Irishman Walking (Stage 20 Chapter 1) Summer 2017

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Irishman Walking (Stage 20 Chapter 1) is about my walking the main and coastal roads of Japan. Summer 2017.

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Dear Friends and Readers:


Irishman Walking was about my walking the main and coastal roads of Japan in a series of spring, summer, autumn, and winter stages. It took me eight-years to complete my mission on foot, around the sixth longest coastline in the world -- 29,751-kilomters. This summer-stage, Stage 20, began on 16 August, 2017, at Oskhotsk Monbetsu Airport, in northeastern Hokkaidō, the second largest of Japan’s four main islands. This was not far from the Sea of Oskhotsk coastline in the western Pacific.The sea covered an area of 1,583,000-kilometers-squared, with a maximum depth of 3,372-meters. Across the water headed east lay the Russian Kamchatka Peninsula, and south the Kuril Islands. The Kuril Islands were controlled by Japan, up until the end of the Pacific War, 1945. Administered curently by Russian, Japan still held claim over the southern Kuril Islands, which they called the ‘Northern Territories’. “Mmm!” I I had not misinterpreted my readings, the Okhotsk and Ainu peoples, a nomadic race of hunter-gathererS, predated both the Japanese, and the Russians. The Japanese archipelago consisted of 6,852 islands, with 430 of them inhabited. An island was defined as being land with more than 100-meters in circumference. The five main islands, from north to south, were Hokkaidō, Honshu, Shikoku, Kyushu, and Okinawa. Honshu was the largest and was often referred to as the Japanese mainland. After about 17-days on the road, and the trials and tribulations that went with it, the stage was finally concluded on 2 September, 2017, at Cape Sōya, at the Monument of the Northernmost Point. Of course, the real northernmost point under Japanese control was the tiny uninhabited island, Bentenjima, about one-kilometer further northwest. However that did not matter one bit to me. For me, Sōya Misaki was the most northern point of Japan, and where my mission had begun eight years ago. The climate of Hokkaidō was rather cold and harsh in wintertime, warm and humid in the summer. Thankfully, this was the tail end of summertime. At around lunchtime, when I tramped into Sōya Misaki park, the area was crowned with tourists. Further inland, I remembered how the green and roving Soya Hills appeared most welcoming. The idyllic hills were home to about 3,000 cattle and 57 giant windmills, not to mention the highest point in the region, Mount Maruyama, some 400-meters high. The sweat poured off me, as I made my way towards the public toilets to clean up a bit. Wiping the sweat from my face and put on some dry clothes, was more on my mind than the fact my mission had just ended. Why not? There was no one about to welcome me, to congratulate me for a job well done. What I do remember was feeling restless, like I did not want to hang around in anyone place for very long.


Be happy, keep smiling! 


Yours sincerely


Michael Denis Crossey


From Monbetsu Oskhotsk Airport to Cape Sōya, the most northern point in Japan


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20 May, 2017: The headlines in the newspaper, The Japan Times, on this day, 20 May, were: ‘Cabinet OKs one-time-only abdication bill’, ‘U.S. rebukes China over ‘nuke sniffer’ intercept’, ‘Conspiracy bill get through Lower House panel’, and 'Japanese billionaire pays record for Basquiat’. The painting set the buyer back some $110-million dollars -- a record sum for an American artist’s painting. The artwork turned out by Jean-Michel Basquiat, in his short life, was not the sort of stuff I would hang on my wall. His art kind of made me shudder, as if, like racism, had become abhorrent to me. Then again, what the hell did I know about art? The biggest event for yours truly, in the weeks that led up to my departure on the final stage of my mission, was to attend my daughter Anna’s wedding, in Karuizawa, on 21 May. At the wedding reception, I could not recall the last time I found myself under the same roof of so many pleasant and educated strangers. The wedding guests were mainly fellow doctors, and nurses, from the hospitals my daughter and her husband-to-be, Yuuki, worked. There were many family mambers on Yuuki’s side. On the other side of the coin -- my daughter Anna was represented a small group of people -- her mother, Kikuyo, an elementary school friend, and her mother. Both the friend and her mother were clad in a kimono. As for yours truly, I was clad in a coat and tails. At the wedding, I gave my daughter away, as was traditionally expected on such occasions, even if Kikuyo and myself had long been divorced. What I recalled the most about the wedding, was a full glass of red wine, I knocked over a white tablecloth. It was a lovely full-body wine, not the kind I was used to from Chile. Then again, Chile produced some very good inexpensive wines -- from vines that had been imported from Europe, in the nineteenth-century. In a sad sort of way, the faces at the wedding belonged to people whom I would never see again. All the same, I was more than happy to meet many happy and smiling friends, and acquaintances, many of whom traveled all the way from Tokyo, and other places, to Karuizawa in Nagano, to attend the weeding. Most of them, had to head back to their homes later in the evenring. Somewhat sadly, the faces belonged to people whom I would never see again. Like most days, weeks, and months, the newspapevrs were full of one issue or another. On August 8, 2017, the American President, Donald Trump, told the North Korean leaders, on no uncertain terms, that any nuclear threats would be met by “fire, fury, and frankly power, the likes of which the world” never saw before. The remark followed a media report that American intelligence assessed that Korea had successfully launched ballistic missiles, into the Japan Sea. This meant the country now had a nuclear weapons capability, not to mention, stoke fears of war. At the time, fears of a possible war with N. Korea were batted about. Mountain Day, was a public holiday, on 11 August, in Japan. It was a day when many Japanese stayed home and and relaxed. It was a Wednesday, when the schools and most businesses were closed.


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"Mmm!" It was also the wettest start to August in 40-years, which made me wonder who in their right mind would want to go hiking up mountains in the rain? 
The miserable weather made it seem like any other season, but summer. The number of visitors to beer gardens had dropped -- not warm enough to entice people to them. As for myself, I could easily down a beer or two, at any suitable time and place. The unstable weather, and lack of sunlight, meant almost no photosynthesis -- to synthesize nutrients and growth of plants -- meant the price of vegetables had shot up. As if the rainy season in Japan was not bad enough -- through June and most of July -- the year's prolonged rain was a serious matter. Before I started out on the final stage of my mission, I had made a short trip to Toyama City, with a friend. The plan had been to meet my friend's parents, whom, as things turned out, were not keen to meet me -- a wasted journey. We stopped at the Toyota Inn in Toyama, from 8-11 August.


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— At long last, the final stage, Stage 20 —



16 August, 2017: Today was Wednesday, which marked the start of the final stage, Stage 20, of my mission, from Monbetsu Airport to Cape Sōya, where it all began in the summer of 2009. Before my return to Hokkaidō and on the road for Cape Sōya, I planned to meet an Australian friend, Sean, outside Yotsuya-Sanchome Station on Route 20, at 19:30. As I waited for the car to show up, the rain poured down. Earlier, the NHK news reported that the weather across the Kanto region was expected to remain rainy for some days. If all went well, I would stop the evening a house Sean had in Oarai, a 10-minute walk to the ferry port. If it had not been for Sean's, I would have needed to make the journey to Oarai Port, by train. And, more than like have found myself on the road in the rain. It was late in the evening when we got to Oarai City, the rain continued to fall. Fortunately, there was a supermarket open, where a short stop was made to pick up something to eat, and a few cans of beer. The last time I drank to inebriation, was along time ago. Those where the days. Sean's home from home was old and somewhat unkept house, that had seen better days. It was as good a place as any, to crash for the night. Even though we were both tired, our meeting gave up a chance to talk and catchup on a few things. All that I needed to do later in the morning was to walk to the ferry building. The life saved me time and money, and trouble to make the journey to Oarai, alone. The last time Sean and I rubbed shoulders together was about five-years earlier, so we had a fair bit to catch up on. We shared a satirical-cum dark sense of humor together, but the least said about that the better. We first met years earlier, in the teacher's room at a high school in the Kuramai district of Tokyo, where we taught English. In a strange sort of way, not a single word passed between us, in the first year. Upon reflection, our desks were only a couple of meters away from each other, so I do not know why we did not talk. When Sean quit the school after a few years, we kept in touch. When we did meet up, the times were few and far between.


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17 Aug, 2017: Because of the car ride to Oarai, I was able to get to the port easily, to check the ferry times for Hokkaidō. The ferry bound to Tomakomai Port set sail in the evening, at 19:45, but this was not for some hours yet. So there was still sometime to kill. 
We had planned to take a dander about the town, but a niggling pain in my friend’s lower leg, had put an end to that. Sean decided to treat me to lunch at one of his favorite restaurants, in the area. He told me that the distance was too far to walk. Soon, we sped along the road in that direction of the restaurant. It was by no means a cheap restaurant, and specialized mainly in fish dishes, which included sushi. Fortunately for me, there were other Asian dishes, and some western, on the menu. We both settled on Thai green curry. It would be wrong for me to imply that I knew everything about Japanese food, for I did not. The Japanese ate with their eyes. This was particularly true among the upper crust eateries and traditional Japanese restaurants, where seasonal ingredients were often used. The dishes were artistically arranged in small portions, and with the appropriate sauces, and sake, which only added to the appetizing appearance. If the food proved substantial and filling, then that was a bonus. In away, it was a provocative elegance, for the restaurants charged an arm and a leg for the pleasure. The cliental at such restaurants were virtually indistinguishable from the averge Joe Public. Then again, I hated the repugnant loud slurp noises at the common ramen restaurants. This was our second visit to my friend's favorite restaurant in as many hours. On our first visit earlier, the place was full up to the brim -- the lunchtime crowd. Rather than wait to be seated, Sean decided to take me to the beach where he liked to surf. Like many Ausies, my friend was a keen surfer. The beach in question was a good 10-kilometers from the restaurant, along a coastal road, Route 2. The road headed in the direction of Chiba Prefecture. When we got there, the wind kicked up and the waves apeared uninviting. As a non-surfer, I could haedly imagine for the life of me, that he would have loved to be out among the waves with a surfboard in such conditions. As we drove along the road, Sean pointed in the direction of a nuclear power plant, and added a few satirical words, for good measure. 
Nearby, a group of children ran about along the side of a steam that gushed from the round. This was in a sort of science-related garden or park. Back at Sean's house, there was still a good hour to kill, before I walked down to the port. The usual anxiety ran about my head, and felt that it might be better than not, to buy the ferry ticket earlier than I had planned. That was until Sean proposed we play a game of backgammon first. As it turned out, we played two games, both of which I miserably lost. My excuse for the first loss was that I needed to re-familiarize myself with the game -- it had been ages since I last played it. As for the second loss, my mind was preoccupied with the ferry journey to Tomakomai Port, and then to Monbetsu, where the previous stage ended.

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All the same, I enjoyed my friend's satirical sense of humour, being the target of his lighthearted slander. However, I was not so sure about my poor effort at backgammon. The time had flown by, like it did when one had fun. After I had given my gear a last minute check over, the time had come to take my leave. As Sean's leg still hurt, he saw me off on the road in front of his house. A few snapshots where taken, then we said our goodbyes, and with a wave, I walked down to the port. By then, I knew the way to the ferry with ease. All the same, I knew that I would have to do a bit of waiting about. The wait allowed me the chance to glance at, The Japan Times headlines: ‘Guam missile intercept possible but not legal.’ ‘Trump, businessman President, loses CEO’s support.’ Thankfully, everything went as smoothly as things could be.


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18 Aug, 2017: The Sunflower Furuno was the newest of the three ferries that operated the Oarai-Tomakomai route. Tomakomai, where I would embark, became a village in 1873 and town nearly half a century later, in 1918, the year the Great War ended.
Tomakomai was granted city status some 30-years later, in 1948, not many years after the end of the Pacific War. The name Tomakomai came from two Ainu words, which meant ’a marsh’ and ‘river' that flowed deep into the mountain. As ships should be, the ferry was spick and spam, with all the shiny floor and polished wood. In a lobby radiated modernism -- the colored monitor told me that the sunrise and sunset, in Tomakomai, was 04:22 AM, and 18:59 PM, respectively. The weather, according to the monitor, was supposed to be a mixture of sunshine and cloudiness, which suited me just dandy. No doubt for the benefit of the passengers, the following questionable verse was printed near the monitor: ‘Somewhere over the sea/your dreams come true/causing aboard Sunflower.’ The crossing had been smooth and comfortable, still, it felt better when I disembarked from the ferry. The sky was heavily overcast, which caused me to think about rain. Absentmindedly, I had left my umbrella at Sean’s place in Oarai. It reminded me an unwanted talent I could not shake off -- to lose stuff along the road. Such was the thought I had, when I boarded the bus for Sapporo. Thankfully. sleep had come quickly on the ferry. The cabin that I was assiged to, had 20 other male passengers, with drawn curtains for privacy. It seemed a little strange that the tatami-size space on either side of me, remained empty. The Japanese were not the easiest of people to understand. There were a couple of times in the night when I awoke from my sleep. The first time was at 04:00 AM, to tiptoe carefull out of the cabin to go to the toilet. Everyone was fast asleep, so I needed to be careful not to trip or stamp on their feet. The second time I awoke was around at 06:00 AM. Already, the other passengers seemed to be up and busy with their gear. Some checked their smartphones. For a time, I set at a table in a brightly lit lobby, where I tried to open my iPad. This was soon achieved, but only for a few moments, but long enough to get off a couple of emails. The Pacific coastline journey well and truly behind me, my arse was planted on the front seat of the bus. The bus moved slowly along a busy road that had many traffic lights. After a good while, the bus took its leave of the local Tomakomai roads, and turned onto the Dō-Ō Expressway. Now, things had begun to look up -- less traffic, no rain. Somewhere along the way, the sun made a guest appearance and cast a welcomed shadow over the road. A road sign told me that I was not far from the New Chitose Airport. Yes, things really looked good. The clouds remained dominant high up in the sky, and when we passed an exit for Eniwa, the sun disappeared behind the clouds. A military helicopter circled overhead, but soon that too disappeared from sight. This morning headlines in the Japan Times were: ‘Defense ministry seeks funds for Aegis Ashore’; ‘Moon offers to restart diplomacy if Pyongyang halts nuclear efforts’; ‘Inpex eyes bid for Iran’s Azadegan oil project’; and ‘New U.S. Ambassador Hagerty arrives in Japan’. Hagerty was a common Irish name.


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19 Aug, 2017: Slept quite well, on a single bed at the Toyoko Inn, in Sapporo. On the bus into the city, I had been a wee bit worried whether I could get a room or not. The business hotels on Fridays, through the weekends, were usually fully booked. There was always at least one event or another held in many cites across Japan. Sapporo stood on the Ishikari Plain, a region once inhabited by the indigenous Ainu. Sapporo was also an Ainu word, which meant ‘dry large river’. Teine-yama was a mountain the source of numerous rivers in the region, prone to floods. In the Ainu language, Teine-i meant ‘wetland’ or ‘marsh’. The Tokugawa shogunate
had an eye on the future. 
A canal was completed through the region, in 1866. It was hoped the canal would encourage early settlers to resettle in and around Sapporo. Sapporo became the administrative center of the island, during the Meiji period. Unlike other towns and cities, in Japan, Sapporo was planned along the lines of a rectangular street system, simular to America. Sapporo was home to a famous namesake beer, and the annual Sapporo Snow Festival, noted for its enormous ice sculptures, among other things. The city hosted the 1972 Winter Olympics, and the 2002 FIFA World Cup. The city was to host the 1940 Winter Olympics, but was cancelled due to the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937-45). Sapporo was the fourth largest city in Japan, after Yokohama, Osaka, and Nagoya. Around 36-percent of the population of Hokkaidō lived in Sapporo. In 1965, a massive typhoon (#23) hit the area with devastating affect. A second typhoon (#24) passed over the area a week later, and casued the rivers to breach their banks. To protect against further floods, work was carried out on some major river -- enlargment of the Shinkawa, divertion of tributaries along the Garu-gawa. New laws were implemented for the construction of new buildings on raised ground. The last great flood occurred in the region, in Showa 56 (1981). At last, the bus pulled into the city center and stopped. It was too late to get the bus-connection to Mombetsu, where the final stage of my mission was to start. Even if the times had worked out according to the bus-timetable, I could not have reached Mombetsu until after ten in the evening. Therefore, I had dicided to stop the night in Sapporo, which allowed me the chance to get the 09:45 AM bus. One good thing about a bus journey in the morning, was the scenery -- a view of the Land of the Rising Sun, as as the bus sped along the road. The bus pulled out exactly on time, under a partly cloudy and at time, sunny morning sky. Often to get out of a city, on foot, was not a straight forward thing. Even the bus driver, needed to make a series of manoeuvres round sharp corners, before we reached the out-skirts of the city. After awhile, the bus moved along Route 12 for a short while, then turned onto Route 175, for an even shorter time. The bus then got onto Route 89, where it stopped, momentarily, at a traffic light.

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On the far sice of the road, stood a steak and hamburger restaurant, called ‘Cowboy’. 
A green sign hung high up over the road, told me that the would soon be on the Hokkaidō Expressway. The bus made another stop, this time at the Sapporo Toll Gate. After a short while, the bus passed its first expressway distance-directional road sign -- a good 131-kilometers to go, before Asahikawa City. Asahikawa was granted city status almost 100-years ago, in 1922. Today, the city had a population of more than 350,000. After the Pacific War, Asahikawa grew into an industrial, particularly in the production of beer, lumber, and paper pulp. It produced its own unique brand of quality household furniture. Asahikawa was also famous for its local sake and rice, important products in Japan. North from the mainline train station, set the first permanent pedestrian-only shopping center in the country, called Heiwa-dori Kaimono Koen. In addition to shopping, there were many restaurants and food courts that sold the city’s local cuisine. For noodle lovers, Asahikawa Ramen Village offered its own signature soy–based noodle soup. Asahikawa was home to the Asahiyama Zoo, which boasted around 110-species of wildlife, as well as, polar bears, penguins, and orangutans, to name a few. More than half of the animals came from the Antarctic. The highway passed rivers and mountains, and headed north of Daisetsuzan National Park. So it was, for the most part, a pleasent journey. The region had more than its fair share of rivers and tree covered mountains. 
One of them was the Ishikari-gawa,  the longest river in Hokkaidō, and the third longest, in Japan, at 268-kilometers in longLife in Hokkaidō was hard  at the turn of the century, particularly for farmers, as noted in Japanese writer, Takiji Kobayashi's 1929 novel 'The Absent Owner'. In part because of natural harzards -- avalanches, eruptions, heavy rain and snow, earthquakes, tsunamis, and typhoons. The year Kobayashi published his book, was also the year of the Wall Street Crash, which plunged the world into an economic depression. (The Shinano-gawa in the Niigata, was the longest (and widest) river in Japan, at 367-kilometers. The Tone-gawa in Kantō, was the second longest, at 322-kilomters)The Ishikari-gawa source was at Mount Ishikari, 1,967-meters high, and part of the Daisetsuzan, a volcanic mountain range. Asahi-yama was the highest of the mountains, at 2,290-meters high. 
Another river was the 59.2-kilometer long, Chūbetsu-gawa, known as ‘river of waves’ and ‘sun river’. in the Ainu and Japanese languages, respectivelyThe source of the river was at Mount Chūbetsu-Dake, within the Daisetsuzan National Park. During the Meiji period, efforts were undertaken to repopulate many regions in Hokkaidō, by mainland Japanese, this included Asahikawa. The program, known as 'tondenhel', or field-encampment of soldiers, was a state-sponsored farmer-militia resettlement program, that ran from 1868 until 1912, that marked the start of the Taisho period. The main purpose of the program was not soley to control immigration and emigration, and trade.

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It was also to 
develop and defend Hokkaidō, and its outer islands, from a fear of Russian encroachment. This was an issue even today, over the jurisdiction of four small islands, north of Hokkaido. The Kuril Islands were occupied by the former Soviet Union, at the end of the Pacific War, which Japan believed to be illigal. Hokkaido had two volcanic zones, with many volcanoes and hot springs, and was a part of a country that had a countless number of islands and islets to its name. The term ‘tondenhel’, had its origins in ancient China, when colonist militias defended the frontiers from invasion. During the pre-Pacific War years, Asahikawa thrived as a military base for the 7th Division of the Imperial Japanese Army. Even today, a division of the Japan Ground Self-Defense Force kept its headquarters in the city. On a lighter note, the Asahikawa Winter Festival was held each year on the banks of the Ishikari-gawa. In the winter of 1902, a weather station recorded the lowest temperature in Japanese history, -41 °C. After a while the expressway appeared to increase with vehicles. The bus shot past the first rest-stop -- Iwamizawa Yubari -- as if it was not there. We were not long out of Sapporo, to even think to make a stop. Fortunately, there was a public toilet at the rear of the bus. It was not easy to notice how fast the bus sped along the expressway, until you made your way to the toilet. Another road-sign told me that the bus was now 81-kilometers from Asahikawa. From the window of a bus on an expressway, was not the most enlightened means to travel. Everything came and went from sight and mind, so quickly. Anything learnt was soon forgotten. Much of anything of interest was blocked out by high barriers at the side of the expressway and monster tunnels. One of the long tunnels the bus entered -- Bibai Tunnel -- would have been hell to have tramped through. For much of the time, the sky was sunny and blue, not so bad for life on the road. There was still a good distance to go before I started off on my goal -- Mombetsu Terminal to Soya Misaki. After my arrival at the terminal, I needed to get my arse over to the airport, the start-point for the final stretch for Cape Soya. Like most things along the expressway, Sunagawa Exit came and went, and Asashikawa drew nearer, now 59-kilometers. One good point about the journey, the bus was less than a third-full. At least I had a sense of space to stretch. There was noting worse than a long journey on a crowded bus, which had no toilet. The best thing to do was not to think about toilets, and at times, I calculated the arrival time in my head. Who coined the term: ‘Let your joy be in your journey—not in some distant goal’? Some of the passengers on the bus dozed off, or so the snores told me. To fall asleep on a bus, was a talent that I never mastered. A good number looked at smartphones like there was no tomorrow. Their faces lit up by the bright screens. From the window, I tried to make sense of things the bus passed by. The Hokkaidō Expressway headed deep into the mountainous heart of the northern island. 
The trees dominated much of the landscape. 

