One of the odd things about immersing myself in a place where English is spoken in very small amounts (if at all) is that my hearing and sight becomes finely tuned to anything English I see written or hear spoken. I noticed this in Europe also, but more people spoke English and I walk into a supermarket and the random splashings of English leap out at me and seem even more ridiculous than their misuse. A group of tourists 40 metres talking about what shoes they’re wearing away is easily understood. Having a conversation with the occasional native English speaker I’ve met is like shifting a dog out of the way of the TV and seeing the whole picture again. What has been weird is when I put headphones on and listen to music with English lyrics. I can understand and follow everything that’s said. The indecipherable murmurs of Thom Yorke are heard as if spoken with the diction of the Queen. The dirty and violent lyrics of Nick Cave provide a disturbing commentary to 800 year old temples. The rhymes of MIA are easy to follow and don’t require squinting my ears to understand. It all becomes clear. My mind has trained itself to be a loose thread on a sock, picking up any prickle of English along the way. When I put my headphones on, I find myself wearing inside out Explorer Socks in a field of velcro-like thistles.
Archive for the ‘Japan’ Category
Just before I pulled into Ashinomaki, I came to the conclusion that a) I was on holiday; b) I was in Japan; c) I had 10 days to go and only 200kms to cover; and d) I was a $100 1-hour train ride back to Tokyo if I ran out of time. With that in mind, I relaxed a great deal and have taken the trip pretty easily since. I treated myself to a fantastic onsen on the side of a cliff, took a few little off road adventures and spent more time attempting to talk with locals and learn about the areas I was riding through. I’ve given myself more time to soak in the scenery, relaxing and chilling out a whole lot more and taking the ride steady rather than attacking every hill in a desperate rush.
Welcome to Ashinomaki
The town of Ashinomaki was a sneak peak into many of the other styles of towns I was to ride through on the way to Tokyo. There main business was onsens, hotels and defying gravity. Seriously, these buildings clung to the sides of staggering ravines and peered down from dizzying heights. I peddled out from there around 3pm and got back onto the 121, the main road I’ve been following these last few days and thankfully without insanity hills from previous days. Around 5:30 I head off the main road and start looking for a place to camp. A little corner of a field here. A nook in a cranny there. My tent doesn’t take up much space and just looks like another pile of firewood covered with a blue tarp. People seemed not to have minded me camping so far, but if given the chance to meet the farmer, asking was certainly something I do. I followed a few little windy roads, crossed a bridge, went past a shrine and the up a small hill leading to an orchid. I find two people, a man in his 40s walking out of sight just as arrive and a woman in her 60s working the field. I say konichiwa to her and she looks up from what she’s doing. Immediately her face cracks into a big smile a she starts laughing as I mash my way through asking if I can camp on the land. The man approaches and he knows a little English and greets me. I give him my story and repeat my question. They chat for a moment and they point to a shrine poking out from behind a nearby hill indicating that I should camp near there. I start to ask how I get to it from where we are standing and there seems to be a bit of confusion. The man perks up and says simply “you stay with me”. I’m told to follow him on my bike while he drives his tractor and we go down into the small village at the base of the hill and soon we’re standing in his driveway.
After we stow the bike in the shed, he directs me to the front door and asks me to wait while he rallies his wife, son and daughter and does a quick tidy of the sitting room. I’m offered a spot at the table, a hot cup of Japanese tea and we all introduce ourselves. Sato is a semi-conductor engineer for Fujitsu during the week in near-by Wakamatsu, but on weekends he works the farm with his mum, who I met earlier. He asks what sort of food I like. I say all Japanese food except for nutto is good with me. It’s decided that Sashimi and Okonomiaki are the go. It’s also decided that only after 20 minutes of meeting one another that we should go for onsen while his wife and mum prepare the meal. Ok then.
While we’re sitting there naked in the hot bath he tells me that he would like his son to learn English well to help him in life. I agree, saying that I have been really lucky to have been born into a language that has also been adopted as the international language of commerce and communication. We talk about travel and the places each of us have been to. We chat in a very limited way about semiconductors, onsens, Australia’s attitude to public baths and nudity.
When we return to the house, the living area and adjoining rooms are now one, with sliding walls pushed back to create a new space much more open and spread out than before. Also, there is a futon made up in the next room and grandma gestures to it, laughing at my bad Japanese and our misunderstandings. It’s funny. I’ve always stuck my nose up at the bad tourist stereotype of the white person going to some out of the way place and expecting people to speak English, then annunciating every syllable loudly as if the local is going to magically understand them. Well, I can tell you now, when people have taken the time to speak to me in Japanese like this, I’ve usually got the gist of what they’re trying to tell me. That combined with charades, hand gestures and animal sounds has crossed many a language gap on this trip.
