LINDA’S ARTWORLD

A collection of Linda’s artworks, designs, humanitarian projects and publications where light, space, and mathematical precision intersect.

Category: Japan 2022

Hokkaidō to Kyūshū by bicycle, 10 October – 24 December 2022. 73 days, 4,039 km.

  • Day 64: Osaka

    Date
    2022-12-14, Wednesday
    Distance
    27.35 km biked (3540.84 km in total)

    Our visit to Osaka Castle left me with mixed feelings. The towering keep rising over the stone ramparts still looked every bit the part of a feudal stronghold, yet stepping inside was a different story: the interior had been thoroughly modernised, with elevators and escalators shuttling visitors floor to floor. It felt far more like a museum than a fortress; gone were the medieval traces I had hoped to see.

    The original fortress built by Toyotomi Hideyoshi in the late 16th century was destroyed, then later rebuilt and altered by Tokugawa Ieyasu, only to be destroyed yet again through war and fire. In a sense, Osaka Castle has always been destined to be remade, reimagined, and reinvented — a place of glory and tragedy in equal measure. Perhaps that constant reinvention is part of its allure, making it immensely popular amongst visitors — especially Western visitors who seemed to flock here in droves. To accommodate them, the entire exhibition was presented with full English translations, making this one of the rare historical sites in Japan where we could easily follow along.

    Panels, displays, and animations traced its turbulent history, from its original construction to its later reconstructions. What struck me most was a miniature reproduction of a battle painting: Sanada’s troops clashing with Matsudaira’s forces. Each tiny figure was crafted with such vivid detail that the whole diorama seemed to breathe — a frozen moment of chaos brought to life.

    By the time we wrapped up our castle visit, it was past 4 pm, and the sun had already set. We biked south toward the Nanko terminal, ready to board our overnight sailing to Shinmoji Port in northern Kyushu. There are two sailings a day, and we chose the evening departure — 7:50 pm, arriving the next morning at 8:30 am.

    The wait at the terminal in the dark was long and cold — nearly an hour of standing in the biting harbour wind before the gates finally opened. But the ferry itself more than made up for it. Larger and more imposing than the one we had taken between Hokkaido and Aomori, this Meimon Taiyo Ferry felt like a floating hotel. Cars and containers filled two vast decks while we — the only two cyclists on board — were brought to the side to secure our bikes on the floor. The crew instructed us to lay our bikes flat, strap them in place, and carry only what we needed upstairs.

    Upstairs, the ship revealed its comforts: there was a restaurant, an observation lounge, even a large public bathhouse (to my surprise!) — with all the expected facilities, neatly kept and ready for weary travellers who could soak in hot water while drifting across the Seto Inland Sea, it was a reminder of just how much comfort can be built into even the most utilitarian journey.

    Free Wi-Fi kept us connected and we settled into a shared room with 12 bunk beds. Along the way, the ferry passed under three iconic bridges. I managed to glimpse the brilliantly lit Akashi Kaikyo Bridge, but sleep claimed me soon after. Somewhere between Osaka and Kyushu, I felt the journey shifting into its next chapter.

    The full take — 30 more photographs from this day
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    Ride replay on Relive
  • Day 63: Osaka

    Date
    2022-12-13, Tuesday
    Distance
    33.41 km biked (3513.49 km in total)

    We began our day with a bike ride through the heart of Osaka, heading toward the Nanko Port to sort out ferry arrangements for the next leg of our journey — to Kyushu. Compared to zipping around on foot or by car, moving on two wheels opened up a whole new side of the city. We cut through quiet backstreets, watched neighbourhoods waking up, and stumbled upon city corners we would never have seen otherwise.

    A particular highlight: to cross a major bridge near the port, we had to ascend a four-level, spiralling highway ramp — like biking up a vertical roundabout. Riding up felt like being trapped in some whimsical urban roller coaster. It was oddly thrilling and felt like something out of a Mario Kart course. Who designed these things? A mad genius, clearly. It was hilariously impractical and completely unforgettable.

    In the afternoon, we paid a visit to Sumiyoshi Taisha, one of Osaka’s oldest and most architecturally distinctive shrines. Founded in the 3rd century, it predates even the introduction of Buddhism to Japan. Unlike many shrines that have since incorporated continental influences, Sumiyoshi Taisha has preserved the Sumiyoshi-zukuri (住吉造) style — simple, straight-roofed halls with raised floors and striking vermillion columns. Walking through its gravel paths and crossing the arched Sorihashi Bridge, we felt a calm detachment from the city just beyond the torii gate. There weren’t many visitors during our visit, and the atmosphere was still and dignified.

