Yuki-san and The Tree

This post is a fictitious entry from the diary of Yuki-san, who picked me up on the way to the town of Biei. The events are real but it’s written by me – it’s my attempt at her perspective.

Dear Diary:

Today was so exciting! It was my second day traveling in Hokkaido and you won’t believe it – I picked up a Canadian hitchhiker!

I saw him in the distance wearing a big, blue backpack. The next thing I knew my foot was on the brake and I was slowing down. It must have been fate! Two travellers crossing paths, but only one with transportation – yes, dear diary, I have rented a beautiful, white, Toyota Fielder. Check it out! Cool, right?!

I stopped, rolling down my window as the hitchhiker said hello in Japanese. He looked super cool with his sunglasses on. He looked like Bruce Willis.

I introduced myself as Yuki because I think my family name is difficult for foreigners to say. I asked him to join me and of course, he agreed. Why wouldn’t he? As a hitchhiker, I believe that is is singular purpose!

He got in the car beside me. We both wore big smiles. You know how excited eyes can glisten, dear diary? I believe mine were gleaming like stars. I had a travel companion! I remembered the English word, adventure, and I yelled it out loud as I accelerated.

“Ado-ben-chaa!”

David laughed – oh yes, I should mention, he told me his name was David – like David Beckham! He called himself “Dave” and I told him that in Japanese it sounds like de-bu, which means “fat.” He acted offended, but I’m pretty sure he was kidding about that. Anyway, I called him David after that.

Oh, dear diary, you know how I can carry on sometimes. I think I talked for twenty minutes straight. I told him about my hairdressing job in Aichi, a recent history of my annual vacations, even the air-miles I used to get here! David grinned a lot and tried to make jokes. I believe that trying to be funny is more important than actually being so. Most likely, David shares this opinion.

I told him that he looks like Bruce Willis. He disagreed and suggested that perhaps all white people look the same to me, but no, no I’m right about this.

I was happy to find that David spoke a fair amount of Japanese. He still used his dictionary a lot though, even for simple words like “wheat” and “taxes.” He tried to speak some English with me but I got a bit embarrassed and changed the subject. Anyway, we had an adventure to discuss!

My goal for the day was to find a tree. Of course, it was not just any tree – it’s quite famous and I had come a long way to see it, so David had no choice in the matter. We were off to find the tree. Of course, I asked him if it was ok, but I was not prepared to take ‘no’ for an answer. I locked the doors just in case.

I handed him a map and asked him to navigate.

David is kind of funny, but he is not a good navigator. We ended up on a road that got more and more narrow until it wasn’t a road anymore. He kept saying, “No, I think this is right.”

He taught me a fun English phrase: the scenic route. Diversions are fun! We found some very scenic wheat!

Eventually, we found the tree. I explained to David that it’s famous because it was in a TV commercial. He said “Oh, that makes perfect sense.” He looked in his dictionary but found no translation for the word ‘sarcasm.’ What do you think it means, dear diary?

I photographed the tree endlessly from every possible angle, but this one is the best. Majestic! I can’t wait to show my friends back home.

I dropped David off in Furano, the beautiful town of lavender. I told him to have some lavender-flavoured ice cream. I hope he does!

He told me he plans to hitchhike all the way back to Tokyo. I advised him to check his compass and maps often. His directional handicap worries me a little.

Well, in summation, dear diary, today was one of the best days of my life. I met a cool hitchhiker who looks like Bruce Willis and shares a name with David Beckham. And oh, that tree! Such noble and dignified majesty! Yes, I believe my life is complete.

“So, why did you pick me up?”

Hitchhiking is rare in Japan (even more than in Canada) and for many drivers, I was the first one they’d picked up. For others, I was the first they’d ever seen. Answers to the question, “What made you decide to pick me up?” were interesting and varied.

Some people were complimentary:

“You have a good, handsome face.”

“You seem like a cool guy.”

“You looked friendly.”

Others had hoped to spare me from various perceived discomforts:

“You looked cold.”

“You looked hot.”

“You looked wet.”

“You looked lost.”

And many others gave answers that just can’t be categorized:

“It seemed like I was in a movie.”

“You’re tall, and easy to see.”

“I saw you and thought, the longer I spend helping a hitchhiker, the less time I have to spend with my annoying wife.”

My next driver, Daisuke-san, picked me up because he was lonely.

“I moved here recently for work,” he explained. “I don’t have any friends nearby.”

“How far are you going?” I asked.

“Well, I was on my way to buy some shoes, but I’ll take you as far as you need.

That’s what I call a win-win.

Nayoro

Maybe it was just a coincidence, or perhaps some kind of benevolent guiding spirit influenced my fate, but I showed up in Nayoro just in time to check out Takeshi and Makoto’s university festival (remember the posters from the Mission?).