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At times, distant towns popped into view, and the farmland "
smiled with cultivation" -- to use the words of a Scottish poet, Tobias Smollet (
1721-71). Smollet, better known for his collection of picaresque novels, believed that farms transformed the appearance of the rural environment. In time, the mountain range flanked the area, as if to close in on the bus. It was not belong until the bus pulled into the mountain city of Asahikawa, just 30-kilometers away. The bus made a short stop, where the drivers were changed. After a little while, we were merrily on our way again, in the direction of a village called Takinishi. The name of the village meant ‘Western Waterfall’. The bus raced through a series of long mountain tunnels, and each time the road opened out onto a wonderful countryside. The familiarity of the remote grassy hills, tree coated mountain slopes. There was something, however,  more wide about Hokkaidō, than the rest of Japan, that I had tramped through.


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An Ussuri brown bear, about to be sacrificed (Ainu?) (Wikipedia)


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Ainu woman with mouth tattoos and live bear (Wikipedia)


Further along the road, a 15-minute stop was made at a place to us the public toilets. There were also two vending machines, which I did not bother with. The bus passed under the Pippu Toll Gate, then turned in the direction of Mombetsu. The bus past an uneventful little town called, Aibetsu, in the Kamikawa region, a scenic spot flanked by a low mountain range. The town had a population around 3,000. Not long after the stop to use the toilets, a series of long tunnels popprd into view, the first was called Aibetsu Tunnel. The bus also passed over many small bridges, overpasses, and minor rivers. Much of the scenery through a tree covered mountainous region, was food for any poet’s pen. The region was also home to the Ussuri brown bear. From the early-1960s to 2008, in Hokkaidō, 86 bear attacks, which resulted in 33 deaths, had been recorded. The long tunnels came and went, one after the other. The tunnels caused me to recall the monster tunnels south of Otaru, some more than 4,000-meters long. That was when I started to refer to them as monster tunnels. It was an experience that I could have done without. There was no escape, for that was the way the roads were. The bus made a short stop at a T-junction, then it turned left onto a national highway, Route 273. A road sign told me that Mombetsu was 81-kilometers away. Not long afterwards, another long tunnel popped into view. As the driver seemed in no hurry, it took a fair while to get through the Ukishima Tunnel, same 3,332-meters long. Therefore, it seemed one of the longest tunnels that I had experienced in my life, and wondered how long it wound have taken me had I been on foot. With a heavy backpack, it was not for the faint hearted. A road sign told me that Mombetsu City was 71-kilometers away, about 90-minutes, at the latest. The road, Route 273, was a series of ups and downs, and sharp left and right bends. This caused me to think that it would more than likely take the bus two-hours to reach the city. The national highwat appeared devoid of shops and restaurants, since the bus got off the expressway. Had I been on foot, along this ribbin of highway, I would have had to load up on a couple of dats of supplies. There was no shortage of water -- streams and rivers -- to be boiled. In time, the bus slowly pulled away from Nigorikawa, in the direction of Takishita, another uneventful little town. The name Nigorikawa meant: ‘muddiness’, or 'muddy river'. Nigorikawa was located between two rivers -- Shokotsu-gawa and Onraneppu-gawa. The rivers were famous for their trout and salmon farms. There were a number of places in Japan, called Nigorikawa. Needless to say, it only added to the difficulty when it came to research for information on such places. A railway line to service the area, JNR Shokotsusen, was opened in 1923. About a year later, Nigorikawa Station, opened, in 1924, and was one of the oldest stations along the line. A bus service replaced the railwat line, when its services ended, in 1985. Takishita, like many locations in Hokkaidō, offered a splendid tree covered mountain view, which conifers predominated. The bus journey -- through many towns and villages -- had been a pleasant one.

Done

Timber provided a bulk of Japanese imports. Unlike the way lumberjacks in the old back and white films swong an axe, however, the lumber trade was highly mechanised, with mills and factories to produce newsprint and process the wood. The demand for domestic timber was on the rise, at a time when world prices were also on the up. A limited number of suitable forests with coniferous trees ready to be harvested, made it difficult to increase production. The timber trade had other problems -- track down land owners for permission to harvest thier land, deforestation work to develop resorts, a shortage of loggers, difficulty for lumber companies to keep workers. As it was dangerous work, it took a long time to acquire the skills neccessary for the machinery used in the timber trade. As world market prices rose, orders for timber from Hokkaidō also rose. This did not mean a major increase in the production of timber, in Japan, which had increased from only 10 to 20-percent. A demand for wood had decreased by 1.9-percent, in 2015. At Kamishokotsu I caught a glimpse of a Seicomart, a convenience store chain mainly located on Japan's second largest island. As far as I was concerned, the Seicomarts ruled supreme among such stores, at least in good old Hokkaidō. The word ‘kami’ meant ‘lower’. Shokotsu was granted village status in 1906, and went through a series of transformations in the years that followed, before it was renamed, Kamishokotsu, in 1937. Later, the villages merged to form Mombetsu Town, in 1954. After the bus pulled out of the town, the road passed through farmland, where I got my first sight of cows. Hokkaidō accounted for 25-percent of the country’s cultivated land area, mainly field crops and dairy products. The farms in Hokkaidō was much larger than other prefectures across Japan. After a while, the bus passed through was called Nakashokotsu. The Japanese word ‘naka’ had a host of related meanings --  ‘in’, ’middle’, ‘among, ‘inside’. The Ainu words 'sho' and ‘kotsu’ meant ‘waterfalls’, and ‘hollow’ or ‘valley’, espectively. It was easy to imagine the course of the Shokotsu-gawa, as it wound down the rocky slopes of Teshio-yama. The mountain was part of the Kitami mountain range. The 84-kilometers long river then passed through the town of Takinoue, to the Sea of Okhotsk. A road sign pointed in the direction of Central Mombetsu. Anumber of towns popped into view, and soon fell away like there was no tomorrow. My first glimpse of the sea suddenly came into view. Soon I would pass this way again, on foot. What mattered most, was to get to the airport, first. That was where the previous stage of my mission, Stage 19, ended. Mombetsu became a city, in 1954, after the merger of neighboring villages and towns. Mombetsu was an Ainu word that meant, ‘quiet river’. It was not a big city, and had a population of around 23,000. The local economy was geared to fishing, and harvesting of crab, said to be the best in the country. A reminder of this was a 10-meter high sculpture of a crab, on the waterfront. Tourism was also important to Mombetsu. 


Done

Countless visitors were drawn to the region from January to February, to observe the drift ice, a main symbol of the city. The Okhotsk Tower allowed visitors to observe the icy phenomenon from above, and below the sea. There was also an information center on hand, including an aquarium, worth a stop at. For those with time to spare, the Garinko II, an icebreaker, made regular sightseeing cruises through the drift ice. The Japanese loved their festivals. The Drift Ice Festival, in winter, coincided nicely with the Sapporo Snow Festival which featured impressive ice sculptures. One main feature was the city's Okhotsk Sea Ice Museum, which included a sub-zero room, a ”frozen aquarium with different species of fish preserved in ice. In other neighboring regions to view drift ice, such as, the Okhotsk Ryu-hyo Museum in Abashiri. In summertime, when the sea ice melted, Russian visiters, particularly sailors, became a common sight in Mombetsu. A number of local businesses had banned Russian visitors for unruly behavior. This led some activists to criticize Monbetsu for racial discrimination. Unfortunately, I had no time to look about the city. The only thing was to find a local bus stop. This was soon achieved, and after a short while, a bus pulled in. The fare to the airport was ¥430, about double the cost of a bus in Tokyo. The time had gone three-o’clock in the afternoon, when I walked into the airport lobby. In fhs lobby, I sorted out my gear, before I hit the road proper. This included a visit to the John, to point Percy at the porcelain. It felt good to be on the road again, especially after the lengthy time and trouble it took me of get this far, by car, ferry, and bus. Along the national highway, Route 276, a short stop was made at Okhotsk Sea Ice Park, for a look-see. Across the way, a group of children bounced up and down on what looked like a giant rubber dome. Back on the road again, I came to my first bridge and river of the day. The bridge, Monbetsu-bashi, not far from Morappu Camp Sight, located on the southshore of a caldera lake, Shikotsu, in the Chitose region. There were a number of campgrounds and onsen in the area. Shikotsu-ko was the second deepest lake in the country, behind Lake Tazawa in Akita prefecture. The 108-kilometer long Chitose-gawa, was famous for its ‘Indian Fish Wheel’, a device used to trap salmon, on their return from spawning at the lake. Red salmon was a noted product of Lake Shikotsu, where fishing was a favorite summer pastime. It's name came from the Ainu word, ‘Shikot’, which meant, ‘hollow’ or ‘big depression’. Located on Shikotsu-ko shoreline, stood Tarumae-zan, a 1,041-meter high active volcano. The volcano had a long history of major eruption, the most recent, in 1982. Mount Tarumae, was believed to erupt again, in the not so distant future. It was designated a natural monument, in Hokkaidō, and remained popular for hikers. Mount Tarumae was a pleasant place to hike, along a mountain path that was refered to as, ‘a corridor of moss’. The path was, however, currently closed to visitors, due to recent landslides. Tarumae-zan was part of the Shikotsu-Toya National Park.

Done 


My initial plan was to stick to national highway, Route 238. According to a distance-directional road sign, however, the road headed towards Esashi and Okoppe, 100-kilometers and 28-kilometers, respectively. By now, the sun had disappeared, only to be replaced by what looked like rain clouds. In time, another road sign told me that Wakkanai was 221-kilometers away, but I had no need to go there. Soya Misaki, my target, was about 31-kilometers before  Wakkanai. In the distance I could sea what looked like a Seicomart, a convenience store. As I drew nearer, I could see that the store stood on the corner of Route 239 and a minor road, Route 713. The minor road headed left to Takinoue and right to Central Monbetsu. In no way a big town, Takinoue had a population of over 2,700. The main industries in the region focused on dairy farming, dry-crop farming, and forestry. About 95-percent of Japanese mint, called hakka, was produced in Takinoue Town. Takinoue Park was famous for its Shibazakura, a pink moss that grew in abundance, and which attracted countless visitors each year. The Ainu name for Takinoue was Ponkamuikotan, which meant ‘Village of the Small Gods’. Each year, two festivals were held in the town-- Shibazakura Festival (May-June), and the Summer Festival of Love (August). Along the road, a tourist sign pointed left for Okhotsk Sky Tower, four-kilometers away. The 30.9-meter high tower, 
locally called Oyama, was built on Mount Monbetsu, and opened to the public, in 1994. Because of its location tower doubled as a television-radio tower. Away to the right, Okhotsk Forest Park was much nearer, just 0.3-kilometers. The Okhotsk Observatory was located in the direction of the park, four-kilometers along the road. The observatory on the summit of Mount Tento, boasted a 360° panoramic view. In 1938, the mountain, nicknamed, ‘heaven city mountain’, was designated a national cultural asset for its scenic beauty.

Done  


20 Aug, 2017: Near the road, Route 238, camp was set up under the Shokotsu-bashi, which spanned its namesake river. The 305-meter long bridge was built in 1959. The pedestrian segment of the bridge that I used, was added in 1977. The 84-kilometer long Shokotsu-gawa flowed from Mount Teshio, through the town of Takinoue, on its way to Mombetsu and the Sea of Okhotsk. Mount Teshio was part of the Kitami Mountains. The time was around seven-thirty in the evening, so it was near dark. Thankfully, the bridge was well lit up, its lights cast out over the embankment. Therefore, I had little difficulty to do what had to be done -- pitch the tent, and what not. At last, "the blue-black darkness had at last fallen," if I may be so bold to use the words of D. H. Lawrance. In the early hours, the temperature dipped to such a level that I shivered and found it hard to sleep. So, I regreted that I left my little Colman blanket back in Tokyo. The blanket had proved useful on previous occasions. In the summer months, a sleeping bag was often a waste of space, however, I could have done with one now. My problem was soon put right, when I put on the other T-shirts I had in the backpack. A part of me was not happy -- forced to use clean clothes with dirty ones -- caked in sweat, after a day on the road. Another part of me knew that beggars could not be choosers, as the old expression reminded me. In the morning when I dragged myself from the tent, the temperature had noticeably risen. The sky was so overcast, that I now hoped it would not rain. At least not before I had managed to up camp and get my sorry arse back up onto the road again. Before I hit the road proper, a quick stop was made up on the bridge for a look-see. This was mainly to double check its name, the kanji, and make sure I had jotted it down correctly. Also, to confirm the name of the river that flowed under the bridge. My water bottles were low, so I needed to keep an eye out for a place to replenish them. This did not take long, for after about three-kilometers, I came to a Michi-no-Eki, called ‘Omusaro Nature View House’. However, it was the old story that had  plauged me again and again -- bad timing. The place had not yet opened. It's wild flower garden, was also closed. All the same, I was able to wash a few clothes and give myself a badly needed soapy scrub down, in cold water. It would have been a good place to have stopped the night. Omusaro Nature View House was next to the sea, and a bit windier than other places I a had passed. This segement of the road continued without a pavement. Therefore, I needed to keep my wits about me. In time, the road led me across Kohan Bridge, a plain looking structure, which was as windy as hell. Later, a road sign told me that my next stop would be Okoppe, a town about five-kilometers further along. As of last year (2016) Okoppe Town had a population of around 3,963. The local economy focused in dairy products, forestry, and fishing -- salmon, trout, scallop, and the horsehair crab, called kegani in Japanese. At where I stood, Wakkanai City and Esashi Town were 198-kilometers and 77-kilometers, respectively. Esashi grew to become a prosperous herring fishing town, in the Tokugawa period.

Done 

To paraphrase Wikipedia, the prosperity coined a saying, Even Edo (Tokyo) was not as busy as Esashi in May' -- "visitors to the town described the quantity of herring being so great that it turned the color of the sea white."  
Even the name or the town derived from an Ainu wored for kemp, an edible kelp popular in Japan. Esashi was one of Hokaidō's oldest towns. Most of the historic buildings stood along the Esashi Inishie Road. It was also the birthplace of a traditional folk music called 'Esashi oiwake'. A touristy sign pointed to another Michi-no-Eki, a roadside station, called Okoppe Joy Park, just two-kilometers along the road. It was a pleasant place, home to a couple of old railway carriages, converted for the benefit of travelers to stop the night. The Sōya Main Line, operated by JR Hokkaidō, still serviced the area of passengers and freight, between Wakkanai and Asahikawa. By now, the sun hd done its best to shine through a cloud covered sky. The sun remined me that it was still very much in charge. At times, the weather took my mind off the road for a while, which was not a good thing. At last, I reached Okoppe Town, where I stopped by at a Seicomart for a look about. At the store I treated myself to a small cake and filled my cup with hot water from a thrombus flask, for a well deserved cup of tea. The first cup of tea in five days, since I had left my place in Tokyo. It had been said that a cup of tea was a good way to pick you up. At times, tramping the road could bore one to tears. At such times I wondered why I bothered at all. The sky remained overcast, with the odd break in the sky to let the sun peek through for a short while. Then again, as long as the rain held off, I could not complain. A cool breeze blew low over the road, and was more than welcomed. Before I hit the road this morning, I taped up the soles of my feet, for fear that blisters would form sooner than usual. So far, so good! At the ourskirts of the town of Okoppe, a road sign told me that Ōmu Town was 20-kilometers away. As the time was already five o’clock, there was no way I could reach the town before dark. According to a 2016 census, Ōmu had a population of 4,596. My mind was made up to keep and an eye out for a good spot to pitch the tent. Until then, I was contented to tramp slowly along the road, with my backpack firmly fastened, for a few more hours. That should at least be another 10-kilometers under my belt, before I called it a day. High up in the sky, the sun did its best to keep me company, and most welcome it was. The region was noted for its humid continental climate of very warm summers. The rain fell throughout the year, the heaviest through August to October. In other words, I expected the to bucket down at any moment. Last night, the road led me across the long Okoppe-bashi, that spanned the Okoppe-gawa. On the riverbank, not far from the bridge, I came to a good place to make camp — a path, cut grass, some benches, and rather isolated. Okoppe koen, a large park, was roughly the same distance, north along the national highway, Route 238. The riverbank proved more inviting and peaceful than the park.

Done

Earlier, I had gotten off Route 239, because it turned left and headed further inland, where I did not want to go. By now the time was well past five o’clock, but as the sun was still in the sky, I decided to push on a bit further. It was important to keep a positive mindset, or so I told myself, when I wanted to find a place to pitch the tent. Along the road I momentarily stopped at a large Ohaka, a cemetery called, Okoppe Reien. In the Japanese an ‘R’ sounded like an ‘L’  and an‘E’ like an ‘A’. Therefore, the name, ‘Reien’ of the place of rest sounded like ‘lay in’. In English, ’rei’ meant ‘spirit’, and ‘en’ garden. Sometimes I liked to stop and look out over a cemetery of some interest. Recently, I had it on my mind to find my own final place of rest. One such place I visited was the Tama Reien in western Tokyo. A staff member told me that I needed to be dead first, in order to apply for a plot to place my ashes. That would make me the first corpse ever, to buy his own grave. The Japanese never failed to amaze me. Up ahead, a wooden outdoor picnic shelter, popped into view. An ideal spot to camp. Countless times before, I had pitched the tent under such places.
Such shelters were good spots to camp under on s rainy or snowy evening -- if the wind did not blow in sideways. At such times, you could really feel the power of the wind. Wind was one of the more accessable sources of power, which, incidentally, was first harnested in Persia, around 120 BC. My thoughts were in such an excited state that I thought I heard Sōyamisaki tidal waters call to me. Therefore, I decided to push on a while longer, instead.


Done 


21 Aug, 2017: My flashlight beam fell on two eyes. The fox seemed more interested in me than I was in it. Regardless, the fox lay low in the grassy field for a while, then it took its leave. It’s silhouette turned and disappeared into the tall grass, a poetic action of sorts. What I needed to do was to watch out for the crafty little bugger's return and steal something. Not 30-minutes had gone by, when I thought I heard something move in the grass. When I glanced out off the tent, I saw a fox pass through the entrance to the main road, Route 238, and hoped it was the same one. A light breeze started to kick up. An evening breeze over the grass kept me awake for a while. Even after I had tossed and turned, I slept fairly well in the end. The sun was well up in a cloudless sky, by the time I pulled my lazy arse out off the tent. The tent had become hot, that I the sweat started to drip off my face. The only thing I wanted to do was to get back on my way. So, I took down, rolled up, and put away the gear. This was not done in my usual unhurried way, but in haste. There was no point in a campfire to boil water for a hot drink. Nor was I in any mood for the dried fruit I brought with me from Tokyo. Besides, there was no shade to enjoy a humble breakfast under, and escape the rays of the sun. The large flies did their best to land on my arms and legs. The only logical thing to do was to get back on the road, quickly. When I did get back on the road proper, I knew that it would not belong when the old hunger pangs would be felt. Yesterday, the last of the tiny Snickers bars, for a burst of energy, were finished. What I really needed to do was to replenish the two-liter water bottle. My army-style hip flask was also nearly empty. Still, I was not overly concerned, for I had an idea that Ōmu was only 10-kilometers, if my map was anything to go by. It would be nice to find a place and eat something somewhere, even to nibble on a little dried fruit. It did no good to think about food. A road sign told me that Esashi was 63-kilometers away, and that Central Ōmu was 11-kilometers. 
Sawa Fishing Port was just 0.5-kilometers away to the right. Not that I gave a damn about the port, and would never see the place again. Some distance back, I stopped at a bus stop hut to rest, and ate a little of the dried fruit, for some energy. Back on the road again, I asked a local man if he knew of a store nearby. He said that as far as he knew, the next one was at least 20-kilometers away. Needless to say, I found hard to believe, as the next town was not that far away. Surely, there was a store in Ōmu, or so I hoped. Later, a local post office popped into view, where I stopped to get off some postcards to family, friends, and colleagues. A little further along the road another stop was made, this time to boil water for a cup of coffee. This was not so easy, for I did not have my little Capt Stag burner with me this time. So, I gathered up some dry twigs and tinder to build a small fire.Thankfully, the fire was only to boil water. The sun ruled surpreme for much of the morning. However, I was glad that the sun was not toast me to a crisp, like it had on previous times on the road. A welcomed breeze blew in over the Sea of Okhotsk.

Done

My tramp across the long Ōmu-bashi also meant that I was near Ōmu Town, which gave me a sence of accomplishment. Soon the bridge was behind me, and the breeze. The sun now stamped its presence big time. Life on the road could be endlessly thirsty. For some reason, I did not seem to sweat very much, which kind of surprised me. At another road sign I passed, the towns of Esashi and Hamatonbetsu, were now only 52 and 81-kilometers away,  respectively. Wakkanai City was further at 173-kilometers. All in all, this had been a slow and lazy day on the road. In away, it surprised me somewhat that I was in no great hurry to wrap-up anything, anytime soon. Even at a slow pace, each step that I took on the home run stretch, brought me nearer to my goal -- Sōya-Misaki. Today's weather could not have been more different, than whan I started my mission, in July, 2009 -- a time when Hokkaidō had record rainfall. Back to the present, I needed to stay positive. In time, I found myself on the outskirts of Horonai -- an  uneventful township with farmland in all directions. The 44-kilometer river, Poronai-gawa flowed through Horonai on its way to the Sea of Okhotsk. An Ainu word, which meant ‘big river’ and ‘parent’s river'. The river-source was Mount Piyashiri, a 987-meter peak, part of the Kitami mountain-range, north and east of the Ishikari Mountains and the Teshio Mountains, respectively. The construction on a dam, for electricity, began on the Poronai-gawa, in 1949. Prime Minister Shigeru Yoshida had already been in office about a year, when the dam was built. In the course of time, the dam suffered a series of accidents -- fire, and collapse, mainly due to heavy rain in the area. Work on the dam was completed quite recently, in 2015, and was used mainly for mud and debris control. The old Hokutan Horonai coal mine, closed in 1989, was located inland, not far from the city of Mikasa. The remains of an old redbrick farm building caught my eye. The sight of such buildings always gave me a sence that I had tramped back in time -- to my childhood days in Belfast, a city of many streets of redbrick houses. Many of the redbrick buildings that survived, in Japan, used Western agricultural methods implemented during Hokkaido’s pioneering period, from the 1880s. There was an elegance about the proud old buildings, part of a neglected past. A countless number of historic buildings had long been torn from the heart of this country. What remained of the building looked as if it could stand firm for many more years to come, unless of course, someone out there had other ideas. Nearby, there were a few old wooden buildings, too. They were so dilapidated, that to demolish them might prove a kind act. The wooden buildings looked like the sort of places that once housed workers. On previous stages of my mission, I had passed so many redbrick buildings and bridges. None of the buildings were as famous as the Kanemori Red Brick Warehouses in Otaru, originally built in 1887, or the Red Brick Warehouses in Yokohama. Both of the Yokohama warehouses were originally custom houses, built in 1911 and 1913.