Meet the Shoichis in Shimogo
The meal is fantastic. Fresh sashimi and cooked on a hot plate on the table okonomiyaki. Yum. We chat about life in our different worlds. We talk about the work-life balance in Japan and Australia. I tell them about the 888 concept. 8 hours work, 8 hours life, 8 hours rest. Australian’s really don’t know how good we have it. 8 hour work days is something Australian’s take for granted. In Japan this is very much the exception, with people regularly working 12 hour days, with the occasional 16 hour day thrown in. The Japanese have bugger-all annual leave, but do have one of the highest amount of public holidays in the world. We touch on gender politics and bodily functions as daughter lets a fart slip out. After a very quite moment, everyone bursts out laughing, with the parents apologising for their daughter’s outburst. I say not to worry and that my sister is exactly the same at the dining table. Once translated, this get another round of laughter and we continue to eat and talk throughout the evening in high spirits.
Sunday morning arrives at 6am with the sound of what could be best described as one of those electronic greeting cards amplified by Spinal Tap. This is something I’ve discovered about rural Japanese life that shatters the idyllic image I’ve had when flirting with the idea of teaching English here. I remember watching a doco on North Korea about 5 years ago, and a siren would play at 7am every morning in Pyongyang to inform people that the working day had begun. I thought at the time that this was incredibly backwards, but as it was communist North Korea, then this was one for all territory when KJI says get up, you get up. Fast forward to modern day Japan, and almost everything that runs on electricity has a clock in it. And most of those have an alarm attached to them. So why is it necessary to let everyone know that it’s time to wake up, time to eat lunch and time to eat dinner. The last two aren’t so bad (unless the lunch-time one catches you dozing at a bus stop directly under the siren), as they usually indicate when places are open for lunch or dinner, but 6am? Fark! I’m on freaking holiday here. If I want to wake up at that time, I’ll set my phone to wake me up, and keep my 6am wake up misery to myself. Actually, now that I think about it, this links in with something I’ve noticed as I’ve ridden through the rice fields. There are no young people tending the fields. I can honestly say that all the people I’ve seen hunched over in the fields taking care of the crops have been people in their sixties, seventies and eighties. Perhaps all the young people are leaving the country because on Sundays, when they may have gone out the night before, probably don’t want monotone muzak versions of Yesterday, How can we be lovers or Whitney Houston disturbing them from their hangover at 6am. Yes. They even play that shit on weekends. Dan, the American guy in Inawasharo I stayed with says that is some of the parts of Japan he’s visited, they fire those things off at 5am, 365 days a year.
Ok. I digress. I get out of bed and sit down to a lovely breakfast with the family. We chat about the usual things (what do Australian’s eat for breakfast? What is winter like there? Does it snow in Melbourne?) and then we get onto politics. This requires the help of yahoo and google translation, and we bounce a few ideas around on the computer screen, getting to know one another’s view points of the world. A very interesting discussion, with some intriguing insights. Apparently whale meat is quite bland tasting but is eaten more for its texture. North Korea’s government are loonies. US broke the world’s money machines. What stops people wanting simple peace with each other. You know, the basics. I leave their house about 12:30, loaded up with home made rice balls and warm fuzzies from the experience.
Fireworks Chief
We drive on and after stumbling through a couple of conversations, where able to swap our stories. I tell him about my trip and he turns out to be the local fireworks technician and he’s on his way to a job. A local junior high school is holding their campfire dance and he’s supplying the highlight moment of the night. We get stuck on a point and he phones his wife, who speaks English, and I get an invite to watch the show and then to be dropped off at where I need to be. Cool. We arrive at the venue and small groups of kids in blue school uniform tracksuits are mingling around a hotel. After I change into some dry clothes, he meets with the organisers, hands are shook and we drive to the spot where he plans to set up the fireworks. I’ve never actually seen how fireworks are set-up and watch the whole process intently. I help with some of the strapping and securing of the rig and help collect water which I assume is used to douse any unwanted flare-ups. The whole set-up is pretty straight forward and quick to arrange, and he enjoys a smoke while I enjoy a canned coffee and the fear of a fiery death.