The food vendors were all university students, but they might as well have been Bangkok cabbies battling for my attention. I suspect that it had something to do with my race, which often gave me an undeserved (but not entirely unwelcome) celebrity status in Japan. The students hounded me until I’d eaten about 15 plates of yakisoba, yakitori, takoyaki, and all kinds of other delicious Japanese festival fare. I topped it all off with ice cream. Yes, my life is rich.

While I ate, I planned my escape from the food tents. It would not be easy. With determination and focus, I strode quickly away from the tents, complimenting the students on their cooking accomplishments as I passed.

“Eat more!” they cried, but I ignored them.

“Come back!” they yelled, but I played deaf.

I did not share their interest in slowly killing me with hot, delicious karaage.

My escape landed me in the audience of a comedy show, which I’m sure was funny if you’re fluent in Japanese. I was better able to appreciate the second act of traditional dancing, complete with flags, drums, and elaborate costumes.

By the end of the day I was exhausted from all the eating and didn’t want to go back to my campsite to sleep in the rain. A stroke of luck sat me beside Yuri, who offered me a place to stay for the night. She invited some friends over and we took turns killing zombies in a subtitled version of Biohazard for Xbox. Who’s too old for a video game sleepover? Not this guy.

In the morning, I must regretfully report, my masculinity took a big hit, as I was convinced to try a favourite Japanese activity known as purikura. Yuri told me to be as ‘cute’ as possible. I hesitate to post this picture, but see below for the unfortunate results of my first foray into modeling.

Now listen here, reader – instead of thinking less of me for participating, be impressed that it took more than a year in Japan for me to get roped into the extremely popular activity (very few boyfriends in Japan have the option of saying no). Also, I can’t help but think that the cameras were somehow mis-calibrated to produce the creepy, pale, ghost-faces you see in the photos.

It was time to hit the road again, but it was nearing noon so Yuri and her friend made some lunch, sending me off with a full stomach. Thanks, girls.

Today, I Smelled of Oil

I stood beside the large, hot, pool of water, wondering whether I should enter. My hesitation stemmed from the shimmer of oil covering much of its surface and its strong sulphuric smell. A man near me guessed my dilemma and was happy to offer advice.

“Go on, get in. It’s ok, it’s healthy. The oil is good for your skin.”

The colourful, fluid shapes on the water’s surface danced around my legs as I dipped them into the water. I sat down and began to relax, imagining the oil’s therapeutic qualities rejuvenating my skin. The other bather joined me and we chatted for a bit, but he seemed to fall asleep during our conversation. I’d had enough of my oil bath anyway and got out to shower off. I lathered twice but still left smelling like a gas station.

My next driver took me to a local reindeer farm for the simple reason that he loves reindeer. I hoped he didn’t notice the scent of crude oil I’d been emanating since the bath.

Back on the pavement, I came across a bicycle gang of junior high school girls. I saw them sizing me up so I took a risk and asked them about local places to stay the night. They giggled a lot but eventually pointed me in the direction of camp mosquitoville.

It seems that in Hokkaido, there’s just no escaping these suckers. Amazingly, I suffered not a single bite. Maybe that oil did some good after all. Anyone up for a vacation in the Gulf?

Booze and Business

You may have noticed that, for an Epic Hitchhiking Journey, the last week or so was a little light on the actual hitchhiking. After days of traveling by ferry and on foot, it was time to hit the road once more. Time to outstretch my weathered, sunburnt, hitchhiker’s thumb to the wild world of overpasses, underpasses, highways, and byways.

I was picked up by three business men in a Toyota. The car ride was notable mainly for the awful condition of the three men, who were loudly suffering at the mercy of a universal malady with many different names – futsuka-yoi in Japanese – to us English speakers, the hangover.

The topic of their conversation never moved far from their various complaints of headaches, stomach-aches, bruises, and nausea – all resulting from the prior night’s requisite session of binge drinking. They’d successfully managed to entertain some business clients, who’d moved much closer to a deal as a result of the prior night’s debauchery.

“It’s all part of doing good business,” explained one of the three, though no explanation was necessary. Japanese business without drinking is like golfing with no clubs. Evidence of this phenomenon can be found on any night of the week, in virtually any urban location, where dozens of men in suits stumble home or just pass out in public. Favourite resting places include park benches, train cars, and the classic sidewalk / street curb combination.

Now, I’m all for respecting individual choices and generally try to avoid casting judgement, but I see a big difference between drinking because you want to and drinking because you must. To me, the idea that alcohol poisoning equates to good business strategy is questionable at best, but in Japan, the practice is apparently not up for debate. It just is.