Done


 Ryounkaku_before_and_after_Great_Kanto_earthquake-1


Ryōunkaku before and after the Great Kanto earthquake


The redbrick buildings were often the only things of the nineteenth-century.
 These days, local governments pushed for the construction of new and moderh harbor facilities. Many of the redbrick structures survived the 1923 Great Kantō Earthquake -- the deadliest earthquake in the country, with more than 105,000 deaths. Baring the famous Ryōunkaku, Japan's first skyscraper, in Asakusa in Tokyo, many redbrick buildings survived the powerful earthquake. The absence of such old buildings, like the British Embassy, was one of Japan’s historical weaknesses -- an exacerbated ill-planned effort to modernize. A postwar government attempt to shake off the past, and dismantle it bit by bit. Surely in the long term, a country that dismantled its past, lost all direction to its future. Right? The object of society, I felt, was to bind the present with the past, so as to make any appropriate connections with the future. In a climate of modernity, it was a wonder that anything of Japan's past survived at all. It was as if Japan had little to gain from its past, or retain its grand old buildings. The oldest wooden building in the world, was the main hall of Hōryū Gakumon-ji, a Buddhist temple in Nara, which dated to 700 AD. The temple included a five-story pagoda. Another tourist attraction was the Hōrai-bashi, a wooden bridge that spanned the Ōi-gawa in Shimada in Shizuoka. The bridge was built in 1879, and was registered in the Guinness World Records as the longest (897-meters) wooden bridge in the world. Today, only the bridge's upper portion survived, its wooden pilings were replaced by concrete, in 1965. In fact, designing concert box-like buildings was to the architect a supreme pleasure, like, religious duties were to religious fanatics. These days new apartment blocks and skyscrapers went up in such a colossal scale that entire cities changed, and altered, every aspect of daily life. The resident faces disappeared and diminished -- moved away, died off. What local ways and customs remained unchanged, found that the clock of change was against them. It was hard to perceive any merit in the ugly and outrageous buildings, along the streets of towns of cities throughout Japan. If I was not mistaken, only the religious places — Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples-- shunned modern intrusion. They resisted authority, even when the fingers of modernity reappeared periodically. I was unsure which appalled me the most, the ugly buildings or the lack of attitude local people had towards them. Apart from the 634-meter tall Tokyo Skytree, the appearance of the tall buildings did little to arouse interest or attention. It surprised me that so few people resented the influence architects, held over them and their cities. In the eyes of the modern architect and man of many talents, Charles-Édouard Jeanneret (1887-1965): 'A house was a machine for living.' Was it possible to call a machine a home? "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet" to quote from Shakespeare's play Romeo and Juliet. Of the many towns and cites I tramped through on my travels around Japan, I came to believe that many architects, if not enemies of nature, were in the wrong profession. 

Done

The ancient art-form of ikebana, or flower arrangement, brough kind of life to the cut flowers. 
Strictly put, a cut flower no longer grew, becasue it was no longer alive. To some exxtent, ikebana conquered nature, it made dead flowers appear as presentable as possible, in the way people did to loved ones who died. It seemed strange that long ago (1841), a decree in the Tokugawa period once forbid women to have lessons in flower arrangement, among other things. Bonzai was another beautiful art-form that puzzled me. The trees were not dead, like, shrunken heads, but very much alive and sturdy by nature, when cared for. The artistic manipulation of growth, stretched out over many years, involved a careful cultivation of trees in small containers, and use of wires, that restricted the growth of roots and branches. The bonsai tradition in Japan, dated back more than a 1,000-years. Like the archetects and the concrete jungles their structures helped to create, ikebana and bonsai contradicted nature. Despite this, there was genius in perfecting the arts. It would be a great mistake to simply dismiss them. Both ikebana and bonsai -- art-forms of interest in their own right -- had long influenced the works of painters and photographers. Particularly, with Japanese artists and photographers
in their focus on traditional themes and period details. If only I could have felt more colorfully about most of the Japanese towns and cities that I had tramped through on my mission. 
The building boom madness in Japan, in my view, was an ignorant and inconsiderate extravagance, in which the architects imagination had run riot. The obnoxious modern buildings progressively destroyed a past that could only be read about in books. Like feathers in their caps, proud of their accomplishments, the
architects
 grotesque and loathsome concrete and glass boxs popped up just about everywhere. Actually, I knew nothing about architecture, but I was intelligent enough to know what was attractive, like, ikebana and bonzai, and what was an eyesore, like, so many of the modern buildings. One building I considered an eyesore was, The National Museum of Western Art in Ueno in Tokyo, opened to the public, in 1959. The main aim of the museum was to house the artworks owned by Japanese industrialist, Kōjirō Matsukata (1865-1950). Up until the museum opened, Matsukata’s collections had been kept in France and England, until the end of the Pacific War. In order for the Japanese art-works to be returned to Japan, it was stipulated by the French government that the new museum, be designed by a French architect. Therefore, Charles-Édouard Jeanneret (1887-1965), known as Le Corbusier, was chosen to design the masterplan. In return, the Japanese government requested that some of its architects be assisted in the work. All in all, much of Le Corbusier's designs were influenced by urban life, and dedicated to the improvement of life in urban surroundings. Japan was the world's most highly urbanized country -- 15-percent of the people lived in cities with than 100,000 inhabitants.

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The National Museum of Western Art in Ueno was considered
a modernist gem, and a nationally registered Important Cultural Property. A number of his buildings had been inscribed as UNESCO World Heritage Sites, in 2016. In truth, most architects devoted themselves fiercely to their work. Their profession could be deemed useful, for the world could not get along without them. Unfortunately, center of cities had become concrete jungles -- a disorderly coalition of buildings of all shapes and sizes. The Building Standards Law was applied to all buildings, wood, steel, and concrete, throughout Japan. If so, then why did buildings not compliment each other? One reason was that the district-wide and uniform use zone restrictions in the different wards often clashed. Nothing was concrete, so to speak, that could not be changed by a technicality or loophole. A number of architect firms wielded considerable influence over local city authorities, on a so-called professional basis. This illustrated a serious weaknesses in a local government's power, usually made-up by a bunch of old-fashioned, conservative, inactive characters -- obsessed by an industry established financial economy. For me, the ugliness of a building was a blatant  intrusion into a person's private life. If the complete structure was anything to go by, then the itch to build seemed an ill-planned policy. There were few demonstrations to protect historical location, in Japan. Surely in was only a matter of time before a showdown came about. Local people protected the main Tokyo Station building from being demolished. The area around the station had undergone extensive redevelopment work, completed in 2013. The central Tokyo area had its fair share of high-rise towers, multi-story offices and shopping plazas. The construction work included new university campuses -- the stage had been set for the continuation of a long tragedy. Surely, it was only a matter of time before the fingers of modernity reached out and touched what other historic sites remained. Unlike a lot of countries and their cultures, Japan was not the place where hysterical chorus of criticism was openly aired. At least not since the anti-Vietnam riots of the 1960s and 70s. If only the inhabitants of a city united to protect their shared interests, to keep their cities beautiful and treasure the past. Wishful thinking! Back to the present, the time had gone seven o’clock in the evening when I finally made my way across a plain looking Horonai-bashi, a bridge that spanned the winding namesake river. The Horonai-gawa basin, in the town of Otake, was dotted with old Ainu forts, called chasi in the Ainu language. The forts were used in the sixteenth to eighteenth-centuries. Like castles in Europe, the forts made the most of the natural terrain -- hills, cliffs mountain tops, rivers and islands, and so forth. Many had moats around them, like the castles. This was as good a time as any to keep an eye open for a spot to pitch my tent. A few kilometers short of Horonai, a car pulled over and stopped. A man in his 30s asked through an open window if I wanted a lift.

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At that time, I was on the side of the oncoming traffic, so I needed to cross over the road to thank him for the kind offer. 
It was the tail end of the rush-hour traffic, so the road was not so busy. “Hop in! Hop in!” The man called out to me, as I drew nearer. At the car, I bent down at the window and thanked him, but politely declined, with a smile. Then I said that I really needed to walk, and give him a quick rundown on my mission around Japan on foot. He then reached into a large plastic shopping bag on the passenger seat, and pulled out a 300-milliliter can of Asahi beer, and handed it to me. Needless to say, I was more than happy to accept the gift. On a hot day like the present, it would not have been easy to say no to a cool beer. The sweat poured off me. “I’m on my way to meet some friends on the beach just up ahead.” He said. “You know how things were with friends on a beach -- talk, laugh, drink, and eat.” It might have been interesting to have joined them, but I had more pressing issues on my mind. A part of me wanted to notch up another 10-kilometers, before I called it a day. Another part of me wanted to make camp unnoticed, perhaps on the beach in question. The time was late, and my body and mind were tired. The man had already drove off, and it did not take long to make quick work of the beer. After only a kilometer or so on the road, a car turned left onto the main drag from a side street. An elderly fellow at the wheel poked his head out of the car window. “Amelika-jin? Amelika-jin?” He called out to me. “Hai!” I shouted back, with a smile and a wee wave, too tired to care. The car did not stop.


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Irishman Walking (Stage 13 Chapter 1) Spring 2014

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Irishman Walking (Stage 13 Chapter 1) is about my walking the main and coastal roads of Japan. Spring 2014.

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Dear Friends and Readers:


Irishman Walking was about my walking the main and coastal roads of Japan, in a series of spring, summer, autumn, and winter stages. It took me eight-years to complete my mission. This spring-stage, Stage 13, began on 13-14 March, 2014 at Maisaka, via Hamamatsu City, in Shizuoka prefecture, in southeastern Honshu. It was also where the previous stage officially ended. The Japanese archipelago consisted of 6,852 islands, with 430 of them inhabited. An island was defined as being land with more than 100-meters in circumference. The five main islands, from north to south, were Hokkaido, Honshu, Shikoku, Kyushu, and Okinawa. Honshu was often referred to as the Japanese mainland. After about 20-days on the road, and the trials and tribulations that went with it, the stage was finaly concluded on  4 April, 2014, at Odawara City in Kanagawa prefecture, along the Pacific coastline of the main island of Honshu, the largest of Japan’s mainland islands. Odawara City, an historic castle town, much of Odawara Castle was destroyed by an earthquake, in 1703, but was quickly rebuilt. In the first years of the Meiji period, the castle tenshu (keep), among other buildings, were finally dismantled and sold, in 1870. What remained was severely damaged by the Great Kantō earthquake, in 1923. The castle ground was proclaimed a National Historic Site, in 1938. The castle keep was rebuilt again in ferro-concrete, in 1960. The plan was based on early drawings (and models) that dated to the Edo period. The castle’s three main gates were restored in the years that followed. Most ‘new’ castles were concrete reconstructions, with modern interiors, which often housed a museum and shops for visitors to spend money at. All in all, Odawara proved a good place to wrap up this stage of my mission, for it should be easy to return to this coming summer to restart the next stage.


Be happy, keep smiling! 


Yours sincerely


Michael Denis Crossey


From Hamamatsu City in Shizuoka to Odawara City in Kanagawa

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13-14 Mar, 2014: The evening coach for Hamamatsu pulled away from the bus stop at 11:14 PM. A strange time, I thought, as I shifted my butt to lean against the curtain covered window. “Mmm!” Maybe the clock at the front of the coach, above the driver’s head, was a minute out. The coach was half full, and most of the other passengers set by themselves. Less fortunate, a story of my life, a young Japanese fellow occupied the seat next to mine. If the noise was anything to go by many of the other passengers were soon fast asleep. The young man next to me was no also out for the count. The Japanese could fall asleep just about anywhere and at anytime. This was one of the reasons why I envied the Japanese. On the move just like this, I could not sleep. There were a couple of rest stops along the Tōmei Expressway made before the coach finally reached Hamamatsu City, and where it stopped not 300-meters from the main train station. Hamamatsu Station served the Keihin–Tōhoku, Yamanote, and Tokyo Monorail Haneda Airport Lines. Hamamatsu was granted city status on 1 July, 1911. Today, the city of Hamamatsu had a population of more than 800,000 inhabitants, and which had risen steadily since the 1940 censes.  The Imperial Japanese Army Hamamatsu Air Base, and Flight School, were opened, in 1926 and in 1933, respectively. So it was not surprising that much of the city was destroyed by American bombs during the Pacific War, in June 1945. Hamamatsu was designated as a core city by the central government, on April Fool’s Day, 1996. For the most part, Hamamatsu was an industrial city, particularly noted for the production of motorbikes and musical instruments, as well as, fabrics. Much of the industry was hard hit by the downward turn of the economy, in the 1990s, from which it had not recovered. Still, Suzuki and Yamaha Corporation headquarters were located in Hamamatsu. The city was also located along the coastline of Honshu, Japan's main island, and where I soon planned to make my way along. It was a nice city, built on the southern side of a mountain range and the Mikatahara Plateau and the Pacific Ocean well within view, not far from the Tenryu River and Lake Hamana. The Nakatajima Sand Dunes, which I hoped to pass-by in due course, was a noted breeding ground for loggerhead turtles. The park was home to the reconstructed sixteenth-century Hamamatsu Castle, which stood majestically, on a hill. The castle and park drew countless visitors in springtime each year, mainly to view the cherry blossoms in full bloom, not to mention lookout over the mighty Pacific Ocean. Originally Ieyasu Tokugawa resided in the castle for around 17-years, from 1571 until 1588. His reign also marked the start of the Edo period. Today visitors can enjoy a visit to the small museum inside side the castle, home to pieces of armor and other relics of the period, among other items of interest of the times. Not far from the castle, visitors could also stroll through a large park, with a Japanese garden, a pond, and a ceremonial teahouse. Hamamatsu had a humid subtropical climate year round, with an average temperature of around 14°C for this time of the year, which was not so bad.

The time on the clock was 05:30 AM, and still dark when I stepped down from the coach, where I waited a short while for my backpack to be dug out from the storage compartment at the lower part of the vehicle. No one, including the coach driver seemed to know where the Toyoko Inn was located, but I was advised to head across to the train station area, where my chances of finding it would be better. As things turned out, the business hotel was not very far past the station. Thanks to the large bright colored telltale sign, usually displayed at the top of Toyoko Inn buildings. Therefore, the hotel was easy to find. My plan was to leave the backpack at the hotel and then take the train back to a place called Maisaka, where I had previously wrapped Stage 12 up at last summer. Magoori Station was close to the old Tōkaidō highway, just south of the Shin River. The train station was opened in late-1888. That was the year that a massive eruption changed the shape of Mount Bandai, located on the outskirts of Kitashiobara Village and the towns of Inawashiro and Bandai, in Yama-Gun, Fukushima prefecture. The eruption left countless kilometers of forest and farmland a wasteland, with the disappearance of many villages under landslides. New lakes were formed and river diverted. Urabandai or Bandai-kōgen, as the lake district was known, had long been a popular tourist destination. Originally the mountain was called 'Iwahashi-yama", or  “a rock ladder to the sky”, in English, or 'Aizu Bandai' and 'Aizu Fuji' by many locals. Mount Bandai was certified as a geopark, in 2011, as well as being one of the most famous mountains, in Japan. A photograph of the mountain soon after the eruption, was the first news photograph published in the Yomiuri Shimbun at the time. It was also the first major disaster that the newly formed Japanese Red Cross faced, when it carried out relief efforts. Like much of the Meiji period, 1888 was also a year of progress that saw the opening of a good number of important of railway stations across the country. However, the station was renamed, Maisaka Station, a few months later, and had connected Hamamatsu since it was opened, in 1909. Maisaka Station was only two stops from Hamamatsu, but one hell of a distance between each of the stations. So in away, I regretted wrapping the previous stage, Stage 12, of my mission up there. The damage was done, and there was no point in complaining, for I had other more important things on my mind. When I stepped down from the train at Maisaka, someone I stopped to ask directions with outside the station told me that it was a good 10-kilometers from Hamamatsu. Of course, I felt in no great hurry to return there, for the checkin time at the hotel would not be until three o’clock. The Maisaka area had been settled since the Jomon period, as early as 5,000-years ago. In more recent times, Jomon remains had been unearthed within the town perimeters. The period was also the beginning of an early agriculturalist population that came to settle in on place for longer periods. The period was rich in tools and jewelry formed out of bone, shell, and antlers, as well as, from stone.


Maisaka has been a thriving fishing town along the Pacific coastline in Shizuoka prefecture. The town was particularly noted for its eel farming. The area continues to draw many visitors, and was still popular with fishermen and clam-diggers. Had this been better circumstances, the beach there would have made a great place to camp. Misaka was finally merged into Hamamatsu City, on 1 July, 2005, where I was headed. Soon after arriving in Misaka, I was back on the road retracing my steps on foot, along the route the coach had taken, was on part of the old Tōkaidō Road. Old only by its name, for the countless new house and tall buildings I passed along the way. At times the Tōkaidō ran parallel to Route 1, on which I had cycled on decades earlier. This time, however, my plan was to avoid Route 1 on this stage of my mission. Now was not the time to spend thinking about the past. It was not easy to reflect on the old Tōkaidō, and other early highways in Japan for that matter, without thinking of the form of art called, ukiyo-e. The famous ukiyo-e artist, Ando Hiroshige was born in October, 1797, and was considered the last great ukiyo-e artist ever. He worked under the name, Utagawa Hiroshige. Among his wide range of genre categories, Hiroshige was perhaps best known for his popular horizontal-format landscape series, enticed: ‘The Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō’. Maisaka was one of the places depicted in ukiyo-e woodblock print as Maisaka-juku, the 30th station entitled ‘Maisaka-juku’ in Hiroshige’s ukiyo-e landscape series. For many contemporary thinkers, Hiroshige's death in 1858, marked the rapid decline in the ukiyo-e genre. A void somewhat filled by the influence of westernization through the Meiji period. The Tōkaidō road, or ‘eastern sea route,’ was in its day the most important of the five major main roads that dated to the Edo period. The Tōkaidō Road connected Kyoto to Edo. In those early days, the main method of getting about was by foot. “Mmm!” If only we could all return to those slow moving days, when tomorrow would have to wait, and when the future would take care of itself. Nissaka-shuku was located in what was now part of Kakegawa City in Shizuoka prefecture. Heavy rain fell for much of the day in Tokyo, but now throughout Shizuoka prefecture, the weather could not be better for tramping along the road with a backpack firmly strapped in place. Even at a snails pace on this beautiful clear spring morning, I found myself back in Hamamatsu by 09:00 AM, and where I would soon set off on this stage of my mission. My early return to Hamamatsu was not so much a problem, or as far as having some time to kill went. Checkin time at the hotel was not until three o’clock. The lack of sleep on the coach from Tokyo was not, as yet, making itself felt. Then when I turned onto a little side road, a shortcut that led to Hamamatsu train station building complex, I spotted a Starbucks coffee shop, which I headed straight towards. The station building was completed in 1981, and was home to the ‘MayOne Shopping Centre. The stop by at Starbucks for a while, not only allowed me the chance to jot down some lines in my notebook, but also a place to rest awhile.


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Maisaka-juku, a woodblock print by ukiyo-e master, Hiroshige Utagawa (1797-1858) (Wikipedia)


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Nissaka-shuku was the twenty-fifth station on the Tōkaidō, a woodblock print by Hiroshige (Wikipedia)


Fortunately, unlike other Starbucks I had popped into, especially in Tokyo, this outlet was not very busy. Then again, it was still some hours to go until lunchtime. Hamamatsu City was not as busy as Japanese cities were, I felt, still it seemed to be home to so many business hotels. First opened on 1 September, 1888, Hamamatsu Station these days served the Tōkaidō Main Line and the Tōkaidō Shinkansen Line, operated by the Central Japan Railway Company. Shin-Hamamatsu Station, just three-minutes away, was the terminus station for the local Enshū Railway Line. The word ‘shin’ means ‘new’ in Japanese, however, it could be argued that Shin-Hamamatsu Station had existed since 1 September, 1927, although it was called Asahimachi Station at that time. It its day, the station was one of the most modern buildings in the city in its day, only to be destroyed by American bombs during closing weeks of the Pacific War, on 29 July, 1945. Of course, after the war, the station building was rebuilt in 1953, and was renamed, Shin-Hamamatsu. In a similar vain, the Shinkansen, or Bullet Train, started operations on 1 October, 1964. As I set in the Starbucks thoughts of current affairs in Japan and other places ran through my head. The recent crash of Malaysian Airlines, the rebuff of the STEP research program, and so forth. Actually, I had hoped to pickup a copy of the Japan Times, of some other Japanese English language newspaper at a convenience store. Not a single store that I popped into on my way to the Starbucks had single issue, or according to some of the staff sold any. When I called in at the hotel earlier to drop off my backpack, had a copy on the newspaper rack in the lobby, either. This surprised me a little, for I saw a good number of foreigners here and there about the city. Likewise, I was not the only foreigner to stop at the coffee shop, so I thought it should be easy to get a newspaper that I could read. With the Tokyo Olympic Games taking place in the near future, in education local governments were busy revamping English conversation lessons at schools. Another plan was to get as many volunteers as possible to help out during the Olympics. “Mmm!” No doubt this all had something to do with internationalizing the young people’s minds, like the swipe of some magic wand. This was also the end of the famous train, Akebono, from Ueno to the northern part of the country. Akebono was a luxury sleeper-train that had served the route for close to 45-years, from 1970. The route fell victim to changing times and a drop in the numbers of passengers. Therefore, it was only inevitable that the train would make its final run, out of Ueno on the evening of 14 March. At Crimea in Ukraine there was talk of a reformation to join Russia. Around 60-percent of the inhabitants saw themselves as Russian. The Russian leader, Putin, threatened military intervention should the violence continue. Japan got another gold medal in the Sochi Para-Olympic Games, whilst another Japanese athlete went crashing out doing his best. That was life, a microcosm of the world, with its ups and downs, of success and failure, with happiness and sadness, and there was not much one could do about it, other than to do their best.


