many other people participated in the event and I couldn’t approach neither audience nor speakers after the presentations to introduce myself and ask for an interview. However, I gained valuable insights into the proceedings of such events, about some topics COKT members, municipalities and prospective applicants to the program are concerned with, I got to know people I can contact via email and received information about future events I can attend. And despite the fact that this fieldwork took place at my desk in my home office, it brought back some of the excitement about fieldwork. I even was a bit nervous because I didn’t know what to expect. I did not only feel closer to the field, but also inspired by learning about people’s experiences and perspectives on relocation to rural Kyūshū and the COKT program.

[1]
Motohashi, Atsuko and Daichi Matsuoka (2020), More people moving to rural areas across Japan as new lifestyles emerge due to virus, The Mainichi, June 14, 2020, https://mainichi.jp/english/articles/20200612/p2a/00m/0fe/016000c?fbcl (last accessed May 14, 2021).
[2]
Reiher, Cornelia (2020), „Embracing the periphery: Urbanites’ motivations to relocate to rural Japan”, in Manzenreiter, Wolfram, Lützeler, Ralph und Sebastian Polak-Rottmann (eds.), Japan’s New Ruralities: Coping with Decline in the Periphery, London: Routledge, S. 230-244.

By Maritchu Durand

While traveling Japan, I discovered and learned to appreciate guesthouses. They offer affordable and convenient accommodation and provide a welcoming and warm place for lonely travelers exhausted after a long day of discoveries. In Furano, a city in northern Hokkaidō known for its multicolored flower fields, I had an unforgettable experience in a small and cozy hostel. After an eventful and draining day, I was relieved to take a rest in a hammock on the wooden terrace overlooking the small town and later sit down with the other guests. We shared a meal cooked by our host: different seasonal salads and warm dishes, and as a highlight, rice cooked over a woodstove placed in the middle of the small dining room. The owner introduced us to traditions in Hokkaidō and hidden destinations and arranged a cheese-making experience for my delighted neighbor the next day. The sixty-year-old Tokyoite later said that she would definitely come back to the hostel to enjoy the home-like atmosphere, the shared meal with strangers and the warm welcome by the owners.  

Warmly welcoming guests, introducing them to local crafts and specialties and creating a unique experience for and bond with guests is the mission of many guesthouses across rural Japan. This is also true for a hostel in Taketa in Ōita prefecture, one of our field sites. The owners put their hearts into the creation of a kankei jinkō – people who don’t live in the respective cities and towns, but feel attached to the place and at home in the local community and come back several times.[1] The Ministry of Internal Affairs (Sōmushō) emphasizes the importance of kankei jinkō for rural revitalization and defines them as city-dwellers with multiple backgrounds who, while still living in the big cities, keep coming back to a place and contribute to its vitality in many ways. They do so through the promotion of local crafts, volunteering or simply by spending their holidays in their new hometown (furusato).[2]

However, kankei jinkō is not a new concept. A unique example is the village of Kawaba, in Gunma prefecture: An isolated mountain village facing depopulation and economic decline since the 1960s, it successfully reversed these negative trends by creating a unique partnership with Setagaya-ku, one of Tokyo’s wealthiest districts.[3] Thanks to this unique long-term relationship, it became a kenkō mura,  a health village with hotels exclusively reserved for citizens of Setagaya, yearly visits by school children from the capital to experience life in the countryside, and a direct retail-network to sell the local produce to the metropolitan population. Not only did Kawaba considerably boost its economic and tourism activities, the village also gained the whole population of a Tokyoite district as its kankei jinkō. While Kawaba profited from its relative closeness to Tōkyō and active political leadership it remains an exception. I will further inquire how other places in more remote areas can create a kankei jinkō via guesthouses and hospitality to find out how they might contribute to creating bonds with city-dwellers and to the sustainable revitalization of rural municipalities.

[1]
Ong, Roger (2020), “Embraced by people and nature: Taketa Station Hostel Cue”, in: Zenbird, October 13^th, https://zenbird.media/embraced-by-people-and-nature-taketa-station-hostel-cue/, (last accessed May 13^th 2021).

[2]
Sōmushō (2018), “Kankei jinkō to wa” [What is a relationship population?], https://www.soumu.go.jp/kankeijinkou/about/index.html, (last accessed May 13^th  2021).

[3]
Kitano, Shu (2009), Space, planning, and rurality: uneven rural development in Japan, Victoria: Trafford Publishing. P.76ff.

