Date

2022-11-25, Friday

Distance

130.99 km (2773.48 km in total)

At 6am, the same guardian came to our tent again to urge us to leave, stating, in a much more impatient manner, that it’s 6 am, people have started to arrive on the site. In fact, the shops at Romantic Village (a roadside station) don’t open until 9 am but people — mostly farmers — come to deliver products in the early morning. We thus started today’s ride earlier.

If this were Canada, a place like Utsunomiya which is little more than 100 km away from downtown Tokyo would be populated by residents who commute to work in the metropolis, but this is not the case in Japan. 100 km is considered such a long distance that not many cars were driving in the direction toward Tokyo. Instead, there was an impressive traffic jam in the direction towards Utsunomiya, which implies that despite being little known to foreigners, this city provides enough job opportunities for people living in the neighbouring areas.

This morning we also witnessed how disciplined Japanese people are trained to be since early childhood. During the rush hour, we bypassed several successions of primary school students walking or cycling on their own to school, in the absence of adults. The custom is for Japanese kids to gather at a certain time every school day at a fixed location, then to line up by age (as was evident from their height) with the elder ones leading the way, and to walk in straight line on the inner side of the sidewalk to school together — sun or rain or snow. This shows that Japan is an extremely safe country. It also interests me on how Japanese people are very much anchored in community living while starting to be autonomous at an early age.

Today we were back on secondary roads that had barely any traffic. I enjoy biking on those sometimes narrow roads and seeing no one. Only by thinking that I am momentarily alone in this immense world, following a way that many have taken before me and many more will come after me, can I feel belonging to this world at this present moment.

The ride got less and less smooth as we approached Tokyo prefecture in the evening. Red lights and cars all slowed us down to the point that we were significantly delayed. Moreover, railways abound in Japanese cities, especially in the capital. As crossing the railway is possible only at a few junctions, we often had to make a detour and wait for trains carrying packs of passengers to pass.

Many of the streets recommended by GPS had no shoulder and had only a narrow sidewalk, so we had no choice but to share the lane with cars. However often we were trapped in between traffic jams, Japanese drivers remained patient still. They would quietly and slowly drive behind us until an opportunity to bypass us showed up. This means that there was often a long lineup of cars advancing at 15 km/h or so behind us. It certainly doesn’t feel very good to slow people down, so we tried to bike on the sidewalk whenever possible.

At 9 pm, we finally arrived at our hosts’ small yet extremely clean and cozy apartment in Chofu, Tokyo prefecture. At the front door, a poster saying ‘Welcome Linda & Lee’ made our weariness instantly go away. Our hosts Kazu and Miwa are a loving couple fond of bicycle touring and long term Warmshowers members. Before WS came into existence, Kazu had already had solo travelling experience in many parts of the world, including a 3-year stay in China; he can thus converse in simple Mandarin. While cooking takoyaki (たこ焼き) together, we shared our stories and observations about Japan and different cultures.

Today was a day of contrasts — from quiet country roads to the fast-paced buzz of the metropolis. In the rural towns, we spot small tutoring centres with a hand-painted sign or two. But as we neared the city, everything changed: billboards for big-name cram schools appeared everywhere, workwear shifted to crisp business suits, and the pace picked up dramatically. Wide sidewalks now had marked bike lanes, families juggled kids and shopping bags, and imported cars zipped past. The sudden rush felt familiar — like stepping back into urban Canada — yet strangely surreal.

This is the second time we are hosted by locals living in Japan. My friend of Taiwanese background who is new to bicycle touring still finds it difficult to believe that there could be some people who are so kind as to unconditionally open up their home, after a long day at work, to total strangers without expectation of any return. My friend thinks in this manner, for in her mind is deeply ingrained the notion of ‘moral debt’ which seems to be particularly prevalent in Confucianism-influenced cultural spheres. There, the unspoken social consensus is that if someone does a kind act to you, you are obliged to return the favour to the same person in some way — not only by a simple verbal expression, but also by some kind of (often material) offering or service. If you plan on begging a favour from someone, you are expected to prepare beforehand a gift (which my friend calls, mockingly, a bribe) as an inducement to an obliging act. Similarly, it is very common for a Taiwanese — not to say all East-Asians — to ask another to return the favour previously accorded to the latter by serving the former. In other words, every offering / service is conditional ('I will help you this time on the condition that you will help me in the future'); once you receive, you are (morally) indebted.

Since I came to Japan, I have noticed that some of the very simple services we Canadians are wont to do for others, such as holding the door open for the next person, would seem to induce an immaterial burden on Japanese people, and that they are not all that at ease with the thought of contracting a debt of gratitude. For instance, when I see people struggling to be photographed, it is natural of me to ask if they would like me to help them take a group photo. While most Westerners would gladly accept the offer, Japaneses are more likely to be shocked, and very often they would decline in all politeness.

This predisposition among East-Asians, I have long since hypothesised, hinges on the basic premise that for them, one must have done some work to deserve to be well treated. Those who are incapable of executing the required work — those who were born handicapped for instance — do not deserve to be valued for their own sake. Obviously, such a premise stands in diametrical opposition to the Christian ideology according to which each individual was born with a God-given quality, often called human dignity, that makes him/her entitled to others' esteem or respect. (My Chrisitan friends may be shocked, or horrified even, to learn that it is not uncommon to hear in those cultural spheres voices against child adoption on the grounds that 'some people do not deserve to be born'.) As far as memory serves, I have always loathed the East-Asian version of human being and much prefered Christian ideal without ever converting to Christianity.

My friend likes to say that I have been entirely acculturated to the Westernised way of living. It was a long journey though. At the beginning of my trans-Canada bike tour in 2009, I was seriously struggling with the concept of personal merit and the ghost of undeservedness. Whenever someone presented his/her goodwill to me, the wildly importunate questions such as 'Do I deserve it?' or 'What have I done to deserve it?' would spring to mind.

– Of course! Everyone does!'

– You don't need to do anything to deserve it, it's a gift [which Christians call 'grace'].

Those incredibly kind and generous people would say.

I think it took me a month or so to grow more comfortable in accepting my fellow Canadians' offering, not because I have finally come to learn to treat myself with sufficient self-respect, but because I realised that unconditional giving made them happy.

And I have been very happy since I started hosting, although the ghost of undeservedness still hinges somewhere in the back of my mind when it's my turn to receive.

For us touring cyclists, the primary reason why we become hosts is all the same: The kindness that total strangers have shown us during our journey makes us so grateful that we eagerly want to pass down the same gesture to the rest of the world. I hope my friend will one day be able to feel the same.