tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88457230919786470462024-02-20T16:16:45.492-08:00sloths on wheelsfrom Tromsø to Tokyo....and,er, some other places tooby The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.comBlogger259125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-27506624111442887462017-04-07T08:22:00.000-07:002017-07-16T08:22:49.347-07:00off again<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">and now we're off again! The latest blog is nascent and can be found at <a href="http://www.slothsgowest.blogspot.com/">www.slothsgowest.blogspot.com</a></span></div>
by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-89254734011574717282015-11-20T04:22:00.000-08:002016-06-03T02:21:00.821-07:00language lessons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Our bicycle journey across Europe and Asia has come, with our funds, to an end. It's time to work and start saving up what <a href="https://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/?o=tS&doc_id=12784&v=262" target="_blank">Chris</a> calls "travel points". We left Luang Prabang and sailed back up the Mekong to the Thai border with our good friend Gertrude who hooked up with us in Luang Prabang. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We headed to Chiang Mai for me to do my CELTA course at the International House branch there. This turned out to be an intensive four week course that tested my ability to deal with stress. We were hosted by Katie, an American who lives and works with her Kiwi partner, Jared, in the city. They too have been cycling and we discovered that they were in Kyrgyzstan at the same time as us. Small world, I suppose. Gayle got ill - I knew it was serious because she refused food - but it wasn't until we moved into a hotel for the duration that we discovered what was wrong. The body rash indicated dengue fever. By this time she was feeling better so I stopped worrying about her health and got back to worrying about mine. I had textbooks to read and a computer to buy (and return because of a fault) before the course started. Gayle joined me for the two-day 'Grammar Refresher' where we met some of the other students. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Incredibl<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">y</span> there were three women from our neck of the woods: Emily comes from just down the road from our house, Gillian's a Lancashire lass now living in Vietnam and Harriet's a Manc. A very small world indeed. Emily's partner Mark boosted the male quota, which was fairly small. There was Vik from India and David from <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I</span>taly and everyone else was female. Most of us hoping to pass the course and get a job teaching English. The exception was a lovely group of women from Pakistan who were being sponsored by the British Council and were already teachers. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The teachers on the course were great - Percy and Monika kept us interested and entertained throughout and taught us using the methods and frameworks we were being taught to use ourselves. But trying to cram everything into four weeks took its toll on my sanity. Whilst Gayle took on the role of looking after me and ensuring I was fed and watered, I struggled with trying to teach and complete assignments that, although not too difficult, became so with the time constraints. I taught for the first time on the second day and thankfully <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">i</span>t wasn't a disaster. But after each class you had to complete a form reflecting on what worked and what didn't. I'm pretty good at self-criticism so quite enjoyed that bit. However I discovered I was grinding my teeth in my sleep and in the first week lost half a tooth as a result.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It soon became clear that I'm not a natural. I realised this after observing two classes by Emily, who just seemed to be in her element, despite her nerves. We were divided into three teaching groups and taught two evening classes each week. Our lessons were only 45 minutes long, so why did it take so long to prepare? So much we learnt was common sense and I soon became conscious that as long as I didn't panic, freak out or mangle my assignments that, even if I didn't shine, I would pass. So it was quite a shock to be sitting observing David in his second lesson when he froze and very calmly asked Monika to take over. In trying to absorb all the information we were being overloaded with he seemed to have got lost in his own head over a grammar lesson he could easily cope with outside of the class. We were all shocked and he clearly was upset and never recovered. After a weekend of stewing over it he withdrew. What amazed me was that David wasn't the only non-native speaker. There was Christina, another Italian, Jasmine from Shanghai and Luiza, a Romanian. Their English was good and their grammar better than others because they'd had to study it. Yamna and Aafia were in our group and worried about their strong Pakistani accents, but as Monika pointed out to them, 80% of English conversations in the world take place between non-native speakers, so it's important that students get used to different accents.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I think just before I started the course we'd made Skype calls to Gayle's mum and my mum and dad and it was soon afterwards that we talked about going home after my course had finished. Within minutes Gayle had found a cheap flight from Bangkok to Manchester via Oslo. We booked it. If our plan is to find work teaching English for a year or more then it was time we went home and saw them. So that's what we did.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We took a train to Bangkok and our final ride was to the international airport out of the city, with cardboard bike boxes strapped on top of our rear panniers. It took most of the day and it was a hot, sweaty ride but it seemed like the right thing to do. We left England on July 4th 2012. It was now November 2015. We wondered what the weather would be like in England.............</span></span></div>
by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-72486049262161501932015-09-24T02:58:00.000-07:002015-10-25T02:58:04.958-07:00an inspiring read<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Neil and Harriet Pike have just put together the new and excellent third edition of Trailblazer's Adventure Cycle Touring Handbook and we received a free copy in the post from them. Much of it has been re-written not just up-dated. We have both contributed bits and some of my photos are included too. John has written the Central Asia chapter and I have written Mongolia and Russia. There is also a story from this blog in the Tales from the Saddle section. The book is written to inspire others to get out and explore adventurous places by bike. It's a bit perverse, now that we plan to stop for a while, but we can't help reading it.............and already a plan is forming in our minds of where we shall head next.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></i><br />
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0Luang Prabang, Laos19.8833959 102.1346874000000819.8236684 102.05400640000008 19.9431234 102.21536840000007tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-48255706908028384222015-09-17T02:27:00.000-07:002015-10-25T02:33:10.278-07:00Baking in Luang Prabang<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A Guest Post by the other Sloth....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">While John studies hard for his CELTA certificate (more about that in a minute), I've offered to up-date the blog for John otherwise it could be 2016 before the next entry.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We spent 6 weeks at the Yellow House in Luang Prabang and when I think back it's quite hard to remember exactly what we did for all that time. Days were hot and humid, sometimes the clouds built up for a great tropical downpour and occasionally there were dramatic thunderstorms with pink lightning and ear-shattering thunderclaps. I mean it didn't just rain, it was always an event. A major plus for us was having a real kitchen with an oven - a kitchen applicance that it's hard to replicate when cycling and camping. I discovered the best markets for fruit and veg, found the bakery selling baguettes (a relic of French colonial times) and a shop selling some "foreign goods" (at foreign prices of course). I cycled the 4 kms into town daily to buy whatever looked good and brought it home for John to turn it into something delicious. We feasted on pizzas, quiches, we made chips (sort of), banana cake and chocolate brownies!! I created colourful, tropical fruit salads by the bucketful. Finding an almost full bottle of gin in the cupboard just added to our glee (we knew our dear friends wouldn't mind, the French don't drink gin, do they?).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Luang Prabang's a sleepy place but also a "must-see" destination for all those backpackers having an adventure out of Thailand. It's not hard to see why people come....there are the beautiful old wats (temples), the Mekong River, a busy night market selling handicrafts (mostly stuff from Thailand and China) and enough restaurants and hotels to accomodate the regular flow of western, Chinese, Korean & Japanese tourists and backpackers passing through. Luckily it was low-season so the sleepy pace of life felt even sleepier and our Yellow House was away from the old town down a bumpy dirt road.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We visited Ock Pop Tok, a local weaving and handicraft centre, set up by 2 women, one local and one British, to promote and showcase Lao textiles along with designing and creating beautiful things with these textiles. We also visited Big Brother Mouse to help out with some voluntary English conversation classes. Big Brother Mouse is a Lao-owned project set up by an American publisher to bring books to Laos (many children have never read a book apart from school textbooks). They publish books, give them to schools for free and throw rural book parties!! Many monks came to the conversation classes along with the other students and it was our chance to ask them about life as a monk in Laos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As the days went by we tried to catch-up with family, friends and events back at home using Skype a lot, e-mailing and listening in to Radio 4. The other thing we did was think about what next.....? We've been on the road since July 2012.....more than 3 years. Maybe we need a break from cycling....? Funds are substantially depleted since we left home and need an urgent boost. What we really want is to pause and during that pause reflect on what we've done so far, get excited about new places to come, become part of a place for a while (we always seem to be saying goodbyes) and earn some money. Of course we knew we'd reach this point when we left home and have been here before. So, time to try something different. We'll look for jobs teaching English in China. I already have a CELTA certifcate (the best qualification to have when you're an inexperienced but hopeful applicant for TEFL jobs) and some quick research came up with a school in Chiang Mai where John can do his CELTA. He applied, was interviewed on-line and got a place for the course begining in early October. So, Chiang Mai, here we come.</span><br />
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-47727050910247716922015-08-14T03:58:00.000-07:002015-08-26T04:00:55.283-07:00the yellow house<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Luang Prabang, we remember, is a sleepy town full of old temples and lovely old colonial buildings. We passed through five years ago and enjoyed staying here. It felt relaxed and easy. There's a big tourism industry here - lots of hotels and restaurants, cafes and a night market - but the town has a life of its own too. As we cycle along the road we discern one significant change - more traffic. More scooters and notably more cars. We have a sketch map to find the yellow house where Coralie, Fabien live with their daughter Vatsana and also instructions from Fabien. We stop to ask for directions at a very swish looking hotel. They point us down the road but the man says doubtfully "the road becomes dirt".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We last saw Fabien and Coralie in 2010 in Vientiane. When we first met in Iran they were driving a citroen 2CV from France to Laos as part of a project to raise awareness about water management issues in developing countries. They have stayed and worked in Laos ever since. And they now have a lovely daughter too - Vatsana, who is only 18 months old. Coralie's father is from Laos, but before they came she didn't speak the language. Now they are both fluent and Vatsana is picking up words from her day carer, the local village chief's wife. So, they live in a village then? Well sort of. It's a suburban extension of the town, across a side river from the centre, away from the tourist zone, on a dirt road dotted with other houses.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have three days to catch up with our friends before they fly to France. But they are both working full-time so we snatch conversation when we can and distract them from a hundred and one tasks they have to complete before they go. As ever, they both seem remarkably chilled - I would be doing the headless chicken at this point. Fabien has to seek 'permission' from the local village chief for us to stay in their house, rather than in a hotel. He takes copies of our passports and a small fee to pay. It's a reminder that we are not in a 'free' country. We are introduced to the neighbours from whom we can, conveniently, buy water and beer. The water is in 20 litre bottles and costs 30 pence. Locals don't drink the tap water.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The yellow house is rented. It's built in the local style with a concrete/breeze block ground floor and wooden upper storey. At the front is a garage space and on the side a lean-to kitchen and bathroom. They have just finished inserting bedrooms in the upstairs, for themselves and Vatsana - normally the upper floor is left open - and bricking off a corner of the ground floor for our guest room. They share the house with two other families. It's something they hadn't mentioned in their e-mails to us. But Fabien insists on introducing us to the patriarchs before they depart. He only knows the name of one - Ernesto. Ernesto is a large gecko, who hangs out on the corner of the house at night, just under one of the night lights where the moths and flies hover about. His family live in the bathroom and kitchen. There's another gecko family in the living room. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiX-JzyaqbqIkEwtAyJUrvG2TOezCZNpRg_ZpqN-MgIZPPidW7IfsmLk9f0QPlTNgSnv2ucLkXAHdrOJizjiDi13OvoRZ265NqpSndplKyjCZvpkjLoHT8Wc8THAVZOUfbjMKX4x5VQQ/s1600/IMG_2104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiX-JzyaqbqIkEwtAyJUrvG2TOezCZNpRg_ZpqN-MgIZPPidW7IfsmLk9f0QPlTNgSnv2ucLkXAHdrOJizjiDi13OvoRZ265NqpSndplKyjCZvpkjLoHT8Wc8THAVZOUfbjMKX4x5VQQ/s320/IMG_2104.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>get him, Ernesto</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's kind of hurried. We need to know certain things. What to do if the gas runs out or the electricity company come to collect. When to put the trash out. How to lock up at night. Washing machine. Butcher. Baker. Pharmacist. (There probably is a candlestickmaker but we forget to ask.) In the kitchen there are gas rings and two portable electric ovens. And a sight to bring a tear to the eye of anyone from Hebden Bridge - a yoghurt maker. There are no glass windows in the house except for Vatsana's bedroom, with the only air-conditioner. The windows have decorative wrought-iron grills and shutters and there's a large, overgrown garden beyond the patio. We both think of snakes in the grass, but Fabien assures us it's the wrong season for snakes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The house is lovely and Fabien assures us this is luxury for them. For almost three years Coralie was working with elephants out in the countryside - organising an annual elephant festival and then working with a conservation project offering treks with elephants. Their first house in Luang Prabang flooded in the rainy season. One night, just as we are heading for bed, the skies open up and there's a deluge. Really heavy rain. It blows in the wrong direction and water comes dripping through the ceiling cracks into the kitchen. There's nothing to be done but wait until morning to mop up. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We meet their friends in Luang Prabang. There's Rudy and Marion, Julie and Mila and Jo. Aren't they hot? Isn't it hot? I'm sweating just sitting down. Fabien assures us it will get cooler with the rains. Rudy tells us that in May, before the rains it's even hotter - unbearable. We should be glad! We are glad. We are glad to finally see Coralie and Fabien again after five years (5 years? it seems like last week) and to meet their daughter. We are glad to have a nice home to stay in. We are glad to have a fan. We are glad to be able to shower. We are glad to be here, in Luang Prabang. At last, we can rest.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqXQZ5lcvPkjOPYB-vlwK1c2Dnb65Bn8cJzq86lUQ8ZgysSU-EXeXexm49wvt-2l8zNmmACedjMtGjllDoVOK-E7kS-zoxSxzZO_zHTn9XrwmKE2sDh6sb59cKwJDRTG-m71IXDJg73w/s1600/IMG_2121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqXQZ5lcvPkjOPYB-vlwK1c2Dnb65Bn8cJzq86lUQ8ZgysSU-EXeXexm49wvt-2l8zNmmACedjMtGjllDoVOK-E7kS-zoxSxzZO_zHTn9XrwmKE2sDh6sb59cKwJDRTG-m71IXDJg73w/s320/IMG_2121.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>the Nam Khan river</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We wave off our friends on a Thursday evening, off for an action-packed visit home. We are cooking for the first time in the kitchen - nothing fancy - mushroom omelette. The eggs are whisked, the onion and mushrooms are frying lightly when the gas goes out. Ah. Check the notes ......gas .....gas .....yes, here it is, gas: phone Rudy with the number off the bottle and he will arrange a delivery with the gas company. Rudy has to call them because no-one will speak English. But it's 7.30 in the evening so that will have to wait until morning. And now what? I know, Fabien showed us the barbecue. We'll have to barbecue the omelette. I get the tiny pot stand for the barbecue out and try and light the wood shavings that are in a sack. I'm tearing pages out of an old Liberation which burn brightly but fail to ignite the wood shavings. I start fanning. There's flames, there's embers, there's plenty of smoke. Has the charcoal caught? No, try again. Finally the charcoal catches and begins to glow red. Keep fanning. The sweat is pouring off me, my hands are black with ash and soot. When I kneel down to fan the embers the ants crawl all over me. Slowly, the eggs begin to cook. Finally it's done and we eat. When we're finished Gayle asks about heating water for a cup of tea. Back outside I heroically go with the kettle and the fan and for another twenty minutes or so I try and coax some heat out of the coals. But for all the effort, there's just not enough heat. Caked in sweat and charcoal dust I am just telling Gayle that she'll have to forget her tea when I suddenly remember something and let out a howl of despair. There's a hotplate on top of one of the electric ovens. Oh, if only Coralie and Fabien could see us now.</span><br />
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-47394524174787512212015-08-10T04:43:00.000-07:002015-08-21T04:02:43.069-07:00downstream<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In the morning we meet Johnny and
Jess, Kiwis who are also cycling to the border post. They've just
bought bikes in Chiang Mai and are travelling pretty light. We go
through all the usual border post stuff and then have to wait for a bus
to take us over the bridge into Laos. It's frustrating but we knew they
don't let you cycle this bridge. And they charge more to take the
bikes, the swines. On the other side we are the last to go through
immigration and time has ticked on. We all want to take the boat to Pak
Beng down the Mekong but it's nearly 11am and we might be too late.