By Tu Thanh Ngo (Frank Tu)

From shiny golden sand dunes to majestic snowy alps, from boundless paddy fields to deep green forests: rural Japan has so much to offer. Rural Japan is irresistibly charming, serene, picturesque, and fresh. This is quite a stark contrast to urban concrete jungles. Many urbanites enjoy a retreat in rural areas for a change after weeks and months of following ‘9 to 5’ schedules. Personally, while in Japan I always looked forward to a run-away trip over the weekend to escape the hustle and bustle of big cities.

So much of the charm of rural Japan comes from so-called amenities. Amenities are broadly defined as features of a region that make it an appealing place to live and work [1], which could be natural and cultural resources or job opportunities [2]. Having rich cultural and natural amenities is a factor to attract tourists as well as potential settlers.

In light of the many rural problems, some rural development scholars argue that one of the most successful strategies to help revitalize rural areas is amenity-based development [3]. They suggest that rural communities should capitalize on local amenities to attract newcomers, be it tourists or long-term migrants. Besides, newcomers play a significant role in rural revitalization by boosting consumption and the service industry in local communities. Moreover, young migrants – those seeking self-fulfillment and new challenges in rural Japan – can also help improve local amenities through activities such as developing local goods, working in local education, branding local products, or promoting the locality through their posts on social media [4].

This strategy to make use of local amenities is also reflected in the Japanese government’s Comprehensive Strategy for rural revitalization. In particular, “Tourismization and networkization of regional resources” is one of the tourism schemes included in the national version of the Comprehensive Strategy [5]. The scheme aims to capitalize on local amenities such as snow resorts, beaches, hot springs, gastro-tourism, geoparks, and cultural practices. Many municipalities follow this strategy. For instance, some focus on hot springs, others focus on traditional crafts such as pottery or bamboo art.

After a few years of travelling, I am still surprised that there are so many hidden gems in rural Japan, which are definitely as astonishing as the more mainstream spots. Should those places become more popular, it is likely that more newcomers and investors would come. I wonder how this would affect the charm of rural Japan.

[1]
Power, T. M. (1988) The Economic Pursuit of Quality. Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe.

[2] [3]
Green, G. P. and Zinda, J. A. (2013) ‘Rural development theory’, in Handbook of Rural Development. Massachusetts, USA: Edward Elgar Publishing, Inc. pp.3-20.

Johnson, K. M. and Stewart, S. I. (2005) ‘Recreation, amenity migration and urban proximity’, in Amenities and Rural Development: Theory, Methods and Public Policy. UK: Edward Elgar Publishing Limited. pp. 177-196

[4]
Klien, S. (2020) Urban Migrants in Rural Japan: Between Agency and Anomie in a Post-Growth Society. Albany: SUNY Press.

[5]
Prime Minister’s Office of Japan (2020a) ‘Chiiki Saisei Keikaku: Arita “Han’nō Hantō” Suishin Keikaku’. Prime Minister’s Office of Japan. Available at: https://www.kantei.go.jp/jp/singi/tiiki/tiikisaisei/dai49nintei/plan/y116.pdf.

By Sarah Bijlsma

Four years ago, on a summer morning, I stepped in the elevator of the Metropolitan Government Building in Tokyo. I had just arrived in the Japanese capital after a nine-hours long, uncomfortable bus ride that was meant to save the costs of one night’s accommodation. Standing on the observation deck 200 meters above the ground, I looked at the little squares that I knew were buildings, still sharp in the beginning but blurring into a homogenous grey mass that continued until the horizon. I had never been to a place where concrete did not seem to have an end. Mini-cars and mini-buses moved below me through the streets, but besides, I could not see any signs of life when looking out over the metropole. There, I realized that Tokyo is not so much a background against which people live their individual lives. It is the other way around; Tokyo is the authority here, residents only attribute to its being. The city’s geometric logic and standardization master social, cultural, and economic space in ways that make all living beings and material places to function the larger city design. I felt small up there, yet, feeling small in such a place has less to do with physical size. It was more the overwhelming determinedness of the city that caused my feelings of both emptiness and awe.