15 Mar, 2014: This was another beautiful spring sunny morning to awaken up to enjoy. The NHK morning news made mention of narrowing down the search for the lost airliner and passengers. Surely it was only a matter of time before something turned up. In this day and age, why not? It was impossible to imagine that something so large as an airplane could simple vanish and not be found. Downstairs in the breakfast area, in the lobby, it was not easy to find a free table. Anther chap ahead of me, was waiting when I came out of the elevator. “Mmm!” Who was worse off, I momentarily thought to myself, the salarymen stuffing their faces in a hurry, before heading off to their jobs, or me, in no great rush? Of course, I had not least care, for the world was a stage and everyone played their part. My part was to accomplish my mission as smoothly as possible. Whenever I got back to my room, I set about getting all the gear together and ready for the road. A glance at the maps told me that I needed to get my arse onto Route 150, bound for Ryuyo, Osuka, Daito, Hamaoka, and beyond. If the weather held, which I felt it would, then there was no reason that this should not be a good day, kilometer-wise. One thing that I needed to do before hitting the road was to tap up the soles of my feet. Even my12-kilometer long dander about Hamamatsu left me with the early signs of blisters about to form. Like I penned earlier, Hamamatsu was loaded with interesting touristy spots, so the dander about the city was a worthwhile little venture. When I was walking about the city, I remembered the young fellow whom I set on the coach from Tokyo telling me that Hamamatsu was particular famous for the pianos produced there. The YAMAHA piano factory tour in the Kakegawa area of the city, was a case in point. YAMAHA was one of the most famous musical instrument companies in Japan, if not the world. Visitors were able see the craftsmen work the traditional techniques of making pianos, crafts passed down over the years, since 1900. The guided tours were available on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but reservations were necessary. The city was also famous for: The Hamamatsu International Piano Competition held every three-years. However, there seemed to be a 30-year age limit for the competitors. Not that I could say it kind of tossed cold water on any Mozart-level dreams that I had in me. That said, the competition was started in 1991, to mark the 80th-anniversary of the founding of Hamamatsu City, on 1 July, 1911. After leaving the hotel and setting off along the road, it soon became clear to me that it was not easy to find even Routes 1, let along Route 150, which I needed to get onto. A stop was made at a small koban, to ask one of the many policeman there for some directions. This proved to be a waste of time. The Japanese police were lost to explain anything, without a roadmap to help them. Without going into any great detail over a set of grubby books of maps, all that I wanted was to be pointed in the right direction, and simply sent on my way. “Mmm!” Was that asking too much? At least, it seemed easy enough to me.


One of the police physically pointed with his forefinger in the right direction, or at the corner I should make a turn. "Go straight and turn right just before the park, you can’t miss it." Such was the kind of simple English that I had  from time to time drummed into the heads of my students during the classroom lessons on directions. In the end, I left the koban none the wiser. On the road, it was important to be prepared for all situations, ’to keep a stiff upper lip,’ if I may use that 1915 American invention. At long last I got my first glimpse of the sea from a bridge over the Tenryugawa.  the point also marked the start of a tollroad. On the far side of the river, six giant windmills slowly turned their great blades, with bellicose-like noises. “Mmm!” Surely the windmill needed more than the gentle sea breeze that blew in from the coast? I thought to myself. Even the cool breeze gradually to ebbed away. The sun shown down brilliantly from a cloudless March sky. Still on the bridge, a tiny sign told me that I was now entering into Iwata City. Like whenever I came across such signs on previous occasions, there was nothing around that looked like a city. The tollroad had ended almost as soon as it had begun, and made it the shortest, 100-meters long, that I had ever heard of. Not far away I saw a little driving range and miniature golf course, both of which were situational on either side of the road, Route 150. Another road sign I passed pointed in the direction of Ryuyo Coastal Park, some three-meters across the bypass. I heard that visitors often stopped the night on the beach, or in the park, or at the local camping site, so as to view the New Years sunrise. At such times, they were offered free sweet sake to drink for the occasion. One good place to watch the sunrise, and where sake was also offered to visitors, was on top of Ryuyo Fuji, the highest point in the park. Unfortunately for me, this was not that time of the year. There were no further sightings of the sea for one hell of a time and distance. Another sign told me that I was 0.4-kilometers from Ryuyo Insect Nature Observation Park across the Tenryu River that made its way through Iwata. There were enough insects on this stretch of the road that led be past shrubs and farmland, not to mention a mountain range far off in the distance. Clearly much of the area was a place for golf lovers, with various signs here and there that advertised one golf club or another. Playing golf in Japan was not a pastime, for the poor. Another sign that posted to the right, told me that the ‘Pacific Coast Cycling Route’ lay just 2.4-kilometers away. “Mmm!” If only I had my bicycle with me now. There was a bicycle song that I sang as a child growing up in Belfast, donkeys years ago. The song "Daisy Bell” was first penned by British songwriter, Frank Dean (1857-1922) under the pen name Harry Dacre. "Daisy, Daisy / Give me your answer, do. / I'm half crazy / all for the love of you…” The song ended with the words: "a bicycle built for two” and was a popular hit in its day, in London music halls and worldwide. Building bicycles had become a big business in Japan since the late-1800s. There were believed to have been as my as 10,000 registered bicycles in Japan, in 1890. The number multiplied nearly six-times by 1901, and had grown to 400,000 registered bicycles, by 1912.


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Harry Dacre with bicycle, about 1890s (Wikipedia)


There was also a large poster nearby that advertised wedding ceremonies, a most expensive business in many countries in more ways than one. In fact, weddings and funerals were the most expensive ceremonies to date. Regardless of any customs and traditions, both ceremonies played on the old emotions of the people involved. Hence a good chance to cheat and swindle anyone out of their hard earned money. In Japan, with its aging society rising and the falling birthrates, surely cheaper marriage and funeral costs would prove a winner or money earner. Somebody said that 'marriages were made in heaven', or something along those lines. Hovever, they were not happening in Japan in current times, to the extent they should. In fact, they had seen a sharp decline. The Land of the Rising Sun had long struggled to overcome a demographic challenge of older peple and fewer babies - more pensions and expensive medical care - made things look bleak. Other signs that I passed along the way took my mind away from such things as marriages and deaths. The signs made mention of the danger of tsunamis and posted in the direction of raised places to dash towards, for safety. Thanks to the weather, if not myself, progress along the road was good and steady, without any telltale sign of blisters or muscle pain. This was nothing like that time last winter when I pushed myself to cover a good 40-kilometers. Still, it was good enough to warrant a stop at a FamilyMart convenience store  in the village of Toyohama, for a nice cool can of Kirin beer. The coastline where Toyohama was situated was also popular for surfing and crowded on weekends. Like many places in Japan, the village was merged into Fukude-cho Town, on 31 March, 1955. Fukude-cho and a host of other tiny locations merged to form Iwata City, on April Fool’s Day, 2005. The Fukude local economy was mainly based on agriculture, such as, hothouse melons, green tea, not to mention, commercial fishing. Before leaving my place in Tokyo, I included among my gear a little booklet written by a fellow called, L. J. Link, an expat who had lived and worked in Japan for many years. “Mmm!” Someone like myself, I guess. The booklet contained a collection of short articles on things Link found interesting about Japan. The articles were light reading and interesting, even if I already held similar views from my own experience, over the years. One article I read in particular, for example, entitled: ’Is there a Chopstick Complex?’ dealt with the way Japanese people always seemed impressed at the skillful way in which foreigners used chopsticks, and would comment to that effect. “Hashi jozu ni tsukatte-imassu ne!” (Oh, you use the chopsticks so well!). The proper use of chopsticks was, no doubt, a bit of a sacrilege, in Japan. However, I could not help wonder what the Japanese would have said if they noticed that the wooden pegs I used for keeping the cool breeze from coming in under the tent, were in fact chopsticks. Somewhere along the road, I lost some of my tent pegs through carelessness. In time, I came to a ¥100-Yen store, where I stopped for a wee look-see. There I did not care very much for the weak-looking tent pegs, which came in packets of six. Instead, I settled on a packet of wooden chopsticks. Ten chopsticks to a packet, it seemed bitter value.


16 Mar, 2014: After some writing and reading, I eventually fell into a well deserved slumber and awoke the following morning at 07:30, to the sound of the traffic rushing along the road nearby. This was about the start of the morning rush-hour. It was seldom easy to drift off to sleep again, and by 08:00 AM I was outside the tent dismantling the camping gear and putting everything together for packing away. Like the morning before, the sun rose slowly up into the cloudless sky, and I knew that this was going to be another good day for tramping the roads. The brisk wind that blew in from the sea made decamping a little difficult, but gradually all went well. Not very far down the road, Route 150, I made a stop at a 7-Eleven convenience store, mainly to use the toilet and give a quick wash to a pair of socks and underwear I wore yesterday. Surprisingly, I did not sweat so much and so I decided to continue wearing the same T-shirt. The washing was soon taken care of, and after hanging the things over a fence to dry, I went back into the store to pickup a 500-milliliter carton of milk. There was nothing like a wee bit of energy to start the morning. The milk would work just fine with the muesli that I packed along with my gear for such times. One of the many good things about the convenience stores was the hot water they always had at the ready. It saved the trouble when I felt like a cup of tea or coffee, which I also brought along with me. Soon I was sitting outside on the ground next to my washing, tucking into my humble breakfast, with a hot cup of tea for good measure. By the time I decided to hit the road again, a nice fresh morning breeze had worked its magic and quickly dried my things, and which had already been retrieved from the fence and put away. Yesterday, not long before I made camp for the evening, I passed a couple of used car garages, which were run by a group of fellows from South American, but I was not sure which country. There was a Brazilian flag on the window of a hair salon nearby, next to a store that sold surfing gear. Rightly or wrongly. I did not need to stretch the old mind any to conclude that the salon was run by one of their wives, who more than likely was a Japanese. The South America continent had some of the best locations in the world for surfing. No doubt the some of the fellows I had just passed were keen surfers, too. Some of the greatest football players ever to grace this planet came from that part of the Southern Hemisphere. Some distance further along the road, I passed another garage, where I noted a small number of South American looking fellows, busy at work on some used cars. Not more than 300-meters further on along the road, I came to a closed down kitty-park, with a host of various contraptions and apparatus built of wood and ropes. They were especially made for small children to climb over and have fun on. There was also a name sign, but it was in Portuguese, which I could not make sense of for the life of me. A tiny football pitch set next to the little park, with its little goals complete with nets. Needless to say, everything had become overgrown with grass and brambles. Sadly, like so many places that I had passed along the way, it was a victim of the lingering recession.

For some reason I stopped a short while to look over the things, and could not help imagining that some handsome Brazilian fellow had come along one day, met, and married a nice looking Japanese girl. Perhaps the girl came from a wealthy family, for noting was cheap, nor free in Japan. The day before, a good number of Harley Davidsons roared past me along the road, with the riders all decked out in shiny leather. Often when there was a female among the group, she tended to be on the rear seat. What happened to the, ’Mrs-One-In-A-Million’ article that I read about in one of the books I brought me? The article gave light to changing times in Japan. Early signs of the female gender, how they had begun to pull themselves out from under the feet of the male dominated corporate world into top executive positions. Of course, this was still a man’s world, since most of anything appeared under their control. Even if women were making their mark here and there, in various areas. The females riding on the backs of their boyfriend’s motorbikes, seemed to me, rather subservient. In a way, it was kind of like placing their life in the hands of another. The Harleys in Japan, tended to be fitted out with all the attachments and gear, like, carrier cases, at the back, wind screens and chrome protection bars at the front, and so forth. Often the large motorbikes were a bit over the top with fittings. Personally, I preferred to see the complete shape of the motorbikes, rather than hide them under a load of colorful side-boxes for carrying god knows what. My Yamaha Dragster that awaited me back in Tokyo, did have a wind screen and appropriate chrome protection bars at the front, but there was not a single side-box attached. At least, my Dragster looked like what I wanted it to look like, a motorbike. It was just as convenient for me to tie the gear to the upright bar at the rear when I went on a camping trip. Another interesting little article I read in the tent last night, before hitting the sack proper, entitled: ‘The Psychological Value of a Car’, highlighted the fact that the Japanese were not so practical when it came to cars  For example, the cost to purchase, the mandatory inspections, parking costs, tolls, gasoline, oil, repairs, ad insurance costs, and so on. Even before thinking about getting a car, there had to be proof of a place to park it, like, at or near your home. In other words, life without a car might be a lot more commonsensical. My progress along the road was slower than I had hoped. Still, there was no big hurry, for Tokyo was within reach, and I was well ahead of my deadline, 12 April. Who knows, I might even cross into Tokyo on April Fool’s Day. This all equated to the high cost of having the honor of being a proud owner of a car. Even when the car was parked for most of the week, its owner still drove it down the road to a local carwash. Japanese kept their cars nearly spotless. To own a new car in Japan was a like a new family member, it was of great psychological value. Cars that sustained a dint or scratch, was damage the owner’s soul. Needless to say, I was somewhat heart broken for my Dragster, brand new at the time, slid from under me one icy winter day some years back, and scratched and dinted parts of its chrome fittings.


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‘The sea off Satta in Suruga’, a woodblock print by Hiroshige (Wikipedia)


17 Mar, 2014: The morning felt warmer than the previous mornings, more like summer than early spring. There was no sign of the usual fresh morning breeze either. Out on the Suruga-wan, some fishermen in tiny boats were busy applying their trade on the calm water. “Mmm!” Momentarily, I wondered what sort of fish they hoped to land?  Almost as quickly as the fishermen had grabbed my attention, I stopped thinking about them, and turned to my own work dismantling, rolling up, and putting away the camping gear. The road awaited me! Still, I was happy that I had stopped the evening on the beach. Suruga-wan was located at the center of Shizuoka prefecture, and was one of the deepest bays in Japan, some 2,500-meters below sea level at its deepest point. Much of the water in the bay came from melted snow that flowed into the bay from Mount Fuji. The bay was home to around 1,000 freshwater fish, including rear deep sea creatures, such as, the coelacanth. The  coelacanth was believed to have become extinct around 66-million-years ago. Today it was referred to as a living fossil. Because of conservation, fishing of endangered species had been banned in the area. It was impossible to observe living coelacanth in the local waters. At the Numazu Deep Sea Aquarium & Coelacanth Museum, located at the bay, visitors were able to learn about the coelacanth, among other rare sea creatures. Suruga was one of the ancient provinces of Japan, established under the ancient Taiho Code around the start of the Nara period. The kanji that made up the name, Suruga, meant ‘fast flowing current or river’, in English. On the road yesterday, the only time I saw the sea was when I crossed over the long bridge. Today, I had a funny feeling that the sea and myself would be friends again, and see a lot of one another, or so I hoped. The time was also near when I would get my butt off Route 150, which was an end to a long friendship of sorts. All that I needed to do was to keep an eye open and get smoothly, onto Route 135. The road should lead me to Shizuoka City, hopefully by tomorrow. It was a thriving city in such areas as agriculture, fisheries, etc, it had a population of more than 690,000 inhabitants. Because of its location, Shizuoka was said to be the sunniest of the major cities in the country. The Suruga Bay, into which many major rivers emptied into, was not only Japan’s deepest bay, but it was also one of the most polluted in the country. To paraphrase from Wikipedia, since the post-war industrial boom of Japan, the bay suffered from severe industrial pollution — equivalent to the daily sewage of Tokyo at the time. The sulphur-laden sludge was so thick that it threatened to block the harbor, requiring dredging that severely damaged the marine life. Despite protests by local citizens and fishermen for government action, surveys on sea life continued to show intense PCB and PBDE contamination. “Mmm!” It interested me to wonder if Utagawa Hiroshige would have put so much time into producing such detailed woodblock prints, had he known of the pollution in the rivers, lakes, and bays? The state of the bay was so infamous at one time, that it featured in the 1971 Japanese film Godzilla vs. Hedorah. ‘Hedorah’ meant: mud, sludge, or chemical ooze, in English. 


The city was located in the central part of the prefecture, along the Taiheiyō Belt, between the Minami Alps and Suruga Bay. It had a humid subtropical climate, where snow rarely fell, and was noted for mild weather, particularly like the present time, in the month of March. “Mmm!” If only I could say the same about the precipitation. The blisters in my feet had not troubled me much, or thanks to the supply of medical tape. With something missing, like, no milk, at times I found myself start off along the road in the morning without my humble breakfast of muesli, inside me. This was not a good idea, for it was not long before the effects would be felt, like, in the form of moodiness. Along the road, I made a stop at a 7-Eleven convenience store to pick up a 500-milIliter carton of milk, not to mention, some hot water to drop a teabag into. By now, the sun could really be felt on my face and arms, when I set down outside the store to eat. A sign, a little across from a ENEOS gas station, pointed to the right, for ‘Sagara Beach 0 km’. “Mmm!” That was the first time I had come across a sign with zero kilometers on it, I thought to myself. Of course, the thought also crossed my mind about the about previous hot summers when I swam in the sea. In no time at all, I felt replenished with eating, and was back on my feet and heading in the direction of Shizuoka. The maps told me that I would pass through, what I took to be meaningless little towns of Haibara, Yoshida, Oigawa, and Yaizu. Today Yaizu was a small city and had a population of about 140,000 inhabitants. The population had steadily risen since the 1960 census. A port city, its economy was based on agriculture, food processing, and commercial fishing, especially tuna, mackerel, and bonito. The city was also home to a large Sapporo Brewery factory,  Shizuoka University of Welfare, Shizuhama Air Base, which had existed at that location since December, 1944. During the Pacific War, the Yaizu fishing industry crewmen and the fishing fleet were requisitioned into the Imperial Japanese Navy, in 1941. Just 10 fishing boots survived the war. Thanks to the beautiful coastline, so far my long tramp along the road had had turned out to be rather pleasant. At times, the course I followed led me along a cycling path, but there seemed not to be a cyclist in sight, nor anyone for that matter. This was Monday, so I guessed the Japanese were hard at work. Like the weekend drivers, not a single Harley roared past, which kind of told me that many of the owners of the motorbikes were weekend riders. Japan was not only a male dominated country, like many other countries, no doubt, it was also a car country, like the most notable of the lot, America. The roads remained busy with traffic. This made it all the more important to get my arse away from all the pollution and noise, and chance I got. It was good to get onto the cycling path, which from time to time skirted along the coastline. Below on a beach, I could see the tiny figures of men and women digging and raking about along the tideline for seaweed. What kind of seaweed they were digging for, I had not the foggiest. Another variety, called Kombu, was gathered mostly off the coast of Hokkaido, in northern Japan. 


Komba was also a main component used in dashi broth, essential in most Japanese dishes. This included onigiri, and salads, with vegetables, and as a topping on rice. One of the most common and milder types of seaweed consumed in Japan was called Wakame, it was harvested from February to June, from the Nihon Kai. Wakame was commonly used for salads, pickled vegetables, and miso soups. Mekabu, from the same plant as wakame, just above the root, had a rather slimy texture, a sweet type of seaweed. Mekabu could be served either dry or fresh, shredded or whole, and was often preferred with dressings, vinegars, and soy sauces, with soups, noodles, add salads, as well as, topping for rice, and so forth. Kanten was an agent extracted from seaweed, and was used for making custards, puddings, and wagashi, a traditional type of sweet, popularized in Japan since the Edo period. Hijiki was a type of seaweed gathered up from the rocky coastlines. It is commonly used in stews and ochazuke, as well as in salads. The seaweed called, nori, was one of my favorites, especially when I have a Japanese-style breakfast at my place in Tokyo. One of the oldest descriptions of nori, dated as far back as the eighth-century. To paraphrase from Wikipedia, the word ‘nori’  first appeared in an English-language publication in C. P. Thunberg's ‘Trav’, that was published in 1796. The Japanese nori industry declined in the years after the Pacific War. At the time, the country was in bad need of all kinds of food, especially food that could be domestically produce. Today, nori was perhaps the most common variety of all seaweed enjoyed in Japanese cuisine, especially sushi. In some ways the popularity of nori was due to the efforts of British phycologist, Kathleen Mary Drew-Baker, who was known for her research on the edible seaweed. Japanese scientists applied her research findings to a series of artificial methods, which resulted in rescuing the nori industry. Drew-Baker was hailed as the "Mother of the Sea” and a state was erected in her honor. She was still revered as the savior of the nori industry, in Japan. The fisherman’s town of Naruto, located in the northern part of Tokushima prefecture in Shizuoka, had long been noted for its marine products, especially, Naruto wakame seaweed, grown in the violent current ridden waters off the Naruto Strait. There were organized harvesting tours, in February through March, each year. These days, seaweed could be bought in just about any developed country, especially at Asian supermarkets. All in all, seaweed was a popular and healthy food that was rich in essential minerals and dietary fibers. I can still recall my grandmother telling me it would do me good, the times she gave me a piece of dulse, a kind of seaweed we used to get in Belfast donkeys years ago. In fact, I do not think I had eaten it again since that time, but I still recall that it was very salty and, like chewing gum, it took a long time to chew. The dulse was mainly grown along the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean coastlines. The first record of this species of seaweed was harvested by Christian monks on the island of Iona off the coast of Scotland, around 1,400-years ago. But that was another story for another time. 


As I had just noted, both males and females, young and elderly, were hard at work down by the tideline along the Shikoku coastline. One elderly woman poked about with her walking stick among the debris washed up on the sand. The odd time, she would bend further over and pick some tiny item up and place it in a plastic white shopping bag she carried. Momentarily, the thought of digging about in the backpack for my cellphone and take a snapshot, but just pushed on instead. For sometime along the road, I could not get the elderly woman on the beach out of my head, and wondered what kind of stuff she searched for among the washed up debris. It was easy to imagine the sort treasures that lay hidden among the things washed up on the shore. The sea and the beaches had been in peoples blood for thousands of years. Down through history, if not in a number of classic literary tales, it was the things found on the beach that meant life or death for someone marooned on an isolated island somewhere. Beach-combing did not just imply retired people strolling down the length of some beach for kilometers, picking up shells along the coast. A past-time that was just one of the pleasantries of their retirement. These days, some  amateur diggers even went armed with their metal detectors. The bending and stooping of beachcombers had existed for donkeys years. It even appeared in the February, 1881, issue of 'Chamber’s Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Arts', a weekly magazine of the era: "Beachcomber is a word of American coinage. Primarily, it is applied to a long wave rolling in from the ocean, and from this it has come to be applied to those whose occupation it is to pick up, as pirates and wreckers, whatever these long waves wash into them." The word appeared even earlier than that, in American novelist Herman Melville’s 1847 narrative, 'Omoo', believed to have been based on the author's recollections and experiences in the South Pacific seas. The storyline touched on some Europeans who combed the beaches for any valuables washed up by the tides. The earliest beachcombers, of sorts, were believed to have been sea-faring lot -- castaways, convicts, deserters, sailors, and whalers, like Melville -- whose circumstances forced them to drifted to and from the islands of the South Pacific for survival. In away, they had been swept ashore by the waves.  According to my reading, Melville himself had deserted from a whaling ship in the later half of 1842. The first recorded beachcombers were shipwrecked, off the Papau islands, in 1783, and where they savaged along the beaches for several months. Thankfully for them, the inhabitants of the islands were friendly and supplied the castaways with food. A group of missionaries that had landed on Tongatapu Island, in March, 1797. It was on this main island in the Polynesian archipelago, where the missionaries saw the beachcombers as little more than a “base and wicked characters” tattooed and naked savages. The era of early beachcombers stranded on the Pacific Islands, was believed to have lasted for several decades.