About a hundred metres away, where the campfire fuel waits to be ignited, speakers crackle into life and music not too unlike Pink Floyd blares out. A procession of about 150 teenagers appears from the forest and march in double file around a pile of wood, which I assume is the campfire, until they create a huge circle. A man in white robes appears and the music stops. He says a bunch of stuff and the kids reply in unison at random intervals. A small flaming torch is presented to the man in robes and is put to one side while he talks some more, with the kids all chipping in at random parts. The music starts up again and then the flame is distributed to 5 or 6 kids in slightly different tracksuits and they move to the centre of the circle and set the pile of wood on fire. The whole process has a very pagan ritual vibe to it. I manage to ascertain from the fireworks guy that this is a fairly typical thing for junior high school students to do and that he does fireworks for a lot of them. There’s singing and dancing, with the music ranging from tradition Japanese music to German Polka. It’s all very structured and the fireworks guy seems to know the process quite well. We sit around and swap the little common language we know until we’re interrupted by the organiser on the walkie talkie saying we have 5 minutes to go.
The fireworks chief pulls out a small control case from the back of the van and connects it to a long lead coming from the fireworks. He opens it, performs a couple of tests and checks the direction of the wind with the smoke from his cigarette. He knows what he’s doing and looks cool doing it. He squats down in front of the case and after the group of kids count down in Japanese behind us, he fires off the fireworks and they light up the forest around us with amazing colours.
After we clean up the burnt remains of the fireworks and pack up the gear, we drive to where I’m getting out with the van smelling strongly of sulphur. I remark that it smells like onsen and he laughs and agrees. He drops me at the Inawashiro trainstaion, where my directions to my couchsurfing host’s house begin. I thank him for the lift and the night’s entertainment and he wishes me luck on my trip and drives off.
An amazing way to finish off a phenomenal day.
I meet my host for the next couple of days who name is also Dan, an American guy who’s in Japan teaching English. He’s a really chilled dude who loves and appreciates the serenity that country Japan has provided to his life. We chat about travel, impressions of Japan and basically just hang out like buddies, enjoying being able to relax into our native language for a little while. In the morning he goes to work and I set about fixing up my bike and trailer. I replace the tube in the trailer tyre and repair the punctured one. I then track down the town’s bike shop and the guy straightens my wheel for me for free. In the evening, Dan takes me to his favourite Japanese curry place and I we talk some more about his work and the adventures he’s had in Japan.
In the morning we say our goodbyes and I ride to the bakery where he recommends I try the Melon Pan, a kind of sweet bread with a slight taste of melon. I get more excited about the dark multi-grain bread on offer and buy two small loafs for the ride ahead. I get a little lost on the way out of town, but after about an hour I arrive in Aizu-Wakamatsu, a larger town famous for it’s large statue of the spirit of life and the Byakkotai, which were a group of 20 samurai who mistakenly committed sepuku (ritual suicide through disembowelment), when they thought the town’s castle Tsuruga-jo had fallen, which it hadn’t. The attraction for me was the large eagle topped monument Mussolini had donated to the Japanese people back when he was in style. I meet a couple of Japanese girls and they take me to a café where we enjoy an iced coffee. One of them had visited a friend in Melbourne and was saying that the iced coffees in Australia were better because they had ice cream in them.
After a couple of hours, they drop me off at my bike and I go in search of a place to camp. On the outskirts of town I spot a large orchid on the hill, but after chatting with the farmer, he’s not so keen for me to camp out on his land. I ask another local where the nearest camping ground is and they point in the direction of the river. As the sun disappears and the light begins to fail, I’m starting to worry about where I’ll be spending the night. Close to the river, I roll into a random driveway and ask one of the kids playing if they could get their mum or dad for me. A western face appears and the woman turns out to be an American who married a Japanese guy and moved here late last year with their two kids. After she gives me directions I fully understand, I head towards the river. On the way I pass a small truck with a wood oven in the back and traditional Japanese music playing from speakers mounted on the cab. A small group is gathered around him, purchasing small bags of what look like roasted sweet potato and I can’t resist. I buy one and it turns out to be a roasted yam, which has a fairly smoking sweet taste that isn’t like anything else. After speaking with one of the locals over one of these yams, he draws me a map of where I can find a place to camp near the river. It turns out to be a good lead and I pitch there for the night.
Wakamatsu sunset
I have ridden about 20kms from Wakamatsu and have found myself in Ashinomaki, a small town hanging from the side of a cliff. It appears that the main attraction of the town is Onsens and for 700 yen I have treated myself with a beautiful outdoor onsen at one of the many hotels here. Now I’m sitting in the hotel’s café with a beer and gorgeous view, having my back massaged by one of the chairs facing the ravine outside the window. I’ve got 10 days left of my trip, I know which way I’m going and what number roads to follow to get to Tokyo, but I have no idea what I’ll find along the way and I’m liking it.