It's not high season but there are plenty of backpackers crossing this
border. What's interesting is that many seem to have an organised trip -
only a handful have travelled independently. I don't know what they
pay for the air-conditioned minibus and the tuk tuk pick up, but they're
not getting much more than anyone else. But of course they don't have
to think about anything.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5p7axzHceockaKhsgxBVkXjhrkvXYlWlGg77CjvkzkTF6MVSZBZUdtjOYtAslhOjlaCxzaeN8DHtmMlRaf62vgTMoJ8fVr3lMIS6dCns2vjDFdduPSdRTL-wcoCvq0xtu9LpiuotSrA/s1600/IMG_1654.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5p7axzHceockaKhsgxBVkXjhrkvXYlWlGg77CjvkzkTF6MVSZBZUdtjOYtAslhOjlaCxzaeN8DHtmMlRaf62vgTMoJ8fVr3lMIS6dCns2vjDFdduPSdRTL-wcoCvq0xtu9LpiuotSrA/s320/IMG_1654.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In the village of Huay Xai where the
Mekong boats depart from there's a proper ticket office with fares
posted up on the window. And there's a boat waiting. It's almost full,
but there are free seats right at the front where we board. Bikes are
hoisted onto the roof and tied on, and all our panniers get carried to
the luggage rack at the back. There must be a hundred tourists on the
boat plus twenty or so locals. The woman in charge walks down the boat
and tells all the Lao to go to the back where the engine is. It's the
worst place. She is making room for late arrivals - a van load who beat
us through immigration only now turns up. Is there a seat for everyone? Only
just. And then the extremely long slow boat eases out into the river
and we're off down the Mekong.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The river takes us to Pak Beng for an overnight stop and then there's another boat to take us on to Luang Prabang. It's wet season so the river is high and the riverbanks are lush green. The locals are travelling to their villages on route. They have to jump off on to makeshift floats or another boat or directly onto the mudbank. This proves tricky for anyone transporting their scooter. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIZZ8Nln1jssB2Uc4A8uEG-RkGf_lXj7FAloVOnAPxVf1vrDS870adpvxLvurSWH1VJs5IPJszYcphzl4K0NL_bc7VCX9Lfu8BnHn-scRsYkIWvY_7VjyjvbkfOlb-nnbb7W7lKP5zQ/s1600/IMG_1658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilIZZ8Nln1jssB2Uc4A8uEG-RkGf_lXj7FAloVOnAPxVf1vrDS870adpvxLvurSWH1VJs5IPJszYcphzl4K0NL_bc7VCX9Lfu8BnHn-scRsYkIWvY_7VjyjvbkfOlb-nnbb7W7lKP5zQ/s320/IMG_1658.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We spend our first day chatting with Ned, from the States. He used to work in Laos in the early seventies and was here
when the war began. At some point he gave up teaching and started
dealing in Chinese antiquities. We begin talking about China and he
shares his insights on a country where he's been doing business for about 30 years. As he explains, he has "dragged along the bottom" in China and seen the worst excesses of a corrupt and despotic regime. In fact once we get Ned started he just can't stop himself. He believes China is the world's biggest threat at the moment with all the trouble over the islands in the South China Sea (there's oil there of course). And he talks about the importance of <i>guanxi</i> when doing business in China - connections. If you know a senior official in Customs, then your container will pass through quickly. But if you don't? Then it's parked up over there for months, or the contents destroyed. Ned has clearly had it with China. Now he wants to travel and explore parts of the world he hasn't visited before: despite living here back in the 70's he has never visited the north of Laos. He is fluent in the language and chats to the locals. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The river is not very wide, except at the larger bends, and the views are not spectacular. Now and again we can see bigger distant hills. The nearer hillsides sometimes have sections denuded of trees - slash and burn every year before the rainy season blights the region with smog and ash. The farmers grow 'dry' rice, Ned tells us and he points out examples. What the tourist cannot see is that over 30% of the land is now in foreign ownership - mostly Chinese and Vietnamese. In the province bordering China they are planting rubber. There is also a plan to build a railway from Kunming to Vientiane. It will criss-cross the Mekong and tunnel through the mountains and the plan is to allow China a 1km strip of land with that rail link. Laos is a poor country run by a gang of men who are selling it off piece by piece it seems. And the people we see living in rural poverty by the river will see none of the money. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgad7yo3PA1GxxhCcwSW0iK9hto1THwRIXh6pVG6EHXigshP70hqRYdJMaA37EjS_F09obkGC_JzRFtH2uaYVvekPcnwZ8waf_ZKhKVCR1op5gL-gVvtJxIsyFgOW7axNmLc7hAkkzXbQ/s1600/IMG_1686.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgad7yo3PA1GxxhCcwSW0iK9hto1THwRIXh6pVG6EHXigshP70hqRYdJMaA37EjS_F09obkGC_JzRFtH2uaYVvekPcnwZ8waf_ZKhKVCR1op5gL-gVvtJxIsyFgOW7axNmLc7hAkkzXbQ/s320/IMG_1686.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At the end of the afternoon we arrive at Pak Beng - a halfway point on the way to Luang Prabang. The boat disgorges its load. Backpackers struggle up the muddy, brick strewn bank to meet locals touting for their accommodation. It's a drag to have the bikes and panniers in a situation like this, but we don't have the time to cycle. With Jess and Johnny we follow a woman to her place, dump our stuff and head to the Indian restaurant we passed on the road. We all order different curries but they all look, and presumably taste, remarkably the same. Of course, Pak Beng is a classic tourist trap but no-one is getting too ripped off and it's clear the tourists bring important cash to the village. The next day we board a different boat with all the backpackers for the next stage of the journey. Jess and Johnny are going to cycle to Luang Prabang so we say our goodbyes. We remember cycling here in 2010 being a rude introduction to cycle touring. We just hadn't expected such big hills and such steep roads. And the roads were being upgraded by the Chinese at the time. The landscape is beautiful but we are quite happy to be sailing down the Mekong today.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7dRjpIZO60qkwRz5B8tmrVidk5f_qK-Jhudh98xgtQzDNJq_In1aIE2WNVWr7fsqmPO4lCKt-kd86yRV_QHqZJ4gc5nYyeqjGZS075KS06iYC2MNHKfMXgeMLtyYHjQeZ5Nyl1YdAw/s1600/IMG_1700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7dRjpIZO60qkwRz5B8tmrVidk5f_qK-Jhudh98xgtQzDNJq_In1aIE2WNVWr7fsqmPO4lCKt-kd86yRV_QHqZJ4gc5nYyeqjGZS075KS06iYC2MNHKfMXgeMLtyYHjQeZ5Nyl1YdAw/s320/IMG_1700.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>fishermen selling their catch</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There's a super-friendly Dutch family sitting next to us today and a young American couple opposite us. Korine and Juan are from New York - you rarely meet travellers from New York - and we natter throughout the day with them all. It's Korine who suggests we write to Primus about having our stove pump confiscated in Bangkok. There's more leg room for everyone today and it feels more relaxed than yesterday's tight squeeze with everyone getting some breeze off the river. But locals once again have to ride at the back. The waters have receded half a metre overnight. The land opens out more on this stretch of the river so there are better views and there's only one moment when we get stuck on a mudbank after dropping off some locals when everyone looks a bit ruffled. Ned gets up to help pole the boat off the mud.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At mid-afternoon the hill-top temple overlooking Luang Prabang comes into view. We dock at the foot of a long staircase which makes me wince - but at least there are stairs. By the time we've got everything off the boat and the bikes loaded at the top all the backpackers have gone. The boat drops us about 10 km north of the town, presumably to provide some tuk-tuk drivers with employment. Off we go in the sweaty heat to find our home for the next few weeks.</span>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-64127865248998012962015-08-09T21:13:00.000-07:002015-08-21T03:56:37.969-07:00passing through<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At Chiang Rai airport everyone has gone home. Our plane arrives half an hour before the airport shuts for the night, but the security guard not only lets us stay to set up the bikes, but also offers his help. Do we know where to go in the town? We do - we have booked a hotel and drawn ourselves a sketch map. The road is quiet except for a few scooters and pick-ups. It's only 10pm but the place is pretty dead. We ride through countryside briefly before turning onto a road with closed-up shops. Chiang Rai is not a huge town - we find the hotel easily and collapse in our room</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnfMsq1O0UxN7xRp0B_hfbEVg16_CbReZCP5C4Mk1tUUst6IFbWpcZgOymzturtmYgcOF1TyjsGw_CE00TE7icrBXGlloTwkC-KurOqh0eyp1ZxyxUmnw9PDx0CaAchOL7QlhpLa2vA/s1600/IMG_1570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnfMsq1O0UxN7xRp0B_hfbEVg16_CbReZCP5C4Mk1tUUst6IFbWpcZgOymzturtmYgcOF1TyjsGw_CE00TE7icrBXGlloTwkC-KurOqh0eyp1ZxyxUmnw9PDx0CaAchOL7QlhpLa2vA/s320/IMG_1570.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>er......these aren't ours</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We are coming to the end of the first stage of our journey. Back in February our friends Coralie and Fabien, who we first met in Iran in 2008, wrote and asked if we would like to house-sit for them in Luang Prabang in Laos while they took a holiday in France with their daughter. We know that they try and return to France each year because we regularly get invitations to join them with their other friends in the south of France. We've never made it - trying to save money for our journey - but this is a great opportunity to see them in Laos, so we accepted their offer. The last time we had a long break off the bikes was back in Beijing, last October. So we're really looking forward to seeing our friends again and having a little rest and recreation. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have a couple of days in Chiang Rai and spend it pootling about the town, visiting a wat or two, checking out the bike shops for replacement parts ("Do we really need new cassettes, John?") and checking out the food. The two best things about Thailand have to be the genuinely smiley people and their food. We are happily now in a country with plenty of good fruit which we can afford. There's also a decent breakfast included at the hotel. We thought it'd be just the regular egg/toast/tea/coffee so imagine our delight when we find three types of Thai curry and rice also on offer, plus Frosties and <i>cold</i> milk. No more creamer in the cereal. Being true to type, these cycle tourists sit down to breakfast with the sole intention of staying and eating for as long as is feasibly possible. On the first morning we are one of the first and I consider going for a lie down before returning for a second sitting. We even buy some tupperware just to take away some curry and rice for the day we leave....</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The road to Chiang Khong is a nice countryside ride through fields and villages, crossing some small hills before turning north. The roads are not busy and the riding is not hard, but it's over 100km to the border town so we can't dawdle. We spot a Tesco's on the way into the town but neither of us have the energy for shopping. We just want to find a room and something to eat. But when we set off down the main street it's all very quiet. We pass an empty noodle stall and wonder if there's anything else. Eventually at the north end of town we come to the posher hotels and a few cafes. There are a few tourists around. We instinctively want to say hello to any foreigners we see, but we stopped doing this in Chiang Rai after getting blanked by a few people. This is our first really touristy country since we left Turkey in January 2014. We find some good food and order some fried rice to take away for our lunch tomorrow. Out on the street is a band of four kids busking. Thai rock pop. They're not great but just hearing and seeing them is refreshing. They all look to be about 13 years old. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There are more pictures of the queen about than we remember from 2010 and we wonder what health the king is in. But how to ask without causing offence? Is the king about to "blow his last saxophone solo"? In Thailand they still have the law of lese majeste and under the military government there has been an increase in court cases - one man has just had a 30-year sentence. The king plays a significant role in Thai politics - he usually endorses military coups - and his son, heir apparent, is not nearly as popular or as revered. Best left unasked perhaps.....</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>too hot for us</i></span></td></tr>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-48973527590065669352015-08-06T04:45:00.000-07:002015-08-20T01:24:25.242-07:00taking flight<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We'd wrapped the bikes up in plastic sheeting last night. I'd attached the pedals onto the insides of the cranks, aligned the handlebars to the frame and deflated the tyres a little. The rear derailleurs were removed and wrapped in half a plastic bottle before being taped onto the frame. We taped our little camping stools to the frames to provide a little extra protection, taped polystyrene covers onto the saddles, wrapped the plastic over, applied a large amount of brown tape et.......voila!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We are some of the first at the check-in queue in the morning and the woman who is organising the queue looks at our bikes, shakes her head and says "We can't accept your bicycles unless they are in a box". Er, that's not what Air Asia's website says. She looks doubtful and goes off to consult while we hand our passports over to the check-in lady. She is looking for a visa but we plan to apply for the visa-on-arrival. "Do you have an onward ticket from Thailand?" Er, no. We plan to just cycle out of the country. Meanwhile a man comes back with Mrs. Queue. He affirms that the bikes should be in boxes. But that's not what your website says, we counter. He squeezes the tyres sceptically, like a disinterested car-buyer might prod a wheel with his shoe. "These are deflated?" Yes, they are normally very hard. He tells us we will have to sign a disclaimer from any compensation should the bikes be damaged in transit. I snort. "Do you offer compensation when the bike is in a box?" The answer is no. But he wants us also to sign the disclaimer for any costs incurred if we are denied entry to Thailand. We sign, just happy to get beyond the first hurdle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I wheel the bikes over to the oversized-baggage check-in. The woman asks me to put them on the oversized-baggage conveyor belt, but they won't fit. "They are oversize" she tells me,redundantly. "Put them over there and sign the paper when you are asked to." Immediately there is a customs officer giving a cursory look at the bikes and then giving me a form all in Korean to sign. I obediently sign and walk back to a waiting Gayle. We consider waiting to see if a baggage-handler will come to collect our abandoned bikes but there's still the security checks to go through. The progress is steady. There is a minor alarm when I am asked if this is my handlebar bag, once it emerges from the scanner. Yes, it is. The security officer opens up and rummages around and pulls out the allen key with which I have to set up our bicycles at the other end. I look her in the eye and am about to protest when she smiles and puts it back in the bag. "Okay!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At the boarding gate we meet the man from check-in again. He points at our water bottles. "You can't take those on the plane." He points to the regulations about carry-on liquids. But we went through the security checks. We only filled up over there at the drink fountain. "You can get water on the plane". Is it free? "No." It's a five hour flight. I stand and drink the water in a rage. I really don't like this man. If anyone tells me that airport security measures these days are necessary to stop the terrorists from winning, then I'd argue they've already won. Flying is now such a tortuous process. And for some reason I can't help thinking that if a terrorist really wanted to bring down a plane they would find a way to do it, regardless. But of course, I'm just angry and irrational. It seems odd to me that while we cannot board the plane with our water all the other passengers get on with lots of bottles of liquids purchased in duty free. How can that be right?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In Bangkok we join the queue to be assessed by a professional medical team to ensure we are not carrying the MERS virus. There has been a recent outbreak in Seoul of the fatal virus which has no cure. We take it in turns to bend down to a little opening where a professional medic puts a plastic gun to our foreheads and shoots us. High temperature? I hope not, but the Don Muang airport is feeling rather stuffy. It feels like we've landed in the mid 1970's. Everything is brown and dingy. Bangkok's old international airport has been reopened for Low Cost Carriers. We pass through immigration and emerge outside to take the walkway over a busy noisy road and down to the train station where there are several food stalls. We'd read that there was good cheap food here and sure enough, here are the airline staff tucking in. We stop off at a 7-11 to get drinks and amble back over to the airport. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Now when we're back inside it feels lovely and cool. We join the Air Asia domestic check-in queue and are soon handing over our passports. The lady has just tapped in one of our names when another woman suddenly appears at our side. "Are you travelling with bicycles?" she asks. We nod. "I'm sorry but we are unable to put them on your plane." You are joking? We are about to go through the plastic wrap/cardboard box conversation when she pulls out her phone and shows us a photo of my bike. She explains she is the security officer for Air Asia and that the airport security don't like the red thing attached to my bike. Ahhh, the fuel bottle. We explain. It's a bottle to carry petrol for cooking, but it's empty and perfectly harmless. The woman explains that we will have to go the baggage handling area and explain to the airport security. She seems very nice and a sidekick appears giving us a "don't worry" spiel. But then we are joined by two armed men in black uniforms and berets. One of them arrives on a segway. Neither of them is smiling. We all go through the security checks and scanners and out to the boarding gates before going outside and back in to a cargo bay where our bikes are propped up outside an office. This is the transit cargo security team. The woman asks me to remove the bottle and show them what it is. So I open the plastic wrap, unpeel the tape and pull out the bottle. Our stove pump is screwed into the top, so I unscrew it and show them that the bottle is empty. What initially raised the alarm was the little skull and crossbones symbol on the bottle. They even called the explosives guy to come. And then they couldn't find us. We didn't check-in. We explained we had a four hour wait and we went to eat. Clearly our need for cheap Thai food has caused alarm bells to ring rather too loudly. The woman explains that security may insist on keeping the bottle but the bikes can go. I thank her and explain that that is no problem, providing we can keep the pump. I then have to stand holding the items with her while the airport security guys take photos on their phones. Everyone is smiles and we think it's all okay. Then the woman goes into the office with them and we wait outside with our personal bodyguards. She emerges with a grimace on her face and a shake of the head. "I'm sorry but they won't let you take either the bottle or the pump." But why? The pump is harmless. She tells us that they can smell petrol on both items. We protest. We have already flown from Seoul with it. I could set a light to either item and nothing would burn. She tells us that the 'hazard' symbol on the bottle is the problem. If only we had covered it up, she laments. I try to explain that the bottle is only hazardous when it has something hazardous inside it. We need the pump - it is part of our camping equipment. So she goes back into the office to argue on our behalf. With no positive result. She tells me they want to keep both items, fill out a report and send it off. Where to? Can we come back and claim our belongings later? She shakes her head but offers to give us her name as a contact. There's also a feeling in the back of my mind that we might have been in a lot more serious trouble if they'd wanted to make things difficult for us. The security woman from Air Asia has been very professional with us, but the airport guys are either bored witless or just witless. They probably go around looking for round black objects with a sizzling fuse and the word 'bomb' on them. Or they just want to punish us in some way. I am appalled and mad at myself - we could easily have put the fuel bottle in our checked baggage, along with the two cigarette lighters that we are allowed to check in - more dangerous than an empty aluminium bottle. What an idiot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have to walk all the way back through to the check-in area, get our boarding cards and then go through the security again. This time I fill our water bottles and put them in our bags before our flight to Chiang Rai. No-one sees, no-one knows. Airport security? It's laughable. So why am I almost in tears with anger? I detest being treated like this. I hate flying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Footnote: A thoughtful traveller suggested we write to Primus with this story. Their customer service wrote back immediately suggesting either that we try a distributor in Thailand or that they could send us a replacement pump. As we are now in Laos, we have taken them up on their generous offer of a replacement. Such great customer service from Primus. Thanks Korine for your suggestion. </i> </span></div>