    Outside the shrine grounds stood a literary monument dedicated to Yasunari Kawabata, Japan’s first Nobel laureate in literature. The monument is inscribed with words from his 1968 Nobel acceptance speech — a meditation on beauty, loneliness, and the Japanese spirit. Kawabata had spent part of his childhood near this area, and his roots in Osaka run deep. Seeing this quiet slab of carved stone at the entrance to one of the country’s oldest shrines somehow made perfect sense — a man of delicate words placed beside a site of timeless ritual.

    Lunch was at a humble local spot called 梅よし (Ume Yoshi), known for its donburi and udon bowls. As we were getting ready to leave, a kind stranger came over to have a conversation with us, and at the end folded us colourful balloon decorations to tie onto our bikes. A small gesture, but one that stayed with us — Osaka hospitality, loud and cheerful.

    By 4 pm, we were back in the city centre to explore the outer grounds of Osaka Castle. The main keep itself, an imposing reconstruction from the 20th century, was about to close for the day, so we saved the full visit for tomorrow, and wandered around the nearby shopping plaza nearby filled with samurai armour replicas, warloard-themed merch, and some anachronistic Edo / Sengoku nostalgia.

    On the way to dinner with my friend’s family, we passed Kawabata’s birthplace, now marked with a small commemorative monument tucked into an otherwise unassuming street. The house itself is long gone, but the site is commemorated by the Osaka City government as the starting point of one of Japan’s most internationally acclaimed literary voices. Kawabata's early life was marked by tragedy — he was orphaned by age 15 — and much of his fiction carries that quiet melancholy. Seeing the monument made the earlier encounter with his words at Sumiyoshi Taisha all the more poignant.

    The last night before we left for Kyushu, we gathered with family and friends for a yakiniku dinner. As my friend and her family were all foodies with refined gastronomical taste, plates of sizzling beef and pork vanished from the grill faster than they could be served. Locals recommended we try Torikizoku, a beloved Osaka chain known for its yakitori skewers — a note we scribbled down for our next visit.

    One thing that really stood out to us in Osaka: the traffic vibe is noticeably looser than in other cities we have ridden through. There’s a certain rough-around-the-edges and freestyle energy. We even spotted a few motorcyclists and cyclists nonchalantly riding in the wrong direction — something unthinkable in Kyoto or Tokyo, as if rules were more of a gentle suggestion here.

    Tomorrow, we return for a proper visit to Osaka Castle before catching the night ferry to Kyushu. The city has already left quite an impression — chaotic, charming, and full of surprises.

    The full take — 18 more photographs from this day
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    Ride replay on Relive
  • Day 62: Uji to Osaka

    Date
    2022-12-12, Monday
    Distance
    39.75 km biked (3480.08 km in total)

    By 6 am, early morning hikers were already passing by our 'campsite' atop Daichiyama. Since our tent and bikes had completely taken over the pavilion, most of them hesitated to come too close, even if they just wanted to enjoy the view. During the time we were packing up, only two groups struck up conversation: a friendly Korean man who had immigrated to Japan, and a lively crew of middle-aged Kyoto aunties whose rich accents and contagious, cackling laughter gave us a hilarious and memorable start to the day.

    After descending the mountain in the crisp morning air, we pedaled quietly through the slowly awakening streets of Uji and made our first stop at Ujikami Shrine — the oldest surviving Shinto shrine at its original location in Japan and part of the UNESCO World Heritage Sites grouped under the Historic Monuments of Ancient Kyoto. Its understated elegance — weathered wooden structures, a mossy stone path, and ancient trees — gave off a sense of timelessness. The shrine’s quietude offered a brief spiritual reset that felt worlds away from all the bustles we had travelled through in this country.

    Just downstream, we visited Uji Shrine, often seen as the spiritual 'younger sibling' to Ujikami. Though smaller and more vibrant in color, it had a charm all its own. The shrine is known for its rabbit motifs, which symbolise good fortune and guidance — you will spot them on ema, omamori (charms), and even carved into the architecture if you look closely. At the time of our visit, we were the only ones there, making the experience feel almost private, like a secret shared between us and the guardian spirits of Uji.

    Only after these quiet moments did we head onto Uji Bridge, its familiar span stretching out beneath the gaze of the ever-poised Murasaki Shikibu statue. The real reason we were so giddy to cross that bridge, though, was far nerdier: although to the average passerby, it’s just a bridge, for fans of Sound! Euphonium, it’s where many iconic scenes occur. I couldn’t resist taking off on my bike in a dramatic, Kumiko-style emotional dash across the span — minus the tears of course, but full of fan spirit. We (or I, rather) also fulfilled our pilgrimage wish to what's known as Kumiko's bench, now actually marked on Google Maps as such. To fans of the series, it’s the place where the main character so often sits to reflect and practises euphonium. In reality, it’s merely an ordinary worn-out wooden bench by the river, but sitting on it somehow made the fictional world feel just a little more real.