Most people, I should have thought, never completely found what it was thea y looked for in life. What was the main thing enlightened people sought? Happiness? At least, I hoped that I would not go to my grave after a life that was unfulfilled. I knew that I would be a bit more contented and happy if this damn scorching sun would let up, a bit. Almost daily, since starting off the mornings, my T-shirt would soon be saturated in sweat. However, this time sweat was literally dripping off me. The sun had not long sunk into a bright orange colored horizon when I finally decided to make camp. This was at a pleasant riverbank a little short of the city of Yaizu. Normally, after pitching the tent, I liked to take a short nap. This time however, I decided to dig out one of the books I had carried in the backpack with me and begin to read. Yaizu was a city in central Shizuoka prefecture, with a population of almost 140,000 inhabitants. The population appeared to have grown steadily since the 1960 census. Clearly it was an interesting little city with lots of places to see. Yaizu City was a center of commercial fishing and fish processing industries, such as, bonito flakes, called katsuobushi, in Japanese. The city was also noted for its shiokara, a salted squid; tsukudani,  a kind of preserved seaweed in soy-sauce; and kamaboko, a fish paste loaf. The area was also noted for its agriculture, such as, the growing of melons, tangerines, and tomatoes, and plants for the production of green tea. The writer, Patrick Lafcadio Hearn and his family liked to visit Yaizu every summer, from 1897. Hearn was also a keen swimmer, so they rented rooms above a fish shop near Yaizu Beach. The shop was owned by a friendly fellow called, Otokichi Yamaguchi. “Mmm!” I momentarily imagined them sipping green tea from the local area, in the evening, at least that was what I had, the odd time, done, in the absence of something stronger to drink. Around that time, Hearn supported his family by working as a journalist for the English-language newspaper, Kobe Chronicle. Hearn got a teaching job at the Tokyo Imperial College, in 1896, where he remained until 1903. He later took up a position at Waseda University, also in Tokyo, which he held until his death in 1904. The region was hard hit during the Pacific War year. For example, the Yaizu fishing boats and their crew, were requisitioned by the Imperial Japanese Navy, and a only a few of its boats survived by the end of the war. Two famous companies had factories in the city. For example, the Hasegawa Corporation, the producers of toy plastic model kits. Among the many scale models that the company turned out over the yers, was a scale model of the famous Japanese Imperial Navy battleship, Yamato, first released in June, 1962. Perhaps more interesting to me was to learn that Yaizu was were one of the Sapporo Brewery Ltd factories was located. After about 20-minutes and a few pages later, I heard heavy footsteps on the grass close by. A man’s voice called out. On poking my head out through the tent flaps, and readjusting the headlamp downwards, I could make out a middle-aged man holding a small plastic shopping bag. “For you!” The man said in Japanese, smiling, as he stooped down and placed the bag on the grass beside me. 


The bag was open and inside I could see two small cans, but I was not sure what they were until the kind man turned and walked away. The shopping bag contained two small cans of happoshu, a beer-like drink. In recent years, happoshu had become a rather popular drink amongst people at large, in this recession strapped country. The plastic shopping bag also contained two tiny paper bags, one with aji-furai, a deep-fried fish. The other one had a small portion of fried chicken, and a few pickles. Needless to say, I could not be more over the moon about my unexpected windfall, of sorts, from the kind stranger, for I was rather hungry at the time. Of course, before the man left, I thanked him profusely from the bottom of my heart. On the open road, kindness from a stranger in whatever form, was a many splendored thing. I was sure to give him a quick rundown on my mission, what I was doing and where I was headed, and so forth. There were a couple of comments made about the weather, and how I had been fortunate with it so far. Before the man left me to head back home, he told me that though the sky was clear and bright, rain was expected. As he spoke he pointed in the direction of a large bright light not far away, and told me that should it begin to rain, there was a shelter over there. Needless to say, I thanked him again and soon the man was gone. His comments on the weather had caused me to think of the old phrase: ‘Red sky at night, sailors' delight, red sky in the morning, sailors' warning’. Even if the evening sky appeared clear, it certainly was not red. Later on, when I reflected on the welcomed wee encounter with the man, I had been reading a book when I read his footsteps close to the tent. The book was a series of articles on things the writer found surprising about Japan, or his time in the country. Of course, I was in complete agreement with some of the things that he discovered about the Japanese. In a way, my encounter in question, could very much have fitted nicely into the writers series of short articles, like, the out of the blue moments of kindness from complete strangers. Of course, not all of the Japanese people were so kind, and like in any country, I guess, there where its meatheads and racists. On an added note, back in Tokyo, I was not a lover of the smell of cooked fish, nor the sight, let alone the taste, of fish and chicken skin. However, life on the road proper, the animal instinct in me seemed to takeover. Some hours earlier, I had made a stop at an Indian restaurant I saw along the road, and where I treated myself to a chicken curry. All the same, the calories were soon burned off, just like the kilometers fell away with every step I took along the road. Therefore, I had lost count of the number of times I had gone to sleep feeling hungry, if not thirsty, too. This time however, rather than hit the road in the morning on an empty stomach, I made sure that some of the stuff was set aside for breakfast tomorrow. Even just the thought of something to eat, gave me a feeling of confidence, for the long road ahead. After I had opened the first of the two cans of hopposhu, and nibbled on a tiny piece of the deep-fried fish, I could not help thinking about the kind stranger. “Mmm!” I wondered if he was a happy man, or had found what he was looking for in life.


18 Mar, 2014: The sound of a light aircraft passing overhead woke me up. Even the sky seemed busy, for the airplanes flew over one every minute. There were red suns under the wings. “Mmm!” Perhaps they were young Air Self-defense Force pilots in training, I thought. And no doubt it was only a matter of time before they flew something bigger. A fair number of elderly people passed the tent. The look of them told me that they were out for their daily morning walk. “Mmm!” Did keeping fit equate to a longer life? More likely a healthy mind and body helped one lived life to the fullest, better. A few of the elderly people stopped to chat with me. There were the same old questions that I had bee asked hundreds of times before. For example, ‘Where are you from?’ ‘Where did you begin the trip from?’ Where are you headed?’ ‘Home far do you walk in a day?’, and so on. One of the elderly people told me that there was a public toilet just along the path, if I wanted to wash, which I was happy to learn. Just as I was rolling up and putting away the last of the camping gear, another elderly fellow stopped in his tracks. “Good morning! Did you sleep well?” He said. In deed I had slept rather well, and replied in the affirmative.”Very comfortable! Not cold at all!” Just before he took his leave, I asked him if he could tell me the name of the river, near where I spent the night. “Tochiyamagawa.” He replied, and  pointed in the direction, where I had told him that I was headed. “Yaizu Shiti!” Then, turning and pointing in the opposite direction, he told me that over there was where he lived. “Just two-kilometers away!” To which I replied that there was nothing better than a nice brisk walk in the morning, even before breakfast. “Yes, very nice!” He nodded in agreement. Before I turned to leave and let me get back to my task at hand, he insisted on writing the name of the river in kanji, which I was happy to let him do for me. Then, with a little wave of the hand and nod of the head, he turned a walked away in the direction of his home. A second-class river, Tochiyamagawa ran for only 37-kilometers, and passed through the cities of Yaizu, Fujieda, as well as Shizuoka, were I was headed. In earlier times, heavy rainfall had taken its toil on the river, causing its embankment to collapse and flood the area. The predicted rain fell at around 11:30. The rain was so heavy at times that I found myself ducking for shelter wherever I could. Not long after midday, lunchtime, stopped by at a Coco’s family restaurant for a bite to eat. If I was not mistaken, the first Coco's opened in Tokyo in Showa 53, or 1978, about a year before I first landed i Japan. After ordering a plate of spaghetti bolognese, I set about jotting down a few things into my notebook before I forgot. The spaghetti bolognese was the cheapest on the menu, at ¥680 Yen, and turned out to be a very good choice, even if I was not overly hungry, Some years ago I spent hours catching up on my writing, at family restaurants, not to mention tank up on bottomless cups of coffee. There was no letup in the rain, which continued to bucket down, even when I left the restaurant. Once back on the road, there were a few moments when the rain slackened for a spell, before coming down again, big time, if not with greater force.

 

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Crossing the Abegawa, a woodblock print by Hiroshige (Wikipedia)


The rain no longer seemed to bother me, for I was already by they time fairly drenched through. It was at the big bridges, like, Minami-Abekawa Bridge that spanned the Abegawa when I really felt the rain from all directions, even in an upwards direction, as it bounded off from asphalt with gusto. Like many of the river and wetland regions in Japan, the Abegawa had its fair share of typhoons, earthquakes, and flooding, and all the damage that resulted from them. The city by and its surroundings was not noted for any military significance, thus spared any extensive American bombing raids during the Pacific War. The city was badly damaged after a firebombing raid, on 19 June, 1945. There were a lot of civilian casualties, including the deaths of 23 American airmen, following the collision of two B-29s over the city. A book called, ‘The Blackened Canteen’ (2008), written by Jerry Yellin,  documented the story. Yellin was himself a P-51 fighter pilot, and fought in the Pacific Ocean theater of the war. Route 150 connected onto the Shizuoka By-Pass, which led me over the long Minami-Abekawa Bridge and the river of the same name. The bridge was opened in Showa 45, or 1970. The Prime Minister at the time was, Eisaku Satō, who was then well into his fifth year in office, in 1970. Just months prior to becoming PM, he had been responsible for organizing the successful Tokyo Olympics, in 1964. Prime Minister from 1964 until 1972,  Satō held the longest uninterrupted period in Office, in Japanese history. During Satō’s time in Office, Expo ‘70 in Osaka had just begun, in March, 1970. Amongst the countless futuristic attractions on display, that year, was the first-ever introduction of IMAX film, and all the necessary high-resolution and superior sound systems necessary for large screen viewing. The Japanese must have felt they had just stepped into the future. Things had certainly come along way since the early days when Vitascope caught the attention of Japanese people. Or when two Lumière brother’s cinematograph first appeared, in Japan, in 1897. Another popular highlight at Expo ’70, was the moon rock that was featured at the ‘United States’ pavilion. The ‘rock’ was a kind of souvenir from the moon, thanks to the Apollo 12’s successful mission, 1969. Expo ’70 also featured the first mobile phones, and needless to say, the rest was history. “Mmm!” How I still recalled the times during my childhood days in Belfast when I sometimes got long striped stick of traditional rock candy from a relative, during the summer holidays. The rock candies were commonly named after the place of origin, like, Blackpool in England, or Bray, Strandhill, or Bangor on the island of Ireland. Being the young boy I was, the rock candy certainly did not last long. Still, they were welcomed gift all the same. Other big news at the time, which occurred about two-weeks after the opening of Expo ’70. This time it involved the armed hijacking of Japan Airlines Flight 351, with 129 hostages, including crew members. Successful in the eyes of some, the hijackers finally landed in Pyongyang, where they were granted asylum by the North Korean Government. 


The hijackers were members of the Japanese Communist League-Red Army Faction, a predecessor of the Japanese Red Army. The whole incident at the time was referred to in Japan as the Yodogō Haijakku Jiken. The Abekawa ran for 53.3-kilometers from the Akaishi Mountains, it passed through Shizuoka on its way to Suruga Bay and the Pacific Ocean. The mountainous region was known for its many hot springs, not to mention, the Abe Great Waterfalls, said to be one of the most beautiful in the country. Abekawa was one to the most famous fireworks festival in Shizuoka. The festival was held on the banks of the river in August every summer, and drew many thousands of visitors. The festival was first held in Showa 28 (1953). To paraphrase Wikipedia, the Shōgun Ieyasu Tokugawa had carried out extensive construction on the river and formed the present route of the lower course of the river. Abekawamochi, a mocha rice cake dusted with kinako, a soybean flour had been a local speciality of this area since the Edo period, if not earlier. The river had long been the main water supply for the city. “Mmm!” The many times that I had slept well, camped near rivers or under bridges to avoid the rain. It was more than important to know what potential dangers  might arise and how to avoid them when necessary, especially when it rained. The rain was still pouring down when I tramped into Shizuoka City Center. The time was a little after five o’clock. Often in large cities, the hotels where located around the main train stations, but for the life of me, I could not seem to see one. Finally, I came to one hotel, but the ¥7,800 Yen for a single room, without breakfast, was too expensive for my liking. Then I came to a tourist information office and popped inside to see what I might find. The front desk was manned by a middle-aged woman, who looked like she was about to have a fit, or panic at the sight of me. To the women I must have looked like a rag and bone man, the rain dripping off my well worn clothes, as I entered the establishment. Of course, anyone out in such miserable weather all day long, day in and day out, would not have been a sight for sore eyes. “Sorry, no English! Please follow me!” Before I had a chance to utter a word, or undo the backpack straps, she ushered me out the same door I had just entered. She then pointed in the direction of the train station and said: “North entrance! Station! Tourist office! There speak good English! Can help you! Sorry here cannot help! Follow me!” And with that she led me to the other tourist office, just a few meters from the northern entrance of the station. Then after a few words in Japanese, to an attractive young woman behind the counter, she turned and headed back out into the rain and through the rush-hour crowds. The place was a little busy, but soon after dropping the backpack against a wall and waited in line. With the kind assistance of the young girl, after a number of phone calls to various hotels, the hotel that I finally settled on, was called Hotel Abant Inn (now called Smile Hotel, Shizuoka), just five-minutes walk from the station, the price came to ¥5,800 Yen, for a single room, which included breakfast.


19 Mar, 2014: A cloudy morning, but at least the rain had passed by, for now anyway. When I left the hotel to take a dander about the city, I spotted some bicycles near the entrance, clearly set aside for guests. So, I retraced my steps back into the lobby, and after signing a little slip of paper and returned it to the hotel clerk, who handed me a key with tag numbered “4” I was on my way. “Mmm!”  This was good, I thought, for my plan was to rest my feet. I had read somewhere that the park was a good place from where to view Mount Fuji, which I hoped to pass by in the not too distant future. A lover of the bicycle, I had owned a fair number of them over the years, the bike was unquestionably one of the greatest inventions ever. Even at my leisurely pace, everything seemed so near. My little journey of sorts, led me to Sumpu Castle Park, not 10-minutes on foot from the main train station. This historical public area was located in the Shizuoka City Center. On the orders of the daimyō, work started on the construction of Sumpu Castle, the ‘Castle of the Floating Isle’, in 1607. Sumpu Castle was also referred to as Fuchū-jō, and as Shizuoka-jō. In fact, Sumpu was the former name of Shizuoka. During his time, Ieyasu Tokugawa, the big wig who united Japan, had spent a good portion of his life at the castle. This included being held hostage, by the Imagawa clan in his youthful days. All the same, he must have had a soft spot for the location of the castle, the splendid view of Mount Fuji, as he came to spend his final years there. Not long after his dearth, the seven-story donjon or tower, and its five-level roof, was just about destroyed by fire, in 1635. The castle was again destroyed after a series of powerful earthquakes that hit the region in late-December, 1854. The Great Ansei Tōkai earthquake, as it came to be known, had a magnitude of 8.4. The epicenter was not far from the mouth of the Arakawa River. Early records from that time indicated 6,641 deaths inside the city limits, with 2,759 others injured. A good part of the city was destroyed by fire. As a result, many people were forced to stay in rural inns. The aftershocks were said to have continued for 20-days (Wikipedia). The castle grounds became the property of Shizuoka City, from 1889 onwards. In away, it was fortunate that the Sumpu Castle survived to the extent it did. Currently, just twelve originally built castles survived the turbulent times that marked much of Japanese history. The castles had survived for centuries undamaged. Unfortunately, Sumpu Castle was not one of the twelve castles that had been built during the Tokugawa period, if not earlier. These fascinating castles, with their unique and original features, were located across the country, and each of which gave its visitors a valuable look into the the country's past. Most of the Japanese castles were dismantled or demolished during the Meiji period, in 1873. The plan of that period was to modernize the country, which dispensed with traditions and cultural values. Japan now embraced westernization and implemented a series of reformations throughout the country. With the new and modern national army, the castle system was regarded as old fashioned, or useless to Japan's military ambitions. 


The same might be said about the many old stone castles that still dotted Europe. Today at the Sumpu Castle grounds, the place where the tower had once stood was now an excavation site. In its day, the donjon was the largest tower, in Japan. Needless to say, I stopped and took some snapshots of the castle and the bronze stature of Ieyasu at the castle keep. Just as the statue implied, the big man loved falconry. So many of the castles in Japan, Sumpu Castle gradually fell into decline over the years. To paraphrase from the official Sumpu Castle Park Website: during the Meiji period, the Honmaru moat was filled in for use by the 34th Infantry Regiment, and Sannomaru was used as a public space for government officers and schools. After the Pacific War, both the Honmaru and the Ninomaru were turned into a park for local citizens' rest and relaxation. The park was famous for its hundreds of cherry trees that bloomed in springtime, it also had many vivid azaleas that bloomed in May. Furthermore, the Higashi Gomon, Hitsujisaru Yagura, and Tatsumi Yagura were remodeled using traditional woodworking techniques. Inside, visitors were able to stop and take a look at pictures and materials on the reconstruction efforts. They could also view a number of excavated materials uncovered at various sites within the castle grounds. Most, if not all, Japanese cities were home to one or more famous temples and shrines. Many of them contained famous cultural assets and gardens, and so forth. Tokugawa Ieyasu, the first shōgun of the Tokugawa shogunate, ruled and united Japan after the Battle of Sekigahara, in 1600. Ieyasu was said to have been interested in literature. He was also believed to have studied under the guidance of a Buddhist priest of the small Keyoin Temple, called Chitan-shonin. The temple was not far from shōgun’s grandmother’s grave. The graves of his wive and daughter, were also located nearby. There were a number of old statues worth looking at. One of them was Kannon, the Buddhist goddess of mercy. To paraphrase the words of Michelangelo: ‘The more the marble wasted, the more the statue grew’. Today, this serene little temple ground was surrounded by a number of ugly looking box-like buildings. Other temples within the city limits were home to the graves of a number of notable people. For example, Saigo no Tsubone, the mother of the second Tokugawa shōgun, Tokugawa Hidetada, was interned at Hodeiin Temple, formally known as Ryūsen-ji, in Shizuoka City. To paraphrase Wikipedia: Lady Saigō was said to have influenced Ieyasu's philosophies, his choice of allies, and policies as he rose to power during the late Sengoku period, thus, she had an indirect effect on the organization and composition of the Tokugawa shogunate. Although less is known of her than some other figures of the era, she is generally regarded as the "power behind the throne", and her life has been compared to a “Cinderella story" of feudal Japan. A large mausoleum in honor of Lady Saigō was built to house her remains at Hōdai-in, 1938. The mausoleum’s tall five-tier stupa that marked the grave was toppled during the Great Shizuoka Fire, on 15 January, 1940. 


Although the stupa survived, evidence of damage was plainly visible. For those interested, the grave of Katagiri Katsumoto (1556-1615) could be found at Seiganji Temple. Katsumoto was a Japanese daimyō during the Azuchi–Momoyama and early-Edo periods. In his youth, he was one of the Seven Spears, the mounted bodyguards for Hideyoshi Toyotomi, during the Battle of Shizugatake, in 1583. It was one of the battles that marked the start of the Tokugawa shogunate. Katsumoto was promoted to the rank of daimyō for his courage in the battle. As for Seiganji Temple, it was rebuilt on the orders of Minamoto no Yoritomo (1147-1199), after it had been destroyed by fire. He was also the first shōgun of the Kamakura shōgunate from 1192 until his death, in 1199. The temple was also home to around some 500 eighteenth-country statues, monuments to early priests. Nearby, a Japanese apricot tree, said to have been planted by Ieyasu Tokugawa. As a child, Ieyasu had been held as a hostage at the temple. “Mmm!” What was it that made many of the temples so famous? I wondered. Surely it was not solely because the remains of various noted figures were inshrined at them. Perhaps not! Ryuge-ji Temple, for example, boasted the oldest style of landscape gardening found anywhere in Japan, and also contained the grave of Japanese author and literary critic, Takayama Rinjirō (1871-1902) (pen-name Chogyū Takayama). At one point in his life, Chogyū and novelist, Natsume Sōseki, were selected by the Ministry of Education, to study in Europe, in 1900. Perhaps Chogyū became more religious in the final years of his life, as much of what he produced was mainly on religious philosophy. During his life, Chogyū influenced  Japanese literature in a wide genre of areas. He published novels, works on art history, and Buddhist philosophy. Much of his work bordered along the lines of romanticism and mysticism, with a touch of nationalism thrown in for good measure. This was in the wake of First Sino-Japanese War (1894-5), and the Triple Intervention (April, 1895), when France, Germany, and Russia had a say in the wording of the Treaty of Shimonoseki, which ended the First Sino-Japanese War. Russia had the most to gain from the Triple Intervention, and was at that time trying to increase her influence in the Far East. The intervention was one of the causes of the Russo-Japanese War (1904-5), almost 10-years later. The outcome of the war was a complete Japanese military victory over the Russians, which in turn surprised other world powers. During his final year, Chogyū lived and wrote in a house near Kamakura. It was believed that the sea air would be good for his already deteriorating health. His funeral rites were conducted at the Ryuge-ji Temple. Baiinzenji Temple was of the Myoshin-ji School of the Rinzai Buddhism sect, it was established during the Ashikaga Period (1336-1573), which made it one of the oldest holy places in Shizuoka, if not Japan. The temple also contained the grave of Shimizu Jirocho (1820-1893), and his wife, including graves of some of his cohosts. Jirocho was born in Shizuoka, was adopted by his uncle, Jirohachi Yamamoto, a rice merchant.  


