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Published: March 16th 2011
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Sunset over Lake Shinji
As seen from my lakeside campsite, Matsue His cold, steely gaze pierced through me. His lungs visibly shrunk as he let a shriek from his whistle. I looked for an escape route but traffic was bumper to bumper on my right. To my left the pedestrians posed an obstacle. They seemed oblivious to yet another gaijin. The uniformed caricature stretched a hand out to stop my progress. It was time to get resourceful.
G'day mate. How'z it goin'? Nice day for a ride, isn't it? He wasn't buying any of it. There may have been a language barrier between us but he'd been in this kind of situation before. Whistle still blazing, he reached into a pocket with his free hand and pulled out a bilingual card. His finger slid down it until it reached the following paragraph:
Dear sir, you have broken law. Drive wrong way on one way street. Engrish, my favourite language. I smiled, said
thanks mate and continued where I was going. Sucker.
Five years to the day I was back. Kyoto hadn't changed. The temples were still there, so were the summer typhoons. I quickly abandoned the city. Due to the approach of Typhoon Number 5 AKA Usagi my
The fruits of my labour
Joined a sweet making class and this is what I came up with plan of cycling the 88 Temple Route on Shikoku was out the window and a new one was hatched.
The Japanese are an amusing lot. Friendly but funny. The Americans have their big ten of everything. Ten best this, ten best that. Japs like to be more specific. Car manufacturers, banking groups and tourist attractions tend to be labelled 'Big 3'. Less to think about and easier to chose. Three Great Festivals, Three Parks, Three Famous Castles and - of immediate interest to me – Three Views. I came out of the internet cafe with a big smile on my face. Kyoto may be in for rain and high winds but Amanohashidate on the Sea of Japan side would be sunny and warm.
A visit to a hyaku (hundred) Yen shop was in order. A multi tool, plastic canvas and sticky tape for the price of a beer in a bar back in Europe and I was set. My bicycle was disassembled and packed inside a home-made rinko-bukuro (bike bag) and ready for transport on any local train in the country. A seishun juhachi kippu, a bargain five day ticket for local trains, took care of the rest.
I found the tourists at Amanohashidate particularly of interest. They spent a small fortune for the cable car to the view point where they could bend over and stick their head through their legs to take in the sight. The sun took its time burning through the mist of the morning. I climbed out of my tent and took a much needed bath in the outer bay, much to the amusement of the joggers and other passers by. Twenty kilometres down the road, the cicadas were thick in the air. Their noise was a constant companion and as a lone kamikaze proved, they were a road danger as well. One particular cicada, the size of a tennis ball, almost knocked me off my bike as it struck my head in flight. The dark insect bounced off, hit the floor and stayed there. It had met its maker.
What do you recommend? The question was apparently too much to handle for the staff of the Tourist Information office in Matsue, so I rephrased it.
What is this city famous for? Really? Can I do that? A hurried phone call and twenty minutes later I was myself surprised at
how quickly things can sometimes be done in Japan. I arrigatoed the white bearded gentleman and young couple, pulled out my dictionary and asked
Sweet make this is? They may have looked at me as if I were Yoda and I had come from a galaxy far, far away but they nodded affirmatively. Following sensei's every move I soon produced my first Japanese delight. He worked quickly. Satisfied that the other two had caught up, he gave us a new task. This one was trickier. Teacher's hands deftly crafted the dough. His fingers worked effortlessly as if that was what they were made for. A blob soon turned into a work of art and the oohs and aahs from the Japanese couple gave him the credibility he deserved. With nothing to be lost in translation I simply copied his actions and was rather pleased with my effort. So was he. After letting out a few
gaijin sans with which he seemed to talk me up in front of the local duo, he went on to produce a true mastery in the shape of a rose. Bowing and appearing to ask the others for permission, he respectfully presented it to me.
I felt honoured. It's a shame the taste didn't quite match the look of the sweets.
Next up was a site that didn't quite make the Top Three but was voted by many a gardening magazine the world over as the best Japanese style garden in the world. It so happens it's part of a museum, the Adachi Museum of Art. Although they hold a Rembrandt or two I never noticed. I couldn't take my eyes off the gardens. Stunning is a word that came to mind but that may be an understatement. Kairokuen, officially the creme de la creme of gardens in Japan, can go and hide behind it's mother's skirt. Come to think of it, they ought to give me back the entry fee I paid to view it. This Mr. Adachi really knew what he was doing. He put his heart and soul into the creation of six gardens that kick the ass of any of the big three and the various Kyoto zen dry gardens. Bitching. I could of spent days taking in the views but it was not to be. The changing weather patterns had me heading ever westward.
The towering sand dunes and ocean surf of Tottori were impressive but it was the kilns of Hagi that captivated my imagination. On a quest to do as many local wacky things as possible, I signed up for a pottery class. The English speaking staff of the local tourist information office talked it up and soon had me join in the fun. There's a nice thing about Japan - you may not always get your point across in words but sign language is well understood. I needed it at the kiln. My new mug wouldn't be ready for a couple of weeks – something about needing to be burned two or three times – but things were soon sorted out. The fantastic crew at the tourist info office mailed me my attempt at art. Apparently it was such rubbish, Slovenian customs, after opening the exquisitely packaged box, decided it was worthless and didn't charge me any duty on it. Bastards 😉
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Anja and Uros
Anja&Uros
Really great photo!
Awesome photo!