Date

2022-11-30, Wednesday

Distance

40.02 km biked (2859.31 km in total)

At just past 5 a.m., we hopped on our bikes to catch the sunrise over Yokohama Port (横浜港), aiming to photograph the early light spilling across the Bay Bridge (横浜ベイブリッジ) and illuminating the iconic Red Brick Warehouse.

After returning to the hotel to pack, our next mission was to pay tribute to a childhood icon: Gundam. We made our way to the Gundam Factory Yokohama, only to find a line already forming outside the gates long before opening.

Seeing the first moving mech of its type up close was absolutely awe-inspiring. During the 12-minute showcase, fans around me filmed with the steady hands of seasoned pros. However, I must confess: while I understand the as-yet physical impossibility for anything mechanical of that dimension and that weight to move fast, I did feel a little bit crestfallen to see the slow movement the full-scale 1:1 Gundam made; it's nothing like the fluidity of the animation. Luckily, the many limited edition merchandise captured my attention, and we were given as vistitor's bonus an assembly kit of this mechanical giant hooked onto the dock.

From Yokohama we headed toward Kamakura. After zigzagging through and getting nearly lost amidst countless tiny streets and narrow pathways hidden in between local residences, we finally got to pay a visit to the Great Buddha — or Kamakura Daibutsu. This majestic bronze statue of Amida Buddha standing over 13 metres was first cast around 1252. It originally sat inside a grand temple hall, which was destroyed by multiple tsunamis and storms, leaving the Buddha exposed to the natural elements. I have always liked visiting shrines and temples, which give me a sense of solemnity and stillness in a world in constant motion.

Our final stop for the day was in Fujisawa, just north of Enoshima, where we checked into a Toyoko Inn. That evening, we wandered over to the famous railway crossing in front of Kamakura High School, the prototype of Shonan High School in Slam Dunk (1990 – 1996) — a pilgrimage spot for anime fans. This coastside location immortalised by the series' opening song in reality is an otherwise ordinary railway crossing near Kamakurakokomae Station. It’s actually on a quite busy stretch of the road, right at the junction of a pathway to the sea — fitting, since Kamakura is also a popular surf town, and surfers riding past on bikes with surfboards slung under their arms abund.

At the crossing, tourists eagerly waited for the gate to descend and the train to come so they could snap their ideal shot with the passing thain. Amid the crowd, a lone policeman hustled tirelessly, up and down the steep hill, whistle in hand, trying to manage both pedestrians and a never-ending stream of cars, scooters, and bikes that squeezed through. I couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for this officer; it was clearly going to be a long shift.

The full take — 50 more photographs from this day

Date

2022-11-29, Tuesday

Distance

42.81 km biked (2819.29 km in total)

In the morning, we had another chat with Diana and Sasha. Given their foreign background, we couldn't help but ask what they thought of Japan — more specifically, if they like living here. Diana burst out laughing and said, 'That’s a complicated question.' They love Japan, but Tokyo itself? 'Tokyo’s a terrible place!' she quipped with a grin.

Her view coincides with our Numakunai host William's view on Japan: They praised Japan’s reliability and safety — attributes that make it ideal for travel — but also spoke candidly about how the culture's many unspoken rules (referred to jokingly as 'ルール' or ruru, with exaggerated hand gestures) can wear them down over time.

However, Diana observes that those rules are more prominent among older generations. In contrast, younger Japanese people, she says, are much more open and connected with the rest of the world, and not nearly as 'shy' — a classic euphemism that's frequently associated with Japanese people.

Still, I think Japanese culture has shaped their lifestyle. Their breakfast? A proper bowl of rice!

Diana noted it took 5 or 6 years before neighbours began to speak to then. Even now, their immediate next-door neighbour remains something of a mystery. Upon our departure, as we were loading our bikes, we heard a door open and a voice call out — only to turn and see the door slam shut. It was almost comically secretive, like something out of a mystery novel.