    Since my friend had already visited Byodoin Temple a few years ago, she chose to take a rest at a nearby café while I explored this historical site alone. The winter sun cast a crisp, golden light across the temple grounds. The Phoenix Hall shimmered across the pond, its reflection so still and perfect that it looked like a scene held in breath. The garden, though subdued in its winter palette, carried a quiet elegance. But as I walked beneath the bare trellises, I couldn’t help but imagine how breathtaking this place must be in spring, when cascades of wisteria blossoms drape over the scene like veils of violet mist. Even in the absence of flowers, the space carried the echo of seasons past and the promise of beauty yet to come.

    Our main tea pilgrimage in Uji was to Itohkyuemon where we enjoyed our breakfast, and to Nakamura Tokichi Honten, a traditional tea house whose products cannot be ordered online. It’s the kind of place you have to come to Japan for.

    Tonight, we stayed at my friend's aunt's house — a huge relief, considering that trying to camp in Osaka is basically asking for trouble. Lodging is expensive, campsites are nonexistent, and it’s far too easy to end up somewhere sketchy. Thankfully, we had a safe haven waiting for us. Hallelujah!

    Over dinner, we sat down to hammer out the next stage of our trip (i.e. rationally debating with slightly elevated voices). Due to the delay in Hokkaido, we had basically two choices in order to get to Okinawa on time: one, to bike an average of 100 km per day with no rest day until the end of the year; two, to cut our itinerary short. In the end, we agreed to trade money for time by taking a ferry from Osaka. After weighing our limited port options, we finally settled on Shinmoji in northern Kyushu as our landing point — and just like that, the next chapter of our adventure was set in motion.

    The full take — 74 more photographs from this day
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    Ride replay on Relive
  • Day 61: Kyoto to Uji

    Date
    2022-12-11, Sunday
    Distance
    18.70 km biked (3440.33 km in total)

    In the morning, we left the temple where we had spent the night and headed straight for a spiritual classic — Kiyomizu-dera. Its iconic wooden stage, recently reopened after years of careful restoration, was calling. While the city was still asleep, we dared to cycle straight up Kiyomizu-zaka that's normally packed with tourists and quietly stored our bikes in a nearby alley. From there, we slipped into the temple grounds.

    Even in the early hours, waves of tour groups from Southeast Asia and Korea had already begun arriving. Some had claimed the stone steps as a photo stage, posing in perfectly coordinated formations — it felt less like a religious site and more like a scene from a graduation album. Still, the energy was joyful, and I couldn’t help but smile watching everyone enjoy themselves.

    The newly restored stage was breathtaking — the timber was pristine yet blended so seamlessly into its surroundings that it felt untouched. Japan’s craftsmanship in preserving heritage is nothing short of masterful..

    Most of the autumn leaves had already fallen, carpeting the grounds in soft gold. But a few late-blooming maples stood out like crimson jewels, attracting clusters of amateur photographers. Naturally, we joined the crowd of camera-wielding admirers, trying to capture that last flash of fall.

    At the Otowa Waterfall, the queue was impressively long. Instead of just sipping the sacred water, people were guzzling ladle after ladle like it was a spiritual all-you-can-drink buffet. Clearly, wishes were being made with great enthusiasm.

    From Kiyomizu, we continued south to another Kyoto legend — Fushimi Inari Taisha. Yes, we made the full climb to the summit. I had hoped to get that perfect photo of the Senbon Torii, with the vermilion gates winding into the distance and not a soul in sight. But that fantasy dissolved quickly at the start — every time the path seemed clear, someone would round a corner or casually occupy the best framing spot for what felt like hours. The lighting didn’t cooperate either, with the sky mostly overcast.

    But as we ascended further, the crowds began to thin out. Step by step, the noise receded, and soon I found myself in quieter stretches of the trail, where the torii tunnels stood empty — finally giving me the chance to capture that dreamlike, uninterrupted view. Every so often, the sun would break through the clouds, briefly casting warm, golden light onto the sea of vermilion gates. It was stunning — like the whole mountain was holding its breath in those moments. In the end, we laughed it off — before we even realised it, we had reached the top. Maybe that was the divine plan all along.