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“Drink up, now, Takashi. My promotion within this fine company we work for depends on our ability to impress these clients with our red faces and increasingly loud voices. Haha, isn’t karaoke fun? Let’s order another round of drinks, eh, Takashi!

“And look! Look over there, they’re signing the contract! Let’s celebrate, Takashi. Have another one. Down the hatch, ‘atta boy! You’ll do well in this business, I can tell. I can remember when I was your age, still learning how to get shitfaced with clients so that we could forgo the crippling customs and awkward formal speech required of us during those dreadful, sober, daytime meetings. Now where are my shoes? I know they were around somewhere … Maybe I left them on the street behind the restaurant, where I vomited that second time. Oh, damn, how long ago did my last possible train home leave? Christ, my wallet is empty! How much did I spend on booze tonight?

“Oh, Takashi, look at me, I’m a wreck! How do you think my long term health is looking in light of my alcohol abuse? How is it affecting my family relationships and my son’s image of proper conduct? How will my wife react when she finds out I had to pay for yet another hotel – not because I’m out of town, but because of a pressing need to join other grown men in karaoke boxes bellowing 1980s children’s anime songs for the third time this week? I’m a god-damned mess. You need to set me straight! Get me some help. Show me the path to sobriety!“

“I’m sorry Mr. Kato, I’m afraid I can’t do that. The next round of drinks just arrived. Besides, you’re talking nonsense. Drink up.”

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How To Be A Good Samurai Warrior

Hagakure is a book based on the teachings of a famous Samurai named Yamamoto Tsunetomo, a man with many opinions on how a good and honourable Samurai should conduct himself.

At a library in Japan I discovered that these interesting bits of 18th century wisdom have been translated into English. I spent some time reading and made two lists:

Samurai Advice With Which I Agree

1. Be humble and look for good role models.
2. Don't yawn or sneeze in front of people and always keep a clean appearance.
   
3. Don't treat people coldly or harshly even if you're busy.
   
4. Don't rely too much on others.
   
5. Encourage bravery in kids; they should fear neither darkness nor lightening.
   
6. Write letters thoughtfully, as though the recipient will make them into a hanging scroll.
   
7. Quickly correct your mistakes and don't talk behind the backs of others.
   
8. Always help the ill.
   
9. Reprimand privately and gently; praise publicly.
   
10. Everyone should have the chance to practice beheading criminals.

Samurai Advice With Which I Disagree

1. A real man does not think of victory or defeat; he plunges recklessly towards an irrational death.
   
2. After reading books, it is best to burn them or throw them away.
   
3. On being asked to do something, don't show pride or happiness; it's unbecoming.
   
4. Loyalty trumps righteousness.
   
5. Whatever one prays for will be granted.
   
6. To accomplish great things, simply become insane and desperate.
   
7. Make decisions within 7 breaths.
   
8. Suicide for the death of one's master is honourable and often expected.
   
9. Live doing the things you like, but don't tell this to young people.
10. Bleeding from falling off a horse can be stopped by drinking its feces.

Rider House

I paused before entering the building. I was nervous. For $10 I had booked a night in a rider house, a hangout for motorcyclists. It had been recommended to me as an ‘interesting’ place to stay.

I looked at the sign, which said:

ライダーハウス

For all you know, that says Hell’s Angels – Enter and Die, but by this time I’d learned to read some Japanese and knew that it said Ryda Hausu.

I didn’t have a motorcycle (or even a handlebar moustache) and wasn’t sure how that would go over. I wasn’t sure of anything, really. I opened the door and walked into a haze of tobacco fumes.

There were about 8 men in the room. They’d been smoking and chatting, but now they were all staring at me. From behind a desk, an older woman looked at me curiously. “May I help you?”

“Uhh, reservation for Dave?”

The woman took my $10 and showed me where to put my backpack. Still, everyone was silent. I greeted the men quietly on my way to the stairs. As I climbed upward, one of the men called after me, “Hey, when you’re ready, come join us.”

I did, and quickly realized there’d been nothing to be nervous about. These guys were the complete opposite of the Hell’s Angels. First of all, most of them wore slippers and, well, it’s pretty tough to look menacing in slippers. They were incredibly polite, bowing, saying their pleases and thank-you’s, sipping tea, and giggling at fart jokes. Aside from the bikes outside, there was nothing ‘badass’ about them.

Soon the drinks were poured, and everyone spent some time with a microphone introducing themselves.

I had a great time, and it was so cheap that I decided to stay an extra night waiting out the rain, catching up on emails, and spending an afternoon at the local library absorbing some Eastern philosophical wisdom from Hagakure, a book of Samurai teachings - a practical and spiritual guide for the Japanese warrior. Details in the next post.