After saying goodbye, we cycled through Kawasaki and past the Fujiko F. Fujio Museum, aka Doraemon Museum — closed today, unfortunately — and continued toward Yokohama. The contrast in atmosphere between Tokyo and Yokohama was immediately striking. The streets were filled with Chinese and Taiwanese restaurants. The conversations we overheard were loud and spirited — at times, it was hard to tell whether we were listening to Japanese or Chinese languages. The city had a grittier, more working-class energy. The traffic was a little more chaotic, the bikes a bit more daring. For instance, when we arrived in the neighbourhood of Gundam Factory at Yamashita Pier (山下ふ頭) — closed today as well — which prohibits cycling, we found that locals paid no attention to the signs. It felt like the 'no parking' signs we had seen earlier were more of a suggestion than a rule.

By the afternoon, the rain had started falling heavily. Originally, we had planned to camp discreetly in a nearby park, but wet and exhausted, we opted for a low-budget hostel instead — our first unexpected twist of the day.

The hostel, which offered bunk-bed rooms and shared facilities, reminded us of short-term rental apartments. Check-in was incredibly lax — no ID, no contact details, nothing at all — which was quite a departure from our previous experiences in Japan. Surprisingly, the hostel was clean, comfortable, and even offered free hot tea and coffee.

My travel companion, driven by her longstanding obsession with regional food specialties, searched for monjayaki (もんじゃ焼き), a Tokyo-area dish she had long wanted to try. Yokohama, being close by, seemed like a good bet — and we were lucky enough to find a nearby restaurant. It was decided: we would go, rain or not.

As we were walking our bikes, we met an energetic middle-aged woman biker wearing an apron. She struck up a conversation with us, and when she heard the name of the restaurant we were heading to, her face lit up — she was a regular there. This marked our second unexpected twist.

Though she spoke only Japanese and a few words of English, her warmth and enthusiasm crossed all language barriers. She insisted on accompanying us to the restaurant and cheered us on, saying how much she admired our journey. She was also a formidable drinker — her large glass of beer was already half empty by the time we had blinked. She seemed delighted to discover my friend could drink too, and immediately ordered another round (while I stood away from all sorts of alcohol).

Inside, she enthusiastically told the restaurant staff that we were from Taiwan and Canada, currently biking across Japan. She helped us order and explained the different types of monjayaki using animated gestures, sound effects, and exaggerated expressions.

There are generally two main types of monjayaki: one is a mix of various ingredients cooked into a soft, pancake-like mush, often topped with crunchy ramen noodles. The other resembles a takoyaki pizza, cooked until golden and sliced to share. Both were delicious, and the hands-on eating experience made it even more fun. This ended up being one of the most enjoyable meals of our entire trip.

At one point, we asked her why she decided to join us. She paused, poked her forehead (clearly tipsy), and said, '偶然' (guzen) — just a coincidence. She said we gave her a strong first impression. It felt like the timing, the people, the place — all of it lined up perfectly. That sense of serendipity made her want to support us and cheer us on.

Her words were disarmingly sincere. There was no hidden agenda — just a desire to offer kindness, simply because it felt right. Earlier in the day, we were frustrated: soaked by rain, thrown off by closed attractions, and navigating hectic traffic. But now, when I think back on Yokohama, it’s not the rain or the closed museums that stands out. It’s the lady's vibrant laughter, the cheerful '乾杯' (kanpai), and the spontaneous connection we shared. Before we parted ways, she gave us her contact details. In the future, whenever we think of Yokohama, we would remember this rainy night and this casual encounter with her.

Date

2022-11-26 to 28, Saturday to Monday

Distance

3.67 km biked (2776.48 km in total)

After 45 days of cycling, we finally arrived in the mega-city where we dropped by briefly in October: Tokyo! We scheduled 3 rest days to experience all the sights and sounds of this metropolis. It is generally advised for foreigners to avoid biking in the busy streets of Tokyo, so we decided to go around the capital by public transit.

Our Tokyo excursion started with navigating the complex subway system which was run by multiple companies operating different lines and selling different passes. To purchase our all-around 3-day pass, we were stuck for 2 hours underground, waiting in lines and walking between different counters to finally get to the right one.