Besides being involved in a number of questionable activities in his day, it maybe incorrect to imply that he was a gangster (yakuza). Jirocho’s real name was, Chogoro Yamamoto, in his day he was considered the Robin Hood of his day, for helping the weak against the strong, in the Meiji period, from 1868. “Mmm!” I wonder if he was familiar with the Code of Hammurabi: “the strong shall not oppress the weak”? A bronze statue of Jirocho was believed to be the only one in the country. There was also a museum nearby that was dedicated to him. The Japanese 1957 film, ‘Ninkyō Shimizu-minato’, the ’Port of Honor’ in English. The film was directed by Sadatsugu Matsuda, and portrayed a loosely based plot on the legend of Jirocho, and portrayed him as Japan’s most famous gangster and folk hero. No less than 16 films had been released between 1911 and 1940, which dealt with the life and exploits of this, so-called, criminal-cum nice guy figure. Last, but not least, the first shōgun, Ieyasu Tokugawa’s original place of rest was located at a Shinto shrine called, Kunō-zan Tōshō-gū Jinja, located at the summit of the 216-meter high Mount Kunō that overlooked Suruga Bay in Shizuoka. The temple was said to have prospered during the Kamakura period (1185–1333). This was around the time of the eminent Buddhist monk, Enni Ben'en, introduced the cultivation of green tea in the region and the introduction of udon noodles to Japan. The rest became history. Later, on the orders of the third-shōgun, Iemitsu, Ieyasu’s remains were relocated to Nikkō Tōshō-gū. Ieyasu’s spirit was still honored at both shrines, since a part of his spirit still resided on Mount Kunō. Among the treasures on display at the museum at the shrine, was Tokugawa Ieyasu’s armor and eyeglasses, and a clock given to the shogun by a representative of the Spanish king, Philip II, in 1611. Kunō-zan Tōshō-gū Jinja was believed to date as far back as the Nara period (710-794). This made it the oldest and one of the most famous of the Shinto Tōshō-gū shrines, in the country. The Nikkō Tōshō-gū was one a number of UNESCO World Heritage Site Shrines and Temples in Nikkō, and which housed many important national and cultural treasures. The shrine included the famous gilded Yomeimon Gate, the main sanctuary set among a cluster of cedars. Local village life during the Nara period was predominately agricultural, which included a Shintoistic worship to both ancestral and natural spirits, or kami. It goes without saying, on a good day, Mount Kunō offered a specular view out over Suruga Bay. Japan certainly loved its festivals, called matsuri in Japanese. However, it was unknown just how many were held in the country for one  traditional festive occasion or another, each year. The number was said to be somewhere between 100,000 to 300,000. Like so many other shrines and temples in Japan, there were two festivals held at the Kunō-zan Tōshō-gū Jinja. One was held in late-winter and the other in the middle of spring each year, on 17-18 February, and 17 April, respectively. Although the winter matsuri was deemed the main festival of the two, the one held in springtime drew more visitors.

Irishman Walking (Stage 13 Chapter 4) Spring 2014

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Irishman Walking
(Stage 13 Chapter 4) is about my walking the main and coastal roads of Japan. Spring 2014.


29 Mar, 2014: Thanks to a tune on the town intercom, I awoke at 07:00 AM. All around appeared very wet. This was not because of a heavy downpour during the early hours when I was fast asleep, but rather a heavy morning dew on the grass, and the sides of the tent. Inside the tent everything seemed wetter than usual, too. The condensation did not surprise me so much, for the tent had been nice and warm, so I could not complain. Of course, dew could form at any time, if the weather temperature was right. Primarily in the night, when the warm air begins to cool down. This was called the ‘dew point’, in this case the ideal time when the water vapor settled on the cool early morning grass. The condensation, an unwanted phenomenon, for the dampness, if not trouble it caused, more or less occurred in the same way dew formed on the grass. Or until the rising sun took hold, and the evaporation process took over. As things turned out, the morning sky was heavy with clouds and it proved difficult to dry the gear quickly. At last, however, everything was dry enough to make a move. This included some clothes that I had washed in the public toilets nearby, yesterday evening. One of the main reasons I sometimes liked to stop at a business hotel was to wash and dry my clothes and gear in a washing machine. The wind was much too strong to even think about boiling water for a cup of coffee, so I decided to hit the road, Route 136, in the hope that I might find some place along the way to eat. Talk about the luck of the Irish, within just 10-minutes, I came upon a Family Mart convenience store, where I picked up what I needed for my humble breakfast. Across the road from the store, there was a large field of flowers. The flowers, called nanohana, grew splendidly in the large field swayed madly in the wind like there was no tomorrow. The field had clearly acquired an element of fame for itself. A good number of people had stopped their cars to walk amongst the flowers and admire this yellow field from heaven, of sorts. Nanohana had been grown in Japan since around 1185 CE. Related to broccoli and  rapini, the green stem or nanohana had long been used as a Buddhist vegetarian cuisine. The shoots from the plant could also be served as a salad with mustard, and even pickled, which the Japanese loved as a side dish. Most of the nanohana in Japan grew in the Chiba prefecture, not far from Tokyo. However, the Nanohana Matsuri was held annually to mark the nanohama spring blooming, in Japan. Many tourists even included a call at such flower clustered fields as part of their holiday itinerary. Nanohana bloomed at different times in Japan, depending on the region, from the end of February through June. Some places even charged an admission cost of around ¥100 Yen for the privilege.  "Mmm!" Little of anything was free in Japan. 'The value of all things was in the fancy they evoked', to pen the words of D.H. Lawrence. The field of yellow flowers appealed to the poetry and yearning in any writer. The fascinated me, as I drew nearer and nearer to them, not want to tread where I should not. Some people stood away back, anxiously fiddling about with their cellphone cameras. Others stopped to pose for a few quick snapshots, before hurrying back to their cars and driving away.


Likewise, I planned to do the same, but I needed to sit-down somewhere and tape up some cuts on my feet, first. Later on I stopped at a Lawson convenience store to buy a 500-milIliter can of beer for ¥270 Yen. Or rather,  ¥285 Yen, not thanks to the new five-percent consumption tax. The plans were in the air to raise the tax to 15-percent at the start of April. In other words, that same can of beer would cost me ¥292 Yen. In the eyes of the Japanese government, it was hoped that the consumption would help kick start the drab economy. A number of international economists held different views. “Mmm!” As for myself, I felt that many Japanese would more than likely spend their hard earned money on various stuff, right up until the consumption tax kicked into effect. After that, who knew what lay in wait for this country. The consumption tax was little more than a token reward, or so I felt. Then again, spending on something was better than spending on nothing, for it helped the local economy, if only a little. We all know that there was no downside when it came to saving, like putting a portion of your hard earned money in a bank for a rainy day. Even the village idiot must know that there was no better time than the present to open a savings account. Somewhere out there, people were sitting on their money, spending little if anything, saving for an unseen and unknown future. The Japanese economy had been fighting an up hill struggle this last 30-years, in an effort to cut corners and get its butt out of the red. Then again, what the hell did I care, this was not my country, I was never made to feel at home here, the only thing I cared about was to sit down somewhere and enjoy the beer. Food and drink provided the old body with the fuel it needed for maintenance. "Mmm!" Did that included beer? Experiments in the mid-nineteenth-century, by Louis Pasteur, showed that the fermentation of beer, along with the putrefaction of food, were caused by the micro-organizations in the atmosphere. The main constituents of food -- carbohydrates, fats, and of course, protein -- or mostly starches, for want of a better word. One of the very first things I did when I tramped into Shimoda City was to stop by at the tourist office, which as expected was not far from the main train station. The streets appeared to be full of visitors. So, I surmised the hotels to be the same. The city had a fair number of hotels, and I should imagine that there should be little trouble securing a room, in normal circumstances, like, during the week. However, this was not a weekday, but a Saturday. Like Fridays, it was a day when hotels in the city centers in Japan were often fully booked. Therefore, part of my brain kept an eye open for a spot to pitch the tent, such as, by a river or in a large park. Hopefully, I should be able to pick up a city map at the tourist office. All the same, there was that little bit of hardheadedness in me, to ask about my chances of securing a single room at a hotel somewhere. There were a couple of middle-aged staff, a man and a woman, on duty. “What about the hotels? Do you think they will all be full?” I asked an elderly fellow behind the counter. “Yes, I should imagine that they would be.” There was little point in hanging about the place, or having the man place a few calls for me.


This was clearly a popular spot for Japanese tourists, and with the schools out on holiday, I believe even Jesus Christ could do little better, had he made a guest appearance. The female staff member was  dressed in uniform, and was about to hand me a map of the city, but I politely told her that I had no intentions of stopping. There were lots of families in town, with young children running about, as kids do. “Thank you! I thought as much!” I replied, as I turned and headed back out the door. When I left the tourist office, I was unsure how long I would continue along the road, before making camp somewhere. It had been one of those lazy days, and if I did around 15-kilometers, I could not have complained. Camp was at last made at the famous, or popular Shirahama Beach, a 800-meter stretch of rich sandy beach. It was a good place to get away to for a day, or longer, to escape the hassle of city life. Out on the restless waters, a good number of surfers, paddled about on their boards, as if waiting for some spectacular thing to happen. It was not long before I could see that they were part of a surfing school. In recent days, I had passed by a fair number of marine clubs, which offered surfing and sailing lessons. The name beach literally meant, ‘white sand beach’, in English. It was actually one of three beaches, the others being, Shirahama Chuo Beach and Sotoura Beach, with Shirahama Beach in the middle. Each year, countless visitors stopped by at the beaches to enjoy the water, swimming and snorkeling, or just relaxing, or just watch other sun-tanned people. This was clearly a popular area. No sooner had one group of tourists, had posed for a few snapshots, and moved away, when another group showed up and did the same. It was very interesting to watch the joy on the faces of the young children, as they scampered about the sand. For all I knew, this might have been their first experience on a beach, or see the foamy waters. I could not have been more than five when my grandmother and aunt Lila, took my sister Anna and me on a day trip to the seaside town of Bangor along the Antrum coastline. Sadly, only a few faded, though fond memories remained. Including those of the five-minute boat ride we had, on a boat with its outboard engine. Earlier today, I made a stop at an outdoor store, called Komori. For as long as I could recall, such places, baring bookshops, were among my favorite places to kill time at. This last four or five-days, the ass-part of my trousers were badly torn. Or if I did not do something soon, my arse would surely hangout.  There was little point in my spending time to mend them. They were cheap, not to mention, their current state, the signs of life on the road, the sweat and dirt, everything that the elements could hurl at me, caked into them. Often the outdoor stores had a a bargain sitting on a shelf or hanging on a clothes rack, waiting to be bought. The new pair of trousers that I settled on buying were lightweight, something like the sort workmen wore. Noting like the traditional ‘tobe-style’ baggy trousers, and the ‘Jikatabi-style’ shoes or boots, that I had seen Japanese workmen wearing on construction sites, countless times before.The trousers, which I word from the store, set me back ¥1,500 Yen, including the horrible consumption tax.


30 Mar, 2014: The sound of something heavy hitting against the tent fabric, caused me to open my eyes. It was early in the morning, the rain was pelting down. Hoping that the rain would soon let up, I turned over onto my other side, in an effort to get a little more sleep. When I finally pulled myself out of the sleeping bag, time was not far away from 08:00 AM. The rain was still heavy, with a sturdy wind from time to time, to add to my annoyance. This was not the worst of it! But for the mat I slept on, the tent floor was soaked. Needless to say, had I slept a little longer, my clothes would have been in a similar state. Just then, feeling of depression started to settle in. I had long held the view that beaches were great places to make camp, especially if rain was expected. Puddles did not form, and the rain water sank directly into the sand as soon as it fell. However, it soon became clear to me, as I worked to mop up, or lesson the damage the best I could, that it had nothing to do with the sand, but rather the hast in which I had pitched the tent last night. The blue tarpaulin under the tent, had become exposed. Thus the rainwater was collected, like a saucer with spilt tea. The only thing I could do was to get my sorry arse out under the elements and drag the tarp out from under the tent. This was soon done, mopping up completed, even with no sign of the rain stopping anytime soon. A number of surfers were applying their skills, out on the Sagami Nada. Waves were not overly enormous in Japan, like in other places, where surfers from around the world flocked to, to experience the great wave. Still, it was nice to see people enjoying themselves, even in such miserable weather as this. The rain suddenly stopped, at 10:45 AM, however, my mind was made-up to stay put for another day. Hopefully the weather would warmup, so that all the gear could dry. There were a number of things that I needed to take stock on and fix. Two-minutes away, a 7-Eleven convenience store stood, across the road, where I had already paid a couple of visits to before the rain finally stopped. That was to use the toilet and to pickup a few things, in the understanding that I would spend an extra day. Everything was clearly much too saturated to push on, even if I wanted to hit the road and be on my way. Now, I was loaded up with enough food for the day. Earlier on the phone I explained things to a friend, but was told that the rain was expected to continue for the remainder of the day. There being a let-up in the rain, I set about improving the position and strengthening of the tent, for what it was worth. Not far away, another tent was soon erected. The tent was not for camping, but rather to change in, or to shelter should it rain. It belonged to a young couple, a surfer and his rather attractive girlfriend. The surfer then set down on a camp chair that he had just unfolded for the purpose, and gazed out over the sea. He was clearly oblivious to my existence, as he waited on his friend to do whatever she had to do. The girl did not take long to switch into her tight fitting gear, and soon they were scampering over the sand with their surfboards. The rain did not seem to perturb this sea loving couple, in the way it might the average Joe Public. 


Now there were by now close to a hundred surfers far out on the salty waters. They appeared like tiny gray and black dots, bobbing up and down on the rough water. Survivors floating on planks of wood, salvaged from an abandoned sinking ship. Fortunately, the rain seemed to hold off. With that in mind, little confused thoughts of abandoning the beach and hitting the road, ran through my head. “Mmm!” What to do? All the gear was still so wet. Yes, I should wait a while longer! It would be nice to get at least 10-kilometers further down the road. Just like on previous occasions when I camped on a beach, a large Japanese resort hotel stood nearby, and with large windows facing out over the surrounding area. There were around 90,000 hotels and inns in Japan. This did not include the 37,000 love hotels in the country, which had more than 500-million visitors, or two-percent of the population, each year. This was not a figure to be laughed at. These days, hotels for sexual activities could be found in many countries, however, the term 'love hotel' specifically referred to those in Japan. The history of 'rabu hoteru', as the Japanese pronounce them, dated back to the Tokugawa period. Often they were establishments that doubled as inns and teahouses, with discreet entrances and exits, some with secret tunnels, for the clientele. Folowing the Pacific War, the family run 'tsurekomi yado' opened up mainly in Ueno in Tokyo, which meant: 'bring-along inn'. They answered the "demand from Occupation forces, and boomed after 1958 when legal prostitution was abolished and the trade moved underground" (Wikipedia). Needless to say, the hotels and inns were of varying prices, which depended on the season and day of the week, among other notable factors. The more up market hotels and inns, typically charged per person, rather than per room. In other words, the prices were not for the faint hearted. It never failed to amaze me the high cost of spending a night or two at such places could set you back, particularly the Japanese inns, which charged the guests an arm and a leg to stop at them. It had rained so heavily through the previous evening, that I could hardly notice the misty image of the hotel until morning. The young surfer, who hurriedly put up the tent for his girlfriend to use, seemed to spend more time in the sea than with the girl. She appeared to have given up and retired to the tent, where she set looking out over the water. “Mmm!” Surely the poor girl must be bored, I thought to myself, as I checked to see how the gear was drying. The Japanese were not an easy race to understand, I thought to myself. The can of corned beer and some bread that I picked up at the convenience store did the trick, for something to have for lunch. On the other hand, I kind of regretted buying so much stuff at the store. Had I not bought so much, I would surely have upped camp and got the hell out of here. Perhaps I was the one that was really bored. In addition, some drawings on a wall sign at the store indicated the following: ‘No washing feet’, ‘No washing beach sandals’, ‘No washing clothes’, and ‘No brushing teeth’. The two sinks were too tiny to even take a piss in. Then again, the signs were there for a purpose, which should be respected, I thought.

It would not have surprised me that some people had performed such things, to force the management of store to take action. A little later, the first signs of rain started up again. Even without the dark gray nimbus clouds, the rain could be felt by the sudden change in the air. Much depended on the temperature, but if it was to rain, I hoped it would not be in the form of hail, if not snow. It was just as wellA that I had stayed where I was. The young surfer had returned to the beach, and now they set together, like a young couple in love. For a while, the wind had begun to kick up, that for a while, I thought their little tent was a goner. This may have been what  caused the young fellow to return to the beach, for he soon set about securing the support lines about his tent. They then turned and headed over to the store. Something seemed not quite right. For just as I had finished penning a few lines into my notebook, their little tent was no where in sight. A number of articles of clothing lay scattered about the sand, but there was absolutely no sign of the tent. Strange! Perhaps my eyes had played tricks on me, perhaps they had moved away without my noticing them go. Perhaps the clothes on the beach were not theirs. Perhaps I was experiencing a sad state of boredom. "Mmm!" Perhaps I was just going mad, I thought. Regardless, I never saw the young couple again. The light spill of rain stopped, though there appeared to be no break in the heavy clouds that drifted slowly overhead. The main thing on my mind now, was hitting the road early tomorrow and how the weather would be. “Mmm!” Surely the weather would be good, I told myself, glancing up at the sky, and then at the sea. The change also took my breath away. The ways of nature never failed to take my breath away. Now the sea was blue and calm, as opposed to the gray and angry way it seemed, not two-hours earlier. The different faces of nature. If the lights from the windows at the hotel, in question, were anything to go by, then I should surmise it was fully booked. This being a Sunday, I would have imagined that most of the weekend vacationers would be returning to their homes, and getting their minds into gear for work on Monday. The Monday blues. “Mmm!” Perhaps the rooms were occupied by wealthy Japanese pensioners, I thought. For such people, everyday was a Sunday. Why not, for live was already short as it was, even if people in recent times lived much longer than before. It was certainly shorter for those already in the twilight of their years. The elderly had done their part. They had worked for many years, raised their families, paid their taxes. Some had even served their country in the wars. It was only natural that the elderly would live life in the way they wanted to, providing they had what it took to do so. All the more so if they had a wee bit of money to spare, to put aside for a holiday. I heard that many of the wealthy in Japan set on their wealth, and spent little. They were goldmines waiting for the government to tap into, when the day arrived for them to go and meet their maker. The government was just as conservative as the elderly, and often the politicians were part and parcel of the some mold. Of course, that was another story I would not even dream of boring my readers with.


31 Mar, 2014: It was indeed a delightful morning. To open my eyes to a sun rising, but by no means high in the sky. Far out on the horizon, a passenger liner moved slowly, on its way towards somewhere. This would be an early start along the road, in an effort to makeup lost time, spent on the sandy Shirahama. The Shirahama area was noted for its fishing. Unlike other roads that I had tramped along, Route 135 was not short of beautiful spots to pause awhile to take them in. Far out on the sea I counted no less than seven large islands, Ryugu Island the largest. Translated into English, Ryugu meant, ‘Palace of the Dragon’. One notable difference was that the road seemed a lot more dangerous, for the speeding traffic. Already I had passed Cape Tsumekizaki, a massive area of columnar joints created over time by cooling magma from submarine volcanoes. For me, it was a bit reminiscent of my visit to the Giants Causeway, in Antrum on my last visit to my homeland, in the 1990s. Perry Road, the name of this segment of Route 135, took me past Ryugu Sea Cave. Like much of the coastline around Japanese archipelago, the cave was the result of wave erosion. The roof of the cave had subsequently fallen away. It was said that visitors to the cave, via the long steps that led down into it, experienced a mysterious atmosphere. The road led me past signs that pointed to other spots of interest, such as, Yusuge Park, Cape Hagachizaki, Izu-no-Chohachi Art Museum, Dogashima Tensodo Sea Cave, and Koganezaki. According to my maps, many of them were located further south along the road, on Routes 136 and 16. From the spot I stopped to admire the scenery for a few moments, a great rock with a red torii gate, Shirahama Beach, and the beautiful Ryugu Island, away in the background, seemed like a giant picture postcard. Yusuge Park was located just east of Hirizohama and west of Irozaki Cape at the tip of the Izu peninsular on the Irozaki coastline. This precipitous coastline, formed by the ash and lava from ancient underwater volcanoes. Yusuge was the Japanese word for the flower 'Lillie', the designated plant of Fuji-Hakone-Izu National Park. Therefore, the park was noted for the vast colony of attractive yellow day-lilies that grew on the gentle slops. For many romantics, if not writers and poets, Irozaki Cape was a famous scenic spot for its beautiful sunsets. All the more so, when the flowers swayed from side to side, for the ocean breeze at sunset. To any of my readers in the area, do not forget to give the 'Bell of Love' a wee ring. The area was not only famous for the stunning lilies. Cape Hagachizaki was located in the Izu National Park in the Kamo District of Shizuoka. Detritus from the volcanic eruptions was strewn widely across the southern area of the cape. The Janobori, was like a giant snake climbing out of the emerald green water, in a rocky coastline that was home to a few caves. Like I said previously, most things came at a price. Visitors had to pay ¥700 Yen to look about the area. This was due to it being a zoo that was home to around 300 wild Japanese macaques. Countless numbers of people came to see and spend time among the monkeys each year. In fact, it was the largest colony of wild monkeys in this part of Japan. 