After exploring the Russian Village I headed for Kitakata for Onsens, Ramen and a new couchsurfing host. I had spent a bit too much time at the Russian Village and had to camp half way. I found a quite corner of a rice paddy (Tomba) and pitched in the dark. At 5 I was woken by some cow frogs, whose call sounds like a fog horn. Around 5:30 the farmer showed up and after establishing I was only there for the night, he was cool. I then rode on, crossing bridges and cruizing through small villages. Beautiful scenery, with lush forest, powerful rivers and snow-capped mountains in the distance. I stop off for some lunch and check my email. My couchsurfing deal has fallen through, but the two American English teacher I was going to stay with plan to take me to a ramen den for food. I’m more relieved than anything else, as depending on hosts for shelter would negate the need of a tent and waste a great deal of excess luggage money.
Subarashi - Wonderful
I arrive in Kitakata around 3 and find myself a sento to have a shower at and soak the day’s 60km of riding out of bones. The one I’m directed to by the tour office is hidden above some shops and is run by an old lady, who closely resembles Yoda. I walk in and she’s sitting on a cushion watching a Japanese samurai soapie. After a little confusion and walking the wrong way I discover that the change room is right there in front of the old lady. Hmmm.. As I remove each item of clothing, I look around to get her approval, making sure that I was indeed in the right place. When I got to my undies, I didn’t turn around out of slight embarrassment, but as I got to the door of the hot bath, I realised that the old lady was the keeper of the soap. With a strategically placed modesty towel, I returned to the front desk and got my soap.
Sordid Sento - this is where I left my shoes.. and dignity
After the bath I met up with the Americans and went for ramen. Very tasty stuff. The pork fat was particularly good. Apparently Kitakata is the Ramen capital of Japan and the one I had was a pretty good example. After that we said goodbyes and I headed for the outskirts of town to find a place to camp. I found an apple orchid and pitched for the night.
In the morning, I got up early to avoid any trouble with the farmer. While packing up the tent, the orchid owner drove up and started asking some questions. I fumbled through apologising for staying on his land, which he didn’t seem phased with. He started asking me about where I was from and what I was doing in Japan. After explaining what I was doing, he invited me back to his house for breakfast. We dumped my bike and trailer in the back of his truck and headed home. There was a brief minute of paranoia where I thought he was taking me to the police station, but I trusted his friendly We ate and fumbled through a few conversations about travel, Australia and Japan. He then talked me through the history of his farm, and how his family had been there since 1848. He got out the deeds to the farm, which had been drawn up in 1858.
Sinsuke Inomata (69) and the deeds to his house.
After breakfast, he drove me and my stuff to the town plaza, which I’m guessing is the grounds to the town’s council. Just as he pulled away, a woman I got direction from yesterday came running over, saying “No cam-o-jo. No camp-o-jo”. I think she guessed I was trying to pitch my tent in the car park. Once I had established that I was packing my trailer and not unpacking it, she was cool. As she walked away, a car pulled up and a woman from the centre plaza I had said hello to the night before got out of the car. Her English was better and she managed to say that the local radio station wanted me to come in. News travels fast in the small town. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the studios at Kitakata FM explaining my trip on air, while the announcer (who spoke enough English to ask me the questions), translated my responses. After the interview, the woman from the local council (who I had now established as the local arts festival manager), appeared again, thanking me for the interview. The president of the radio station came into the room beaming and invited us all out for lunch. A very tasty Katsudon and ice cream.
Local arts festival director Naoko Shinoda, me and Niigata FM DJ Satomi Hanzawa.
Hear the radio program here: LINK
What a surreal day.
Right now it’s pissing down with rain, so I’m sitting in the radio station, processing the photos from the last couple of days. The current DJ has played nothing but the Bee Gees and the Seekers for the last hour and I have entertained the staff with my impromptu Saturday Night Fever disco dancing. The pics from the Russian Village are up. Once the rain stops, I’m off to the next town, Hibara-ko.
When prepping for this trip, one of the unknown factors was what Japanese roads would be like to ride on. The condition of the roads, the space available to safely cycle and how Japanese drivers treated cyclists. Well now I know. The roads are all in fantastic shape, there’s usually a dedicated bike path or generous shoulder to ride on, and Japanese drivers give you so much space – at least 2 metres – I sometimes wish they would be a little closer as to avoid hitting oncoming traffic. The tunnels, where there is a path on either side and plenty of space to ride, really shake me up. The echoing noise of even the smallest car, is like a flock of baritone banshees in a blender. The worst are the cars coming the same way as me. Even though I know that I am safe on the path and far out of the way of danger, every cell in my body thinks the sound coming from behind is that of the Langoliers consuming all time and space in the pursuit of my soul. Don’t get me started on what a truck or a bus sounds like.