Once this challenge surmounted, we were facing the intricacy of the planning of the subway lines, which although extensive, were designed in a not so convenient manner in my humblest opinion. To go south-west one often needs to go east a few stations, then transfer to the south line and then west line. I suppose this has something to do with Tokyo's unique geography and topography, as the city is built on a network of rivers and canals, and is surrounded by mountains. Still, it would be easier to navigate if the lines basically follow a rectilinear pattern around the natural obstacles, but in reality they often zig-zag through different neighbourhoods, requiring passengers to make multiple transfers to reach their destination.

On the ground level, streets in Tokyo are clearly designed for motorised vehicles with limited pedestrian-friendly infrastructure, despite the huge pedestrian population in the capital. There are so many intersections that prioritise motorised vehicles and that pedestrians are not allowed to cross, so we often have to make a long detour to the next block, or climb over a pedestrian bridge or descend into a pedestrian tunnel to cross the streets. All of these stairs climbing posed a particular challenge for pedestrians with knee problems and mobility issues. I think walking in Tokyo strains my knees more than cycling across Japan.

Overall, the transportation system in Tokyo is tricky. It takes a lot of time for foreign nationals to navigate through the complex system with many opportunities to get lost or take the wrong train. If you have an appointment, I would recommend adding extra 30 minutes or even an hour to your commute to avoid getting late. After all, you never get bored in Tokyo even if you arrive early. I was told that cycling in the centre of Tokyo is possible — though due to parking issues, still not as convenient as in Montreal — if one gets the hang of it, yet for foreigners who need to constantly consult the map or look for directions, it's not really recommended, as dodging cars and navigating through crowded intersections are no easy feat.

That being said, I was immensely impressed by how disciplined Japanese passengers were. While waiting for the bus / train in such a densely populated urban centre, everyone lines up neatly in silence, minding their own business.

As the 'easiest' Japanese city to travel to, Tokyo holds no particular attraction for me with its iconic landmarks and never-sleeping neighbourhoods that will not disappear within decades. What I long for experiencing are rare opportunities that last only a limited span of time, such as exhibitions.

Speaking of exhibitions, I as a foreign visitor need to complain about the immense frustration caused by Japan's ticket-selling system. There is a myriad of excellent exhibitions in Tokyo year-round, but the system makes it an quasi-impenetrable barrier for foreigners to purchase the tickets at popular venues, be it for Studio Ghibli's permanent exhibition at Studio Ghibli Museum, the Togashi Yoshihiro (冨樫義博) Solo Exhibition at Mori Art Museum, or whatnot. Often than not, tickets are not sold on the spot at the museum entrance, but need to be purchased ahead of the scheduled time of visit. To book a ticket, one may need to go to a local convenience store by physically setting foot on Japanese ground, or if online sale is made possible, one would need to register an account with whatever platform the company chooses to use, which often requires having a Japanese phone number and a Japanese address — but how many foreign nationals would have this information to become qualified buyers? We are lucky in that my friend has a family living in Japan and thus can provide a postal address and a valid phone number. But even so, we still needed to spend an hour or so battling with all the questions posed by the system to finally get our tickets booked. Then the final step is to go to a convenience store to print them. I was told that other foreigners have to rely on proxy service providers to purchase tickets for them (no guarantee that the ticket wouldn't sell out before they booked their spots), often a month in advance, before booking their flight to Japan. What a pain!

After paying Mori Art Museum which is located on the soaring 53th floor two visits — the first time to find out tickets on that day were sold out, the second time to find out tickets need to be purchased online — we finally got to attend the Togashi Yoshihiro Exhibition 'Puzzle' showcasing retrospectively 4 of his major works on the last day of our stay in Tokyo.

For anyone of my generation who grew up with Japanese manga and anime, YuYu Hakusho (1990 – 1994) is a common memory. The more recent Hunter × Hunter (1998 – present) has gained immense popularity amongst the younger generation since the release of the animated adaptation in 2011. Due to Togashi's illness, the manga has been on persistent hiatus on and off for years, so this exhibition provides fans who are eager to read new chapters an unique opportunity to immerse themselves in the creative world of his, thanks to all the original manuscripts, sketches and character designs in display.

