Date

2022-11-24, Thursday

Distance

32.35 km (2642.49 km in total)

We rolled straight into the heart of Nikko, down a wide shopping street buzzing with both local and international tourists. For a weekday, it was packed — I can only imagine how overwhelming it must get during peak season. Amidst all places I have hitherto visited in this country, Nikko has the highest concentration of foreign nationals. It seems that it has for a long time been a popular touristic destination well before the pandemic, but why this is the case intrigues me even after my visit.

You may get what I mean if you, like me, also prefer Ginkaku-ji (銀閣寺) over Kinkaku-ji (金閣寺) in Kyoto city and have always wondered why people think the latter much more favourably than the former. I gather that those who see wonders in humble aspect would not trust all the merits of an architecture to the lavishness of gilded appearance.

The main attraction in Nikko — the Nikko Toshogu (日光天照宮) that posthumously enshrines Tokugawa shogunate’s founder Tokugawa Ieyasu (徳川家康) — was unapologetically opulent: it has such a lavish gilded appearance with elaborated carvings painted in flamboyant colours. For me, it’s more of a display of power than a manifestation based on real principles of piety. It seems to be a site of educational value too; 3 large groups of primary school students wearing uniforms and distinct hats have arrived since early morning, together with many other Japanese and foreign visitors. The space is large enough to accommodate this much people.

Despite being a state-church separation upholder who is not completely comfortable with the concept of deifying deceased human beings, I decided to visit Tokugawa’s shrine (and tomb) now because on the one hand, kami manifesting itself in the human form is an important aspect of Shinto religion; I think it wouldn’t do my system of belief harm to witness the embodiment of this belief for at least once in my lifetime. On the other hand, once Japan resumes its popularity as a touristic destination, more people will visit this place and I would not want to come anymore. We got here at the right time too. The interior of the five-storied pagoda and the inner shrine which is much humbler and to which some 400 years ago only Tokugawa alone could access were exceptionally open for visit. We also walked around Tokugawa’s tomb which has not been open since he was buried.

The nearby (Buddhist) Rinno-ji (輪王寺) and (Shinto) Futarasan-jinja (二荒川神社), together with Toshogu make up the UNESCO Nikko World Heritage Site, but we didn’t have much time nor energy to visit the the other two in depth. I feel that the others’ architectural style would please me better though — at least, by appearance.

Our plan to grab lunch at a yakitori spot fell through — it was unexpectedly closed. So we crossed the street to a stylish little curry bar run by a cool, silent chef who politely turned away walk-ins once the place filled up. He cooked each omurice solo, and after waiting for what felt like forever, we finished our meals in ten minutes flat.

Before heading out of Nikko, we went to a local bike shop to get my break fixed. I could change the break shoes myself but the cable had to be installed by a professional. Sadly, the owner of the shop and the only bike mechanician in Nikko was away; we had to wait almost 2 hours for him to come back to spend merely 5 minutes on replacing the cable. (Electric) bike rental seems to be exceptionally popular in this town, yet bike maintenance is entrusted to the hand of one single bike shop owner. In Japan, we have come across a myriad of such small scaled bike shops, which could still be open while the owners are away (in this case, it would be another acquaintance looking after the shop), but would not be able to perform tasks that require more specialised knowledge. Moreover, we were charged a hefty fee of 1650 yen for a cable and the service; this makes other bike mechanicians who charged much less after having spent much more time with our bikes very generous.

It was entirely dark by the time we reached tonight’s camping location: Romantic Village in Utsunomiya. The name may sound charming, but trust me: it’s not exactly a dream spot for camping overnight. A complex consisting of 4 parking lots, ton of restaurants, shops, hotels, hot spring and more, it by far the largest roadside station we have ever seen, and apparently the ‘richest’ one that has enough of resource to hire nighttime guardian who came to our tent at 9 pm to chase us out. We couldn’t properly understood the reason, but after a difficult communication, we came to understand that camping was not allowed at this place that's more of a theme park than a simple roadside station. When we were packing up unwillingly but obediently our stuff which took a lot of time, he changed his mind and said that if we leave in early morning, we could move our tent to a more discreet spot of the village. So we did.

The full take — 151 more photographs from this day

Date

2022-11-23, Wednesday

Distance

90.09 km (2610.14 km in total)

The ride to Nikko was — in one word — miserable. It’s been raining since this morning, and the rain only ended after we had been to bed. Both of us have quality rain gears but we still got so cold that instead of wild camping, we decided to take the shelter in a hostel at night. (Another reason is that the closest roadside station is located in central Nikko, without sufficient space for a tent.)