Japan is known to be one of the countries with the highest degree of urbanization worldwide. In 2019, around 91% of the population was living in urban areas, good for almost 115 million individuals [1]. This trend is a typical case of self-fulfilling prophecy; while people, jobs, and opportunities become geographically bound to the Japanese metropoles, rural areas suffer under the pressures of a declining and aging population, and their livability declines. Yet, the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic has provided people around the world with opportunities to rethink their ways of living and working. Japan, despite its relatively low infection rate, is not excluded from these debates. According to the Japan Times, 27,006 people moved into Tokyo in the month of September of 2020, a fall of 11,7% compared to the numbers of the year before. At the same time, 30,644 people moved out of the metropole, which is an increase of 12.5% year-on-year. For the third straight month in a row – the longest term ever measured – the numbers of people moving out of Tokyo outnumbered the ones of those moving in. [2]

So where do people go when they “escape” the urban jungle? Is the Japanese countryside turning into a hub for young Tokyoites? The Hometown Return Support Center (Furusato kaiki shien sentaa), an NPO that supports local governments in the revitalization of localities by providing consultation on rural in-migration, job opportunities, and community building, among others, has conducted a survey in 2020 amongst more than 7500 Japanese that wish to relocate to a rural area. Inquiring about their desired destination, the organization concludes that the prefecture most popular amongst aspiring emigrants is Shizuoka prefecture. On the second place ranks Yamanashi, on the third Nagano – prefectures all located just outside of the Tokyo metropole. [3]

In contrast to what the Japan Times article suggests, the survey of the Hometown Return Support Center notes that compared to 2019, the number of inquiries received by email, phone, and other channels decreased with 22% throughout the course of the year. I compared the findings from the article with statistical data on domestic migration within Japan. In March 2021, Shizuoka welcomed 11.864 individuals from other prefectures. The numbers for Yamanashi and Nagano were respectively 3.069 and 6.494; all only a fraction of the new resident numbers in, for example, the prefecture Chiba (33.636), Saitama (36.895) and Fukuoka (23.949) [4]. Also, when looking at migration trends throughout the previous years, especially Aichi and Kanagawa Prefecture witnessed a high number of new residents. [5]

Why do these numbers not correlate with the outcomes of the survey that was conducted by the Hometown Return Support Center? One could say that while people dream of moving to certain places, only a few of them actually make the move. This could be, of course, for several reasons. Perhaps did Shizuoka, Nagano, and Yamanashi Prefecture became so expensive that only the upper-class can afford actually living there? Perhaps these three places hold a particularly strong image in the Japanese imaginary, yet, after seriously exploring their possibilities, aspiring migrants conclude that other prefectures are more convenient as a living place? Or perhaps there are simply many city dwellers playing around with the idea to move away, but in the end decide to terminate their plans and stay in their known environments?

That being said, it seems that the depopulation trend of Tokyo did not set through. In March, 97.325 people moved into the capital, while only 69.544 managed to escape. [6]

[1]
Data derived via https://www.statista.com/statistics/270086/urbanization-in-japan/ (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[2]
Japan Times (2020, 4 November): “Let’s discuss moving to the countryside” https://www.japantimes.co.jp/life/2020/11/17/language/lets-discuss-moving-countryside/. (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[3]
Data derived via https://www.furusatokaiki.net/wp/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/webnews_20210304_furusato_ranking2020.pdf  (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[4]
Data derived via https://www.e-stat.go.jp/en/dbview?sid=0003420473 (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[5]
Data derived via https://www.e-stat.go.jp/en/dbview?sid=0003404081 (Accessed 29 April 2021).
[6]
Data derived via https://www.e-stat.go.jp/en/dbview?sid=0003420473 (Accessed 29 April 2021).

Speaker: Cornelia Reiher

Time: April 27, 2021 11AM Paris

Online lecture for Una Europa PhD Workshop: Heritage Hybridisations: Concepts, Scales and Spaces.

Join Zoom Meeting:  https://zoom.univ-paris1.fr/j/91556359167?pwd=dFpwVGd1MnJ6NlhwTmF0WWNxT0tJZz09
Meeting ID: 915 5635 9167
Passcode: 847211