Without a surprise, there were a myriad of visitors attending this highly anticipated event. Not only was everyone's entrance time scheduled, going backward against the flow of the visit was prohibited. The number of people looking at a manuscript often extended to two rows. I have never been to an exhibition in the presence of so many enthusiasts that sometimes, I had to pour forth my strength with the wrestling intensity to get out of the vast crowd!

Even though I cannot say to be an ardent fan of Togashi's often violent narrative, I nevertheless see value in his mastery of the art of manga drawing. So I spent a lot of time and energy examining each manuscript attentively, observing with my friend the evolution of his drawing techniques and styles over the years, while others discussed the plot and characters with a particular focus on the story-telling.

We also went to see the last of the series of 3 exhibitions devoted to Sailor Moon (1991 – 1997) franchise, another sensation that had immense impact on the manga and animation industry while I was growing up and that was created by Togashi's wife, Naoko Takeuchi (武内直子). There is a whole Sailor Moon Museum established in 2017 to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the franchise. The museum feels more spacious, as visitors are less dense. It was agreeable to walk around the installations, costumes, life-size figures and memorabilia related to the franchise, although I felt a little crestfallen that most of the illustrations, anime cels, concept arts, were printed reproductions and not original manuscripts, but it was nice to see pre-production materials such as storyboards once in a lifetime, as they were rarely — if ever — made available to the general public.

I have always disliked Sailor Moon's narrative but this doesn't deter me from appreciating its being an anime/manga classic. Also, I came to buy souvenirs for a couple of ardent fans I knew. One type of anime/manga-related merchandise that I really enjoy buying is the 'blind box/bag': says, the product line consists of 10 varieties, each of which is randomly put into a non-transparent box/bag that no one can see through. You randomly pick up a box/bag without knowing what you will get. In Montreal, this type of blind box/bag is often rendered 'not so blind' by importers who purchase a large quantity of such products and sort them by variety after having opened them. This takes away all the fun of randomly drawing a blind box/bag which you need to come to Japan to experience!

We also went to see the exhibition of Noble Farmer (2006 – present) at Tokyo University of Agriculture. This is the second Hiromu Arakawa (荒川弘) exhibition after the one on Silver Spoon (2011 – 2019) in Obihiro we attended. This exhibition is considerably smaller in scope than the Obihiro one, displaying not original drawings but reproductions, which is understandable as this is a lesser known manga series of hers.

While it's true that I am a huge fan of modern-day manga/anime — I do see values in this form of art and think it no less 'noblely' than the tradition — I too am capable of appreciating the more traditional forms of art. One of the memorable visits we had in Tokyo is the Sumida Hokusai Museum dedicated to the ukiyo-e artist Katsushika Hokusai (1760 – 1849). Beside his woodblock print series Thirty-Six Views of Mount Fuji, I was pleasantly surprised to find out his lesser known artworks of various media, such as silk painting, and of different styles that incorporate bold use of colour and unconventional perspective.

As for Tokyo's religious sites, we visited Senso-ji (浅草寺), the oldest Buddhist temple in Tokyo. It didn't disappoint; any casual glance of the site is of great interest. Senso-ji is particularly beautiful during the blue hours when the sun sets and the lights are just up. However, I find Senso-ji heavily tourist-orientated, always crowded and bustling with commercial activities in the adjacent alleys,

We also went to St. Ignatius Catholic Church not for visiting the church but for paying tribute to my favourite Japanese writer Shusaku Endo (遠藤周作, 1923 – 1996). Since 2015, his family tomb has been moved to the vault of this church. I had imagined his final resting place to be easily findable and decorated with flowers and commemorative plaques, but no, there was absolutely nothing special about his family niche that was placed among arrays of columbarium with 3 small plaques showing his, his mother's, and his wife's names. Without the church staff's indication, we wouldn't be able to find it. His resting place is just as humble as the impression he gives me through his writing.