This hostel in Nikko is currently managed by a Romanian lady who had lived in the UK for a long time. She had been to Nikko before the pandemic and only got this job offer two weeks ago. Having learned Japanese by herself, she likes Japan so much that she would love to live and work in some warm part of this country in the futur. Surprisingly to us, this hostel is full of foreigners who recently landed in Japan; English is thus the common language here. After speaking broken Japanese for more than a month, I need some time to adjust to the linguistic familiarity found at this solitary planet that spins on its own in the entire university of Japan. It’s beyond amazing that everyone shares a common tongue in a foreign country!

We used a combination of Google Map and Komoot to find out a cycle way across Japan. I have briefly discussed the pros and the cons of them in a previous post (see Day 33). Today, another feature became prominent when using the latter. Komoot seems to prefer secondary roads ‘probably’ to avoid traffic if I set it to ‘bike touring’ mode. This means that every now and then, we can get on nameless roads that are prioritised for farming vehicles (農用道路). Such roads, if paved, are actually nice to cycle through because we get to see a much more local landscape brimming with residential houses and farms. At times, we can get into paths through a forest that still looks primitive. This afternoon, we cycled through such a forest path on both side of which trees’ roots are half hinging in the air, half griping the soil that is above the ground level. It’s as if the trees could fall at any instance. The forest looks sublime and terrifying at the same time. We wondered what humans had done to this forest.

We biked the last 10 km or so in rain and in almost complete darkness, as we entered Nikko after the sun set. Vaguely I could feel pedalling along a tree-lined road with magnificent trees to both sides. The gigantic foliage made the surrounding doubly darker. It’s quite strange to come to this presumably glorious place (‘nikko’ in Japanese means sunlight) in near-darkness …

Date

2022-11-22, Tuesday

Distance

73.80 km (2520.05 km in total)

Today we are back on National Road 4 again — this time with less pleasant memory.

The first problem we encountered is the abundance of weed that can grow taller than an average person next to and/or on the sidewalk. I didn’t record a video of the worst weed passing I made in Japan (note on 31 Dec: as of today’s writing, it’s still the worst) but a photo was taken that shows how aggressively the weed can grow in the fine cracks between the bricks. The whole surface area of the sidewalk was covered by so dense a vegetation that I could not see where the boundary between the sidewalk and the road was. The road was fairly busy so getting off the sidewalk was not an ideal option.

The second problem we encountered is that this road was clearly designed for car drivers but not cyclists / pedestrians. Many of its features prioritise the formers who get the most effortless user experience. For instance, every time the national road passes through an major street of a town, it is typically constructed as an overpass that is lifted above the street at the intersection. At this time, the car’s lanes go straight without interruption, yet the sidewalk goes down to the intersection then comes up. Hence, we have to bike down a steep hill first, stop for the red light, before climbing up an equally steep hill again to join the national road. Some intersections don’t even allow bicycle / pedestrian crossing at the ground level; we have to push our bikes down and then up through a tunnel to get through.

What about biking on the road to avoid getting down and up over and over again? Well, we did try, but the narrow shoulder and the heavy traffic makes it a bad experience, even though cars try to stay as far away from us as possible.

The third problem we had is that there were many man-made obstacles on the sidewalk. These include typical objects to slow down cyclists, plus entrances to overpass stairs or underground tunnels which make the cycle way very narrow by taking up a lot of space on the sidewalk. Please see my videos to get an idea of the unpleasantness of cycling along National Road 4.

Unpleasantness aside, I did enjoy observing signs and slogans fixed on the side of the road when passing through small towns. One of the main messages I have been seeing since starting this journey is related to road safety. Usually, it marks where an accident had occurred, or says that the town’s goal is to have 0 accident for 2000 days (that is about 5 years) or so. Today, I finally saw a slogan that says the goal has been reached and now the town is aiming for a record of 0 accident for 3000 days straight.

Wait a second, you may think, does this mean that there are a lot of car accidents in Japan? Not that many actually. When I stopped by a panel in a town in Hokkaido to read the information, I was surprised that the number of accidents occurred in the past 2000 days was no more than one or two. I have the feeling that these signs and slogans are in place, because the Japanese government thinks importantly of all of its citizens and that for them EVERY life matters. Otherwise they wouldn’t set so high a goal in a densely populated area.