by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-82774669009796121042015-08-05T21:36:00.000-07:002015-08-17T04:37:47.673-07:00Seoul spirit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4osX2I6soKzq-4Dx6oPCGHd60JrXvddYeESAAMoTTuXpv8s7UzDorwsI8_eeY693UbOphxx3C1_LjG2BbWuxtlt_WYajUHTgRNgkxaCfA8oJUpU3hmegAKxRh2jx745y0x9kYiglvA/s1600/IMG_1268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4osX2I6soKzq-4Dx6oPCGHd60JrXvddYeESAAMoTTuXpv8s7UzDorwsI8_eeY693UbOphxx3C1_LjG2BbWuxtlt_WYajUHTgRNgkxaCfA8oJUpU3hmegAKxRh2jx745y0x9kYiglvA/s320/IMG_1268.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One of the most startling aspects of Korean urban spaces when we arrived was the number of high-rise appartment and office blocks. This is in stark contrast with Japan's mainly low-rise cities. It seemed so dramatic. Now as we wander the streets of Seoul it seems normal again that you can only see the sky by craning your neck. It gives you the strange sensation of being penned-in. In the Donghae area where we are staying there are thousands of youngsters filling the streets and the shops. It's supposed to be hip and cool around here, but that's not immediately apparent. It's just that everyone is a teenager. Is that hip? </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>busking in Donghae</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Invariably, because of spending the last five months or so in Japan, we end up drawing comparisons. You rarely see an advertising hoarding in Japan. The shops are all tucked away into arcades in the downtown. Here the consumerism is in your face, everywhere. One Korean woman told us that although Japan is rich, the people are poor. It's an interesting view. We think the Japanese enjoy a very high standard of living, even in the countryside, despite their infamously cramped living spaces. But wages are low and there's no conspicuous consumption. In Seoul we are seeing wealthy people but clearly ones with very little too. Economically Korea is growing faster than Japan and while it continues to develop Japan seems to be on a very long and slow decline. There's a buzz on the streets of Seoul that we didn't get in Tokyo - but that might just be because the Japanese don't do 'buzz' - they only do 'hum'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I am washed up and worn out and disinterested. I am looking forward to our break in Laos, house-sitting for our friends, and want only to rest. Gayle goes out to explore some of the old palaces and temples and the neighbourhoods of traditional houses that have survived the developer's punishing hand. These have survived by attracting tourism. There are also some busy markets. To get around she takes the subway, which looks large and messy but is very easy to use. I find some plastic sheeting and tape to wrap our bikes for our AirAsia flight to Chiang Rai. Our flight is a morning one and to save money we intend to sleep at the airport. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We meet Brad at the end of the cycle path which has taken us from the city and along a canal to the sea just north of Incheon. He's a friendly chatty fella who has come to say hello and kindly show us the way to the airport, which is on an island just offshore. There are two expressways to the island, neither of which we can cycle. But we know there's a ferry - Brad is directing us to the place where can catch it. For some reason it seems to be a lot further than we thought and we finally reach the ferry after a long ride between the docks and the city. On the island we still have a way to go and it's almost 5 in the afternoon. We grab a very late lunch of noodles and head south along the coastal road reaching the airport before it gets dark. Flying through and flying out - we will have to return to Korea to explore further. Autumn seems like the right season - but when isn't it?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>we'll be back Brad </i></span></td></tr>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-32313962519441330442015-08-02T00:41:00.000-07:002015-08-20T08:30:15.905-07:00hotter than july<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our journey takes us towards Daegu, Korea's 2nd city. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8pWmt4CZgFiHejuTJ1id4QlLovgvOd_dzdtwdGqAS0Mb1bBotA9oCwjunyqZ3tXgSa_ihxzj_70EZzHAyKIn7ZznFoGMosynLARxYpxfTiyKOIKoBG_Um-bSTnBwe04T8WzdqLV6bzA/s1600/IMG_1091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8pWmt4CZgFiHejuTJ1id4QlLovgvOd_dzdtwdGqAS0Mb1bBotA9oCwjunyqZ3tXgSa_ihxzj_70EZzHAyKIn7ZznFoGMosynLARxYpxfTiyKOIKoBG_Um-bSTnBwe04T8WzdqLV6bzA/s320/IMG_1091.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> The path skirts the city and is busy with locals. We continue northwards, the valley opening out and then narrowing again. Everywhere is lush growth, green rice paddies and plenty of wild flowers. We are definitely going against the grain heading northwards and when we get a headwind I begin to despise the youngsters who are belting southwards. Lucky sods. There would be more camaraderie between us perhaps if we were able to talk to them. Neither of us are inclined to spend time learning any phrases and most of them are too shy to start a conversation. So it's with older cyclists that we generally chat. There are a few parents riding the route with their children. Most stay in cheap motels along the way or at 24 hour public bath houses which have a communal 'rest' room where you can lie down for a snooze. Accomodation is only a little cheaper than Japan.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>temple guardians</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In one town we stop to visit a temple and find a supermarket. Come evening we are struggling to find a good place to camp. The evenings are relatively cool and we are happy to continue cycling whilst there's still light and the route is straight forward. But still no good spot. Gayle is eternally optimistic - there's always somewhere to camp sooner or later. Later. It's now dark and we are using our headtorches. We are pedalling along in the half-dark. The moon is nearly full and the sky is clear so we have some extra help. And then we have one of those annoying diversions away from the river, up a ridiculously steep road and through some sort of theme park, past a museum and, oh, an even steeper hill into a forest. We find a spot but are put off by the mosquitoes. Then we emerge out of the trees at a vantage point overlooking the river. There's a raised viewing point and we climb the stairs to check it out. Weary from the climbs we have all but agreed to stop here when I hear the hum. It gets louder and louder. I look up. The sky has darkened with a cloud of gnats so large I take a step backwards. We carry on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We realise that we too have now become idiot nighttime cyclists. And we're actually enjoying it. There are fishermen down by the shore and we pass a group of villagers sat on the path enjoying the cool air off the river. Rattling along a dyke Gayle traps something between her wheels. A small animal squeals and yaps angrily. Neither of us see it. We reach a certifcation point but all there is is a kiosk and a big platform. We can camp on the platform but some other cyclist would be bound to arrive in the night. On our first night we were awoken by one at 1am playing his radio. The older cyclists especially like to have a radio playing. Then at 4.30am the same night we had another one peering into our tent. So we are determined to get away from the bike path. Luckily, just around the corner, we find an unused field.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFyX9ud-EIxz0jqU_7oBbEKZYr06VL3F0VcYcAHCFMYEV8_mOyOrD30NbScf2opBETHtfk1a_zeob_OHcOTTACiOAYucfh1WK4QZAd14azBAH7KVaW5dvpYSs4QT-x_GzDgU4qHy1DQ/s1600/IMG_1114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVFyX9ud-EIxz0jqU_7oBbEKZYr06VL3F0VcYcAHCFMYEV8_mOyOrD30NbScf2opBETHtfk1a_zeob_OHcOTTACiOAYucfh1WK4QZAd14azBAH7KVaW5dvpYSs4QT-x_GzDgU4qHy1DQ/s320/IMG_1114.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>nice family - Gayle's gone Korean</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At some point our river turns east and we leave it. The day begins sunny but then turns cloudy and it rains. This feels like a huge relief. The old road we are on winds up through a steep valley, weaving in and out of the concrete legs holding up the new expressway. While that disappears into a tunnel, we climb through the trees and up to the highest point of the ride - a pass through a short tunnel just below the ridge. The climb is graded quite well, much better than the many ramps we have to take to get on or off embankments, and the view at the top is very gratifying. There are bodies at the top. Young guys in lycra lie prone. More come along in the opposite direction, pushing their bikes before collapsing at the view point. Ahh, the energy of the young. Our just reward is the freewheel down to the valley floor below us. The road then climbs a much lower pass, but now we're tiring. However, our legs feel stronger each time we see the look on other cyclists coming the other way. They look harrowed. They have just climbed the biggest climb of their lives - coming from Seoul - and they know there's still the Big One to come. It's usually on the climbs that I'm glad we have mountain bike gearing. These nice roadbikes look cool on the flat but not so cool when you're pushing them up a hill. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>"it's all downhill from here Gayle!"</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We join a new river in the morning and we know it'll be a fairly easy run to Seoul now. There's just the heat to beat. We are now accustomed to getting up early and then stopping for a long siesta and cold drinks for three or four hours in the middle of the day. This morning we espy two other cycle tourists i.e. with panniers. Serhan and Tim are riding to Busan. Serhan has come from Istanbul. He met Brad in Incheon who sold him a bike and panniers. (Now I'm wondering what he had before.) Brad Kirby is a Canadian living with his family in Seoul's near neighbour. He is a very helpful guy and gave us information about our route before we arrived in Korea. And Serhan looks energised with his new rig, but even this Turk can't bear the heat. We wish them luck and continue.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our aim now is to find air-conditioning at siesta time if possible. Most of the time we settle for somewhere with a breeze. The weirs sometimes have a place right over the river and on our second to last day we come to one with an inconspicuous tower at one end. It turns out be a big fridge with comfy seating and toilets. Delicious. Anything to help those swollen feet and heat rashes. We continue to consume litres of ionising Gatorade and Pocari Sweat but still no dreadlocks. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bIQCJQicB5xPh1g2F-v5k8f5ODI76EfyHoZJAVCezrebUDPYdriLGunoMVAP_867rUsFh7jKM6dw0qIYhx0kQijtIUzt0ZYPe4Qn8yyo5Eo56CrZcr9SexxsTjl2IEzwSMzcUuDbLw/s1600/IMG_1212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bIQCJQicB5xPh1g2F-v5k8f5ODI76EfyHoZJAVCezrebUDPYdriLGunoMVAP_867rUsFh7jKM6dw0qIYhx0kQijtIUzt0ZYPe4Qn8yyo5Eo56CrZcr9SexxsTjl2IEzwSMzcUuDbLw/s320/IMG_1212.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>somewhere we passed the 20,000 miles marker</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At the end of one day we find ourselves on a little island in the river, inaccessible to cars. In the middle, surrounded by trees, is a large grass clearing with a few benches, which is perfect for us. We are just enjoying the cooler air after dinner and looking at the stars when we hear a strange buzz. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> We feel like we've wandered into an episode of M*A*S*H.</span> Over the hills on the far side comes a huge Chinook cargo helicopter. And then another. And another. Four go over us. Later we hear them returning. It's a reminder that not everything is normal here. The Koreans still have American army bases all over - there's one in the centre of Seoul - and technically the North and South have never signed a peace treaty. Many Koreans want their country reunified but this has seemed less likely since Bush Junior included North Korea in his "axis of evil". It came as a surprise to us how close Seoul is to the 'Demilitarised Zone'.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's a Friday and we're getting close to Seoul. The river leads us to one town after another and the bike path is increasingly urbanised. There's a great stretch along a disused railway with a series of tunnels which feel air-conditioned when we pass through them. We can't find a good place to stop and camp though, so we continue and by sunset we have reached the outskirts of Seoul. The city has 10 million inhabitants so it ranks in the top 20 largest in the world. But how many of those have a riverside bike path running through them? We cross the first bridge we come to, as recommended by another cyclist, and follow the path through a park, stopping to cook and eat before continuing. There are loads of locals out exercising. Not just strolling but power-walking and running and cycling. Whole pelotons fly past at top speed. It's wonderful and annoying at the same time. Where can we camp? We pause on a very long stretch of path that seems to be little used. Gayle follows a track off into the bushes. The path is lit, but beyond is total darkness. As I watch a walker slowly approach a deer leaps out across the path between us. A deer. In such a city.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Finally we opt to sleep on the benches of a pagoda/arbor. It's about 10pm and there's hardly anyone passing now. Just the mosquitoes to contend with. Until about 4.30 when a man walks past and starts shouting. We stir. A cyclist comes to a halt for a cigarette break. It's dawn and the city lights across the river in the high-rise blocks are slowly going off. Shouting Man returns, clapping his hands. He is drinking from a bottle in his pocket and is probably mad. We start packing quickly. He shouts some more and starts to rock back and forth against a tree. We scoot off before he starts shouting again and find a quieter spot for breakfast. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There's some relief at reaching Seoul mixed with regret because this is really not how we want to travel. We have crossed the country in 8 days but we certainly haven't seen much of it beyond the two central river systems. </span><br />
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I can't say what the cities are like, or how the people are, or what the food is like. And I feel completely burnt out with our cycling since we left Hokkaido. Too fast, too much cycling, and maybe the length of our journey has finally got to me. Gayle, on the other hand, is itching to have a look around the city. We follow the bike paths on both sides of the city. It's Saturday morning and teeming with cyclists. Lots of cool and trendy ones. It's definitely fashionable. We pause in a park to watch a group of people, Koreans and ex-pats have a session of Extreme Frisbee before finally leaving the river to find our hostel. It's tucked away on a backstreet in a 'trendy' student area. We have a bed and we have air-conditioning. We will have three nights of wonderful sleep.</span><br />
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-53688037069396135092015-07-31T03:35:00.000-07:002015-08-16T00:51:21.322-07:00into the fire<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Busan docks</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After an uneventful crossing to Korea we pick up our bikes from the baggage reclaim inside the ferry terminal and cycle out into Busan city. The tourist information desk had no information about the bike path to Seoul but told us to head to the 'cultural centre' on the island at the river mouth where we'd get information. Busan on a Friday morning seems rather lively. It's Korea's biggest port - a fact that seems all too apparent when we set off along the bike path south of the terminal. The bay is packed with cargo ships and wharfs. There's not a gap in the coast line. We consider crossing through the city but the geography looks daunting with big hills looming behind the buildings and dark, foreboding clouds gathering around their peaks. So instead we decide to follow the coast around to the river as much as we can. The bike path runs out after 500 metres at the back of a shopping centre. We walk through a busy fish market. It all looks fabulously fresh until we spot a woman unwrapping a block of frozen fish from a packet to display on her stall. We are probably not seeing the most attractive part of the city here - it's grimy and gritty and the buildings look mouldy and mildewed. Suddenly we are faced with a steep hill. There's no avoiding it. Another bike path appears on the pavement. It's crummy. We push and then pedal up the hill and over to a main road where we join the traffic for the big downhill on the other side. We stop at a supermarket for supplies and then cross the bridge to the island and the start of the Four Rivers Bikeway that will take us all the way through Korea and almost to the airport at Incheon. We have only 12 days before our flight leaves, but only 640km on a riverside bike path. A doddle.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At the information centre we pick up a map and a little passport booklet with it. The idea is that you can collect stamps along the way and then get a certificate when you've completed the ride. The certification points are in little red kiosks every 35km or so. The map is only in Korean. The woman helps us decipher our route and explain some of the map symbols. The one that confuses me is the 'drinking water' sign. We have an old guidebook that advises not to drink the tap water, but the Koreans we asked say that tap water is okay. But on our map the next drinking water available is after 385km. Interesting. We eat lunch before starting and watch as young Koreans, all men, arrive on their bikes. Most have come from Seoul and appear to be carrying very little - a small backpack, maybe a bag on their back rack, one water bottle. All are wearing lycra gear, helmets, buffs, long sleeves. It feels as hot and as humid as Japan to us, but these lads are dressed for a chilly day. One youth tells us how hard the route is. We laugh. We've just come from Japan. Don't tell us a riverside bike path is tough. We ask him how long it took him and he replies "4 days and 3 nights". Too fast. No wonder he looks exhausted. In fact, everyone looks exhausted. They must be amateurs. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The weather is sunny and there's a breeze off the river when we head off. We follow the river on a newish path and by late afternoon have left the city behind. There are rest places on route, with toilets and benches, picnic tables and little octagonal pagoda-style arbors. We pass plenty of folk out on their bikes, some clearly finishing the long ride but others just enjoying the late afternoon. The guidebook describes cycling on Korea's roads as almost suicidal so it's no surprising the popularity of the bike path. We stop at a rest place and cook our evening meal. An American cycles past and stops to chat. The Koreans say hello, and smile at our loaded bikes. Some almost gape in shock. Hardly anyone seems to be carrying anything. And then a father with two sons pulls up. He has a trailer and from it they extract a tent. So we're not the only ones camping. After the sun sets the breeze off the river inevitably drops. We have a flannel wash by the tent before getting in. It's dark now, but incredibly there are still little groups cycling past, all heading to Busan. They must be mad. They have lights but it's getting past 9 at night. Who's that daft?