    Interestingly, there were many teahouses scattered around the mountain. Every few turns, a refreshment stand would appear — almost like they were afraid hikers might get stranded.

    Still, we made it down safely. But the real trial — our personal final boss fight — awaited us that night: Daikichi-yama Observatory, our campsite for the evening. I was on a mission to visit locations featured in the anime Sound! Euphonium, and the night view from this very spot was one of them. So, we committed to camping there.

    We did not, however, expect the path up to be so brutal. It wasn’t a trail — it was a chaos of tight switchbacks, loose gravel, and slippery carpet of dead leaves. Riding was impossible, so we pushed our bikes in the dark, headlamps flickering, wheels bumping against rocks, gears clanking like some mismatched army marching toward madness. It was one of those moments you only survive through stubbornness … and a bit of swearing.

    Earlier in the day, after visiting Fushimi, we made a quiet stop at the Kyoto Animation arson site to honour the memories of the victims. The building is gone now — the area looks like an ordinary residential neighbourhood — but standing there, knowing what had happened, hit me hard. It was humbling to pause and reflect on all the beauty this studio had brought into the world. A quiet, heavy moment — in stark contrast to the rest of the day’s vivid energy. How much both beauty and pain can shape a city.

    The full take — 109 more photographs from this day
    Kyoto to Uji — photograph 1 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 2 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 3 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 4 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 5 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 6 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 7 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 8 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 9 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 10 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 11 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 12 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 13 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 14 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 15 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 16 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 17 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 18 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 19 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 20 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 21 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 22 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 23 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 24 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 25 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 26 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 27 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 28 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 29 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 30 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 31 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 32 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 33 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 34 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 35 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 36 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 37 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 38 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 39 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 40 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 41 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 42 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 43 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 44 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 45 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 46 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 47 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 48 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 49 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — video 50 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 51 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — video 52 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 53 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 54 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 55 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 56 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 57 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 58 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 59 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 60 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 61 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 62 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 63 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 64 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 65 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 66 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 67 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 68 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 69 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 70 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 71 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 72 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 73 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 74 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 75 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 76 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 77 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 78 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 79 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 80 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 81 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 82 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 83 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 84 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 85 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 86 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 87 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 88 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 89 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — video 90 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 91 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 92 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 93 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 94 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 95 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 96 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 97 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 98 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 99 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 100 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 101 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 102 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 103 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 104 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 105 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 106 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 107 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 108 of 109 Kyoto to Uji — photograph 109 of 109
    Ride replay on Relive
  • Day 60: Kyoto to Kyoto

    Date
    2022-12-10, Saturday
    Distance
    36.20 km biked (3421.63 km in total)

    I bounced out of bed at 5 am and ran off to Arashiyama on the other side of the city to photograph the famed bamboo grove embedded in the hushed magic that only dawn could offer. The streets were still asleep, quiet and empty, save for the occasional whir of a car or two — Kyoto at this hour felt like a secret: an ancient city holding its breath.

    By the time I reached the entrance of the bamboo grove, there was no one else in sight. It was silent — eerily so. The kind of silence that isn’t just the absence of human noise, but the presence of something older, deeper. It's not entirely devoid of any sound, as I could sense the quiet rustle of wind against the towering green stalks swaying gently overhead, producing a hollow, melodic sound.

    After the initial darkness, light started to filter through the dense canopy in pale, slanted shafts. Photographing the grove at that hour wasn’t just about capturing the light — it was about honouring the quiet. The grove transforms at dawn into something sacred, almost unreal. No crowd, no chatter — just that quiet rhythm of breath and shutter click. I didn’t feel like I was taking photos so much as trying not to disturb something ancient.

    As the night progressively loosened its grip, a few visitors began to arrive on site. It felt like the forest itself had just woken up. So had I. Standing bathed in dawnlight and shadow, I felt profoundly still — and wildly awake.

    After this memorable photo shoot, I rejoined my friend to officially launch a day of travel. We first dropped by Ippodo, the venerable tea shop tucked away in central Kyoto since 1717. Inside, the air was rich with the earthy aroma of green tea. We browsed the beautifully packaged teas, and ended up picking up a few tins exclusively sold at this store.

    From there, we made our way to a busy shopping centre that was hosting a limited-time Haikyu!! POP-UP Store. The contrast was almost comical: from the hushed reverence of tea culture to the high-energy chaos of anime fandom. Even before the doors opened, a small line of fans had already formed. Inside, the space was decked out with life-size standees of the series’ beloved volleyball players, vibrant banners, and displays showcasing exclusive merchandise. Limited-edition keychains, acrylic stands, team-themed apparel filled the shelves. I lit up like a kid in a candy store, snapping up a few prized items and trying my luck at getting blind bags — although I didn't get the characters I was hoping for my Japanese tutor, I had great fun.