#2 Sado Tunnel - 2km in length
I’ve had a crack at a haiku about riding on Japanese roads:
convenience stores
are only convenient
when they can be found
and a country song has been floating around in my head these last two days:
There’s only so much lovin’ you can do
In a tent built for one and not two
At least it keeps you safe from swine flu
when you’re sleeping in a tent not built for two
It was only until after I shared this with another English speaker that maybe an inadvertent theme of self-love could be construed from the lyrics.
On Sunday night I said goodbye to Hikaru as he returned to Niigata city for work and to meet up with his girlfriend. I stayed at the family house and spent the night swapping Japanese for English with his mum and dad, who speak no English. Such kind and generous people to stay with who gave me a real insight into normal life in rural Japan. There were moments when I thought mum or dad (i never got to know their actual names), had made a really profound statement. I would nod in agreement, make a noise that implied great personal insight had been achieved and then realise I hadn’t a clue what was just said. When dinner was being ordered, naming the food was really straight forward, but when it came to the chat afterwards, what I thought was a philosophical point on food in Japan turned out to be a lesson in how to say “food delivery person” in Japanese.
On Monday morning I said goodbye to Hikaru’s family and headed for the abandoned Niigata Russian Village theme park. The place went bust about ten years ago and the owners and workers simply walked out and left everything as it was. The complex features a 19 hole golf course, a 3 storey 50 room 5-star hotel, a full size replica Russian Orthodox church (where many a happy Japanese couple were wed), a 20-building full size Russian village (think Sovereign Hill), a micro-brewery, a replica woolly mammoth, 3 entertainment areas… The list goes on. Over the years offices have been overturned, windows broken and in some places there’s some pretty serious vandalism. But there were areas which have remained untouched, giving the place an eerie post-apocalyptic feel. I spent about 4 hours exploring the place and there were a dozen or so rooms in the hotel that had been left untouched. The beds were still made, the soap was still on the sink, the furniture was still neatly arranged, the TV wasn’t stolen. In the church, a harp with a few of its strings still intact, stood next to a drum and a fully functional accordion. In the performance spaces, pretty much all the AV equipment was still there. Lighting, amplifiers, switching desks, rack mounted compressor units…. Easily a quarter of a million dollars worth of gear. There were about 10 commercial kitchens, varying in small and cramped to massive and impressive, all with their fridges, cool rooms, cookers and stainless steel intact. Thankfully someone had the mind to empty them before leaving, but I did find a rubbish shed and house with 200 boxes of dog food which hadn’t been so lucky. I’ll upload the photos soon, but what an amazing place. Easily more interesting than if the place had of been operational.
Today I’m riding to the Ramen capital Kitakata.
After 3 days of riding and camping in Sado, I’ve headed back to the mainland to go along to my host Hikaru’s monthly Sake party. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but after a day of shopping and preparing food and having booze couriered in, about 10 people gathered in an orderly fashion in an old traditional Japanese house and spent 4 hours drinking, eating and chatting. A good night that kicked on until the wee hours at a couple of other places.
Today we’re off to explore an abandoned amusement park.
Plenty of photos from the last few days up on flickr. http://www.flickr.com/photos/monkeywithagun/
After hanging out with Hikaru and his family on their rice farm, I took the ferry from Niigata to the island of Sado and I’ve been here these last few days. I got to play the token geigin at a wedding, met a cool group of guys at Plant Cafe and cycled the west and north coast in a day. This island is so beautiful and sleepy, riding a bike around is giving me a chance to soak in plenty of detail. Cars have been giving me plenty of room, there’s heaps of vending machines to sugar up and for a country obsessed with packaging and plastic bags, I’m surprised at how little rubbish there is along the side of the roads.
I’ll pop something up about Tokyo tonight, but just quickly: Having a bike in one of the biggest cities in the world has completely changed what I thought of Tokyo. Back in 2005, Tokyo seemed like a big, claustrophobic, futuristic alien world that I found overwhelming. Now that I’m here with a bike and an old mate, Tokyo is a beautifully green city with plenty of space with an accessible and liveable atmosphere.
I’m currently staying with a family in a rural area about 40 minutes drive from Niigata. Plenty of hot springs and rice farms around us. Today we go to a brewery and an onsen. It should be a good day.