The visit also allowed people the chance to spend some time in the sea -- swimming, snorkeling, and diving -- as long as it was done before three o'clock in the afternoon, because of the tides. You can either order a little truck to shuttle you back up to the parking lot (they won’t let you ride the shuttle in a swimsuit) or walk the 5 minutes back up the hill. Besides the parking and public toilets, showers were available near the beach, for ¥300 Yen. Izu-no-Chohachi Art Museum nearby in the town of Matsuzaki was founded in 1984. The museum was situated in an interesting looking white building, said to resemble Alhambra Palace, a fortress complex in Granada in Spain. The traditional Tosa plaster art method, called 'Kote-e', was used during the building of the walls. For this, the building was awarded a prestigious prize. Kote-e was a Japanese technique of decorative plastering, which used a small handheld flat pointed tool, ideal to apply and spread plaster. This technique of plastering was said to have begun during the mid-Tokugawa period to decorated merchant's and fishermen's homes. From that time the craft developed into becoming a fine art. Chohachi, who was born in the town of Matsuzaka, was one of the master craftsmen in this art, which combined plastering and painting techniques to establish a unique field of art called 'Shikkui Kote-e'. Master plasterers came from throughout Japan to lend their extraordinary talents to the building of the museum. Therefore, in the eyes of many, the building structure itself, was a work of art. At the museum visitors can ponder over the intricate plaster work of the local nineteenth-century Japanese artist, Chōhachi Irie. Dogashima in Nishiizu Township, boasted a rugged coastline of tiny islands. It was this that drew many visitors each year to explore the landscape on specially organized 20-minute long tour boat cruises. One main point of interest was the 'Tensodo', a mystical cave where visitors observed the sunlight coming in through the ceiling. In recent years, the Tensodo Cave was designated a natural treasure. Like so many places in Japan,  Koganezaki was a beautiful scenic spot that looked out over Suruga Bay to Mount Fuji and beyond. The rocks there were said to glow in the sunset. The cape was part of a large parkland area, noted for its seasonal flowers, promenades, observation deck, lawn park, and much more. The shape of the cliff located at the tip of Koganezaki was shaped like a horse’s head, hence its name: 'Horse Rock'. Needless to say, it was also a popular spot for photos. For the more spiritually among us, it was believed that if you prayed at the cliff, to the Shinto gods, the wishes would be granted. Horses had long been deemed as auspicious animals, the messengers of the gods. The small Koganzaki Beach, crowded in summer, and not far from a campsite, also lay within Koganezaki Park. In addition to sites for tents, the campsite, Camp Kuroganezaki' also had a number of cottages and facilities, more comfortable for those who wanted more of a home-from-home experience.


Aloe grew in abundance about the beach area, a plant that was used for pharmaceutical purposes. Because of this, the area was given the nickname, ‘Aloe no Sato’, or ‘Village of Aloe’. Each year, the Aloe Flower Matsuri celebrated the aloe plant, from late-November to January. Visitors at the festival were able to sample food and drinks made from aloe. Originally, Japanese fishermen were credited with the introduction of the aloe plant, perhaps from as far away as the South China Sea during the late-Meiji period. Then again, I was glad to see the back of the beach, were I had camped for two rainy days. The rich white sand that made the beach so inviting, were a gift from the volcanic eruptions. A number of special species of vegetation grew on the jagged coastal rocks in all seasons, and in other warm climatic zones. There was a quick stop along the way at a place called Ogasaki Wing, to use the public toilets there, and see about replenishing my water bottles. Not long after leaving there, the first tunnel of the day popped up.  “Mmm!” If only all the tunnels were short like this one, I mumbled to myself as I headed into the it. The Koyasu Tunnel was only 21.2-meters long. This segment of the road came with its wrists and turns, a winding pass that made its way through the coastal mountain range. The second tunnel, with no iron nameplate, nor a pavement to walk on, came into sight. Thankfully, the tunnel ran for just 100-meters, as I hurried to the other end of it. “Mmm!” In a way, the existence of this little tunnel was an accident waiting to happen. The traffic sped through the tunnel in both directions, like there was no tomorrow, or like an accident waiting to happen. Fortunately for me, I was not part of any accident, for one of the cars had to come to a near complete stop, before it skirted slowly around me. In time, the third tunnel came into view. It was an interesting tunnel, perhaps because it was old, bored through solid rock, and ran for just 18.5-kilometers. Unfortunately, there appeared to be no nameplate, that told when it was first opened. “Mmm!” They did not dig tunnels like that anymore, I thought to myself as stopped a moment to check on the traffic, before entering it. The tunnel was soon followed by another ancient job. The Kominoto No. 2 Tunnel, was a little longer at 68.3-meters. The scenery between, and after, the tunnels was simply breathtaking. Most Japanese, I should surmise, never set eyes on this scenery, and even more never even knew it existed. Talk about danger, the wind was just about knocked out of me after I had taken a bad tumble, at the side of the road, and not helped any by the weight of the backpack pushing me down. This was about four-kilometers further back from a place called, Kawazu Bagatelle Park located in the Kamo District  Shizuoka. The park had an eighteenth-century French-style garden, that boasted more than 1,000 varieties of roses, planted over three-hectares of the garden. There was also a souvenir shop and cafe at the park to spend a little time at, or sample French country dishes with fresh ingredients from the mountains and local waters of Izu. The park was established as a sister-park to the Jardin de Bagatelle in Paris in France, in April, 2001. 


The cost of entrance to the rose garden was around ¥1000 Yen, and ¥300 Yen from the beginning of December to the end of April. Even though the fall I had taken was well behind me now, I still recall how I needed to sit-down and recollect my self for while. Thankfully, there were no ribs or wrists broken. After about 10-minutes, I was back on my feet, backpack in place, and on my way again. The Mitakahama Tunnel, all 197-meters of a pavement-less job, a dangerous dusty hole to say the least. Like the previous tunnels, the traffic rocketed in and out of it at a frightful speed, which caused me to wonder if the occupants really cared about life. For some reason, a number of the convenience stores that I passed along the road did not have the customary trade colors or signs, but a dull brown color instead. Other than stopping momentarily to jot a line or two into the notebook, I did not care one way or the other why this was. In the same vain, I could not bother to ask one of the staff why this was. Other than stopping momentarily to jot a line or two into the notebook, I did not care one way or the other why this was. In the same vain, I could not bother to ask one of the staff why this was. Perhaps the stores were oolong part of the convenience store chain that they were part of. A small Japanese man just walked past me, with an enormously beautiful large dog on a leash, a few steps behind him. The dog went through more food than its owner, I surmised, as the carried on down the road. The pain in my ribs and right wrist that I had hurt when I fell, had eased a little. “Mmm!” For a moment I wondered if the Greek physician Galen, included a dip in the sea when he advised on the treatment for wounds. Later on when I make camp, I shall have a better look the problem. All the same, progress along the road had been good, but not as good had I not taken the tumble in the first place. The early morning start had been a factor, too, and thanks to the splendid warm weather, I should not complain, even with the pain. The new iPad that I brought with me to send emails and listen a while to the BBC, had for the most part proven to be a deadweight. The WiFI was next to useless, just about anywhere other than a city. Even this far up the Izu Peninsular, it failed to connect to a signal. “Mmm!” Perhaps in the next stage of my mission, I should leave the damn thing back in Tokyo, I mumbled to myself, as I re-shouldered the backpack. In time, the road led me into Higashizu area of Izu. The town of Higashiizu was located in Kamo District of Shizuoka prefecture. The population of the town stood at more than 12,000, however, it had continued to decline steadily since 1980. The economy was dominated by tourism, particularily around the hot spring resorts. Commercial fishing was also an important contributer to the local economy. Geographally speaking, Higashizu had Sagami Bay on the Pacific Ocean on one side and the Amagi Mountains on the other. Parts of the town lay within the borders of Fuji-Hakone-Izu National Park. Warmed by the warm Kuroshio Current, the region enjoyed a warm maritime climate with hot, humid summers and cool, mild winters. This being early weeks of Spring, I guess I could not complain much about the weather. September was the wettest month in Higashiizu.

The highest temperatures were in August, the lowest in January. During the Edo period, all of Izu Province was directly controlled by the Tokugawa shogunate. When the modern municipalities system came into being during the Meiji period, in 1889, the area was reorganized to form the Kamo District. In more recent times, Higashiizu Town was founded in early-1959, a result of the merger of Inatori Town and Jōtō Village. There were a couple of other attractions that drew many visitors to the area every year. For example, the Shimokamo Tropical Botanical Gardens, also referred to as the Shimokamo Tropical Garden, were botanical gardens, located next to the hot spa of the same name. The garden was home to around 2,000 species of tropical plants, including bananas, one of my favorite fruits, and sandwiches of which I had eaten since my childhood days. Another place worth stopping to take a look at at was the Atagawa Tropical & Alligator Garden. It was a botanical garden, however, unlike Shimokamo Tropical Botanical Gardens, this one had alligators. The gardens, which opened in 1958, was made up part of the Fuji-Hakone-Izu National Park, in the Naramoto area. The visitors needed to pay an admission fee to enter. A touristy sign pointed to three spas called -- Shiratu Spa, Katase Spa, and Inatori Spa. “Mmm!” Besides the magnificent scenery, what else did this area have besides hot springs, or so was the thought entered my head just then. Then again, what could be more important than the scenery? A lone Harley Davidson roared past. The rider appeared to be middle-aged, clad in faded leather gear. The legality strength of his helmet was questionable. Most of Harleys, and other large motorbikes, that I had seen in Japan, tended to be dark in color, usually black. Most were fitted out with all the added attachments, chrome safety bars, saddle bags or cases fitted for good measure. Such attachment, I felt, hid the actual motorbikes, and that they were fitted with so many attachments they looked more like coin slot gambling machines or jukeboxes, on wheels. All the same, I would not refuse a Harley if someone gave me one. The Tomoro Tunnel came into view, and it turned out to be some 425.5-meters long. Like some of the other tunnels that I passed though recently, it was an accident waiting to happen. They were the sort of things I hoped never to have to tramp through again. Other tunnels, which were little better, followed. The Atagogawa Tunnel and then the Hokkawa Tunnel, 320-meters and 197.5-meters, in that order. Even in this day and time, in an advanced and proud country like Japan, it had its fair share of tunnels that lacked safety, especially for hikers and cyclists to use. As I continued down a steep slope along the road after leaving the tunnel behind me, the sound of a train could be heard, and soon it passed nearby. The train made its way around a wide curve in the tracks, and then disappeared into a tunnel. For some reason, I momentarily thought of the curve-shaped movement of a giant serpent disappearing into a hole in the ground. The road, too, curved down in front if me, cluttered with green and bark from the trees, the result of a strong wind or an earlier typhoon.


1 Apr, 2014: Camp had been made close to the sea along the Akazawa Coastline, just a couple of kilometers short of the city of Ito. The pain in my ribs, wrist, and righthand, reminded me of the fall I took yesterday. Thankfully, things were on the mend! Being in no particular hurry, I was able to look over the damage, and apply what treatment I had available in my medical kit, which was not very much. The last of the cool plasters was soon fixed to my wrist, which was a little swollen and colored. Most of the camping gear was a good bit dryer, too. So things were looking up! At least, it should help ease the pain from bothering me too much in the night. My almost one-handed efforts at erecting the tent would have appeared a bit on the comical side to anyone who look on. The rest had done me good, and the pain somewhat lessened. Or such were the first thoughts in my head, when morning came. The old ribs played up a few times, when I coughed and sneezed in the night. The same was true whenever I breathed too deeply. There were a number of uncomfortable moments when I headed up the steep inclines in the road, yesterday. Needless to say,  I was more than relieved to discover the pain in my ribs disappeared on the downward inclines. I was not quite sure why this was, and even wondered if it had something to do with the pressure of the straps on my backpack. After a good nights sleep, my ribs, though still painful, were nowhere near as bad as the previous day. Good! Things really were looking up, or manageable. Then again, I still had to up camp, dismantle and roll up everything. Like before, it proved an effort when I did set about achieving the task, but perhaps not quite as bad as last night. Getting something ready for breakfast was less of a task, only a few nuts from the backpack to nibble on. The water was already on the boil for some coffee, which was soon ready. The gas canister was just about empty, so I would have to keep an eye out for an outdoor store somewhere down the road. A good business hotel might be a good idea to keep an eye out for, too, for I really needed to soak myself in a nice hot bathtub for while. This segment of the road, Route 135, had many spas or onsen places, but there did not seem to be any business hotels. There were a good number of those overpriced Japanese resort hotels, more than likely fully occupied with rich retirees. Regardless of age, the Japanese loved their hot baths, and the more public the better. What I needed more than anything was privacy, like, ’far from the madding crowds’, if I may be so bold as to borrow a phrase from Thomas Hardy. The business hotels were, if noting else, more private. The current plan was to get another early start on the road, or before 08:00 PM. The morning air was a bit on the chilly side. The sun was making its way upwards, so things would improve. A study of the maps told me that I was nearer to Ito City that I had thought. When I did hit the road proper, it took me only an hour to reach the outskirts of the city. A 7-Eleven convenience store soon came into view, and so I stopped by there to see what might my fancy, for I needed more than the few nuts and coffee  I had earlier.  What I did settle on was one of those mass produced packets of granola cereal and a 500-milIliter carton of milk. 


The following sentences was printed on the colorful packet, in English: ‘This food is made from carefully selected ingredients and methods. Hope this food will bring you a wonderful time.’ “Mmm!” I could not help wonder it the word ‘ingredients’ included something artificial or chemical, like for coloring and flavoring. Back on the road again, I passed a minor road, Route 109, bound for the Jogasaki Coastline, and past Jogasaki Kaigan train station. In time I hoped to get to the cities of Odawara and Atami. Progress remained steady enough, but not as good as it could have been, for the stops that I made to rest. If I could just narrow the distance to Atami down to at least 10-kilometers, then I could say that this had been a good day. When I dod get things done and polished, there were not many people who could boost at having tramped around the Izu Peninsular. The cool westerly breeze that blew in over the road felt pleasant on my face and legs. All the same, I stopped a short while to dig out my jacket from the backpack. Every time that I made a stop, the sweat on my ¥100 Yen shop T-shirts became chilly, before they quickly dried. Easy to wash and quick drying, good points and reasons why I used them on my mission. “Mmm!” Then I wondered how the consumption tax thingy would come to alter the prices at such stores, if not the names? Like, I bought my T-shirts at ¥105 Yen Stores, which kind of changed the meaning of the ‘¥100 Store’ tag. Already I had been toying with the idea of cutting down on or reducing everything that I owned, especially books. This also meant, spending less. No doubt with the addition of the consumption tax, or value added tax, or whatever the tax was called, was as good a time as any to put my plan into action. It would not surprise me if the majority of the country shared my views, including wealthy Japanese pensions, who set on the wealth. Not far from the spot where I camped last night, I came across a couple of shallow troughs that contained warm spring water. If only I had chanced upon this little find earlier in the night, I would most surely have made use of them. Instead, I gave myself a quick scrub down at a cold water tap in a public toilets, where the lights did not work. Thanks to my little headlamp, the task was performed without too much trouble. One spa I saw along the road, had a place outside its main premises, where pedestrians could sit-down and dip their feet in warm spring stream. Once again, however, I could not be bothered to waste anymore time, and continued merrily along my way. Today, Tuesday, 1 April, 2014 marked the day that the consumption tax hike came into full swing. ’Sukiya’, one of the famous beef bowl chain restaurants, I came to, had a ¥250 Yen special on offer. “Mmm!” I wondered if this was some cleaver market ploy, to show sympathy with Joe Public, or those who used such eating joints. Either way, I took my sorry butt inside to see what I might have for lunch. The beef bowl special kind of jumped out of the menu, printed in extra large colorful print, and which I decided to try. The bill proudly started ¥250 Yen, even though the actual cost came to ¥270 Yen. Regardless, of its nutritional value, the food did the trick. 


Back on the road again, I passed a sign that pointed off to the right, for Mount Komuro. For the life of me, I could not see anything, near or distant, that looked like a mountain, and I wondered why the sign was there in the first place. In time I came to a tunnel, which I should add, had pavements. The first tunnel of the day was called, Tashiro Tunnel, which ran for 395.4-meters in length. This was soon followed by a second, the Kanra Tunnel, a 124-meter long job. The road then wound downwards, in what looked like it was drawing nearer to the coast. Some minutes later, two lovely Harleys roared past. The one at the rear was a ridden by a woman. “Mmm!” Some guys had all the luck, I mumbled to myself, as I watched the bikes disappear out of sight. Even if the kilometers were falling away like dominoes, life on the road could be lonely at times. The first long tunnel, the Shin-usami Tunnel, at some 710.9-meters long, soon came into view. It was not quite a monster tunnel, like some I had tramped through, still it was long enough. This was soon followed by the Oishigasawa Tunnel, which  opened in Showa 49, and ran for 536.1-meters. About 10-kilometers from my destination, the city of Atami, I stopped by at a sushi restaurant, or one of those fast food joints, where called ‘kaiten-zushi’, which literally meant ‘rotating sushi’. There was noting particularly enticing about the sushi restaurant that pulled me to it. I had always liked sushi, and had not had it for donkeys years. An attractive young waitress met me at the entrance and asked me if I was alone, and then guided me to seat No. 6. The years I had lived in Japan, this was one thing that I never really became accustomed to. It kind of deprived me of the freedom to sit where I wanted to sit. Then again, the young girl was only doing her job, and so I set down on the seat, to think about what I should have first. It felt good to get away from the busy road where the traffic swept by, for a while. The restaurant was not overly busy, other than a young Japanese fellow, in his late-20s or early-30s, was seated a couple of tables away. He was clearly enjoying his food, which he crammed into his mouth with great gusto, another behavior that I never quite come to terms with. Then he pressed the little button near him, and when the waitress came, he ordered his second bottle of beer. The opened bottle was soon placed on the table before him. “Mmm!” People in this neck of the woods drove, rather than rely on public transportation. So I hoped he left his car at home. “Wait a minute!” I mumbled under my breath. “What happened to the sushi? The kind that I liked, maguro (tuna), toro,  nigiri, tekkamki (rolls of tuna or vegetable, in rice, wrapped with dried seaweed), tako (octopus), and so forth.  Apart from the couple of little saucers that contained tobiko and ikura, fish eggs on rice, which I loathed the sight of, I could eat just about any sushi dish. There was absolutely nothing on the little conveyer belt that appealed to my taste. “Oh, you must order! Push the button! There!” The smiling young waitress, informed me, as she pointed at the odd looking little computer looking thing, with tiny screens, pictures of the various sushi rolls, each with its own button. “Ah! I see! Thank you!” 


Of course, all of this high tack kind of stuff was something that a tramper of the roads could do without, but this was Japan, and that was how it was. “Sumimasen! Chotto wakarimasen. Button oshite-kudasai?” (“Look! I am tired and a bit confused! Would you kindly push the buttons for me?”). “Iidesu-yo!” ( “No problem!”). After thanking the girl, I told her that I would start with the maguro, tekkamki, and nigiri for starters. Then I asked her how I would know that my order was ready, at the same time feeling stupid. “Sara ni note Maguro ga koko ni kimasu-yo,” (“Your Maguro will appear just here, on a saucer.”). She replied, pointing to another customers order. “Kono buza ga natta-ra chumon-shita mono ga kimasu-yo.” (“A little buzzing-sound just here, will let you know your order is coming”).  Just as I had been told, the little buzzing-sound announced that my sushi was on its way, and which I took off the conveyer-belt. Unfortunately, this was not the end of my wows. Just as I was about to remove what I believed to be my order, the young fellow sitting a couple of tables away, sprang to his feet, and in a raised voice, as if about to have a heart attack. “No! You not take that!” You take that”. Or such was the way his attempt at English came across to me. At the same time pointing from one saucer to another. By then the young waitress had returned. She explained to the young man, that the saucer that I was about to remove from the conveyer-belt contained Maguro, which I had just ordered. The other saucer, the one that followed only seconds behind mine, was the one that he had ordered, also Maguro. “For god sake!” I mumbled to myself, what was the problem?  At the same time, I regretted I bothered my arse to stop by at the sushi place. The guy had been lost in playing with his smartphone, no doubt lost in his own little world. He had certainly failed to keep his eye on things, and wrongly assumed that I was helping myself to his order. Whatever the problem or outburst was all about, there was noting in the shape of any apology. “Clearly the guy had not paid attention to the buzzer!” I said, turning to the girl, who quickly disappeared. Not caring to communicate further with the guy,  I set down to h finish the last part of my sushi. Besides, I was by then in no mood to order anything else. In the recent past, I had read somewhere that people who put much of their time into computers and smartphones, lacked social skills. The young guy had only set down for a matter of seconds, when he suddenly grabbed his bag and headed across to the cash register, to pay. Of course, I was happy to keep my distance from him, before I did the same. Another young man had just come in and set down. Like the guy that had just left, he too was soon clued to his smartphone. When I got up to leave, the long man did not bother to look up, nor notice. At the checkout counter, the staff were nowhere to be seen.  To make matters worse, there was no bell or buzzer near the cash register,  to summon them. Just as I was about to call out, one of the young waitresses showed up, and with that, my business at the kaiten-zushi joint was soon concluded. The Maguro was not so good, nor was the other stuff that I had tried. In other words, I was glad to get back outside and onto the road again.


2 Apr, 2014: There was nothing more motivating than to awake to a lovely warm sunny morning. At least by the end of the day, the heat from the sun would not jade me, so much that I was full of  discord, or dreariness. It could be an enemy if you were not careful. One thing that would certainly be on my mind from Ajiro, where I camped, all the way to Atami, was a hot bath. However, such thoughts were soon dispelled by the splendid panoramic landscape. There were a few not very long tunnels along the way. For example, the tunnel that I was about to enter this very minute, the Shin-Ajiro Tunnel, was 525-meters long. In away, the length of the tunnels, or the time it took me to tramp through them, kind of prevented me of enjoying that much of the scenery. Just before I started into the tunnel, I was given a delightful view across the water at the delightful Atami City. Atami started like any other fishing village around the Japanese coastline. Over the years, however, the village grew to become a popular and attractive tourist spot, particularly amongst the elderly. Atami was nicknamed, ‘The resort of perpetual spring’. These days, there were no less than six spas in the city, each of which had become rather famous. Not just for the hot spring water, but also to experience the warm Kuroshio currents of Sugami Bay, and the picturesque view of the  mountain range of Izu. Atami City attracted countless numbers of Japanese and international visitors of all ages, every year. One of the reasons was to sample the fresh seafood caught in local waters. Another attraction was the ‘Odori Hananomai’, or ‘Flower Dances’, performed by local professional geisha. The idea behind the events was to enlighten visitors about the performances that were normally not open to the general public. The geisha dances were often performed in accompaniment with the shamisen. The city of Atami, where I was headed, was particularly known for its onsen geisha. No other part of Japan had more rich sandy beaches, than the Izu Peninsular. The resort spots along the peninsular was perfect for all kinds of beach and water sports, or merely taking a stroll along the sand. People I stopped to chat with for a short time, seemed genuinely friendly. A touristy sign read: ’Welcome to the Izu Peninsula’. This caused me to stop in my tracks and rake my brain for a few minutes. “What?” Surely I had already been tramping on the peninsular for the best part of a week, if not longer, I thought to myself. “Strange!”I mumbled to myself, and after a couple of adjustments to the straps on the backpack, I started off again, with ribs that hurt like crazy. Oyama Seaside Park and Minami Atami Marine Hall, were located off to my right. Minami Atami Marine Hall was a sort of local get together place, were people kept fit and burned off steam — played basketball, table tennis, volleyball, pushed weights, and practiced martial arts. There was also a music hall, used as a base for sports or cultural events, and so forth. Not that I gave a shit, for I had no intention of stopping at either places. “Mmm!” Thoughts of soaking in a nice hot bathtub retuned. Another sign pointed straight ahead for Nagahama Coastal Park and Ikeda Masuo Museum, some 1.7- and 2.8-kilometers, respectively. Nagahama Beach Park was next to the charming little seaside town of Izu-Taga. Like all good beaches, it certainly would have been a good place to stop awhile and relax in the sun, or in my case, to make camp, provided the time was just right. 