    Our lunch made us equally swept up in the thrill — our unagi wish was finally fulfilled with a lunch of grilled eel at Nishiki Market. This time, we found ourselves in one of Kyoto’s traditional covered shopping alleys, where only pedestrians are allowed. The alley was narrow, and packed shoulder-to-shoulder with people; everywhere I looked, it was just a bobbing sea of heads as far as the eye could see. Lined on both sides with shops selling everything from skewered seafood to roasted tea and handmade sweets, the market pulsed with the energy of locals and tourists alike. Kyoto in shiwasu (師走, the year-end rush) was absolutely rocking.

    Then we headed to Shimogamo Shrine. Just before it stood Kawai Shrine that is dedicated to the most beautiful deity in Japanese mythology. Yes — that’s exactly how it’s described. The place was packed with women praying for beauty, buying omamori charms and face-shaped ema called kagami ema. There was even a special room where they could color in the ema — it’s believed that the more beautifully you decorate the face, the more likely your wish will come true. The ema wall was quite the sight — rows upon rows of hand-painted faces, some so artistic you couldn’t help but admire them … and some that made you wonder if they were sincere or meant as curses. One even had a full beard — were they serious!?

    Shimogamo Shrine, in contrast, felt more traditional. There were plenty of well-dressed families, as well as young women in furisode kimono, all making their way through the golden forest paths of the shrine grounds. It was stunningly picturesque. The forest trail was also filled with artists sketching the scenery — how I wish I could have the leisure to draw in this location!

    Our afternoon was spent at Ginkaku-ji, the Silver Pavilion, and its surroundings including the Philosopher's Path, a stone-paved walkway that follows a gentle canal lined with cherry trees. Though bare in winter, the branches etched clean silhouettes against the sky. Small cafes peeked out from side streets, pedestrians strolled along the canal in quiet chatter, adding a bit of liveliness to this otherwise meditative scene.

    Compared to the dazzling Golden Pavilion, Ginkaku-ji felt quieter, more refined — a place that didn’t need to impress, only to invite. We strolled through the gardens slowly, watching the interplay of shadow and light on moss, stone, and pine. This place has a kind of spiritual stillness — not just because they are ancient, but because their gardens were created with such pure intention to calm the souls. I think part of what makes them so powerful is that they were designed not to overwhelm, but to calm.

    Tonight, we stayed at the home of my Japanese teacher's friend, who's also one of my conversation buddies and who, as it turns out, lives in a temple. Their family temple, Daizen-in, is a branch of Bukko-ji, founded in 1324. According to Google, Daizen-in has a long and distinguished history, and our host confirmed it was indeed very old. However, neither her husband or her was ordained; they both have full-time jobs elsewhere. Currently, the temple is in the charge of her father-in-law who's a monk. We had the rare chance to tour the temple’s main hall and even shared some strange religious encounters we had experienced along the road — much to her amusement.

    She mentioned that every morning at 6 am, Bukko-ji holds an open breakfast session paired with a recitation of Buddhist scriptures. It’s free and open to the public — a peaceful way to start the day, usually ending by 8 am. Definitely something worth trying if you are ever curious.

    The full take — 106 more photographs from this day
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  • Day 59: Maibara to Kyoto

    Date
    2022-12-09, Friday
    Distance
    69.24 km biked (3385,43 km in total)

    Last evening, we arrived at the Omi Haha-no-Sato roadside station, located along the shores of Lake Biwa. There, we found a covered shelter that made for an ideal spot to pitch our tent. Conveniently, there was even a power outlet tucked into one corner, perfect for charging our devices. The restroom wasn’t a high-tech Japanese smart toilet, but it was clean and functional — all in all, a solid overnight camping spot.

    At dawn, true to habit, I rose early to photograph the surroundings. The sheer size of Lake Biwa struck me, as did the stillness of its waters — a mirror of morning calm that seemed to promise a scenic and tranquil ride ahead.

    And what a ride it was.

    As we headed southwest toward Kyoto, we followed the Lake Biwa Cycling Road, which turned out to be the most comfortable cycling experience we have had since arriving on Honshu. The cycle path was clearly marked, wide, smoothly paved, and running nearly level with the adjacent roads without any annoying bumps or jarring level changes. Better yet, it didn’t require constant road crossings or detours to stay on track. The route was blissfully free of foot traffic, allowing us to ride uninterrupted while soaking in the serene view of Japan’s largest freshwater lake that stretched endlessly to our right.