At the lunch time, we stopped by a restaurant (大眾食堂) that was popular among the working class. 90% of its clients are male, which tells a little bit about the type of jobs commonly found near the restaurant. At the evening, we camped at a park in Shirakawa, 75 km away from Nikko.

Date

2022-11-21, Monday

Distance

62.92 km (2446.25 km in total)

Baby feeding room at a roadside station is usually rarely used, whence our feeling of ease at occupying half of it (we did leave another nursing room vacant just in case someone needs it in the middle of the night). In the morning while we were packing up our stuff, a man, perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of duty, opened the door and took a look inside. We later learned that he was the manager of this station. Instead of getting angry at us for using the room for another purpose, he offered us hot drinks and orange to encourage us. It really surprises us how Japanese people can be punctual and tolerant to breach of rules at the same time.

At this roadside station we saw a map of Fukushima prefecture showing a red zone encircling the problematic nuclear plan that only allows cars to pass through; bicycle and pedestrian passing seems to be forbidden. It was well before the opening hour of the information centre, we couldn’t get a decisive answer so after an intense dispute for which I won the argument, we decided to make a detour to visit Nikko before reaching Tokyo.

This detour requires traversing a mountain range from east (Soma) to west (Fukushima city) on a narrow road that has no shoulder. As my readers all know, Japan is a fairly hilly country, such unusual crossing that involves in total a gain in elevation of 1020 m is by no means an easy task, which made my friend harbour much grudge against me for the whole stretch of the ascent. We had to climb some of the most difficult hills we have come across in this journey in a winding fashion. At some point, the succession of steep uphills looks endless — every turn brings yet another hill to climb. Worse still, due to heavy rainfall, the easiest road we planned on taking was broken and closed for traffic. Having no choice but to cycle through another more difficult route was a major blow to both of us.

Despite the difficulty, I (not to say my friend) enjoy the scenery of this secondary road much better than the one along a primary road brimming with big-box-style architectures and stores. Primary road is convenient yet boring as well, because it’s always the same things again and again. On the other hand, secondary road along which people live offers a much more interesting landscape mixing human habitations with a variety of natural elements — including monkeys. One can easily enjoy one’s ride in the quietude of the surrounding.

After the difficult ascent, it’s mostly downhill. We stopped by a roadside station for lunch where posters celebrating the village’s recovery efforts and shelves full of collaborative products from nearby communities gave the place a lively, heartwarming energy. Contrary to the quietness of the village, the station is very much alive with Christmas decoration and people’s coming and going. It seems that Japan’s many roadside stations are part of the town revival project: beside serving road users, it also doubles as a shop that sells all sorts of locally made products ranging from food to crafts (postcards are spare though). Some stations sell so many things that make them almost like a grocery store! It was touching to see how smaller, lesser-known villages support one another, and even more uplifting to see young people working there. It’s rare in rural Japan, and always impressive when a community can draw youth back home. This is also where people take the time to look at our bikes and talk to us. Today we received two rice balls from a local who admires our endeavour.

By the end of the day we arrived at one of the two roadside stations in Nihonmatsu, south of Fukushima city. There we ran into a nearly retired man from Tokyo area who was driving around the country to visit Japan’s castles and who planned on calling this station home for tonight. Having toured around Japan three times previously for onsen and other things, he had quite a story to tell when we (my friend mostly) drank sake together. Japanese people like him who dare approaching foreigners are not few, but those who want to deepen the conversation despite language barrier are rather rare.

Still 235 km away from Tokyo.

The full take — 17 more photographs from this day

Date

2022-11-20, Sunday

Distance

92.54 km (2383.33 km in total)

Last night, we secretly pitched our tent in a seaside park that closed at night and left this morning before the opening hour. We have been doing this kind of camping without clearly stated permission for sometime because we realised that if we asked for permission, people would say ‘No, you can’t do it here’ while vaguely suggesting that it would be none of their business if we do it when no one is around (i.e. after the closing time). It seems that the law prohibits wild camping in public places such as roadside stations — some of which post written prohibition about setting up a tent, some don’t — but such instance is rarely reported to the police (or maybe someone did call the police but the police didn’t bother to come after us). It’s interesting how Japanese people act like Schrondinger’s cats: to observe and not to observe the regulations at the same time.