The Japanese artist, Masao Ikeda, had spent much of his early life in China, before moving to Nagano, and later Tokyo, where he studied painting. He was ultimately a man of many artistic talents that delved into a wide range of stuff — from ceramics, engraver, sculptor, and even film, and writing, for which he produced a prize-winning novel. The gallery that he had built, next to his former studio, on the hills of Izu, highlighted a wide range of his artistry for visitors to enjoy. Some of Ikeda’s work had been exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The Ikeda Masuo Museum antique wooden furnishings — cabinets, grandfather clock, piano, and pictures, etc, that belonged to him — for visitors to get some idea of his lifestyle. The museum was open from 9:00 AM to 4:30 PM, on Saturdays, Sundays and public holidays only. The admission costs ¥510 Yen for adults, ¥300 Yen for students. There was a ¥100 Yen discount per visiter, for groups of 20, or more. One thing that stood out almost as much as the splendid scenery was the many resort hotels along the Izu coastline, for which Oyama Seaside Park was no different. Then again, what did I know about making a few bucks out of nature. Even some of the roads had their price. The 40.6-kilometer long Izu Skyline, was perhaps the most noted of the toll roads. It wound its way through the mountainous region along the eastern part of the peninsula, which was a good bit out of my way, since I was mostly interested in sticking to the shoreline. During his long life, Masao Ikeda had made a name for himself in various art forms -- calligraphy, etchings, ceramics, and bronze sculptures, amongst other things. A sign with a cartoon image of a boy in a T-shirt, I stopped momentarily to look at, at the Kamitagaokawa RIver, read: ‘Love River’. A flight of ancient steps led down to the a narrow and fast flowing Kamitagaokawa. “Mmm!” I tried to picture the women of yesteryear, as they made their way down those very steps to do their washing. Without meaning to mock cliché expressions that popular culture glitch. In time, the road led me to a number of short tunnels. The 381-meter long Akane Tunnel was followed by the Nishikigawa Tunnel, which ran for just 211-meters. Not long after leaving the tunnel, I could almost smell the nearness of Atami. Then again, I did not have the foggiest how far my tired body had to go to get to a business hotel, where I hoped to stop the night. It surprised me that I had reached the quint little city of Atami sooner than I had thought. Kiunkaku was just 0.2-kilometers off to the left, wth Nagisa Shinsin Park and Atami Baien Park, straight on at 0.7- and 1.7-kilometers, respectively. Baien Park was first opened to the public, in 1886. Today, the park was home to more than 730 plum trees, some believed to date to that time. Many visitors were drawn to the park each year, especially between December and February, when the trees were in full bloom. The Plum Festival was also held around this time, with its many kinds of performances and attractions, to enjoy. The park was known for its beautify in all seasons. For example, the changing color of the autumn leaves, viewing of the Fireflies from the Hatsukawa stream, in June. The Hatsukawa ran through the park. 


Nearby, there was a monument that was built to honor the writer and poet, Tokutaro Ozaki (1868-1903), or rather Kōyō Ozaki, to use his pen name. Ozaki was one of the greatest novelists to come out of Japan. During his short life, he wrote widely, especially the novel, ’Konjiki Yasha’, or ‘Gold Demon’ as it was known in English. The storyline touched on the effects of modernization on society, on the importance of wealth over social responsibility and affection. Although Ozaki was born at the start of the Meiji period, in the Shibadaimon part of Edo, part of the storyline was set in Atami. In early those days, many writers serialized their works in newspapers. Ozaki was not different, and many of his stories ran in the Yomiuri Shimbun for more than five-years, between 1897 and 1903, the year when he took his final breath. As with the works of Charles Dickens set in the times of Victorian England, Ozaki’s stories were very popular. Each year, on the 17 January, people gathered at a monument dedicated to Ozaki to celebrate his works, if not the man himself. The cities of Odawara and Yugawara, were straight along this very busy road, Route 135, whilst Hakone and Mishima were away to the left, on Route 11. The road led me past a local shrine, called, Ki-jinja Shrine in the Hayakawa area of Odawara City. The Shinpukuji Temple, of the Kogi-Shingon Sect, was not far away. The temple was commonly referred to as Hayakawa Kannon, and paid homage to the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy. Kannon was a Bodhisattva who remained on earth to help those in need of help. On an added note, some 29 of the 88 temples along the Shikoku temple pilgrimage were dedicated to Kannon. It was said that the Kannon statue, inshrined at Shinpukuji Temple, had been carved out of wood, during the Heian period (794–1185). For whatever the reason, the statue was shown to the public, just once every 50-years. Ki-jinja was also affectedly known, among locals, as Kinomiya-san, and stood next to a natural forest. The pygmies saw their forests in terms of parents. They believed that the forests gave them everything they wanted, just like any good parent. Should something in their life go wrong, they believed the forest was sleeping. After performing a ritual called the 'Morino ceremony' the well rested forest awakened and everything became happy once more. In the ancient tradition of nature worship, Japanese Shintoism, had a similar ritual or belief. According to an ancient Shinto myth, a deity was said to have descended from the heavens and resided in a giant pine tree on a mountain. Since ancient times, sacred forests and giant trees played solemn and significant roles in Japanese life. Animism was a primitive religion in ancient Japan. “There are gods in everything, not only living creatures but also surrounding all things” (Sugawara 1989). Historically, there are more than 15 different species of trees related to both Shintoism or Buddhism, in Japan. According to an ancient Shinto belief, a kami descended from the heavens to settle in a giant pine tree on a mountain in Yamaguchi. The mountain shrine where the kami settled for a while was called Kudamastu-jinjya. The name of the shrine in English meant: 'the pine tree to which a god descended.' The Shinto religion, if it was a religion, worshipped hundreds of different kami that were in someway related to nature. 


Therefore, it did not surprise me any to note that many, if not most of the shrines were surrounded by nature. The enclosures were ecological sanctuaries to a wide range of animals and plants. In a similar light, living harmoniously with nature, and the success, or failure, of local communities, depended on the respect and reverence they paid to their kami. The kusnoki in front of the shrine was believed to be one of the largest old trees in the region. The tree was designated a natural monument of Odawara City. One of the main treasures at the shrine, was the ‘Kiji bowl’. The bowl was made of wood from a kusnoki tree, and like the kusnoki, it was designated a cultural property of the city. The Ki-jinja Shrine was located quite near a small single platform train station, on the old Tōkaidō road. So it was easy for interested parties to get to. The Hayakawa Station was first opened on 1 December, 1922, less than a year before the Great Kantō earthquake struck. Back then, the station serviced the Atami-Odawara Line, which connected Odawara and Manazuru. It became the  Tōkaidō Main Line, in 1934. Today, it also serviced the East Japan Railway Company. It was not unusual for shrines and temples to have a vast array of figures and statues on display, for visitors to look at. The main deity at Kii-jinja was the ‘Kanzeon Bosatsu’, the goddess of mercy, a common image encountered about the country. Kannon states had been created in Japan since the introduction of Buddhism, during the Asuka period (538-710). In fact, Kannon had become a rather popular deity, in Japan. This was particularly the case at temples, and was often known affectively as, Kannon-sama. The statue was believed to have answered countless prayers and performed many miracles. Then again, I was not quite sure what or how this was so, as the Japanese tended to keep private stuff to themselves. Incidentally, the Japanese honorific title ‘sama’ was what I had in recent years become accustomed to addressing females with in my postcards and emails. In many case of the deity, westerners, like myself, tended to include the word ‘compassion’ next to the title ‘mercy’. Many temples took the deity’s name, such as, Kannon-ji, and even enshrined the goddess of mercy alongside the other main deities honored there. People prayed for a wide range of things —  the needs of the people, protection from senility, dementia, the souls of abortions, still births, deceased babies. During the Tokugawa period, when Christianity was outlawed, many Japanese Christians prayed to a statue of Kannon with a young child, in place of one of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus. In this way, the believers were able to continue with their faith. The lasting power of religion did not just mean worshipping or revering supernatural gods or spirits, and all the practices and rituals widespread in religious rites. Rather, religion tried to bring answers to mans' relationship with the natural world, as well as things outside his control. In addition, to the rules led down by some supreme creative power, upon which social behavior should adhere to, religion eased their believers' misfortunes. It offered them a path to healing, and comforted them on the passage to life after death. Many religions were involved in the uncertainly and dangers people faced and sought to achieve in their lives -- abundance of harvests, healthy and prosperous lifestyles, and so forth. 


3 Apr, 2014: Soon after reaching the lobby of the Toyoko Inn, the rain came down with gusto. “Mmm!” The luck of the Irish, I mumbled to myself, as I loosened the straps on the backpack and dropped it slowly to the floor. The only water I wanted to touch me, was a matter of minutes away. The room (#304) that I was assigned to, was on the 3rd floor. Rooms on the lower floors in Japanese cities were usually not very good, view-wise. That did not matter, for I was not there for the view. From the window of my room I could see a rocky green hill that led up to a road. A set of steps, supported by scaffold, led up the hill. There were also some trees, but there were even more apartment windows, each of which surely gave the occupants a good clear view into my room. The currents were quickly drawn. “Mmm!” For a moment I also started to think about my iPad and WiFi, and if the mountain range hindered usage their use? Whilst the bathtub filled, I set about checking if the WiFi worked, and the fact that it did brought a smile to my lips. This was at a time when I had forgotten all about using the hotel’s WiFi. When morning came, the rain was still bucketing down. There was little I could do, but take a shower and then head down for breakfast. The desk clerk was kind enough to check the weather forecast of me on a tiny computer. “Rain, rain, rain.” She said, smiling back at me. So, I asked her who things were tomorrow. “Rain again!” And with this filled away in the depths of my brain, and heart, I decided to stop at the hotel another day, in the hope that the weather tomorrow would not be as bad. Besides, I really needed to sit more in the hot bathtub, and at the same time hoping the rain might letup a bit to look about the city proper. This was my third visit to Atami City. The first time was as long ago as the summer of 1985. That was in the company of a dear friend, Arimi Kanamori. Back then, Arimi had not long moved back to Fukuoka after graduating from college. We had arranged to meet somewhere between there and Naka-Meguro in Tokyo, where I lived at the time. For some reason we had decided on Atami, and after meeting at the station there, she made out way up the steep slops, where we stopped for a few days at a lovely Japanese inn. For the life of me, I was unable to relocate that exact inn, again. Everything looked so alike. Sadly, the fund memories had become vague through the passing of time, and I could recall absolutely nothing of the area, nor the places that we visited during our short time together. What I did know was, much change had been made to the city. Looking about the city, whether the change was for the better, I was not so sure. The second visit to Atami was on my Yamaha Dragster, loaded up with camping gear. That was in the first week of the New Year, of 2005. The tow things that I could recall about that motorbike trip was the freezing cold weather. Cold enough to freeze the balls of a brass monkey. The other thing that I remembered at the time, were the many toll-gates that I passed along the way, and how annoying the sight of them had mede me. So annoying in fact that I swore to myself never to return to Izu again. Now, here I was, on foot, and on my third visit to this seaside city. Atami was a city with hot and humid summers, and short winters. It had a fair bit of rainfall annually, with September its the wettest month. 

 

With Japan's history of earthquakes and landslides, the location of Atami was a disaster that waited to happen. The city also had a long history as being a prominent natural hot springs spot, with a scenery that looked out over Sagami Bay. In fact, the name 'Atami' meant: 'hot ocean'. An artificial sandy beach was among the cit’s attractions. Atami was granted city status, in early-1937. Since the 1970 census, the city’s population had continued to drop. No doubt the economic crisis of the 1990s, did not help the tourist economy any. In Japan, this dark period was known as the ‘Lost Decade’, which saw economic stagnation and the collapse of the bubble economy, in late-1991. That was then, it was the present that counted. Whether it was because of the long hard journey on foot, or my age, it felt really good to look at the mountainous cityscape, like never before. The clear mountain air had long be known to contain fewer bacteria than the air people breathed in their daily live this days. The headlines on the front page of the Japan Times for Thursday, 3 April, 2014, were: ‘Court OKs Adoptions by Transsexual’, ‘Only a third of nuclear reactions may be restarted’, ‘Hasty Riken STAP report draws fire’, ‘South Korea says crashed drones likely from North’, and, ‘Yamaguchi-gumi hopes website boosts image’. This was the first English language newspaper that I looked at, since leaving Tokyo. There was not even a single copy on the newspaper racks at the numerous convenience stores I had stopped at along the way. Long gone were the good old days I spent an hour or more with a newspaper in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. The Tokyo Olympics were scheduled for 2020. The Japanese government was doing its best to enlighten the youth on things international. More foreign teachers had been invited to the country to teach English at the schools. A quote from one of the sub-headlines in the newspaper read: ‘Standardized English for road signs to help foreign tourists’. Another quote from a tiny sign on the desk in the hotel lobby read: “Requests for producing of passports, etc, for identification purposes”. And, “Since April 1, 2005, under the relevant laws and regulations, the Japanese Government is requiring ‘foreign nationals who do not possess an address in Japan’ to provide their *nationality and *passport number in addition to their *name, *address, and *occupation, etc. And produce and make a copy of their passport upon checking in at the lodgings. Your understanding and cooperation is appreciated.” The stroll about the city failed to reawaken many of the memories back to me.Or noting much from the previous visit, other than it was on the Dragster. There were a few faded memories of the time I had arranged to meet up with my friend, Arimi Kanamori, at the train station years some earlier. It was our first meeting since Arimi had graduated from the two-year women’s college, Tsuda Juku Daigaku, she attended in Tokyo, a year or so earlier to our meeting. To paraphrase Wikipedia: founded in 1900, Tsuda was one of the oldest and most prestigious higher educational institutions for women in Japan. It contributed to the advancement of women in society for more than a century.' Today, Tusda was a university with two colleges.


So naturally we were so overjoyed to see each other again. Therefore, I could not remember if she had used Shinkansen or the local train, from Fukuoka to Atami. Of course, I could not remember much about the little 50-cc Honda Jog, that I had picked up secondhand, for ¥50,000 Yen, in Tokyo, months earlier. In the four or five-years I owned the Jog, I do not recall ever changing the oil, which was not something to be proud of. In the way human beings needed access to food and water, engines and wheels needed gasoline and oil. My time with the Jog included a day trip on it around Chiba prefecture, not to mention using it to go to just about everywhere, in Tokyo. In other words, I kind of abused the little scooter, like there was no tomorrow, that it surprised me it lasted the couple of years I had it. Regardless, the little scooter had not malfunctioned once, and would get me to Atami and back in one piece. Soon after we met, I pushed the scooter from the station and across a couple of streets, with Arimi eagerly ready to lend a hand. That was until we had reached a side street of the main drag, which wound steeply upwards. “Mmm! Why walk when we could ride?” My friend did not need much persuasion, and with our few belongings tightly secured to the front of the scooter, we made our way slowly up the steep slop, together. Then, like today, it was illegal to carry a passenger on a 50-cc scooter, in the 1980s. Young and daring, that did not prevent us any, as we happily made our way upwards, in the direction of the minshuku, where Arimi had reserved a room for us to stop at for a few days. During our short time together, we had visited a lot of places on foot. This included stopping somewhere to take in the romantic colors of the setting sun. In one of D.H. Lawrence’s classic novels, ‘The Trespasser’, the protagonist asked the girl he was in love with, what music she thought held the best interpretation of sunsets? For him, it was a Beethoven symphony #1. After some thought, the girl decided on ‘The Grail of Lohengrin’. The man did not quite agree with her, but remained silent. What mattered was that she did not want to share him, not even with the sky. “Mmm!” I still recalled how gifted Arimi was on playing the piano. The book was published in 1912,  and was based partly upon the experiences of one of Lawrence's friends, who had an adulterous relationship with a married man that ended tragically. The book was sold in the year the the RMS Titanic set sail on her maiden voyage. However, what I could recall most was the evening meal we had in our room, a large bright tatami room, at the minshuku. This had been my first real experience, to dress in a yukata, like the Japanese wore after bathing. The yukata was a fittingly typical, if not fashionable style of dress, often seen worn in onsen towns, along with geta, a kind of wooden clogs. We both set down on cushions, clad in our yukata, to enjoy the Japanese-style dishes placed on the low table. The main dish, shabu-shabu, a simmering hot bowl of thinly sliced meat, a variety of vegetables, cooked with sauces. What happy carefree times those days were. It was useless trying to recall things of yesteryear. Unfortunately, much of that past had vanished. Where were you now my dear friend, Arimi-san?

 

Photo of Arimi and myself???


4 Apr, 2014: This was the second day that I was able to leaf through the Japan Times. The headlines in this morning’s rag were: ‘Meltdown - linked cancers unlikely’, ‘Small tsunami from Chile reach northeast’, ‘Temple in Kyoto reopens hall after renovation’, ‘Rakuten bans whole meat’, ‘New Zealand tops world social index; Japan leads in health’, “Mmm!” If these were considered headlines, then stop the world and let me off. There was noting on the front-page about the Fort Hood shootings that left four dead and 16 wounded. As for any personal news, recent contact from colleagues at work, has caused me to change my plans for this stage of my mission and return to Tokyo. Needless to say, my mind was a mixture of anger and resignation. That was what it boiled down to, the great exceptions of work. Even on the road, I was never really free. Near the hotel there was a hospital called, Nekkan Hospital, but it was closed to business. It was a large place and I wondered why its doors were shut? Poor management? Relocated? The MOA Museum of Art was closed, too, but not in any permanent way, like the hospital. This happened to be a holiday for the museum, the very day I had hoped to pay a visit. The museum housed around 3,500 paintings, calligraphic pieces, sculptures, pottery, amongst other things. There were a number of national treasures were among the works on display. According to a pamphlet, for example, the Calligraphy Album ‘Takagami Kambokujo’, ‘Red and White Plum Blossoms’ by Korin Ogata, and ‘Tea Leaf Jar with Design of Wisteria’ by Ninsei Nonomura, all of which I would have loved to have seen. Outside the hotel a directional road sign pointed for Izusan Shrine and Sakai  Kyuseikyo. In the case of Izusan Shrine, many single people visited there to ask the gods to help them find a good partner. The old steps that led up to the shrine were just off the main road, Route 135. The cherry trees that lined the main road towards Odawara, must have been absolutely beautiful, and not that long ago either. Bad timing was one of the horrible things about my long tramp around Japan. Only too often I would arrive at places too early or too late, when important things or events in them had either just ended or would not begin for a few days. One did not need to be on the road and out under the elements for long to realize that that was how things were -- shit happened. Of course, I felt bad about not being able to see and experience a lot of things, but that was the way life was, full of ups and downs. On moment things seemed to be going just great, then the next you have walked into what seemed like a brickwall. Unfortunate occurrences that hit the average Joe Public from time to time had nothing to do with good timings. It was more like just down right bad luck. Bad luck happened to anyone at any place or time, and there was sweet Fanny Adams that they could have done about it. So, how could 'good timing' appear on the same page with bad luck? Somehow both bad timing and good luck did not seem right to be spoken of, in the same breath. The only road of thought open to a setback in life was to try and workout why it happened, and see what might be done to lesson the possibility of it happening again.


This was easier said than done. Many of the things or events I learned about on the road, were often stumbled upon by accident in the first place. Because of this, there were no feelings of self-blame or guilt about missing them, other than perhaps a wee bit of anger or depression. Such feelings tended to happened mainly for other reasons, like, not having covered a scheduled distance by the end of the day, or in someway not having done my best. In away, not putting your heart into something was also one of the flaws that I found I had from time to time. That was the way life on the road was like, it had its ups and downs. Not surprisingly, much depended on the state of the weather that I awoke to, not to mention, the rest I had in the night. The womb of sleep had received me and nourished me again, to play with the words of D. H. Lawrence. All the same, at times shit had to be dealt with, if not faced head on. Even just a minute or two of thought about a problem could make a big difference about dispelling negative feelings. A lot of people out there failed to take control of their emotions or feelings, and I did not want to be among them, at least not all the time. Applying a fair bit of self-attention from time to time, did the trick. If I did not stop to question my emotions, I believe doctors would not be far behind me with a straitjacket at the ready. Then again, I do not care to sound fateful, like, about things that predetermined by some supernatural powers. Nothing was destined to just pop-up or happen. Fuck it, there was more to life than that. The important thing was, how best to react to bad things when they did happen, regardless of what, when, where, or how serious they may appear to be. Back to my present thoughts, before Minamoto Yoritomo became the first shogun in the Kamakura period, it was said that he had paid a number of visits to Izusan Shrine. This was more to meet his lover than to pay reverence to the gods. Along the road I passed the site of the Battle of Ishibashiyama, Sanada-reisha Shrine, and Komekami Fishing Port. A distance and directional road sign told me that Yokohama was 61-kilometers away. "Mmm!" Changing my plans for there, was tempting, or so the thought crossed my mind. Another road sign pointed left for Haone Turn Pike and One Night Castle, an interesting name. The road, Route 1, was straight ahead. When I was in Odawara before, I had learned a little about stone paved pit-dwellings that dated back to the Jomon period, ad Tenjin-yamu Kohun, a mound of earth and stones raised that covered ancient graves. My return to Shinjuku in Tokyo was not as easy as I would have liked. The Tokaido Rapid Express arrive five-minutes late, and did not pull out of the station until five-fifteen. Then, before the train reached the next stop, Chigasaki, the emergency brakes were applied and the train came to a quick stop. After about five-minutes, the train started off again. My original plan, which the girl at the ticket office in Odawara had kindly printed out for me, was to change trains at Totsuka, for the Shonan Shinjuku Line. The delay, however, kind of fucked things up, and caused me to miss my connection for Shinjuku.


What happened in Japan and the world on this day????  


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