by Sarah Bijlsma

These days, I like to explore the beaches of Miyako Island, a remote island of Okinawa prefecture. I especially like the south-east side of the island; from the Higashi Hennazaki Cape, you can see the sea at both of your sides. There is a white lighthouse at the very end of it. Its straight silhouette rises above the green grass and other vegetation that grows beside the concrete path. A bit earlier, there is an outpost with some tables and planters with tropical sago palms that seem somewhat out of place. The text “wonderful sport island” adorns from the wall – a leftover from the All Japan Triathlon. I can imagine the cape is a well-known tourist attraction, yet, moving towards the end of the road, I only come across two other people. The man and woman wear casual long-sleeves and I guess that they are middle-aged, despite the fact that their faces are blurred. When I arrive at the lighthouse, the sun is already starting to set. The weather is not too great today; at the horizon, there are some slight orange tints coming from behind the dark blue clouds. The sea is equally dark and grey. Looking at the white foam below me, I can imagine how the waves rhythmically break on the rocks. I wonder how many people have walked this digital road before me, visiting Miyako-jima via their screens plugged in at places all over the world.

I was supposed to be physically on Miyako right now, conducting fieldwork for my dissertation. Covid-19 is keeping me in Germany. It took me a while to give up the hope to bypass the Japanese border system and to accept that I would spend the winter at my dinner table in Berlin. It also took some time to accept that if I did not want to run out of time, I had to start planning things differently, rethink my objectives and research questions, and rewrite my initial research design.

Changing plans meant first and foremost changing my research methodologies. Studying human-environment relationships within the community of Japanese emigrants to Miyako Island, my project heavily draws upon participant observation. Rather than explaining me their thoughts, I was hoping to understand how my future interlocutors create performative and conceptual relationships with the territory and inhabitant species of Miyako-jima. As so many anthropologists this year, I turned towards “digital ethnography” as an alternative for being physically present. In my case, I started reading weblogs of young migrants who in recent years moved to the small island from one of the urban centers of Japan. I was initially hesitant to use social media as data source – is discourse analysis edgy enough, am I not compromising myself too much? Yet, looking back on the past few months, the inability to travel has proven to be both a restrictive and a productive force that added to my research in meaningful ways.

One. I learned that human-nature relationships are not bound to the world of flesh and fur but exist also very much in cyberspace. Two. I learned that media representations of places feed into the way how people make sense of their new environments, crossing timescapes when combining previous expectations with future dreams. Three. I learned that the sea of Miyako is not blue, but “emerald green” and that its properties can be transmitted via so-called healing videos. Four. I learned that digital diaries contain much hidden messages, and that also writing is a performative act that materializes links between people, nature, and place. Five. I learned that even during the most unexpected events – what the Corona pandemic certainly is – that one can always find creative ways to tell the stories that matter.

Last weekend, the Olympic Games Committee made the final decision that foreign visitors are not welcome this summer. I know that this means that I might not make it into Japan this year. Pursuing a PhD amidst so much uncertainty is not easy, and in this regard, Covid-19 is for many of us an exercise in flexibility above all. Yet, as I get to know Miyako-jima and its inhabitants better, rethinking the relation between material and virtual (is)landscapes, I do believe this exercise is a valuable one. I have a long list of things I still want to find out, and the entire digital world as a playground.

by Maritchu Durand

Fieldwork in all its varieties and with all its possibilities has been one of the most exciting aspect of research I have been looking forward to when entering a master program in Japanese Studies in October 2019. Because of the unique experience of meeting a newcomer from the urban Yokohama in a remote rural area in Hokkaidō during my previous exchange in Japan, I had planned to focus my master’s thesis on urban-rural migration and to conduct ethnographic fieldwork in Japan. I therefore applied to Kōbe University, because Hyōgo Prefecture hosts many urban-rural migrants and rural revitalization programs, and the university runs several cooperation programs with rural communities. I was happy to be accepted for studying at Kōbe University for one semester from September 2020.

However, when the pandemic hit, everything changed. Although Kōbe University initially planned to continue the exchange program, in May 2020, it became clear that I would not be able to go to Japan in September. The beginning of the exchange was postponed to April 2021, but Japan closed its borders in January of this year again and the exchange was finally out of the picture. Even if prospects would have been favorable enough for me to study in Japan, I could not have expected to conduct my fieldwork as planned due to all sorts of restrictions. So, I needed to rethink my research topic and research methods. Although online interviews were an option, without initial access to a community, I could not hope to engage in in-depth conversations. I especially worried about how I could reach out to a local community only by digital means. I had to face reality: I had to change the subject of my thesis in order to adapt to my new research field, which would be digital for the most part.