Roads in this area are all brand new and very wide. We guess it may be because most past infrastructures were destroyed by the tsunami in 2011 which hit Iwate and Miyagi prefectures the hardest. While the apocalyptic landscape is no more, traces of the disaster such as commemorative plaques remain to be seen.

We went to a small seaside village outside of Sendai called Yuriage (閘上) that was entirely engulfed by the tsunami to see the result of Japanese people’s rebuilding effort. This location was chosen because in my Japanese course at McGill, I read a composition by a local high school student mourning the loss of her hometown, which is Yuriage. In it the student were facing the dilemma of moving to another place or rebuilding her hometown. I find this attachment to a specific location very peculiar, as I who used to feel somewhat homeless on this Earth under the starry dome don’t share the same feeling. Hence I like to visit places which people call home.

Part of the village that sits right next to the ocean is encircled by a wall that stops the ocean waves. Many people, who don’t seem to be resident of Yuriage, came for fishing. Newly built houses are by no means densely distributed; it seems that many people have left since the disaster. This new old village doesn’t feel like a ghost town, as there are signs of human occupation (presence of hanged cloths for instance), but strolling in it by bike I still feel a kind of emptiness. A dommage, once done, is hard to be undone.

By the ocean a small centre sits to commemorate Yuriage’s past. It showcases documents related to the 2011 event, remaining artefacts that testify the good old days, and a video documentary on how the local strove to rebuild their hometown. A special project that attracts my attention consists of 3 sets of hand-made models showing children’s vision of the past, present, and future Yuriage. It’s part of a therapy program that aims at helping youngsters get out of the trauma.

Our ride for the remaining day is more than just smooth. The road condition was impeccable as it was newly built. Wide sidewalk and farm accompanied us all the way to the roadside station in Soma, Fukushima prefecture. There, a wealth of posters relating various information and statistics about the 2011 disaster awaited us. Everything looks new or at least very well maintained; there is even an immense baby-feeding room which was large enough for us to open our tent to do some time-consuming repair. We slept there until next morning.

The full take — 38 more photographs from this day

Date

2022-11-19, Saturday

Distance

25.45 km (2290.79 km in total)

Little less than an hour before the opening hour, two park personnels came to our tent as part of their inspection ritual. They asked me to follow them to the office to fill out again the same form the guardian showed me last night. When I remarked to them that someone already made me doing the same, they responded it’s likely the guardian who belonged to a different unit; they have different protocol to follow (i.e. I must do the same thing a second time.) 'これはルールです (this is the rule),' they said.

I have the impression that Japanese personnels are extremely obsessed with observance of rules not for any practical reason but for purely formality’s sake. Even if some rules set within an organisation don’t make sense, but so long as they are in place, they would be utterly afraid for breaking them. Collecting admission fee is really a minor issue; what they are afraid of seems to be that if they don’t get to make the users read the list of regulation, they would be responsible for any violation on the part of the users. Does this sound familiar to my German readers?

Upon our departure from the park, one of them came to tell me, with the aid of Google Translate, that campground in Japan always requires reservation, and that next time I plan on staying at a campground, I must absolutely call them to make an arrangement. 'これはルールです (this is the rule),' she repeated, and then wished me a safe travel.

My goals of coming to Sendai are (1) to visit Osamu Hachimangu Shrine that has been featured on the National Treasure stamp series; (2) to visit the Jump Shop that sells official — and hopefully exclusive to Miyagi prefecture where the story is set —merchandises for my beloved manga/anime series Haikyu!! (2012 – 2020); (3) to get our bikes properly tuned up.

The Osamu Hachimangu Shrine was a bit of disappointment not because of any default in the shrine complex itself, but because a large part of its main building has been covered by a gigantic tent that was set up for a certain event, which prohibits visitors from observing the ancient art of Japanese architecture in details. In fact, it happened to be the weekend of the Shichi-Go-San festival (七五三, lit. 'seven-five-three'), so we saw many families dressed in traditional kimono or formalwear. The little ones, tottering around in elaborate outfits, were absolutely adorable! We also pleasantly discovered that the renown figure skater Yuzuru Hanyu (羽生結弦), born and raised in Sendai, paid a visit to this shrine in formal suit years ago, and that many of his admirers have came here to write an ema (volitive tablet) to pray for him.