    While most cyclists tackle the loop counterclockwise, we were heading clockwise toward Otsu and Kyoto. The downside? We missed the iconic torii gate floating on the lake — a minor regret, but not enough to dampen our spirits. We had other highlights planned. One of them was a stop at Omi Jingu, a shrine near Otsu that holds a special place in the world of karuta (a traditional Japanese poetry card game). It's the venue for the annual competitive karuta championships, which inspired the Chihayafuru manga and anime — a holy place of pilgrimage for fans.

    Next to the shrine is the Omi Kangakukan (近江勧学館), a cultural and educational facility dedicated to promoting the karuta heritage. There, we stumbled upon a delightfully nerdy bonus: a small exhibition space adorned with life-sized cardboard cutouts of Chihayafuru characters, tatami mats laid out for demo matches, and exclusive merchandise I had been looking forward to. These displays related to the centuries-old cultural tradition instantly transported me into the world of poetic duel.

    This evening, we had a hotel reservation in Kyoto’s Sanjo-dori, but to get there from Otsu meant crossing a modest mountain. Google Maps, ever ambitious, guided us onto an old trail. What began as a quiet climb turned into an off-road descent, complete with loose stones, dirt, and steep inclines that were downright unreasonable for loaded touring bikes.

    It was the kind of trail that made you question your life choices mid-way through. But having already climbed halfway, turning back wasn’t really an option. So we grit our teeth, clenched the brakes, braced ourselves, and bombed down the slope — part terrified, part exhilarated, all the while telling ourselves that if we crashed, at least we had travel insurance.

    Miraculously, we made it to the main road unscathed.

    Back on asphalt, hearts still racing, we were welcomed into Kyoto’s quiet, misty evening. It felt like we had time-traveled — stepping off an ancient stone-paved overgrown path and tumbling straight back into the modern world aglow with retro-style street lamps and Christmas lights. We pedaled slowly along the road, and I knew we were approaching the city centre when familiar Kansai accents began floating through the air.

    The city was cloaked in its signature elegance — glowing antique lanterns flickering along the streets, people wrapped in winter coats or traditional kimono strolling around, and rows of wooden machiya townhouses stretching into the dusk. Compared to Tokyo’s kinetic pulse, Kyoto felt timeless. Deliberate. Composed.

    Rolling into town by bike offered a perspective few tourists ever experience. We passed the edges of neighbourhoods not built for postcards — corner stores closing for the day, hand-painted shop signs, narrow lanes that never make the guidebooks.

    As night fell, I realised: We hadn’t just arrived in Kyoto. We had earned our way in — one pedal stroke, one poem, one miscalculated mountain trail at a time — tired, a little muddy, but deeply, undeniably alive.

    And that made all the difference.

    The full take — 40 more photographs from this day
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  • Day 58: Kaizu to Maibara

    Date
    2022-12-08, Thursday
    Distance
    44.25 km biked (3316.19 km in total)

    For anyone into such Japanese role-playing games as Nobunaga's Ambition, visiting the site of the Battle of Sekigahara is probably a dream come true (though in this case, it was more my friend’s dream than mine). Fought between Tokugawa Ieyasu's Eastern Army and Ishida Mitsunari's Western Army, this battle is widely considered the end of the chaotic Sengoku period and the beginning of the Tokugawa shogunate, which would rule Japan for over 250 years.

    Sure, we were not riding warhorses like the samurai of 1600, yet riding our 'iron steeds' through this historic mountain pass felt like a decent substitute. Just imagining that we were crossing the very ground where some 160,000 soldiers once clashed in a chaotic battle was enough to get our adrenaline going — maybe even a bit too much.

    The weather couldn’t have been more fitting: overcast skies, drifting mountain mist — the whole Sekigahara Valley had an atmosphere soaked with drama. It felt as though the ghosts of the samurai were still whispering through the winds. Sekigahara is nestled in a bottleneck between Kansai and Chubu regions, and its terrain — broad plains framed by low hills and mountains — makes it a natural battlefield, ideal for a confrontation of such magnitude.

    At the time of our visit, modern Sekigahara is — thankfully — a peaceful rural town. The historical site is surprisingly neat and tidy. In truth, the site of the actual final clash is marked by little more than a modest signboard, which didn’t exactly convey the scale or emotion of what happened here. Still, shops nearby gave it some flair by flying flags bearing the crests of the feudal clans.