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Over the next two days the path gets busy with day riders out at the weekend. But the river begins to wind it's way away from the towns and the cyclists we mostly see now have all come from Seoul. They are all uniformly in full "Tour de Korea" cycling regalia, including long sleeves and buffs up to their eyes. The aim is clearly to keep the sun from burning. The effect is oddly alienating - we see no-one's face. We have no idea if they are male or female, old or young, happy or grumpy. They look like something from a crap sci-fi movie. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuN3bj3qmhLdQdpLXNVu-4vNA2nhYvX977EHT-QK8sx-eqmsDrwMw_s0jsoL6ZVV6Ydh05Kzn5608q1rGy4clzC24aA_BGx9tBZWI-HdxDbcApSHMgE_6nOO8iQlTLCdD0G22XO_eR1g/s1600/IMG_0885.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuN3bj3qmhLdQdpLXNVu-4vNA2nhYvX977EHT-QK8sx-eqmsDrwMw_s0jsoL6ZVV6Ydh05Kzn5608q1rGy4clzC24aA_BGx9tBZWI-HdxDbcApSHMgE_6nOO8iQlTLCdD0G22XO_eR1g/s320/IMG_0885.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>these two lovely women gave us snacks</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The path mostly follows along the dykes built on both banks of the river. We sometimes switch banks. At one point the path turns inland, around a hill and then climbs inordinately steeply into the forest. The slope is about 20% and concrete. We push and sweat our way to the top just to go down another steep path back to the river. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">On studying a map on a signpost it turns out that there is a detour via a road which would certainly have been easier but there seems to be a pathological desire to keep the bikes separate from the traffic. The next day we have another awful climb which is thankfully not as long. There's a young Korean couple just in front of us on new bikes and they quickly succumb to pushing before the climb has really begun. I notice the man hasn't changed from his largest chainring and I wonder if he knows how to use his gears for climbing uphill. It's our third day. I'm not a huge fan of bike paths normally - I think there's room for bikes on the road if drivers are taught how to overtake sensibly. Roads are usually kept in a better condition than bike paths and they don't take unnecessary detours. Roads also pass through villages and towns and this bike path is trying to avoid them. After three days cycling it's hard to remember we're in Korea. But on the plus side, there is no traffic and we are free to gawp around us and let our minds wander. Holy Hannah! A snake!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Day four is a killer. The skies are clear, the sun is high and bright and the river has just turned northwards so we have the sun on our backs. We are making good time but the temperature is definitely rising. We stop for a break by a rest stop with a drinking fountain. The water tastes of rusty pipes. We decide to have an early lunch and sit in the pagoda. Despite the shade we are getting hotter. To make matters worse, Gayle is not feeling too good. Sunstroke? We try to doze but it's even hotter if we lie down. There's not a breath of air. We know there's a certification point about 5 kilometres away, at one of the big new weirs they've built. Often there's also a water company building with toilets and a convenience shop or space to sit in and sometimes the buildings have air-conditioning. Gayle is hesitant. She feels too ill to ride. But she isn't getting any cooler sitting here. Finally we make the move. It's a painful 5 kilometres. The sun is merciless. But the decision pays off - there's an air-conditioned lobby where she can lie down and recover. And there's a shop where we can buy ionising drinks. (We have taken to these drinks since our last week in Japan. Normally we'd just be drinking big bottles of coke, but who could resist something called 'Pocari Sweat'??</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ionising drinks were first developed in Jamaica in the mid-seventies by Rastafarians looking to replace lost israelites. Jamaican athletes took the drink to training camps in the States and their popularity spread. Now we are hooked.)</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCbcJ2SgappXNeN9FLD6t0i6hooImZdgmqOdevJi5ByrmcF55kWVjuhnx7wCH1kFkidhjdhO-bjYdYT1NAn5n_2AogmFBYcokweI70FxJb5QCik8F5vjlv9Tknw10WlreXFLOKwXPKw/s1600/IMG_0973.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCbcJ2SgappXNeN9FLD6t0i6hooImZdgmqOdevJi5ByrmcF55kWVjuhnx7wCH1kFkidhjdhO-bjYdYT1NAn5n_2AogmFBYcokweI70FxJb5QCik8F5vjlv9Tknw10WlreXFLOKwXPKw/s320/IMG_0973.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>searchng for shade</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We sit out the rest of the afternoon inside. Other cyclists come to cool off too. After a while Gayle is feeling better and talking again, asking cyclists about the route ahead. A man asks if he can help us - Joshua speaks excellent English and he translates Gayle's questions and the cyclists' replies. He's with his brother and they ask to sit down with us and chat a bit and they bring us iced coffee drinks. Joshua informs us that they're having a heatwave. We'd never have known it. He's intrigued and excited about our journey and wonders won't we be cold when we're sleeping in our tent. What about the heatwave?!!, we exclaim. He tells us the bike path was built as part of a major development project driven by the last president to shore up Korea's water management and agriculture. In effect they have built weirs and embankments to stop Korea's large rivers from flooding each year. They get plenty of rain in Korea - as much as the UK annually - but 70% falls in July, the rainy season. The bike path is an add-on, along with trying to restore the riverside areas which would normally be left with big deposits of sand and silt. Now there are wetland areas and plenty of parkland for recreation. All the farming areas we have passed through are no longer flooded out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We set off again late in the day to find somewhere to camp, down by the water's edge. It's peaceful and pretty but we're still too damn hot! </span><br />
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-45249548118198541542015-07-24T22:15:00.000-07:002015-08-07T05:46:35.680-07:00out of the frying pan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our road continues west along the coast. There's a bike path sometimes and sometimes there's just us and the traffic. It requires a bit too much concentration. After a morning on the main road we find a back road that cuts a corner, misses a city and loses all the trucks. We happily work our way through the country roads but Gayle has to navigate because I can no longer read our map - the back roads are white on a white background. We pop out on the main road at the coast at the end of another sunny Saturday. There's plenty of people out on the roads and at the service stations. We get water and sneak past a hotel spa to camp in a corner of their garden. It's a steamy night, as still as a cemetery. We both have a bucket wash by the tent and hope none of the guests take an evening stroll.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHMCumZQHCbSys-Ptsee2fDpAuBDgqoA4pNRS1czWMXVD8vO_SPI4daBtAGt5jmjewcyKRIW76ZTvCzF9xXF25g7CEnDxewQ5A9NSqytpACW7pyxhZ5Sw3pjmubAgbvmjFFF8yKniYg/s1600/IMG_0844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIHMCumZQHCbSys-Ptsee2fDpAuBDgqoA4pNRS1czWMXVD8vO_SPI4daBtAGt5jmjewcyKRIW76ZTvCzF9xXF25g7CEnDxewQ5A9NSqytpACW7pyxhZ5Sw3pjmubAgbvmjFFF8yKniYg/s320/IMG_0844.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>one of many deserted hidden beaches</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our road is Route 9. This will be rembered by us as the Road of Death. It's possibly the worst road we've been on in the whole of Japan. Running parallel is a brand new expressway, but no-one is prepared to pay the tolls, so the old highway is chocker. And because of the lay of the land, steep hills tumbling into the sea, there's no space for a footpath. Did I mention the climbs? One lunch we get to a <i>michi no eki</i> perched above the sea with a wonderful refreshing breeze. We can't believe our luck when we find large wooden platforms to eat and sleep on in the shade of some overgrown wisteria. It's ideal and easily the coolest place we've found on the road in ages. We're halfway through lunch when Gayle suddenly leaps up with a yell - SNAKE!! I nearly drop my butty. SNAKE! She shouts again. I drop my butty, face down. Where? It just dropped out of the wisteria above and fell behind us. Gayle heard it hit the ground and now it's moving in rather a speedy manner. We watch it carefully as it plays with us - moving away and then turning around. Damn. We can't siesta here.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYa_at33Y-4g3zz2VZeQ8_kD4n-aDLfhLd_m9xNXWoOqOn_6GwxJAtGBg0S3IEnwq0rVCMP03f5xU1cCldlYovb9gwHXilJDw0xBmV3NqPWOetDZgL4TsVPZ8O0MJCRJA6Ut4Q41Vrlw/s1600/IMG_2325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYa_at33Y-4g3zz2VZeQ8_kD4n-aDLfhLd_m9xNXWoOqOn_6GwxJAtGBg0S3IEnwq0rVCMP03f5xU1cCldlYovb9gwHXilJDw0xBmV3NqPWOetDZgL4TsVPZ8O0MJCRJA6Ut4Q41Vrlw/s320/IMG_2325.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwXWTm7QUx9NyAyssm-ITBpk-BlUuAT0ZhgBsKvCIQ66IOKKkBr8MeMzwzfWKYruRCnhH2iZplvnn1h_-_ry_Oi2eBsycRQHqtSHhuQmBlubA65gtmbhKJfIGZESsIMqR-NW_p2eyFg/s1600/IMG_0807.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQwXWTm7QUx9NyAyssm-ITBpk-BlUuAT0ZhgBsKvCIQ66IOKKkBr8MeMzwzfWKYruRCnhH2iZplvnn1h_-_ry_Oi2eBsycRQHqtSHhuQmBlubA65gtmbhKJfIGZESsIMqR-NW_p2eyFg/s320/IMG_0807.JPG" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Route 9 finally brings us to Masuda, a town with a big river and embankments where we can camp. Happily we can continue along the coast whilst the dreaded highway cuts inland directly to Shimonoseki.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> This is our final destination too, but there's a quieter road around the end of Honshu that flattens out and should make an easy ride to the port. We are desperate to leave Route 9. It turns out to be a good decision and with the added thrill of more small coastal roads that look all but abandoned, cutting over headlands on tiny overgrown and rock-scattered asphalt. We realise that some of this debris probably arrived with the recent typhoon. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It feels like we've entered Japan's Brigadoon - as we pass through series of villages that see little traffic.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9tiURF3dQA39FvNrAHcnzhCw0R_BO5H2E5FROfP44p-lMN5Dlqd11Q0Vi6vdKaqo2g7ZkJPer13oYlxKWyUWxMRd3dSlOzT80mMLOcMnW7gsZVNI6mYV-Ki9p-iGTYAjC7OOjTjvbA/s1600/IMG_0801.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9tiURF3dQA39FvNrAHcnzhCw0R_BO5H2E5FROfP44p-lMN5Dlqd11Q0Vi6vdKaqo2g7ZkJPer13oYlxKWyUWxMRd3dSlOzT80mMLOcMnW7gsZVNI6mYV-Ki9p-iGTYAjC7OOjTjvbA/s320/IMG_0801.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>sho 'nuff</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As we hurry along our way we come to the small town of Hagi. It's mentioned in our guidebook but neither of us expect it to have such a delightful old centre. It's the kind of place we would love to stay in for a few days and just potter around. And it doesn't seem too busy with tourists despite being the school holidays. But because we are now on a ticking clock, with a flight booked from Seoul in early August, we press on. Neither of us likes travelling like this and the non-stop riding is less enjoyable than it should be. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbK5lbDyEWbzOIrOydsNzN5wWP5tDBlDdt48UXpebMFUgqtahYzrqWXNCJXbs_PNQd6tA1xBxSznRkmh6cqy2qEbQXY08gNKyWZcPzqrLkvF9abguV9C9oveS8fJofp8fyK3MqsmowPQ/s1600/IMG_0837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbK5lbDyEWbzOIrOydsNzN5wWP5tDBlDdt48UXpebMFUgqtahYzrqWXNCJXbs_PNQd6tA1xBxSznRkmh6cqy2qEbQXY08gNKyWZcPzqrLkvF9abguV9C9oveS8fJofp8fyK3MqsmowPQ/s320/IMG_0837.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hagi's waterfront</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One late afternoon we arrive at a beach with a very stylish toilet and shower block made from wood, with big covered arches providing shade. There's a group of old fellas sat around chatting and we say hello and sit down under the shelter out of some rain to enjoy a hot cuppa and a biscuit. The road has flattened out now so in compensation we've had a lousy headwind most of the day. The rain is a stopper. One of the men comes over and asks if we want to sleep here. Or does he mean just rest a little. It's about 5pm and we noticed a sign in the carpark says it shuts at 6. We say yes and the man brings us first two reed mats to lie on, and then a bench to sit on and then a portable cooker and kettle to make more tea. He and his mates then shut up the office and leave us to it. Such kindness. The place has a lot of decking but the rain is blowing in, so we set up the tent under another awning not far away, after we've cooked and eaten our tea. We take bucket showers in the cubicles. All so civilised.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>last night in Japan</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This turns out to be our last night in Japan because the ride next day is easy and straightforward down the western end of Honshu and into Shimonoseki. The sun is back out and hot, so we are happy to reach the international ferry terminal and sit in the comparative comfort of a waiting lounge with a/c. All around us are people shouting at each other and calling across the hall. Not one of them is Japanese of course. They are all Koreans, with a gang of women with huge bundles and boxes of, .... are they <i>instant noodles</i>?? Good grief. We thought it was South Korea this ferry was taking us, not North Korea. </span><br />
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-74648837459516875462015-07-18T22:22:00.000-07:002015-08-03T07:30:27.508-07:00thundering typhoons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A friend has written and commented on our 'leisurely' ride through Japan. It jumps out at us. We have spent more time in Japan than any other country on this journey. This is mainly because we can get a six month visa and we are not sure if we will be coming back soon. Japan is not that easy to reach from England. So we have tried to make the most of it. It's true we have not cycled long distances here, but the geography and the climate has proven not to be so kind to cyclists. We are reflecting on this as we head west along the top coast of Honshu from the port of Maizuru. There's a display telling us the temperature of the road surface (the winters can be fierce here). It's 28 degrees and it's not yet 8.30 in the morning. If anything requires strength and determination when you are cycle-touring then this is the kind of thing. It's Gayle's birthday and we are on a fairly busy road on a Saturday morning and we are baking. We find late-morning refuge in a McDonalds. Outside it's bright on the eyes and the air is sticky. There'd been little humidity in Hokkaido so we need to reacclimatise.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh78IV8-q4HjWMRauQoV1QjameHXcm3ZwJ55OmRElIasOvY17jiiK_LYfMyGY4ryyhttSGWQl57wxd7-D3i4im2OWYFxauNpoNoPuJRGx2nedu3RIHrIuY9xdhUO0t8Oxc6rWRn90Ax0w/s1600/IMG_0498.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh78IV8-q4HjWMRauQoV1QjameHXcm3ZwJ55OmRElIasOvY17jiiK_LYfMyGY4ryyhttSGWQl57wxd7-D3i4im2OWYFxauNpoNoPuJRGx2nedu3RIHrIuY9xdhUO0t8Oxc6rWRn90Ax0w/s320/IMG_0498.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>don't spit on the sand</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The ride takes us along the coast and over a sand spit rated as one of Japan's most scenic spots. There are lovely pines growing and a path runs the length of the spit but the notion of this being one of the top three most scenic places in Japan typifies what is wrong with tourism here. They like lists here, and you have to tick them off. You have to eat the right food in the right place. It's a new face to that old conformity thing. Everyone does the same thing. We hurry quickly on, trying to avoid any busy roads without losing time. We have a week to reach the port town of Sakaiminato where we can take a ferry to Korea. We have plenty of time but don't want to arrive at the last minute. After a good day's ride we then find ourselves diverting to a park to camp. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWq7nBzArPHA4INJjUJE2LXA4nL0l3U3p5kI0Jm33Ej1x0Kr_vEZrG05xLOvAA16T0_2s9AmhXRZalA9bxPH6kKPc9GoxrAR8uNLoU2lWxxWMA3A2zzgmpmRm37ZL1Qt7275D1tEjNgg/s1600/IMG_0520.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWq7nBzArPHA4INJjUJE2LXA4nL0l3U3p5kI0Jm33Ej1x0Kr_vEZrG05xLOvAA16T0_2s9AmhXRZalA9bxPH6kKPc9GoxrAR8uNLoU2lWxxWMA3A2zzgmpmRm37ZL1Qt7275D1tEjNgg/s320/IMG_0520.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>the camera lens is steaming up - before 7 am</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Our map doesn't tell us the park is on the top of a big hill. Nor that it is a private 'leisure' park and that we will have to camp beside the carpark. We cook our tea in the evening swelter. There's not a breath of air. The tent is pitched on a slope and the only bright spark is a wash with a bowl of water that helps get some of the sweat off. Inside the tent it is too darn hot. At some point I pass out. I wake with a start in the night - something is smothering me. I can't breathe. I raise my hands to pull it off but <i>there's nothing there</i>. Just the hot heavy night. Maybe all the rain in Hokkaido wasn't that awful after all......</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaV2gqOVlBRiI4C9ApSmVOIw1teDw1GVlOJl3I9Jbo7ltP_SqnlM9F540wEV1jw7aWQ-57pbfCLzB6ifcayHP0qM5rQBlgkHwBvpH7fbn59nqyq9SxpMnJs_ASPolWS9RZIHhwYwbghQ/s1600/IMG_0593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaV2gqOVlBRiI4C9ApSmVOIw1teDw1GVlOJl3I9Jbo7ltP_SqnlM9F540wEV1jw7aWQ-57pbfCLzB6ifcayHP0qM5rQBlgkHwBvpH7fbn59nqyq9SxpMnJs_ASPolWS9RZIHhwYwbghQ/s320/IMG_0593.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>how to photograph those killer climbs?</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In our efforts to stay off the main roads we find ourselves on narrow twisting roads sticking close to the coast. These roads sometimes climb precipitously before swooping back down to the sea. The coast is stunning - lots of small bays, jutting outcrops of rocks and high forrested headlands. The riding is never dull but it's demanding.</span> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mTDG7Md5_BoPrHdFvS0GW5Zc_vTNwWeHfpVAitTVnQlqzRQIByVLV3PBajqI1c1ttQErkn41pPwO0XfOEEqUV7sRHzQYhAbUKYsdhC96NZvQ85kl_nKJI-7eC64QWagKK20VkSGenw/s1600/IMG_0549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6mTDG7Md5_BoPrHdFvS0GW5Zc_vTNwWeHfpVAitTVnQlqzRQIByVLV3PBajqI1c1ttQErkn41pPwO0XfOEEqUV7sRHzQYhAbUKYsdhC96NZvQ85kl_nKJI-7eC64QWagKK20VkSGenw/s320/IMG_0549.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>plenty of pretty villages</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At least there are no trucks on the the small roads. Sometimes we ride the main highway, and try to stay tucked in. The trucks here go too fast on the roads and are not prepared to brake when they approach us. If the road is clear, they overtake giving us ample space, but if there's traffic coming the other way, they will glide straight past us. It's unnerving sometimes. I take to riding out on Gayle's shoulder to at least try and deter cars from trying to squeeze past. But the best plan is to take whatever alternative road there is. We therefore are climbing a lot of steep passes on these dramatic little roads over the next few days and it's tiring.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Nights in the tent require some more thought. We soon opt to leave the tent porch tied completely back to allow any air that moves to waft through our mesh door. We can't open the tent door because of mosquitos that plague us. In a 100 yen shop we pick up fans. The best 50 pence I have ever spent, bar my Peru subbuteo football team from 1978. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0ccyyyJrEPzxkaul5LPGeoxJdKiQFVKnZ-72UpWB-xERh8OkJvqm4mmdQXZ8u1LtFvm5ILT0jL5HkZxPsXkUdfWToezJo12DQSAH4rYauHK6HIWikO-WZYXdPpoGt694O8VV2PpB_Q/s1600/IMG_0605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0ccyyyJrEPzxkaul5LPGeoxJdKiQFVKnZ-72UpWB-xERh8OkJvqm4mmdQXZ8u1LtFvm5ILT0jL5HkZxPsXkUdfWToezJo12DQSAH4rYauHK6HIWikO-WZYXdPpoGt694O8VV2PpB_Q/s320/IMG_0605.