Located at the heart of Sendai city, the Jump Shop was decorated with drawings related to a number of currently popular works serialised in the Jump magazine, including Haikyu!!, Demon Slayers, etc. The tiny space was packed with fans from over the world who came here with the unique goal of supporting their beloved artists. I even ran into two Taiwanese who had flown all the way to Tokyo’s Jump Store before coming to this one that is 350 km away. Never underestimate crazy fans’ enthusiasm.

Sendai is a moderately big city with a population smaller than that of Sapporo but a seemingly busier pace of living. In the downtown area, there are always people in the street regardless where and at what time we go. Number of pedestrians at a crossroad can be immense that make riding a bicycle virtually an impossibility (however, I did see some cyclists trying to bike through the crowd). Pedestrians only becomes spare in the suburb area where the Giant store is located.

We were charged the highest service fee (3300 yen per bike) we have seen in Japan at the Giant store in exchange of an impeccable service. My friend’s broken spork and derailleur were properly fixed. All Giant staff exclaimed at the hearing that we would be camping tonight by the ocean. I, on the contrary, was surprised to learn that for them who live in Tohoku, 7C is already very cold. ‘No worries. I am from Canada. I love cold weather,' I said. Then they laughed.

The full take — 41 more photographs from this day

Date

2022-11-18, Friday

Distance

96.12 km (2265.34 km in total)

The roadside station was closed by the time we arrived last night. We found a discreet space in the back of the building to put our tent. Since the walls helped to block the wind, we slept well despite coldness. This roadside station not only offer heated toilet, hot water, roofed shelter, but also breakfast in the Japanese style. The first station we have been to that serves its users so well!

On our way to Sendai, we ran into a local cyclist Hisaki Ohba who was conducting a short tour around the area. It’s always a big event when touring cyclists run into each other, more so in Japan because there are so very few of us right now.

It started raining when we entered the boundary of the city of Sendai. Without further ado, we went straight away to the park Mizu-no-mori (水の森公園) where we planned on camping. Usually camping there requires reservation and arrival before 4:30pm, but obviously we skipped all of these steps, as we were not sure when we could arrive and the office had already been closed by the time we showed up. At around 10 pm, a guardian found that the required plaque was not hinged outside of our tent, and came to wake us up. After much confusion, we were asked to fill out a form with our personal information, then told that we were good to stay — or at least we thought so until the next morning …

Date

2022-11-17, Thursday

Distance

69.9 km (2169.22 km in total)

Last night, instead of camping, we slept on the couch inside the roadside station which offers heating. The disadvantages though, include that the light was always on, and that people — mostly truck drivers — came in every now and then to use the washroom. My friend is the type of sleeper who can be easily awaken by small noises, so she slept rather poorly in this kind of situation.

Before we embark, a middle-age man insisted on buying us food and drink in a nearby convenience store. When he saw us picking up only one item, he went on to pick up other stuff for us. 'You need more energy,' he said.

Kenji Miyazawa (宮沢賢治, 1896 – 1933) was born in the centre of today’s Hanamaki, but the museum and the fairy tale village built in honour of him were both located 5 km away on a steep hill for reasons unknown. Kenji Miyazawa’s birth house has been destroyed long ago. The residence that was subsequently built on the same site is now occupied by his relatives. Outside of it a commemorative plaque stands, next to which a bench was decorated with characters from Miyazawa’s novels.

To get to the museum, we needed to climb exactly 366 stairs which were numbered and decorated with Japanese characters that together made up Miyazawa’s poem and other phrases. The main exhibition space inside the museum is neatly designed. At the centre of the hall is a number of screens projecting videos and images related to the 4 main themes of the exhibition. 3 rows of panels displaying reproductions of items related to Miyazawa are placed on the four walls. A small quantity of originals placed behind glass window fill up the space between the centre and the walls. At the first sight the space looks packed with too many items, yet it’s actually easy to navigate between sections and it didn’t feel crowded at all.

There I learned a few facts that I didn’t know about Miyazawa, such as that he once held an academic position in agricultural science, that he was a devout Buddhist who was keen to learn about Christianity, and that at one point hoping to develop a closer connexion to the life of peasants, he retired to an impoverished region of Hanamaki to cultivate a farm using modern techniques improved by scientific methods. His short life is the exact embodiment of the spiritual ideal he portrayed in his famous poem 雨ニモマズ (Ame ni mo makezu), which is the kind of person I strive to be.