Luckily, not only the academic world extended digital communication, but the increased amount of online content produced during the pandemic enriched the digital sphere, diversified its content, and enabled more direct connections. So, on the bright side, I could turn the missed opportunity to travel to Japan into an advantage: I was not locally bound to Hyōgo Prefecture anymore and could therefore freely choose the area to focus my research on. The choice was easy. Since I am a student assistant in the urban-rural migration project that is focusing on Kyūshū, my “fieldsite” was easily found. But I also thought about a way to contribute to the three-year project by focusing on an aspect related to urban-rural migration an thereby, giving additional meaning to my MA thesis.

The project’s PI, Prof. Reiher, drew my attention to the issue of akiya as a potential interesting field for exploration. The vacant properties are often seen as a problem by the municipalities. But they have also been rethought as a potential new home for newcomers or as community spaces, guesthouses or cafés and become spaces of exchange and innovation. Although I have not yet decided which aspect of the akiya phenomenon I want to study, a whole array of data is available: national and local government reports, policy documents and online reports on various initiatives to promote, sell and restore vacant houses in Japan’s countryside. Stories on rifōmu and repurposing can be found on blogs, in articles and videos. Since newly renovated cafés and guesthouses aim at online visibility, their websites and blogs offer a first point of access to discover the world of renovating old houses. Finally the akiya banks run by the local governments offer a comprehensive overview of what properties are available in different areas. To sum up, the Covid-19 pandemic forced me to be flexible and to adjust my research focus, but also offered a chance to learn about new research possibilities. I think this flexibility is crucial during this pandemic that will probably change the way we conduct fieldwork in the future, even when physical fieldwork as we know it will be possible again.

by Tu Thanh Ngo (Frank Tu)

Qualitative researchers always remind us to “expect the unexpected” in the field. However, the coronavirus pandemic is probably beyond our wildest imagination. Currently, I am working in a research group called “Urban-rural migration and rural revitalization in Japan”. As out-migrant of young people from rural to urban areas is argued to be one of the root causes of the myriad rural problems [1], my individual tasks and PhD project focus on Japan’s revitalization policies through migration, across four different municipalities in Kyūshū, Specifically, I want to analyze the two policies that concern tourism and youth mobility [2].

Ironically, the biggest enemy for a young student hoping to travel to Japan to research migration-based policies is the immobility caused by Covid-19. Having gone to high school in Kyūshū, the prospect of going back and doing fieldwork there is what I most look forward to. Besides, it is also crucial to personally witness the impact of revitalization policies for policy analysis. Although the original plan is to start doing fieldwork in Japan this October, the anxieties cast by the pandemic are multifold: How to access the field when Japan still has not allowed new visa applications? How to conduct qualitative interviews with strangers when we are still sometimes wary of a cough in the metro? How to stay motivated if I cannot work in my favorite environments, be it in the library, or sometimes, at the airport…?

That said, I am aware that immobility calls for flexibility, and anxiety nurtures positivity. Under the current situation, I have been reaching out to friends in Kyūshū via social networks to “digitally” access the field and prepare for the fieldwork. This is a greatly motivating activity, thanks to both the excitement when I get introduced to a fitting informant, and the jubilation gained from staying in touch with my “old” friends. Besides, I also miss working in the library, where I used to get lots of inspiration from studying with friends until dark. Yet, on a bright note, the university’s digital library has been useful, allowing me to research rural development theories in the park when the weather permits. Most importantly, the regular virtual meetings with my project colleagues are highly encouraging, as we can share our new findings and get “hyped up” over an interesting revitalization scheme. The meetings also help me reorganize my fuzzy thoughts before discussing with my colleagues. Another activity that keeps me motivated is practicing a research method – “Qualitative Comparative Analysis” (QCA), by taking online courses and reading textbooks. Doing short exercises gives me a sense of progress, which balances the often-frustrating feeling that the more I read the less I know.

In the coming months until October, I will collect and analyse data regarding the two chosen schemes based on six dimensions: Effectiveness, Unintended effects, Equity, Cost, Feasibility, and Acceptability. To do so, I will look at official documents issued by the four municipalities and the central government, as well as news articles or blog posts. If possible, I will also conduct virtual interviews with municipal officials.

While there is no telling as to when the pandemic will end, and matters such as visa or vaccines are beyond my control. what I can do is to remain physically and mentally healthy by exercising (and/or having a glass of wine) everyday, meeting friends in compliance with the law. Most importantly, I try to maintain my positivity, and hopefully… sense of humor.