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>sleeping under the railway bridge</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The coast is dotted with lots of fishing villages with lovely sandy coves and some good beaches. We sometimes stop so that Gayle can swim while I hide out under some shade. I've become sun-phobic - sick of the bloody heat. If we can time it right we sit out the midday sun under an arbor - a bit of shade to eat and doze. On the edge of Tottori there are some large coastal sand dunes and we arrive at them at about 9am. It is blistering. I refuse to climb the dunes. Gayle gamely heads off and I get chatting to a woman who works for the national parks. She asks if we need anything. A bike shop. It's clearly not what most tourists are looking for when they arrive at the dunes. You can, after all, take a camel ride. But she is undeterred and takes me to her boss who knows the city well. He prints me a map. It's not a bike shop for mama charis? I check. You can easily find shops selling and repairing the classic old shopping bikes but they aren't going to have what we want. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98tLktchG0etrOyU0GhqI2jQZV0f9kDHKuImBGNjs1iotuvFm7_tr_9DEZoQ9mGJFZbATlnCub3c3SpLRj864DSVVnURMrW7KrdQgWzSgIPuxXJ1ex6d2c00GKYM-uTYLHTx9F2DPZA/s1600/IMG_0736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98tLktchG0etrOyU0GhqI2jQZV0f9kDHKuImBGNjs1iotuvFm7_tr_9DEZoQ9mGJFZbATlnCub3c3SpLRj864DSVVnURMrW7KrdQgWzSgIPuxXJ1ex6d2c00GKYM-uTYLHTx9F2DPZA/s320/IMG_0736.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>the view from the dunes</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As it is, the Fukuhama bike shop, a family business, is perfect. I explain we need a new bottom bracket but that I want to install it, er, well, but I need to borrow your tools to do it. Mr. Fukuhama seems to understand and gives his son instructions. He brings me the tools and then watches me do something I've never done before - remove the bottom bracket. It's not complicated, but I'm terrible doing stuff like this while someone watches me. In fact I'm terrible when no-one watches me too, but then it doesn't bother me. Under the gaze of Fukuhama Junior I start trying to unscrew the lockring in the wrong direction. It's anti-clockwise, not clockwise. Stupid, eh? Yeah, well, it is clockwise on the other side, so there. The bottom bracket removed looks like a cheap thing. Happily Fukuyama Junior finds a Shimano replacement in amongst their huge stock of spare parts. It's such a rare thing to see in a bike shop - most don't keep a large stock these days. When I'm done he quickly starts to check through the gears. I indicate I can't afford a service but he waves me off smiling. The family understand and only charge us for the new part. This is a relief. And Gayle can now cycle more efficiently.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Sz0yFHySZwHEAAJIrPKtecK33SqUe9wMRddVjIfMdtDIJptcUeta8hps3EjR0MHPP50b6nDsa7IwA-CP08MSU9E5z57AJQ8sqjsghvOvDP13paGEpagbetCCvD9MVFLhGiK2E54QYA/s1600/IMG_0701.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Sz0yFHySZwHEAAJIrPKtecK33SqUe9wMRddVjIfMdtDIJptcUeta8hps3EjR0MHPP50b6nDsa7IwA-CP08MSU9E5z57AJQ8sqjsghvOvDP13paGEpagbetCCvD9MVFLhGiK2E54QYA/s320/IMG_0701.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>the ubiquitous vending machine - how could the Japanese survive without them?</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The night before we close in on Sakaiminato we find ourselves camping in an old fortress. We wanted to camp in the sports park next door but the caretaker spots us while we are cooking dinner at a picnic table. "No camping" he says. Okay then. He looks at the rice cooking on the stove. "No fire". I point to the cigarette bin. "No smoking?" I ask. He seems to understand my point. We tell him we'll be finished in an hour. He's the first and only Japanese to ever appoach us like this and it seems painful to him - although that might be because he has to speak to the stupid foreigners in long-forgotten English. The night is windy. We have seen a weather forecast that refers to a typhoon coming. In the morning there's a bit of rain, and I get Gayle up in alarm. I'm getting more like Clive Dunn in Dad's Army every year. It's not yet 6 and she's like a bear with a sore head, but I don't want to hang around if there's a typhoon coming. We pack up and head out with an enormous tailwind. The coastal road has flattened out and we trundle along quickly. Rain threatens now and again, but nothing heavy. The sky is dark though and visibility very poor. Not so far away the big mountains lie invisibly cloaked in grey murk. We are two days early for the weekly ferry, so we head to the main train station in Yonago. It's rainy and windy now and we have decided to look for a cheap hotel. At the tourist information desk they point us towards two nearby business hotels. While Gayle is inside the police (nick-named the not-so-busies) approach me and point to the bikes. Where are we going? Do we know the typhoon will hit tomorrow? They look happy that we plan to take a hotel room. And I'm happy too because we've had some hot sweaty nights recently and don't want to top it with a typhoon. Gayle emerges from the tourist information office with the news that our ferry has been cancelled. Ah.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN10yfwUHQUDZpH19VVFISqByGqYH6TbBwCEVWiwsjKrrtREvAByGUMhwFOMNtg4_qtz4rB_doz_fBfkVmJZ-2JVBq5eF9HnTbN3W8TgUiFmxjnmkKCbBctAYE2ZqjFmPq8w_-8YRhbA/s1600/IMG_0754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN10yfwUHQUDZpH19VVFISqByGqYH6TbBwCEVWiwsjKrrtREvAByGUMhwFOMNtg4_qtz4rB_doz_fBfkVmJZ-2JVBq5eF9HnTbN3W8TgUiFmxjnmkKCbBctAYE2ZqjFmPq8w_-8YRhbA/s320/IMG_0754.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>calm before the storm</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Comfortably settled in our hotel room we realise we have bought food for cooking but only have petrol to use in the stove. I head back out in the rain to find gas. My search is long and I end up riding to an out-of-town shopping mall to find a sports shop. By the time I get back I am soaked to the skin. But we have a nice comfy bed in a dry room - shelter from the storm. We chew over our options - stay here for one week or go for plan B - we continue down the Japanese coast and take a different ferry, one that runs daily, to Busan in Korea. It will mean we have a different kind of ride in Korea, and at least five more days riding in Japan, but at least we are not dependent on the weather. Typhoon 12 is mapped out at sea and may arrive the following week. Meanwhile the TV weather shows have endless discussion and explanation of the weather patterns. In the morning the weather seems not too bad - and it seems from the TV that we are actually right in the centre of the weather system that is now dumping huge volumes of rain over Osaka and points east of us. But here in Yonago it's not that bad. Blistering barnacles, could our ship have sailed after all? </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbamzIrriyzDV3AwIBGqCa-FU7bc2nKUGhGWvYsr9I3blnfS0ZtXntHK8DM2fJprUS8HPIf-QXNT5zBwn8rohB1OdMV1xC1JDd-jU7xp6J9W31o_ekwdWjR6tehcDe1D5zZ4DsyFyo5g/s1600/IMG_0662.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbamzIrriyzDV3AwIBGqCa-FU7bc2nKUGhGWvYsr9I3blnfS0ZtXntHK8DM2fJprUS8HPIf-QXNT5zBwn8rohB1OdMV1xC1JDd-jU7xp6J9W31o_ekwdWjR6tehcDe1D5zZ4DsyFyo5g/s320/IMG_0662.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>this coastline was stunning and not built up - in contrast to the other side of Honshu</i></span></td></tr>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-26380228184178968122015-07-05T21:41:00.000-07:002015-08-03T07:30:16.808-07:00back to Japan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqev38u1moSjbfa8Xphm0P36_cbNZoxgQ6CsJspA0W36PKB5AOyajTbvr1Oi5HkUPydZCfQmXPqOVl9LDObZY0OInppjBVxasBFSppqWgcjrq7wyEJX-2dZbFDtzdiG75o1G3si9LR8Q/s1600/IMG_0243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqev38u1moSjbfa8Xphm0P36_cbNZoxgQ6CsJspA0W36PKB5AOyajTbvr1Oi5HkUPydZCfQmXPqOVl9LDObZY0OInppjBVxasBFSppqWgcjrq7wyEJX-2dZbFDtzdiG75o1G3si9LR8Q/s320/IMG_0243.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As if by magic, the clouds in the sky part and the sun shines brilliantly through. We have ridden through a smallish pass and now continue west through expansive rolling farmland. To avoid going into the city of Asahikawa we take farming roads that lead to a river with a bike path. We know the river flows into the Ishikari River which we need to follow so we optimistically stay with it until we reach an impasse. Our tributary cuts through a tight gorge and there's no option but to cycle up and over a steep hill and down the other side. We're trying to avoid the main highway and we know there's another bike path along the Ishikari, but there's a railway in the way. Finally we get to the path and then 500 metres later we reach a barrier with signs only in Japanese. Someone has thoughtfully pulled back the fence and we push through to continue. The river is big here, and it is winding westwards through the fingers of foothills spreading out from the central mountains. We find ourselves in a tight winding valley with steep forrested hillside above us, the railway cutting through a series of tunnels and on the other riverbank, the bustling main road. Our bike path has a bit of rockfall, but is otherwise fine. We continue happily until we reach another barrier. Again, the fence has been pulled back, so once again we push past and continue until we reach a more solid gate. This one has no gaps. It's solid. Ahead are old tunnels which the bike path uses, so perhaps these have collapsed? Who knows. We backtrack to a bridge and miserably join the thrash and thunder of the highway. And then, wonderfully, we notice there's a separate bike path running alongside on the old road. We quickly divert and cycle in peace by the river along an overgrown old tarmac road that now has fully grown trees sprouting up through the centre line. We're so jolly to be away from all the traffic. Eventually we can cross back onto the bike path on the other side and find ourselves emerging onto a huge plain of farms. It seems endless. It is endless. This is the edge of the huge valley that sprawls north to south between the main cities on the island. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We cycle in long straight lines for a whole day. The fields are full of corn, maize, and wheat. There are lines of pines to provide wind breaks. It is a sunny, hot Sunday when we reach Iwamizawa. The rain seems to be a thing of the past. Clare and Andy are very kindly hosting us even though they are winding down and preparing to leave after five years working on the JET programme here. They clearly have enjoyed Hokkaido, even if the work has not been particularly interesting. The JET programme is essentially providing foreign language assistance in teaching English in schools. Both Andy and Clare are skiers and hikers, so they've made the most of being here and exploring at the weekends. Now they are preparing for a cycle ride back to Europe. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg100knPAlQ0GTT-whLHHnoQ_yNKiqlVZjwmN-mFdW9oCpDV8reMQnJSSsjQmcdK6BQ1DDqo8C6Jl0oC_13kPfLILGpAMcijXcE4cEmD4X6XTb4ZPvjq87oIfor8zBXdghxSKdY04BjYg/s1600/IMG_0372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg100knPAlQ0GTT-whLHHnoQ_yNKiqlVZjwmN-mFdW9oCpDV8reMQnJSSsjQmcdK6BQ1DDqo8C6Jl0oC_13kPfLILGpAMcijXcE4cEmD4X6XTb4ZPvjq87oIfor8zBXdghxSKdY04BjYg/s320/IMG_0372.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>with Clare and Andy</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We are welcomed with wine and a barbecue - meat that was part of their prize for their recent Sea to Summit success. We sleep soooo well in their flat and are glad of the rest and it's interesting to hear about their experience living in Japan. They have a plan to return to Hokkaido.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Feeling much restored by our stay with such lovely folk, and cheered by the continuing good weather, we cycle over to Sapporo, the island's main city. We don't plan to, but after dithering about along the way we end up camping in one of the city's parks. The city has a pleasant feel in the centre, helped by the trees. So many of Japan's towns have no trees along the roads and streets, they look and feel so bleak and contrast sharply with the abundant growth in the countryside. It's strange, because the towns are so clean and well-maintained. There are parks and green areas, but Japanese city centres generally look rather grey and utilitarian. This feeling is endorsed by another cycle tourist we meet, an Englishman who has just flown in from Xi'an in China, where he lives. His first reaction, looking around outside the train station, is that it's just like a Chinese city. He's also wondering about the weather. It is so much cooler here than he expected. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQmD2-sL42zON28bmtqAe4YP6ubR06v0c2H0i8UsEJb7b5P0rQk2d0eXMRNntT7G1ZgFAR0BXynmu8wyQJMG9Utw87bqeoAB_TPzR5KVaxw2pEGRUxn7smhMgH8LKn7zz-1dfRBOwnw/s1600/IMG_0388.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaQmD2-sL42zON28bmtqAe4YP6ubR06v0c2H0i8UsEJb7b5P0rQk2d0eXMRNntT7G1ZgFAR0BXynmu8wyQJMG9Utw87bqeoAB_TPzR5KVaxw2pEGRUxn7smhMgH8LKn7zz-1dfRBOwnw/s320/IMG_0388.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>breakfast in the park</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have an easy ride out to the port of Otaru just north west of Sapporo. At one point we do have to climb a steep hill that brings on a sweat, but we are rewarded with the corresponding downhill on the other side into the port. After setting off from Clare and Andy's yesterday we noticed that Gayle's bottom bracket was shot. This is not a medical condition, thankfully. It just means that her pedal power is reduced. We ask at a bike shop but they don't have one that fits. Gayle will have to tick along for the time being with her clanking cranks.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At the port we meet a tall Russian in army fatigues called Valentin. He has come from Sakhalin island and is on his way to Osaka. He studied one year in Kyoto and is fluent in Japanese. In the lounge waiting to board the ferry we get into a three-way conversation with a young Japanese couple. They comment that we and Valentin look the same. In fact, I think they say that I could be his dad. I try to ignore this. Of course, we do share some of the same Viking genes. But Valentin points out that our cultural attitudes are not so similar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Aboard the ferry we quickly find our sleeping berths - a luxurious 2nd class passage - then take a proper hot bath in the on-board <i>onsen</i>. The night passes quickly - it's a late sailing - and we have the rest of the day also at sea with time to read and sleep. It's so relaxing that when we arrive we consider hiding aboard for the return journey. Valentin has considered the same thing. While he goes off hitchhiking to Osaka we quickly find a tiny park to camp and sleep. We're back on Honshu and our Japanese jaunt is coming to an end.</span></div>
by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-39068475924884712842015-07-01T21:20:00.000-07:002015-08-02T07:55:47.318-07:00rain stops play<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After the excitement of the afternoon we find ourselves in a small town with a free campsite. The place is nice and quiet. There's a <i>michi no eki</i> with an indoor seating area which proves to be useful when we awake the next day to Scotch mist. It's drear. As we have a wet tent and a dry shelter for cooking we decide to stay put for the day and catch up on-line using the <i>michi no eki</i>'s free wi-fi. The drizzle is so fine that you'd think it wasn't raining but you get soaking wet quickly. The big hills we could see last night have disappeared and the temperature has plummeted to around 13 degrees. Happily, after a hard day at the office, there is a hot foot bath in a tiny plaza by the river. It's a hot-spring village with three spa hotels, and the foot bath is a little 'taster'. On a cold day it makes sense to sit and soak our feet and the bath is under an arbor with a big polythene wrap to keep out the wind. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCJIJaiCUj8LDu8EqN2mJbyV0lZS7J_MZJDifIsB7AqxVtCoMVR9QYptoy-9aRdxvG7qvg1GQG9fT4IwvtIjLFfgjJEySu2Me2nt3UyUZaGXw_pNF92A4wbHpAFfTU13IjjGBKlEJPw/s1600/IMG_0098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQCJIJaiCUj8LDu8EqN2mJbyV0lZS7J_MZJDifIsB7AqxVtCoMVR9QYptoy-9aRdxvG7qvg1GQG9fT4IwvtIjLFfgjJEySu2Me2nt3UyUZaGXw_pNF92A4wbHpAFfTU13IjjGBKlEJPw/s320/IMG_0098.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">free campsite in Onsenyu</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> The next day is a repeat of the previous, except that on this day I get into my trunks and lie in the foot bath. It seems little used and there's a constant flow of hot water. Delightful. And then a local family turns up and I have to embarrassingly extricate myself quickly from the bath. They look completely unfazed. It's the Japanese way.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>the farmland reminds us of Scandinavia</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After rain-enforced rest we continue eastwards towards three volcanic lakes. It's dry with a cold wind and the cycling is easy until the late afternoon when typically we have to climb over some hills and earn our sleep. It's a long slow and hot climb up to the caldera rim overlooking Lake Kussharo the next morning. The sun is back out with a vengeance and</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> the view at the top is wonderful. The forest has been cleared here and the area is covered in bamboo grass. Before us is the volcanic lake and in the distance the chain of mountains leading out east. Here we meet an Aussie/Swedish couple on a touring holiday and we have a good natter before continuing on down to the lake shore. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The lake looks pleasingly undeveloped and on a peninsula there is a free hotspring where we can soak. So naturally we do. Angie and Eddie are walking their dog and we get chatting. They're on a big road trip north from Tokyo where they work at an international school. It turns out it's the same school as Seth and Sandy's which seems like a remarkable coincidence and we end up camping and dining together at nearby picnic tables. There's a paying campsite about two hundred metres away, but why bother? The only miscreants around here come from the trees. The Japanese claim the crane as their national bird and their largest habitat is the wetlands south of here. But for us the national bird is the crow. It's big, it's noisy and it's everywhere, laughing at us when we're struggling up mountain roads and cawing outside our tent at first light. Andy and Clare had warned us - here they rummage in our plastic bags or fly down and swoop away clutching one.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirj4tlDu9hRAEcGaNQMfU5rvh_AEIk7wQilcqHEJRwP9Q2HJ8YlV9Y5R_S0N1NU89abQi3CyJsQ698GHCQOXnBjQJWg45Q6GC_p2b2SK9mF3SdrMzpblN_3xkXzdgZtBFB55eEBovcAw/s1600/IMG_0160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirj4tlDu9hRAEcGaNQMfU5rvh_AEIk7wQilcqHEJRwP9Q2HJ8YlV9Y5R_S0N1NU89abQi3CyJsQ698GHCQOXnBjQJWg45Q6GC_p2b2SK9mF3SdrMzpblN_3xkXzdgZtBFB55eEBovcAw/s320/IMG_0160.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Eddie and Angie cooking up amidst the evening mozzies</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The lake is placid as the sun sets but in the morning the skies have clouded over and the wind is up. We pack up and say our farewells to Eddie and Angie before heading northwards, out of the caldera and towards the sea. Just before we reach the rim we bump into Peter from Belgium. He has a fortnights' holiday here and the weather has so far been lousy. The forecast is more rain. We all feel duped into believing the view that while Japan has a rainy season in June, in Hokkaido the rain stays away. What nonsense. As we reach the coastal plain it is pissing down. We find refuge at roadside services and come to a decision: to head back towards Sapporo and take a ferry south to Honshu. It will take us a few days cycling in any case but if we go any further it will take even longer to reach the port at Otaru. Being decision-averse, this feels like a Good Thing and we set back off in the rain heading north up the coast. This is not the most direct route but we want to head back over to the west of the island via a low pass, rather than slog through the bigger mountains in the rain. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDWs19PERQ6KrI0WJaEMP1fj44VSELbZKTozCgahb0ekbot89Dq05ZQoHzekmewy4GDGnjzb5yslxDg-Lh4NdUY2CM2CdgzXG3kyF1yZ9PberxjXpMHVZ3QPnZKIzFxwhIyYUXtVMUg/s1600/IMG_0109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDWs19PERQ6KrI0WJaEMP1fj44VSELbZKTozCgahb0ekbot89Dq05ZQoHzekmewy4GDGnjzb5yslxDg-Lh4NdUY2CM2CdgzXG3kyF1yZ9PberxjXpMHVZ3QPnZKIzFxwhIyYUXtVMUg/s320/IMG_0109.