We came to Hanamaki a bit too late in the season, the light show at the Fairy Tale Village inspired by Miyazawa’s works was over. However, permanent installation still remained in place, we were able to see some of the finest crafts we have ever seen in our life. At the entrance stood a wall of panels signed by famous people in the animation industry who have come to this village over the years. The list includes Ghibli’s director Isao Takahata (高畑勲), producer Toshio Suzuki (鈴木敏夫), the composer Joe Hisaishi (久石譲) and many others.

Before leaving Hanamaki, I also went to see the gigantic poetry tablet dedicated to Miyazawa’s 雨ニモマズ (while my friend went to eat ramen). It’s well hidden behind the trees at the end of a walking trail leading to where the poet took farming retreat. The surrounding landscape must have changed tremendously over the years, yet the piece of land that was once cultivated by the poet seemed to have stand still against the erosion of time. There I recalled my favourite contemporary Chinese-language poet 周夢蝶 who too has served as my living ideal leading a minimalist mode of life.

The full take — 130 more photographs from this day

Date

2022-11-16, Wednesday

Distance

53.3 km (2100.13 km in total)

We woke up to the glorious morning sun of Morioka at good time. Many locals had already come to the park as part of their daily routine starting 5 am. My friend’s mood suffered from a terrible sleep because she was afraid that the missionary would come to pester us again. Indeed, her worse nightmare turned true: we ran into her again at the convenience store that was the nearest to the park. She seemed to have been waiting for us without another lady whom she called a friend.

I slept all night in my car, she told us. I am so moved to see you again; it must have been the protection of [someone or some deity I fail to remember]. [I will let my readers to imagine our reaction at hearing this.]

Having briefly searched last night, based on the documents she gave us, about her religious movement, my appreciation of it was reduced to zero. It’s current full name is 「冨士大石寺顕正会」(Fuji Taiseki-ji Kenshokai), which originated from the Buddhist sect Nichiren Shoshu but has been excommunicated by the later since 1974. Reasons for this decision include, theological / philosophical differences aside, extremely aggressive approach at proselytising non-believers that we have experienced. Also, outsider’s joining this religious group requires being introduced by a member, which raise a red flag for us. It sounds more like a secretive society rather than a welcoming religious sect.

I guess they have so notorious a reputation in Japan and members are under the pressure to recruit newcomers or producing ‘good’ karma (for their own benefits) that they who speak little English should desperately try to speak to foreigners who speak little Japanese in private. Otherwise I don’t understand why the lady should insist so fervently on us joining their service.

A passing note on how we communicate. At the beginning of our encounter, she spoke a mixture of English and Japanese mainly to me (my friend either stood aside or read her smartphone), then as the conversation became lengthier, she used Google to translate sentences into English. The ‘friend’ she brought with, on the other hand, spoke no English and was not very skilled at using modern technology, so was silent most of the time. (Why did she come anyway? Why didn’t the missionary lady stay at her so-called friend’s apartment last night? Are they really friends?)

We gave her the two envelopes back, pretending that the documents were too difficult for us to understand, then bid her farewell without telling her where we will be heading next. We also blocked her on social media so that she could no longer reach us. I feel sorry that for the first time in my life, I have to go so far in a social encounter to prevent myself from being reachable, but for our sanity, I think this is a necessary evil.

Today’s itinerary is full of tributes to the poet and novelist Kenji Miyazawa whose most notable poem 「雨ニモマズ」 I have read in my Japanese literature class. He was born in today’s Hanamaki, 40 km south of Morioka, and spent many years studying in Morioka, hence traces of him are omnipresent in both cities. Another literary figure widely commemorated in Morioka is Takuboku Ishikawa (石川啄木), who was born and raised in Morioka. Knowing him less well, I still went to the museum dedicated to both of them. I don’t pretend to know why a museum should commemorate both of them; my guess is that they are of roughly the same period, and that Ishikawa, who is 10 years older than Miyazawa, has great influence on the latter. Visiting this museum would require Japanese reading competency, because the permanent exhibition does not provide translation for foreigners.

Before heading to Hanamaki, we dropped by a bike shop (Cycle Base Asahi) to make sure that my friend’s bike can endure the journey to at least Sendai, where a Giant store is located. The latter is more likely to carry the parts that are not functioning superbly well. The staff were very nice and waited patiently for us to express ourselves using a mixture of Japanese, English, body language and video recording. We were only charged a symbolic amount of 300 yen for an examination and a tune up, which is the exact opposite of what we were going to find out in Sendai.

