Date

2022-12-19, Monday

Distance

65.22 km biked (3774.29 km in total)

The morning began with a delightful 'breakfast summit' with Tora-san. Over steaming coffee, we confirmed what we had suspected: he was Japanese (no wonder he could sustain such a long trip!). His signboard was written in Italian purely because, as he put it, 'It looks cool.' We agreed. He had started from Kochi, made it all the way north to Hokkaido, and had already visited Japan’s northernmost and easternmost points. Tomorrow, he said, he was heading for the westernmost point — same as us! What an incredible coincidence to have our paths cross here, at this precise time and place. Even funnier, he carried Ortlieb panniers identical to mine. Like us, his meals were mostly convenience-store fare.

We parted ways with Imari under a clear but biting winter sky. The mountains were dusted with frost, though sunshine gave us confidence. But halfway up the climb, another snow squall hit, forcing us to slow. Just then, a driver waved us down: An accident had already occurred higher up due to icy roads. Cars could go no further. Bicycles technically could, the driver warned — but at great risk. He suggested a safer detour through Arita, the town famous for its blue-and-white porcelain, then onward to Sasebo.

The detour turned out to be a blessing. Though longer in distance than the original mountain route, the detour was smoother and spared us much pain.

Near Sasebo, as we approached a fishing harbour, a car pulled over and a woman approached, speaking rapid-fire Japanese. We pieced together enough to understand: she thought we were Taiwanese cyclists touring Japan, and insisted on introducing us to a Taiwanese friend living nearby. Still confused, we offered a few cheerful hai! arigatogozaimasu! (Yes! Thank you very much!) responses, and before we knew it, we were pedalling behind her car, off Google Maps’ route, into a small street. There, a woman in a white medical coat waved at us — Caiyin-san, a Taiwanese long settled in Sasebo’s Kosaza district, right at mainland Japan’s westernmost point!

It turned out Caiyin-san rarely met fellow Taiwanese here. Ironically, we had assumed the westernmost monument was a popular stop for Taiwanese travellers, but most simply follow Google’s directions and miss the little backstreets. Had her neighbour not intercepted us, we would have ridden past without ever meeting her. These little twists of fate, these unexpected encounters, are the very spice of travelling. (Even more coincidental is that both Caiyin-san and I put on the same purple merino vest from UNIQLO that evening.)

The official monument at Cape Nomazaki stands on a windswept cliff accessible only by stairs. Looking at the East China Sea that stretches endlessly westward, we imagined how the sunset would have been spectacular had it not been marred by low clouds clinging to the horizon. Here, travellers often pause for photographs marking the journey to one of Japan’s four extreme points. But unlike other 'edges of the map' we have visited, this cape does not feel desolate or abandoned. A small fishing community lives right at the point itself, their boats bobbing at the docks. Instead of solitude, the place feels distinctly human — neighbours happy to guide lost travellers, locals curious about strangers arriving at the edge of their world.

For us, the real highlight was Caiyin-san’s warm hospitality. That evening, worried we would lose our way, her husband drove out to guide us back to their home. Such kindness warmed us more than any heater. And there was more: an early winter solstice feast, complete with Taiwanese-style tang yuan dumplings stuffed with meat. We hadn’t expected to celebrate the solstice in Japan, let alone with such a homely taste of Taiwan.

Over the table, Caiyin-san told us many things related to her adopted country that we have long since wondered about. Remember we marvelled at Japanese schoolchildren lining up so perfectly on their way to school? She explained that this discipline is learned from the moment they begin formal schooling. Elder students would lead the younger ones in height order, like a moving staircase of bobbing heads. Occasionally, when the weather is utterly harsh, Caiyin-san picks the children up to escort them to school by car. At those times, even the most disciplined little ones beam with relief at escaping the cold weather elements Caiyin-san also shared with us her experience of raising a interracial child in rural Japan, with all the challenges and rewards that entails

Late into the night, conversation turned to Nagasaki’s Christian past — the secret gatherings, the persecution, the inspiration for Endo Shusaku’s Silence. These stories felt more vivid when shared in perfectly understandable Mandarin over a family table. That night, in Japan’s far west, we felt at home.