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>er...just run that one by me again Gayle</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We arrive soaking wet at the Abashiri <i>michi no eki</i> in the late afternoon. Parked round the back is a loaded bike. It belongs to a young Japanese guy called Shuto (pronounced <i>Shooto</i>, he helpfully mimes kicking a football screaming into the top corner of the net - he's good at miming). </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Shuto carries a cap gun to ward off bears</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Shuto is, like many young men at this time of the year, cycling around Japan. Except Shuto originally came to Hokkaido at the end of February to start. This is the middle of winter when the island is under thick snow and freezing cold. So he found work for a free bed in a Share House. What's a Share House, we ask. A house shared by people, he explains patiently. Ho hum. His english is good - he has spent a study year in Fiji. He tells us he camped here last night. Where? He points through the huge plate glass picture windows with a view of the grey sea. Outside at the back of the building is a large area of decking under a roof. Ideal in these conditions, the building closes at 6.30pm. We tell him we will join him tonight, if that's okay. Meanwhile there's some heat and free wi-fi while the building is open. After shopping and cooking in an arbor outside the local library we return in the dark to find Shuto already pitched and in bed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The sun flickers momentarily the next morning as we continue north. Shuto appears not to require food and is off early while we enjoy our morning breakfast with the luxury of free wi-fi. The forecast is still poor so it's no surprise when it starts to rain again at lunchtime. We've had 25 kilometres of bike path this morning, around a couple of lagoons, and now the road has temporarily left the coast. We find Shuto sheltering at another <i>michi no eki</i>. He tells us there's a Rider House not far up the road. We've not stayed at any yet because we don't know how to find them. (We asked Rob how to spot them. He told us they have the words 'Rider House' written outside them. Ahh so.) This one is on an old steam train. We wait for a gap in the rain and make a dash for it. For 300 yen (about £1.70) each we can have a space in a carriage on the old train parked up at the now disused station of Kerrochi. There are a few motorbikers and a guy from Okinawa on his 125cc Honda scooter. We like him, but the bikers all seem a bit odd. For an extra 100 yen we have a scaldingly hot shower and an opportunity to shed some dead skin. By the end of the day, after we've got comfy and settled, the sun comes out and we feel a bit silly not camping. But we brighten when the rain hammers down on the carriage roof at nightfall. Rain can sound so wonderful when you're tucked up somewhere warm and dry. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>there's no shortage of flowers across Japan</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Once again, Shuto departs without food. Before he leaves he tells us of a free Rider House in Okope on another train. We arrange to meet him there in the afternoon. The ride along the coast is easy, with fairly flat roads. Inevitably it rains at some point but not for long. When we get to Okope we immediately find Shuto at the michi no eki. Tucked in a park, behind the building, are a couple of railway carriages with a little outdoor cooking area. We check out the free accommodation - allotted space on the floor of one carriage where you can roll out your mat. But there's hardly any space for bags and the place is busy. As the skies are clear we decide to camp instead. We think that Shuto asks the kind lady at the information desk if that's okay, even though we haven't asked him to. We think we'll just wait for nightfall before we pitch. But before closing time, the woman brings us both some chocolate and asks if we want to camp. Yes, we do, is that okay? She hums and haws. The reason for her hesitation is the weather forecast. And as if on cue it begins to rain "cats and dogs", as Shuto says. The woman is obviously concerned for us, as the railway carriage is now full for the night. But there is the other one which is just kept for show. She tells us we can use it. I almost fall to the floor at her feet. Such kindness! What fools we've been! As soon as we have unloaded our bikes and Mrs Information leaves for the evening, the rain stops. Who could have guessed? There are twelve Japanese travellers squeezed into the other carriage and we have the other one all to ourselves. Mr Honda Scooter from Okinawa is one of the guests next door and he pokes his head in at the door to look over our spacious lounge. He says something in Japanese. Jammy buggers!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In the morning we say farewell to Shuto once again. Here we go separate ways as we head west across the island and he continues to the northern cape. He's been good company and fun and we have been happy to meet an animated and uninhibited young Japanese. (Shuto managed to use an exclamatory "Fuck!" to begin so many conversations that it became his catchphrase.) As we ride off into the rain we feel once again that we have made the right decision to finally head back to Honshu. Our time in Japan is coming to an end. At yet another <i>michi no eki</i> we are able to get free wi-fi and check messages. Andy and Clare have replied to our Warm Showers request to let us know it's okay to stop at theirs on our way to Sapporo. We are on our way with an extra kick to our pedals. We need to escape this rain.</span><br />
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-45867923821937646952015-06-24T02:29:00.000-07:002015-07-07T08:44:28.201-07:00macro-adventure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98HGi1-M5PDDjvA08flbs_xkv0MXgCA7VUrBQFS-76lRTKFoWP1D2SI6YKWqPN4vt3IPXamY7fGPsD2xNwwu1DxghlIJLLK-r2OpCrvoIcHMsq6mBTXVt_K_nVHMWziOGOa-OiVdN6Q/s1600/IMG_9916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98HGi1-M5PDDjvA08flbs_xkv0MXgCA7VUrBQFS-76lRTKFoWP1D2SI6YKWqPN4vt3IPXamY7fGPsD2xNwwu1DxghlIJLLK-r2OpCrvoIcHMsq6mBTXVt_K_nVHMWziOGOa-OiVdN6Q/s320/IMG_9916.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Rob told us there are bears all over Hokkaido</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihA-G5baVEs7r0vHhCEcLqcUSc6dkTcnM3GeJDbbCypZmKZthdOWoqIMOD563PWV-dJXFnkSR7KcAmUDZ9qbNnUGEDIEBu6ffz-cO4CKtnpk8-Ct5futBdeSlmMtorupM2OtjdFqm4A/s1600/IMG_0042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihA-G5baVEs7r0vHhCEcLqcUSc6dkTcnM3GeJDbbCypZmKZthdOWoqIMOD563PWV-dJXFnkSR7KcAmUDZ9qbNnUGEDIEBu6ffz-cO4CKtnpk8-Ct5futBdeSlmMtorupM2OtjdFqm4A/s200/IMG_0042.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>not that kind of bear</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Having borne the rain, we are eager to get cycling again and soon find ourselves on the banks of the Ishikari River, one of the longest in Japan. It snakes out of the mountains in the east and turns around the northern slopes of the central mountains before flowing through the city of Sapporo and draining into the Sea of Japan. And it has a bike path. Well, some of it does. It comes and goes, leading us into the woods, or onto an overgrown embankment. We happily ride along in the sunshine enjoying the warmth and the wild flowers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our road is heading into the Sounkyo Gorge. The road is bigger than we like, but there's a nice wide hard shoulder so at least we have some space to look around and enjoy the scenery. There's nothing worse than 'white-line' cycling on the edge of a main road, listening out for overtaking traffic with vehicles coming in the opposite direction. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBVK-e_6redEUZmyG03dsfHWdMRvZlIpFunWx-TM5hVVfMUsRTy875iogkhDig_F_IYDTAo2TpV7PM0pbxMF2fHZ8mzK0a1Ov5E2s0fVS1NSuN4tk0LnOSF8MTrJozxN3dS-emjzaRA/s1600/IMG_9923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUBVK-e_6redEUZmyG03dsfHWdMRvZlIpFunWx-TM5hVVfMUsRTy875iogkhDig_F_IYDTAo2TpV7PM0pbxMF2fHZ8mzK0a1Ov5E2s0fVS1NSuN4tk0LnOSF8MTrJozxN3dS-emjzaRA/s320/IMG_9923.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>er.....</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Following the river upstream we are climbing slowly slowly and then almost imperceptibly, it climbs more steeply. We ride through the ugly spa resort of Sounkyo and up to an enormous reservoir with great mountain views above the forest. We don't find anywhere by the lake to camp and settle for a track off the main road. But what about bears? Rob had told us that there are bears all over Hokkaido, but that we are unlikely to come across any if we stick to the main roads. Gayle scoffs, but at least agrees that we cook in a clearing away from the track where we'll camp. As it is, when night falls previously unnoticed street lamps light up. And trucks continue to thunder past. There'll be no bears wandering around here.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>bears everywhere</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In the morning we climb up to a high pass of 1000 metres. It's a tedious slog up some very long straight roads. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>.....everywhere</i></td></tr>
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We are rewarded with great views. A big descent takes us into a long valley. We are looking for a side track that will lead us through the woods and over a ridge and down to Lake Oketo. The forest track looks like the right one and there are even some road signs further along it, although it looks little used. There's a closed up house and a couple of gravel pits, but otherwise it's dense dark forest. We follow the track along a river and then start to climb. Soon we are pushing. We climb and climb. Conscious that we might be straying into bear territory I get out our little fishing-line bells and start speaking in a loud voice. Gayle is unimpressed. She doesn't really think there are any bears in Hokkaido, but she would love to see one. Quite frankly, I wouldn't. We keep pushing up and up, around hairpin bends. There's a tyre tread on the track, so perhaps there are woodcutters up here. The problem is, we don't seem to be getting near to the ridge we need to cross. It's hard to tell in the forest but it feels like we should have reached the pass by now. And then we come to a pile of shit on the track. It's black and big, and although it's not exactly steaming, it looks kind of fresh. Now, I'm no David Attenborough, but this is looking serious. "Gayle, tell me that's not what I think it is". "Maybe it's another cycle-tourist who's just seen the climb ahead". Sure enough the track is getting steeper again. Optimistically we continue up. And then we come to another pile of shit. Gayle takes a photo of it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The track flattens out and curves along a ridge. And then it begins to descend. In the wrong direction. I've checked with the compass. We are almost heading north and the lake should be south of here. But it's a relief to be able to get on the bikes and head downhill. Gayle hurtles away. I'm following slowly behind and just noticing the two logger's huts by the track when I see Gayle has stopped in her tracks. She says something I don't catch. What? "A bear!" "A bear?" "A bear!" She's stock still. I don't know what to do. There's nowhere to run except downhill ahead. Fortunately the bear immediately dashed into the forest as soon as it saw Gayle. We quickly confer and decide to retrace our footsteps. The track feels suddenly very claustrophobic. Gayle looks excited and happy. She wants to tell me about the bear. I don't want to know anything until we are, literally, out of the woods. At least we can ride back down the track - we retreat 6 kilometres and get back to the road.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">How big was it? About this high, Gayle indicates the height of her bike. Oh, so just a little black bear. No, this was on all fours. It was a big brown bear. A grizzly. It was about twenty, thirty metres away. With it's back to her. It turned when it heard her coming and then leapt into the trees. Gayle continues to look excited and happy. She knows she's very lucky. I am so happy to be cycling on tarmac again.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>blink and you'll miss it</i></span></td></tr>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-32423881291040824672015-06-22T18:28:00.000-07:002015-07-07T08:44:19.703-07:00micro-adventures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We are inspired to spice up our touring
a little, inspired by Alastair Humphrey's Micro-adventures. Rob has
the book and we are prompted to check some of his short videos again.
So, after a couple of days getting ourselves sorted, and being well-fed
(Rob asks if we like sausage and mash. Does the bear shit in the
woods?), we are on our way.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>skinny-dipping</i> As it's sunny and fine weather our first micro-adventure is to go swimming in the first river we come to. Fifty metres on we turn past the station and come to the river running through the town. Ah. Hum. Best not be stripping off here, eh? We carry on and the road takes us gradually towards the big hills. We dawdle a bit and finally come to rest at a small town with a michi o neki which amounts to a co-op supermarket and a toilet block. There's a young Japanese lad sitting on a bench next to his loaded bike. Masamichi is only 19 and is cycling around Japan. Once in a very while we meet young men like him, with a sign on the back of their bike and a spark in the eye. Masamichi plans to camp on the tarmac behind the toilet block, which has a septic tank. We opt to take the overgrown wasteland nearby, with some fresher air. Masamichi refuses to join us - he doesn't like insects. How does he cope, we wonder. While we chat a farmer comes over offering up two of his melons. "Presento" he says bowing. We bow back. How kind. He talks with Masamichi for a while before saying goodbye. We bow again. The melons are heavy. "He says we must wait two days before they are ready to eat. They're good melons", Masamichi adds. They must be. In the co-op they're selling them for about £18 a pair. Eighteen quid! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>russian roulette</i> We're heading the same way as Masamichi and ride together into the forrested hills. The road winds up to a reservoir and over a pass. The sun beats down. Coming out of a tunnel we are greeted by some men in a van who give us bottles of iced tea. We had seen them earlier in a village and said hello in passing. We sit in the sun to eat lunch - there's no shade to be found. At a carpark we take water from the toilets, but then see the sign that says it's not for drinking. Untreated. The advice is not to drink it as foxes are rife and pollute the watercourses. There's a bacteria that can develop into a fatal tapeworm. But it's baking hot and we have no alternative. So we take a gamble. Masamichi looks doubtful. We have another slow climb in the sun to another pass. Finally, at the end of the light is a tunnel. It's cool and dank and narrow, but the traffic is not too heavy. Happily we roll downhill and feeling good, decide to continue on to Furano. Masamichi is in a hurry to reach the town to recharge his phone so we say goodbye. Just before the town we spot a nice spot by the river. It's been a long sweaty day so the camp spot is perfect.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>pancakes</i> Sunday is typically the busiest with daytrippers and so we look for smaller roads to avoid the main highway. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We are heading up a wide open valley with wonderful views of the central mountains. Our eyes are constantly drawn to them. The skies are gloriously clear and the day feels good. For lunch we make pancakes in a park. It's hardly the stuff of Alastair Humphreys, but as Rob had pointed out, microadventures is what a lot of people have been doing at weekends for donkeys years. The only adventurous thing about making pancakes is tossing them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The small farming roads take us through some rolling countryside and it's easy to forget we're in Japan. This looks like round our way at home - winding river, trees, fields. There are more wildflowers here and they are brilliantly colourful. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In the afternoon we meet Masamichi in a small town. He has hooked up with another young cycle tourer and they're staying at a Rider House. These are cheap simple lodgings for motorcyclists and cyclists and regrettably can only be found on Hokkaido. We choose to continue as the sun is still out. But we are warned that tomorrow it will rain. Masamichi shows us the forecast on his smart phone - a big yellow sun graphic. "Oh!" The weather changes quickly here. By now the sun has lowered and is casting a warm glow across the farmland. Rice paddies fill the valleys, while corn and wheat are growing on the rolling hillsides where the forest has been cleared. We have just started to look for a camping spot beside a river when a car zips past and then does a Sweeny-style turn to come back. Drunken locals? It's not typical for Japan. Oh, hang on, it's <i>gaijin</i>, foreigners and she's smiling. "It's Clare and Andy" Gayle realises. We have contacted them via Warm Showers to see about stopping with them on our way back. They had mentioned that they would be in the vicinity at the weekend but we had forgotten we might bump into them, especially on a quiet back road. It turns out they've been taking part in a "Sea to Summit" race and are flushed with success. Having kayaked, biked and then hiked up the highest mountain on the island, Clare came first in the Women's and Andy second in the Men's. They must be Iron Men, Iron People. It's a long way to the sea from these mountains. After a bit of catching up we roll off to camp next to the local school before it gets too dark to ride. Sea to summit. Now there's a micro-adventure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>stealth-camping</i> There's no such thing as a wild camp in Japan. Here you can camp in the park and no-one seems to mind. It probably helps if you don't pitch your tent at 10 in the morning and stay for a week, but if you wait until evening when most good folk are tucked up in bed it's fine. And most folk seem to go to bed early in the countryside. The reason for this is that they get up at sunrise, which is about 4am in these parts. Then they are out walking the dog or strimming the grass or blowing the leaves away. After a slow start on a cloudy day we find ourselves cycling in drizzle. It's the kind of drizzle that seems like nothing when you are just stood in it, but soaks you to the skin when you start cycling. By 4 o'clock we're looking out for a park. We find one with a park golf course in trees. But a woman spies us from the emergency shelter nearby. Each community in Japan has a designated shelter for use in times of emergency - the buildings are often specially built halls or maybe a local school - something that has been built to withstand serious earthquake. It turns out that we are on the very edge of an enormous sports park even though there seems to be no town nearby. It's not the first time we come across something like this. There are baseball fields, a football pitch, tennis courts and golf course, picnic tables and toilets. That'll do nicely. We cook under an arbor which becomes our home for the next 36 hours. The rain hardly stops and the clouds obscure any views. It's just about warm enough - the cool refreshing temperatures that we experienced when we arrived offf the ferry are now verging on the cold and miserable. So we dance to keep warm. Actually, we end up having a sudoku marathon. There are convenient gaps in the rain to allow us to pitch our tent and scramble inside on both evenings. On the second night Gayle wakes me up. Some yoofs have turned up in a car at 1am and are horsing about. Have they seen our tent? Should we be afraid? We've never seen any sign of delinquency or vandalism in Japan, so we turn over and try to get back to sleep. Eventually they drive off. Life might be bit dull for youngsters growing up here. Everyone conforms, to do otherwise is very irregular and unusual. Maybe driving our to the park on a rainy Monday night and messing about is a microadventure for someone.... </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9pZ9nPWleBUbZHx7zz9oRRaAUJl0Z5L6GAErsSvMgf0IwJSEDJPPUYsBJocJlThyNQGigCOJV4xqpQpQJVCLTz6_fChb2eYSsOeJ67S51pOxWmY1tZD17dtmM8JkUzkBfDw2pRbZjg/s1600/IMG_2171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF9pZ9nPWleBUbZHx7zz9oRRaAUJl0Z5L6GAErsSvMgf0IwJSEDJPPUYsBJocJlThyNQGigCOJV4xqpQpQJVCLTz6_fChb2eYSsOeJ67S51pOxWmY1tZD17dtmM8JkUzkBfDw2pRbZjg/s320/IMG_2171.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>drying out</i></span></td></tr>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-18205790312404986872015-06-18T08:03:00.000-07:002015-07-07T08:43:59.850-07:00last but not least<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Hokkaido isn't Japan" Rob tells us.