The most unexpected visit we had in Tokyo was an one-hour guided tour inside the National Diet Building (国会議事堂) Originally, we would be pleased with a simple walk around the exterior plaza area, just like what we did for the royal residence, but when we learned that foreign nationals were also permitted to join the guided tour, we immediately booked two spots for ourselves. I was surprised to see that there were quite a few dozen Japanese citizens who came to visit the political centre of the country. Surprised, because in post-modern Japan, the turnout rate is getting lower and lower election by election (it is the case because Japanese politicians tend to originate from a few political clans that intermarry themselves — there is so little diversity among the possible candidates), so I have always considered Japanese citizens somewhat apolitical. Maybe lack of political engagement doesn't deter them from enjoying a visit to a landmark of historical significance?

The building is said to have incorporated Western and Japanese architectural elements, but I saw it as being designed in the Neoclassical style without a hint of Japaneseness. Unlike the European palais of the most sumptuous sort that are often rich in frescoed walls and gilded arches, the interior of the National Diet is sometimes plain, and the spacious hallway and high ceiling hardly ever luxuriously decorated. It is nevertheless graced with variegated marble throughout and occasional carving on the stone and the wood that help to convey a sense of prestige and solemnity. We had a long pause at the House of Representatives Chamber to listen to a presentation which I understood little (at the same time my friend was falling asleep). The seating arrangement for the representatives was marked in bold characters, obviously for visitors to get an easy glimpse of the structure of the legislative chamber.

My friend and I arranged meetups with our respective friends living in Tokyo area during our 3-day stay. My friend reunited with her university classmate whom she hasn't seen in the past 15 years. Now fully integrated into Japanese society, she particularly noted Japanese people's 'shyness' — communication is never direct, but often carried out in a roundabout way through various hints and suggestions, which force her to guess what they mean. She mockingly calls this style of indirect communication 'mediumship'. We also talked about Japanese people's excessive observance of all sorts of rules, which even a new learner of Japanese culture such as I can easily remark on.

My meetup was with 2 of the conversation buddies I met online through my university Japanese courses. It was a joy to see Mina and Kosei in flesh and blood for the first time. Both of them had moved to the Tokyo area for work after graduation from university, embarking on their new lives as full-time employees. Living in a mega-city comes with many challenges, but they also enjoy the vibrant energy and endless variety this metropolis offers. Life has become busier, yet at the same time more exciting too; they have no plan to return to their relatively small hometowns at least for a good stretch of their adult life.

On the last night of our stay in Tokyo, we bid farewell to our generous Chofu hosts and said hello to our Mitaka hosts, who live barely 4 km away down the road. I decided to make this switch because I want to meet as many people as possible during this tour (while my poor companion follows along patiently). Russian nationals by birth, Diana and her partner Sasha have lived in Japan for about a decade. Despite being fluent in speaking Japanese, they still haven't gotten to know their Japanese neighbours who would shun running into them even sporadically. The distinction between insiders and outsiders remains deeply felt in Japanese society, yet they remain positive still in believing that one day they would be allowed to fit in.

While Diana is studying at graduate school, Sasha currently works in downtown Tokyo to where he commutes back and forth by bike. According to him, for one who knows the metropolitan area well enough, biking in Tokyo is feasible though still not a wonderful experience. They are both cyclists who want to start doing longer bike tours, first around Japan, and eventually abroad. Diana signed up for Warmshowers out of curiosity, assuming that no one would come to this quiet outskirt of Tokyo over flashier tourist hubs to stay in the metropolis. To her surprise, my message arrived one day after she had posted her availability: 'I literally woke up to your hosting request!' she laughed. It never ceases to amaze me how a shared passion can help to connect individuals from seemingly unrelated spheres of endeavour in a globe filled with 8 billion people. Of course, our new hosts also lavished upon us all their hospitality by sharing many life stories and observations on Japanese culture from a foreigner's point of view with us. It was an enlightening late night chat with them.

The full take — photographs 1–130 of 259 from these days

The full take — photographs 131–259 of 259 from these days

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.