    We stopped by the Sekigahara Town History & Folklore Museum, which turned out to be more crowded than expected — mostly older visitors, perhaps reliving long-passed NHK taiga dramas. I couldn't help but wonder: has the Sengoku period fallen out of favour with younger generations? Or was it never really popular to begin with? I spent a good amount of time looking through the merchandise to pick a few to carry with me on the road.

    Unfortunately, the Sengoku Road was closed for maintenance, so we had to take National Route 21 to get through the area. Honestly, after training through the mountainous climbs of Hakone, the gentle rise of Sekigahara Pass didn’t feel particularly daunting — just a gentle incline on an otherwise pleasant ride toward Lake Biwa.

    Cycling through Sekigahara may not offer the terror of charging into a battle, but it delivers something richer: the feeling of riding through history. You can almost hear the clash of swords and the cry of banners fluttering overhead — until you are passed by a local in a kei car, reminding you it’s 2025. Still, for a brief moment, time folds in on itself. And I will take that kind of time-travel any day.

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  • Day 57: Nagoya to Kaizu

    Date
    2022-12-07, Wednesday
    Distance
    35.48 km biked (3271.94 km in total)

    After a night of sound sleep at our hosts', we were served traditional Japanese breakfast — eggs, miso soup, rice, grilled fish, and pickles. Their kindness left us both nourished and humbled. With our spirits high and the winter sun rising over Nagoya, we set out for our first destination of the day: Nagoya Castle, one of Japan’s most iconic historical landmarks.

    While the castle complex is grand and well-maintained, it's important to note that much of what stands today is a reconstruction. The original structure was heavily damaged during World War II, and the current buildings were rebuilt in the postwar years using historical records and preserved diagrams. Compared to some of the more lavish, theme park-like reconstructions in China, Nagoya Castle’s revival feels more restrained — though still, something of the elusive patina of age feels missing.

    The tenshu (天守, the main keep) was closed to visitors during our visit; this was a bit of a letdown. I had hoped to climb to the top for a panoramic view of the city. Still, the surrounding grounds offered some compensations. We explored the Honmaru Palace and other buildings. The interiors revealed an elegant world of polished wood, sliding screens, and rooms adorned with opulent golden wall paintings. Scenes of cranes, pine trees, and cherry blossoms filled the halls with timeless symbolism.

    In the Ninomaru Garden, we stumbled upon what seemed to be a seasonal installation blending contemporary art with the peak of autumn foliage. Sculptures scattered among the crimson maples were not something I expected in a historic setting, but it worked — and left me ponder how different eras of expression can coexist on the same soil.

    By late afternoon, we were back on the road, pedaling westernward out of Nagoya and toward Gifu Prefecture. Our goal was a roadside station where we would spend the night. Tomorrow, we will continue our pilgrimage toward Sekigahara — the historic battlefield that once decided the fate of Japan. The thought of treading that legendary path filled me with a sense of anticipation.

    Before calling it a day, we marked a small celebration of our own. At a quiet corner of the roadside station, we unwrapped a couple of belated birthday cakes for my friend. They were a gesture of appreciation to recognise the passing of time on this long road we are taking together.

    For now, we sleep. Tomorrow, we walk into legend.

    The full take — 85 more photographs from this day
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  • Day 56: Shirasuka to Nagoya

    Date
    2022-12-06, Tuesday
    Distance
    97.86 km biked (3236.46 km in total)

    Shiomizaka Roadside Station is technically located on a national highway where bikes are not allowed, but thankfully there are agricultural pathways that provide alternate access. Soon after our arrival, we were able to find a rain shelter to claim as our base.

    Takeshima Island wasn’t far from there. We rode along the coastline, and soon a little island connected to the mainland by a graceful white arched bridge came into view. The spot was popular — a stream of people crossed the bridge from the seaside park to visit the shrine. What makes this place extra interesting is the deity enshrined here: Benzaiten, goddess of fortune, music, and wisdom.

    The trail leading up to the shrine was lined with stone markers engraved with donors’ names and their contributions: 100 yen for a small stone, 1,000 yen for a medium one, and even a whopping one million yen for a massive one! It was like watching wealth stacked up along the path from the foot of the hill to the very top. Truly, Benzaiten’s shrine was built on literal mountains of fortune.

    By evening, we rolled into Nagoya and met up with our Warm Showers hosts: Tappei and his wife. Both of them have been avid cyclists since their university days, where their shared passion for biking first brought them together. Their little yet cozy dwelling was a haven for cycle enthusiasts, with several bikes of different kinds neatly mounted on the wall and tucked into corners. Tappei, who had touring experience in the United States, resonated with my stories of spontaneous encounters on the road. When I asked if local strangers had approached him during his travels in the West, he smiled and said, 'All the time.' Our hosts were incredibly kind and generous — offering their space and time without expecting anything in return. A beautiful reminder of the cycling community’s spirit of trust and openness.