We had already noticed that life here looked a bit rougher around the
edges. You sometimes get the impression that everything in Japan feels
orderly and tidy and <i>manicured</i>. Cycling from the port up to
Chitose along the main highway we notice the overgrown verges, the
cracked road surface, the crumbling kerbstones. The buildings look
weathered and so might they. Winter here is long and hard. The bus
shelters have sliding doors. The public toilets are the first we've
seen with doors, and in the men's side at least, ashtrays. Smoking is
not allowed in public places in Japan. But Hokkaido is something else.
Something wilder. At least we hope..... This is the last of the main islands for us to visit.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VipBcvICeHEtBcEDQ71Lo-ETJftkAHjjImM9ujQegkoW2hTBYHZB-0AH9PirZAv9qrN8sF701tyJ_xi9m14oT2qyJVGEFuYUp6xG6mcikv0KWaBOfUZ8pAhEVPlCRV8mW2osvOWpXg/s1600/IMG_0015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VipBcvICeHEtBcEDQ71Lo-ETJftkAHjjImM9ujQegkoW2hTBYHZB-0AH9PirZAv9qrN8sF701tyJ_xi9m14oT2qyJVGEFuYUp6xG6mcikv0KWaBOfUZ8pAhEVPlCRV8mW2osvOWpXg/s320/IMG_0015.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Haidee
and Rob both have university jobs and have lived in Japan for several
years. In their spare time they head out and explore the back roads of the island. We are welcomed into their appartment with a wonderful meal and
good conversation, the kind that we struggle to find here in Japan
because we are rarely meeting other travellers or any locals with good english. Full of insights and
information, they are able to answer all our questions about the island
and recommend places to go. When we met Freddy in Kyushu he reminisced
happily about cycling around Hokkaido "because it's so flat!". Flat is a
relative term. Compared to the geography of the other main islands of
Japan, Hokkaido offers up much wider valleys and vistas, but it ain't
Belgium. Right in the centre are a clutch of dramatic-looking mountains
and we aim to ride around them.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBykcUXW0vMYHVt6n_O3WYuSX9efg2hfRVwXUx3pstS-7swtrns9G32YuOx1H5Bp4r5ly6eIIQ4Oixl0Wj-mNN9SznL0_8Px_IUVGyxPAR4_PdOpSvV5a7TFtmkYoL9Z9TCoxtw-L-pw/s1600/IMG_9940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBykcUXW0vMYHVt6n_O3WYuSX9efg2hfRVwXUx3pstS-7swtrns9G32YuOx1H5Bp4r5ly6eIIQ4Oixl0Wj-mNN9SznL0_8Px_IUVGyxPAR4_PdOpSvV5a7TFtmkYoL9Z9TCoxtw-L-pw/s320/IMG_9940.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We knew of Rob before we contacted him because back in October we were asked to contribute to a new edition of Trailfinders' Adventure Cycle Touring Handbook. We asked the editors and writers, Neil and Harriet Pike about contributors for China and Japan, because that's where we were heading. Rob wrote the information for Japan. The book is aimed at inspiring cycle tourers and to suggest good places for adventure cycle touring. We're not 100% sure how to define adventure cycle touring, so we are particularly interested to find Japan included, as it seems the easiest place in the world to tour. In fact, we would recommend it to anyone considering going further afield than their home country. Rob puts the case for Japan well - a different culture, language and environment. Maybe coming from the UK we would find more contrasts, but after cycling through Central and East Asia, Japan still has a 'westernised' feel to it. There is so much here though that is not like anywhere else and the big one is the sense of safety. Ironically, the Japanese are also, as Haidee and Rob put it, "risk averse". Perhaps one comes with the other. Back in a temple in Kyoto, Gayle had spotted a sign that read: 'Listen, Think, Accept, Practice, Believe' and this kind of doctrine may partly explain the general sense of conformity in Japan which sometimes baffles us. But this conformity is what shapes society here. As a visitor, Japan seems like a pretty good place to live.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9KBqDTp9iovgjTca1I4cUOn5a9h9bD3oH4J7dh_Jy-pJwdwxUInHuwpR1y9e8TxyvXZgxvOn_4iXAfFgyYicsn30Xhgq8r1AviWfaJc2LoLTWIqeiT4_ozAAttq7RVWC3O6NYm4VG2Q/s1600/IMG_2118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9KBqDTp9iovgjTca1I4cUOn5a9h9bD3oH4J7dh_Jy-pJwdwxUInHuwpR1y9e8TxyvXZgxvOn_4iXAfFgyYicsn30Xhgq8r1AviWfaJc2LoLTWIqeiT4_ozAAttq7RVWC3O6NYm4VG2Q/s320/IMG_2118.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Rob and Haidee</i></span> </td></tr>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-9182684155446451432015-06-16T21:41:00.000-07:002015-06-18T06:19:46.608-07:00sailing away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgieJO9KJsfk4YUSbWAf5vjcU43K3N7jk-eOBiP1yNMMp73q3wrEmiM6ExFAUKIxEzneQjkNNiLn07u4i3DwYMLQcGsbnOdF8SzRpLJObGB9oVqxvp41tdip4vwHRwLTeJOpEkvjOlA/s1600/IMG_9814.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgieJO9KJsfk4YUSbWAf5vjcU43K3N7jk-eOBiP1yNMMp73q3wrEmiM6ExFAUKIxEzneQjkNNiLn07u4i3DwYMLQcGsbnOdF8SzRpLJObGB9oVqxvp41tdip4vwHRwLTeJOpEkvjOlA/s320/IMG_9814.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>tallying up the accommodation costs</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After a day riding out of the city we suddenly find ourselves in an empty park on a Friday night. Just us and the mosquitoes. The night is hot and airless. Even though we have both washed in the toilets, we still feel sweaty and dirty. The heat has been cranking up gradually but it's the humidity that gets us. Come morning and the park is full of families with young children all playing on the swings, slides, grappling nets and zip wires. We head down to the big river where we pick up a bike path full of men in lycra on road bikes. Less than a day's ride out of central Tokyo and we are surrounded by fields once again. It's wonderful cycling heading out towards the sea. The sun blazes and is tempered by the cool wind coming off the river. Mid-afternoon we come to a small park with benches in the shade and stop for a break. The wind is sooo good that we decide to stop for the night. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyo060rsf1NGlqbXgOZPS_Nspe9hUmic0WYm3SOBTNKsDDhVz1eQCTeFXuAIFg22S2303dNN9kYlunAwZdPLYRB0XIPMmWSgJWwbufFwrKaTqYCl5aYSCNRv-jiurv86ppyTUk4QXCBw/s1600/IMG_9816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyo060rsf1NGlqbXgOZPS_Nspe9hUmic0WYm3SOBTNKsDDhVz1eQCTeFXuAIFg22S2303dNN9kYlunAwZdPLYRB0XIPMmWSgJWwbufFwrKaTqYCl5aYSCNRv-jiurv86ppyTUk4QXCBw/s320/IMG_9816.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>photo op with a Sunday cycle posse</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sLWZ-6f1d9_Rzt9WIJVH87ufeBNt7xFrkaHSrEcZKpbQ0JVH3DXXHiDieID8dO-MNbLNervJ1-CBsdjjuZ7Vp97CAl9OAEVSYCmKB4EUlqE7azOrt43IEI74YowDUbAi7Mh6Ib8PGg/s1600/IMG_9819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sLWZ-6f1d9_Rzt9WIJVH87ufeBNt7xFrkaHSrEcZKpbQ0JVH3DXXHiDieID8dO-MNbLNervJ1-CBsdjjuZ7Vp97CAl9OAEVSYCmKB4EUlqE7azOrt43IEI74YowDUbAi7Mh6Ib8PGg/s320/IMG_9819.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>happy anglers</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have a bit of spare time before catching the ferry north to Hokkaido. We turn north towards Mito city and take a bike path alongside a reservoir. As usual around water there's always some fishermen. It's a Sunday so there are many out today, some with three or four rods set up. We've no idea if anyone ever catches anything until we come across three guys trying to photograph their catch - an absolutely enormous fish that would keep the family in sashimi for a week. Away from the water we find ourselves on back country roads with farmers busy at work. A lot of the land is given over to rice paddies, but there are all kinds of crops being grown in small plots. Looking for somewhere to camp we begin following a river that runs into Mito city. Before we know it we're in a park in the city centre, but by nightfall it's emptied out of dogwalkers and joggers and we are left to quietly camp on a grassy knoll. Mito's drawcard is a large Japanese garden but it turns out that it's planted out with a lot of plum trees that blossom in the Spring - we're only two months too late. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvONJyV-AJ6hTPcOqzszL9Adpb2VHNSjzaUEZJOp93zdEiDpvfKJZoVhcUv45jDbg8EGAfL1J9B49T4FrbnD1WPlRRiCc_ANPZH36zidwnyR5amgj2aFyrKflXpmRJERrhTTe_R8IWdg/s1600/IMG_9844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvONJyV-AJ6hTPcOqzszL9Adpb2VHNSjzaUEZJOp93zdEiDpvfKJZoVhcUv45jDbg8EGAfL1J9B49T4FrbnD1WPlRRiCc_ANPZH36zidwnyR5amgj2aFyrKflXpmRJERrhTTe_R8IWdg/s320/IMG_9844.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>hydrangeas are everywhere now</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The ride to the port is pleasant and easy and it's no problem getting tickets for this evening's ferry. We are going economy - sleeping on tatami mats in a large room - but we know it'll be quiet - this is Japan. There's a Dutch couple in a tiny camper van - only enough space to lie down. We reckon there's a big market to be exploited in Japanese tourism - renting out campervans to foreigners - and they tell us that there's only one Japanese company that has a website in English. We meet Teriyaki who is on his bicycle, heading home after a week away. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzFKbhp5QRfqzSrBcRW32ydy5wT2Gnxy5h7ncKnFnmOfOwC8lKs0BJE9eADFX5QgEJmp0sHo1ogJuNMD1wmYa1Gn2AotTbOXN03vSyF9SU-HMsTLzN4E53LbhpPKeC6oevsm-RxmcvQ/s1600/IMG_9851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzFKbhp5QRfqzSrBcRW32ydy5wT2Gnxy5h7ncKnFnmOfOwC8lKs0BJE9eADFX5QgEJmp0sHo1ogJuNMD1wmYa1Gn2AotTbOXN03vSyF9SU-HMsTLzN4E53LbhpPKeC6oevsm-RxmcvQ/s320/IMG_9851.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">more photo ops</td></tr>
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Teriyaki is obviously not his name but when we ask he gives us his full name which amounts to about nine syllables, so really he stands no chance with us. He looks in (mock?) horror at our loaded bikes. He is carrying a knapsack and what looks like a bag of rice strapped to his rack. Not many people here get what we're doing, especially the cyclists. The day before we met a group of cyclists and they assumed we had flown to Japan to cycle around and they looked amazed when we said we had been here for four months. It took a while before they could finally grasp that we had travelled from Europe over the last three years. Probably thought we were millionaires. We wish.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNx7cYXb2KPS-veICB6odcob8X1aB4r-pTjWJOZLz62Qj314cEkOXoII_qKG1-nFKjSlyVwmuk4FeY1MdT2zMjHUtOkJUPnFYNSRdKgZt_iaQuNT42E0ztjbg2kQALFHRh9JmnA_DXQ/s1600/IMG_9855.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyNx7cYXb2KPS-veICB6odcob8X1aB4r-pTjWJOZLz62Qj314cEkOXoII_qKG1-nFKjSlyVwmuk4FeY1MdT2zMjHUtOkJUPnFYNSRdKgZt_iaQuNT42E0ztjbg2kQALFHRh9JmnA_DXQ/s200/IMG_9855.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>two jolly non-millionaires</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The boat sails on time. It'll take 19 hours to reach Hokkaido, so we take advantage of the facilities - a nice sauna and baths. I wonder when the ship starts rocking would you notice if you're soaking in the bath?</span></div>
by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-63331212493223690012015-06-13T01:28:00.000-07:002015-06-17T20:05:22.605-07:00Tokyo and bust<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EJHTL2XcqT_WsUf6Ap2cHOPi8_zq1Vu1Jey7VqyQEFyeZ4eJYbiEQa0VfFWWNaxndaiL_xR3ij91PAYt-FAPKlIm6nY6Xpb9pHLR3kWa4CzNkuEFWAGW7mOcKGt51eDvzMQflFPJJQ/s1600/IMG_9604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EJHTL2XcqT_WsUf6Ap2cHOPi8_zq1Vu1Jey7VqyQEFyeZ4eJYbiEQa0VfFWWNaxndaiL_xR3ij91PAYt-FAPKlIm6nY6Xpb9pHLR3kWa4CzNkuEFWAGW7mOcKGt51eDvzMQflFPJJQ/s320/IMG_9604.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's hard to imagine that cycling into a metropolitan area of over 30 million people might be easy, especially with a small-scale map, but getting to Sandy and Seth's house in the western suburbs is a doddle. Our campsite beside one of the city's reservoirs after leaving Mount Fuji leaves us a roll down into the urban mass where we find a quiet road leading to a river. And riversides in Japanese cities usually mean bike paths and parks. This one is no exception. The day is hot and humid so we take our time and stop regularly before checking a detailed map in a convenience store to make sure we don't fluff the finish. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52EStq-DcRFe2jfce_BxhCcmQNTr7kf87-m5upbndjtnMmyaIl1zf8tpBe_TIiP-YT3-mRPvKW8aXsYPkNB8wIdBArGIB3a6gM6tttQTeskf1iYq_tfLzlto_MRJYU4zYXM9rxU7DjQ/s1600/IMG_9600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52EStq-DcRFe2jfce_BxhCcmQNTr7kf87-m5upbndjtnMmyaIl1zf8tpBe_TIiP-YT3-mRPvKW8aXsYPkNB8wIdBArGIB3a6gM6tttQTeskf1iYq_tfLzlto_MRJYU4zYXM9rxU7DjQ/s320/IMG_9600.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>stained glass in park toilets</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Addresses in Japan are annoyingly made up of numbers. There's a district or borough name, a neighbourhood number, a street number and then a house number. Or is is the house number first, then the street, then the block? It seems that Google Maps isn't sure either because we find ourselves in an estate of newish houses but on the wrong side of the railway tracks. We only know this because we ask a man just getting home from work and he kindly gets his tablet out and shows us where we need to go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Seth and Sandy have been living here with their two kids, Cody and Maya, for eight years, teaching at an international school. Keen travellers and potential bike tourers, they have plenty of questions. Sandy's are the hard ones. Do we get tired of eating the same food? What about when it rains? We are eating a fabulous barbecue and salad minutes after arriving. Seth met Sandy in Ecuador when he got his first job out of the States and hearing them talk about places we know whets our appetites for returning there one day with our bicycles. They're very thoughtful hosts and give us railcards to use on the rail network into the city and explain how to work out the myriad options for returning. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBClYzj8xHPZXHAmfc2B-TPiX3Y45zqBoXkLlawLP_XwhTGDyB40fla1cxWi6wBayocjB04LjzkCRZ1_u9mSLkutwQ9K3_aX8lW-gQllNY2s5Ll0slWsfdEHjs9vxMo80pUjgBKpqvyw/s1600/IMG_9693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBClYzj8xHPZXHAmfc2B-TPiX3Y45zqBoXkLlawLP_XwhTGDyB40fla1cxWi6wBayocjB04LjzkCRZ1_u9mSLkutwQ9K3_aX8lW-gQllNY2s5Ll0slWsfdEHjs9vxMo80pUjgBKpqvyw/s320/IMG_9693.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>daily commute</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Seth explains the Mitaka Rule: if our train pulls into Mitaka station and there's another train waiting on the other platform then get off the train and step onto the other. If there's no train, then stay on. We've been on loads of city transport systems but how can you fail to be daunted when passing through Shinjuku station which is estimated to handle three million passengers a day? Seth also tells us that if we just look up at any of the information boards on the trains or in the stations then someone will approach and ask if we need help. His point is proven within five minutes of us getting to the station. It's not like London.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvc5uzvIcON4CwXRH-7cglS9wPs9H3zdIFEK29SWSQ1MjrPkteaqeWggWrQa1cM_LElAPuYiyBoeONfK7eODPcHMch2dr42JeIhd0yk4k2xnL-VE2tCqt_Ih2MahN81gHB5nDAGsdIqg/s1600/IMG_9733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvc5uzvIcON4CwXRH-7cglS9wPs9H3zdIFEK29SWSQ1MjrPkteaqeWggWrQa1cM_LElAPuYiyBoeONfK7eODPcHMch2dr42JeIhd0yk4k2xnL-VE2tCqt_Ih2MahN81gHB5nDAGsdIqg/s320/IMG_9733.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sandy and Seth - we couldn't wish for a warmer welcome</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SW79zXt56D-_V_54vEd_8w6VRGlfDCg6FUR9zHP_3LD19MKSjODuU9VVfGfPgUBlUonXFsT3WGAmWgQQfPqXNf8oh_d2LxFnaV-fkHYwafxbp9BEI8VcP5pTO3ZF6U6d6QW8zjIvbA/s1600/IMG_9609.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9SW79zXt56D-_V_54vEd_8w6VRGlfDCg6FUR9zHP_3LD19MKSjODuU9VVfGfPgUBlUonXFsT3WGAmWgQQfPqXNf8oh_d2LxFnaV-fkHYwafxbp9BEI8VcP5pTO3ZF6U6d6QW8zjIvbA/s320/IMG_9609.