My Ortlieb panniers’ hooks have been broken for sometime now. They are still usable but can jump around when I bike through bumpy road. I emailed the German headquarter while still in Hokkaido. They referred me to their Japanese distributor who, after a brief communication through email, sent the replacement parts to a Morioka post office under my name for me to pick up. I put them on and the panniers are good again to go. Very efficient customer service and excellent worldwide guarantee!

At dusk hour, we arrived in Hanamaki without further sight of the missionary lady. First we went to see the gigantic mural depicting Kenji Miyazawa’s Night on the Galactic Railroad, which uses pigments that absorbs ultra-violet light to shine at night. It’s beautiful and awe-inspiring.

Tomorrow, we plan to continue our tribute to Miyazawa by visiting several places related or dedicated to him.

Date

2022-11-15, Tuesday

Distance

41.32 km biked (2046.83 km in total)

One of our hosts is Pauline, an American of full Japanese descent who used to work in San Francisco. Even though she got to Japan only in recent month, she has had past working experience in this country a few years ago as an English teacher. According to her, Japanese people’s mastery of second language is not very good, because they generally lack practice for fear of making mistakes. They tend to understand more than they can speak, and they will insist on speaking Japanese to foreigners despite being able to speak some English.

As a result of growing up in a fairly cultural diverse urban district of United States, Pauline has never experienced particular act of racism that is a major problem in her home country. In Japan, since she looks visually similar and speaks Japanese with a fairly authentic accent (no complicated keigo though), she never feels being treated as a foreigner. She feels at ease calling Japan her second home. I find her case interesting, because Japan has the reputation for being a country that is, for want of a better word, xenophobic — meaning that there is a cultural gap between the native Japanese ingroup and the outgroup composed of resident of foreign origin, however long they might have stayed in Japan already. My classmate who is half Japanese and half French Canadian feels being a different person when she is in Japan, as if living two lives. It’s the first time I heard someone with foreign upbringing claiming to be comfortably integrated into the Japanese society.

Today’s unfolding is mixed with lucky and unlucky happenings. First, we were fortunate to have the broken bike largely fixed at the first bike shop we walked to in the morning. Out of caution, the shop owner recommended getting the part replaced in Morioka if problems re-emerged. On the road, while my friend was slowly gaining control of her bike, a second puncture occurred to the same wheel, probably due to the same tiny pin that we neglected to remove yesterday. Then a third puncture — or explosion to be more accurate — happened right after we finished pumping up the new tube. In total, we have replaced the tube 3 times in 2 days!

Nevertheless, the most unfortunate happening today is without a doubt the re-encounter with the lady we met yesterday. She messaged me to express her desire to see us again, saying that she had something to hand over us. At that time I was still hoping to interact more with the locals, so I happily agreed to meet up with her and her Morioka friend in a tiny restaurant of my friend’s choice. However, during the whole meal her intention remained obscure: she appeared to be wanting to say something but never actually touch the core subject, leaving us guessing what she might been holding. In the end she suggested ‘Why don’t you come with us to have a chat in our car?’ We felt strange that something could not be said under the public’s eyes, so we found an excuse to leave them.

Once we finished pitching our tent in a park, the lady and her friend came again to give us two envelopes containing some documents — part of which written in Mandarin. She asked us to go to a temple (in Morioka) for something I couldn’t quite comprehend, saying that our bike problems were not coincidental but were the consequences of our not following the religious movement she adhered to. If we keep refusing to go with her, she said, we will suffer from worse punishment. Seeing that I wasn’t impressed by her appeal to divine punishment, she switched her tone to start talking about all manner of benefits we would get if we should accept her invitation: becoming healthier and wealthier, etc.

At this point I got vexed, not by her persistence despite my repeated decline, but because all that she’s interested in telling me is bounded to oneself. I feel offended that she should think that all of these self-centric motives are of much importance to me. One of the main reasons why I had harboured much resentment against Christianity until my trans-Canada bike tour is because the (self-claimed) Christians with whom my mother tried to be associated with once upon the time were constantly praying (to their God) for their own success and benefit. That’s not the kind of person I want to be. My giving is — or at least I try as hard as I can to make it so — unconditional. I have no desire to get anything back for myself beside the tremendous gratification I get from serving others.

Upholding a different set of values from that of the lady who now appears to me as a very aggressive missionary, I am utterly incapable of communicating with her. In the end I cut her speech short by saying that I needed to sleep to recover from the fatigue resulting from one-day-long biking. She and her friend finally left.

Then the rain started at night.