    At night, I met up with Juri, a Japanese conversation buddy whom I had connected with through my university language course and who is currently living in the suburb of Nagoya. We started the night with dinner at a cozy local restaurant, where we chatted over warm dishes in a mix of English and Japanese. Juri, who studied international relations with a focus on the refugee crisis in Myanmar, shared her thoughts on the issue and her future life projects. When I mentioned that I had connected with Mina and Kosei in Tokyo, her eyes widened with envy — she too missed them! It was one of those nights where language learning met real-life connection — simple, lively, and unforgettable.

    Afterward, we wandered through downtown Nagoya, which has a vibe similar to other major cities — bustling, fast-paced, and festive with twinkling Christmas lights in the air. Before saying goodbye, we promised to meet again, whether in Japan or Canada. Around us, the city felt both exhilarating and intimate — a mix of holiday cheer, bustling storefronts, and the quiet magic of a cross-cultural friendship.

    The full take — 28 more photographs from this day
    Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 1 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 2 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 3 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 4 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — video 5 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — video 6 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 7 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 8 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 9 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 10 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 11 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 12 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 13 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 14 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 15 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 16 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 17 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 18 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 19 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 20 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 21 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 22 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 23 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 24 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 25 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 26 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 27 of 28 Shirasuka to Nagoya — photograph 28 of 28
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  • Day 55: Utsunoya to Shirasuka

    Date
    2022-12-05, Monday
    Distance
    97.29 km biked (3138.60 km in total)

    Today’s ride took us out of Shimada City, up into the hills and through several quiet, historical sites. One stop was the entrance to the Suwa-no-hara Castle Ruins (諏訪原城跡), an old mountaintop fortress. We didn't venture into the site, but paused briefly to read the information signboard. These hills are full of folk tales, and one that stands out is the legend of the Night-Weeping Stone (夜泣石) which recounts a rock crying at night.

    Just downhill from the ruins, we stumbled across a long-established local sweet shop called Koizumiya (小泉屋). Founded in 1751, the shop is famous for its speciality kosodate-ame (子育飴, literally 'child-raising candy'), tied to the legend of the Night-Weeping Stone, and still hand-made using traditional techniques. We couldn’t resist stopping in for a break — and were pleasantly surprised to find a pot of delicious oden waiting for hungry travellers like us.

    In the prefecture of Shizuoka which is responsible for about 40% of Japan's green tea production, hill slopes are blanketed with tea plantations as far as the eye can see. Even small plots behind individual homes are often turned into rows of tea bushes. At nearly every roadside station in this region, we would find shelves stacked with locally grown sencha, all proudly labelled with regional provenance.

    As we pedalled through town after town, one thing kept catching our attention — something that would feel remarkable elsewhere, but seems completely ordinary in Japan: young schoolchildren walking alone on the sidewalks in their little uniforms and classy randoseru backpacks. There were no adults hovering nearby — just confident little footsteps. It’s one of those quiet testaments to how safe Japan is, especially in the countryside. In many parts of the world, letting kids walk unsupervised along a busy roadside would raise eyebrows — or alarms. But here, it’s simply part of everyday life. Seeing that sense of trust and community gave us a bit of hope in a world embroiled in conflicts and troubles.

    By evening, we reached Hamamatsu City, but still had some time before the roadside station where we planned to stay would be staffless for us to pitch our tent overnight. Plus, today was a special occasion — my friend's birthday! — the perfect excuse to treat ourselves to a proper dinner. Our choice? An all-you-can-eat yakiniku celebration.

    We scouted a few options along the route, but in the end, the most convenient along our route turned out to be Gyu-Kaku (牛角), a chain restaurant also familiar to my friend from Taiwan. With 90 minutes on the clock, the two of us managed to hit our third round of orders within just 30 minutes. The pace was so intense that a second staff member had to jump in — two young servers tag-teaming our table, bringing drinks, switching out the grill plates, and racing back and forth to keep up with our carnivorous momentum. Amused and deeply satisfied, we were having a blast.

    After stuffing ourselves silly, we cycled onward to Chomiezaka Roadside Station in Shirasuka where we discovered — too late — that there was a foot onsen on-site. Sadly, it was already closed for the night. No matter. Tomorrow is another big day, with plans to visit Takeshima Island and the majestic Nagoya Castle.

    We will also be staying at a local Warm Showers host’s home in Nagoya. Who knows what stories the next stop will bring?

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