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>train station bike parking</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Although we told everyone who asked on this journey that our destination is Tokyo, we decided long ago that this was unimportant. Tokyo represents Japan - one of the countries we most wanted to visit on this journey. Long ago we knew it wouldn't be the end of our ride. Ultimately, Tokyo holds little fascination for us. It's a big new city with some sights and lots of shopping. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One thing we have learnt is that the city was more or less razed to the ground by fire bombing at the end of the war - it's something neither of us knew about the Pacific War with the America. When we awake on our first morning it is raining. Gayle has shaken me awake. "John! John!" The bed is shaking. The room is shaking. The house is shaking. What time is it? Just before six. Did the earth move for you? Gayle asks.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhob9lC8B_Xyx-TDFvNkDLckGP89cp_GkOGojGgl_XNgl9b9J7EyuRGAbfpknYTDOA_KILdppEKHz2ChOWEFxw3a-JY-_cURGgfYAsUeP6uXLum5-kEkczKdYVIOqiPDW0ilpBP8dVA/s1600/IMG_9614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifhob9lC8B_Xyx-TDFvNkDLckGP89cp_GkOGojGgl_XNgl9b9J7EyuRGAbfpknYTDOA_KILdppEKHz2ChOWEFxw3a-JY-_cURGgfYAsUeP6uXLum5-kEkczKdYVIOqiPDW0ilpBP8dVA/s320/IMG_9614.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlVHkkxspo4xlmoFASBbSjA56z5yieU9fVfoDWYhns1au8QWon8pRW-3yz2VPuuRFeN1R1FKDn-vDCP14yzCz0tKLWdWTYJigF8jF42M71shE4fJ-4KyGboain3T8umsbrlDTsoDu_w/s1600/IMG_9636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlVHkkxspo4xlmoFASBbSjA56z5yieU9fVfoDWYhns1au8QWon8pRW-3yz2VPuuRFeN1R1FKDn-vDCP14yzCz0tKLWdWTYJigF8jF42M71shE4fJ-4KyGboain3T8umsbrlDTsoDu_w/s200/IMG_9636.JPG" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We head off to the Ginza because, well, we like the sound of it, and we need to call in at a tourist office to get maps. Walking over to the Imperial Palace to visit the gardens we pass through the surrounding park which has a lot of homeless fellas all stretched out snoozing in the shade of trees on the immaculately cut grass. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> They can't sleep here at night, but there are a couple of designated spots nearby where soup kitchens serve food. Another day we see a Christian group doing this. Can't imagine such a thing in the Royal Parks of London. The Emperor has distanced himself from his father's era by refusing to visit graves of generals buried at the main Shinto shrine and has also been quoted offering remorse for Japan's war crimes. A while ago we chatted to a woman who mentioned Queen Elizabeth. We explained that not all Britons like the Royal Family and she said it was the same about the Emperor in Japan. <i>He doesn't even pay any taxes!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i> </i> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We visit Natacha, a friend we made a few years ago in a hostel in Kyrgyzstan. She was travelling on her way to Japan to teach English and has been here ever since. She is now married and in April gave birth to Nina. Nina is a very sweet baby with a cyclist's appetite. Natacha hasn't changed at all. She takes us out for lunch and a walk around her neighbourhood. Tokyo, like many big cities, seems to have subsumed surrounding towns which all centre around the train station. <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0LP-1y6dclK90WpfrYZDR_XBAudNm60nCnOpbvu46qjWzSETMJfBHWQnI3sKP1ZVBUcVlnM4Kzs90RKaFo-xdNPOAe4qx_H1gYQyn4zouNp0Gh-VD_ROi29duXiiS1gnwBMHgrklQ/s1600/IMG_9711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhp0LP-1y6dclK90WpfrYZDR_XBAudNm60nCnOpbvu46qjWzSETMJfBHWQnI3sKP1ZVBUcVlnM4Kzs90RKaFo-xdNPOAe4qx_H1gYQyn4zouNp0Gh-VD_ROi29duXiiS1gnwBMHgrklQ/s320/IMG_9711.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Nina and Natacha</i></td></tr>
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This is where you'll normally find all the shops and restaurants and bars. We go to a noodle bar where salarymen - the name given to office workers here - are queuing up for their lunch. Natacha explains that the noodle restaurants are traditionally mens' domain. Back in March she kindly agreed to let me use her address for my passport renewal and when DHL duly turned up with the goods two weeks after Nina was born she was so immersed in her new life as a sleep-deprived mother that she almost turned them away. Thankfully her husband remembered something about it. And now I no longer have to shrink away when there is any sign of a gendarme in the vicinity. I am a legitimate tourist once more. Sort of. The UK passport office saw fit to cut the corners off my old passport which still has my Japanese visa in it...........</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>second-hand manga store</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Before we leave Seth and Sandy's they fill our panniers with supplies for the road. Their Canadian neighbours are leaving Japan and clearing their cupboards out so we are the lucky recipients of instant mash and quinoa and two tins of chicken. We say our farewells after a breakfast of Sandy's fantastic granola and banana bread - her home cooking is so good - and we take a route that Seth knows well - another riverside path that heads into the city. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDkAhyphenhyphenFTf_v5XSDMXcI70TVEIRMz4nIFUVKVkmhog6fvMFOFVd8fIS9YxOgqkYoLVr981DpgA_I30WsZKFE9lQsgEYheRz9tiRHdJERNIk4VWyIhyZQE1jAiMvjsPWhRVuZS3Ji9ZeZQ/s1600/IMG_9689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDkAhyphenhyphenFTf_v5XSDMXcI70TVEIRMz4nIFUVKVkmhog6fvMFOFVd8fIS9YxOgqkYoLVr981DpgA_I30WsZKFE9lQsgEYheRz9tiRHdJERNIk4VWyIhyZQE1jAiMvjsPWhRVuZS3Ji9ZeZQ/s320/IMG_9689.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>that's how it's supposed to look</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At some point we lose the river, as Seth warned us, but pick it up further on and wind our way to the eastern side of the centre. We have booked a hostel on that side to break the journey and give us an opportunity to visit the National Museum, but by the time we reach it our hearts are not in it and instead we mooch over to the hostel. It's busy, but comfy. An American couple advise us about the tinned chicken we are about to eat in a salad - it's better seared than eaten straight out of the tin. <i>Sometimes it can taste like cat food</i>, Corey warns with a laugh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's time to take stock of our financial situation and face up to Reality. It seems on some days the money just falls through your hands in Japan. After almost three years on the road the old bank account is looking a tad scrawny. We are looking at teaching english somewhere in East Asia, for the experience, for the money, for a way of continuing this journey and of finding a way to fund future journeys. Work. With a shudder we head out of Tokyo. Riding out of one of the biggest cities in the world is not dull nor a drag - it's part of a wild adventure. </span><br />
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-70833137560854221402015-06-07T18:39:00.000-07:002015-06-17T01:27:18.639-07:00Fuji-san<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNQlpU5fV4F2Llt3VsBbDSSdZD6NxuUo1AqkW27CN9MAH7pZf9Tq-VCmV0lLD-n73KrS9SJSoHdyDui-rTnwl_yA3FFzCP5pX-iXxiPSFjR0qyXlmnws7qKSRQilnzEmvqQ0iiOrLkA/s1600/IMG_2049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkNQlpU5fV4F2Llt3VsBbDSSdZD6NxuUo1AqkW27CN9MAH7pZf9Tq-VCmV0lLD-n73KrS9SJSoHdyDui-rTnwl_yA3FFzCP5pX-iXxiPSFjR0qyXlmnws7qKSRQilnzEmvqQ0iiOrLkA/s320/IMG_2049.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>early morning view</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We wake up to the sound of walkers and fishermen. The early sunrise brings them out around 5am. Somewhere nearby the sea laps the shore. Birds are singing. We are camped on a peninsula covered in old pine forest. There is a shrine nearby and the pine forest itself is referred to in Haiku poems collated in the 8th century. There's a reason. Coming from the south, your first view of Mount Fuji is from this peninsula. When we arrived yesterday evening it was hazy and we couldn't see it. In fact we thought we needed to turn the corner to get a view, but this morning just after sunrise the air is clear and just over the water is one huge volcano. I guess being close to the sea makes the mountain seem more impressive, but it is also the largest mountain in the country, so it's no surprise the volcano was revered in olden days. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8KLy9o6e2sjhEA6op-b-dndnQyQKtShPL_6Nj3sXSH71qmvYsIH1MDVVLFP2eWNFleNL-G6GISJXEwu494UNjyCPTDaI8W6bKNKXDtTXXV_ceEFcwOUsqB6rNmeJiRM0MK7lg6-E-Q/s1600/IMG_9447.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8KLy9o6e2sjhEA6op-b-dndnQyQKtShPL_6Nj3sXSH71qmvYsIH1MDVVLFP2eWNFleNL-G6GISJXEwu494UNjyCPTDaI8W6bKNKXDtTXXV_ceEFcwOUsqB6rNmeJiRM0MK7lg6-E-Q/s200/IMG_9447.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>feeling happy because..</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6C8THq1NGb8uw_qOF144m5juZx7Y3oQMe-_6PSQVYYb51f9l0F_QunaP4oXBTh6srDYXiGmPYVSVbo0WndZUgS-a55vjrBGbOYH-37k-L1llHZiHa12Xyfs5Pz41AQlNgnt0jZp9pA/s1600/IMG_9449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6C8THq1NGb8uw_qOF144m5juZx7Y3oQMe-_6PSQVYYb51f9l0F_QunaP4oXBTh6srDYXiGmPYVSVbo0WndZUgS-a55vjrBGbOYH-37k-L1llHZiHa12Xyfs5Pz41AQlNgnt0jZp9pA/s200/IMG_9449.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>no, not the time</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhMMRrfUkzBBf23O3O1aOdbywK_ASs7RL6u3h3po3reI-BhRbiNxRFJL_DoY_HfHh8J4GVKEdTY1g8Yse_2xA47PEl4tGQHqnaoDVOJAbbqZg5bA3ISC5wJq5JJWIpeorO6I4vtGDJw/s1600/IMG_2034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLhMMRrfUkzBBf23O3O1aOdbywK_ASs7RL6u3h3po3reI-BhRbiNxRFJL_DoY_HfHh8J4GVKEdTY1g8Yse_2xA47PEl4tGQHqnaoDVOJAbbqZg5bA3ISC5wJq5JJWIpeorO6I4vtGDJw/s320/IMG_2034.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>the kilometres so far</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We cycle up the coast, eyes glued to the mountain, before turning inland and uphill on the outskirts of Fuji city. It's industrial and ugly and the road is choked with lorries. Warehouses and factories are mixed up with residential areas in a way you rarely see elsewhere. The houses are dwarfed by their neighbours and the smells and fumes that drift by are noxious. So we are happy to keep climbing in the stifling heat if only to put some distance between us and the blight. We are joined along the way by a young man on a bike who starts rides up alongside and starts talking to us. Unfortunately his English isn't good enough for a conversation, but he does treat us to platitudes about Mount Fuji and the surrounding environment. It turns out that he hasn't spoken to anyone for days because he doesn't shut up. But he means well and he clearly feels that he should take responsibility for ensuring our safe passage through these dangerous parts. Or he just doesn't want to go back to his hotel. We are climbing slowly now, away from the city and into greener areas, with some forest. It's a great relief. Apart from that chattering sound. The road is so steep and our new friend is getting more irritating because he has no load and clearly has no idea what it's like to cycle up these roads on a loaded bike. And the traffic is still a bit lively. We have explained that we will camp, but not in a campsite, and our friend has a tourist map of the area so we check it out for possibilities. There's a waterfall here and a lake there. Maybe they'll be something. Our young friend still shows no sign of leaving us alone and his banter is producing a little interference in our decision-making. We're not used to this. Eventually we stop at a fork in the road and say we will go off to find a camping place. "I know a place, about 200 metres further up this road. I will look. It is an adventure!" When he turns the corner we shamelessly set off up the other road.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5k5k5mGfq0nPth0dkgkXkCaBE9TMw4JB98XeLzoobDJQpJFxEimiC64-LLj8arL3t2VPWm_4oZP7a9_mqQLPjZvqsZ5NrR6OHnfzTY9TPQc5M2exme9m8Nc2i0HL1SZoeLG1Jsp3DGw/s1600/IMG_9522.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5k5k5mGfq0nPth0dkgkXkCaBE9TMw4JB98XeLzoobDJQpJFxEimiC64-LLj8arL3t2VPWm_4oZP7a9_mqQLPjZvqsZ5NrR6OHnfzTY9TPQc5M2exme9m8Nc2i0HL1SZoeLG1Jsp3DGw/s320/IMG_9522.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>pacific coast bike path</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The golf course is all fenced off and we ride past looking enviously at the tidy grass links. The road takes us into thick forest but happily we find a track with a chain across the entrance. We can lift it up and pass under. The overgrown track leads through to an abandoned campground by the river. We choose to camp on moss just off the track. In the morning it's raining and we settle in for the day. The place is so quiet and isolated and no-one will find us here and we're glad of an excuse to take the day off. By 2 the rain has stopped but the cloud is low. I cycle back to a convenience store to get water and some lunch and we spend the day reading. At dusk there are owls crying out in the pine trees above us piercing the silence. The next morning is a perfect sunny day and the air is fresh and cool. It's only after we have set off again that we mention to each other the sound of something passing by the tent. We each heard something on separate nights, but didn't want to mention it. And Gayle spotted a turd "full of seeds" on the path. "A big one?" "I thought it might have been yours at first", she says. Charming. I always dig a hole. "So, not a deer?" Hmmm. What <i>did</i> we hear?</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwLWRxOE7V3Q1_yygzGxlxWFdvMjSmFq_s6j1fgv1mi_xtqQCzRi1jmkx4evfSsXhHfAYEUXSnooKeFjBeueTW8KahDA8PXfjRDmwBKpFgUOUcPGgSKJeCBgBw9fQ8J8k59lxTTlPVg/s1600/IMG_2061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwLWRxOE7V3Q1_yygzGxlxWFdvMjSmFq_s6j1fgv1mi_xtqQCzRi1jmkx4evfSsXhHfAYEUXSnooKeFjBeueTW8KahDA8PXfjRDmwBKpFgUOUcPGgSKJeCBgBw9fQ8J8k59lxTTlPVg/s320/IMG_2061.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>does the bear.........?</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Danny had recommended riding around the lakes area north of Fuji and today we understand why. After the ugliness of the southern flanks yesterday we are surprised to find ourselves in deep forest with hidden away houses and holiday homes. We could be in Patagonia. The road rises up and onto a grassy plateau full of cow farms. The cows we've seen in Japan are always kept in sheds and the same is true here, although we see eight lucky ones gambolling and jogging around in an enclosure for the benefit of some schoolkids on a field trip. There are five lakes on the north side of Fuji, and we ride from one to the next. The views of the volcano are wonderful and the skies are vivid blue. After our wet tent day life is good on the bike. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_W1SpauW4smMMPnf9yW6WWlcBgnMsK6fguolFZ-h6WPQXXG_XWjew20U2Ed0atLGYnM19nBZqZLiPniciON_q5yWFYP9e9GZuxvz8IRri3jRTA-R87UInjUzdAYWF-3Zf5U1W52OuQ/s1600/IMG_9570.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_W1SpauW4smMMPnf9yW6WWlcBgnMsK6fguolFZ-h6WPQXXG_XWjew20U2Ed0atLGYnM19nBZqZLiPniciON_q5yWFYP9e9GZuxvz8IRri3jRTA-R87UInjUzdAYWF-3Zf5U1W52OuQ/s320/IMG_9570.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The fourth lake brings us to a small tourist town with a hostel. We have already checked out some perfect wild-camping spots but we also need to get internet so we ask at the hostel about a bed for the night. They have, so we unload. The hostel is spacious and the dorm room is only 6 beds. Irene starts asking about our trip as soon as we meet her. She's from Taipei and I think she's pleased that we've been to Taiwan and had such a good time there. But the idea of cycling across Europe and Asia for such a long time. How? She is full of questions and laughter. Irene's our age but she comments on how her energy levels have dipped since she first started travelling. If only she knew how slow we can be.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPO1YJwIjPSMczxZa_ljaBZRQxWSo90Mz7nevO2kiha73j3BXVzF-VTrKTu-pFTpvtP16MtQ-HHLVThFU77wGVNAEom0_21t9dirVQrklRwpAj0tUZmQ5ktNFVRlt79qa-aGs_7MI4Hw/s1600/IMG_9581.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPO1YJwIjPSMczxZa_ljaBZRQxWSo90Mz7nevO2kiha73j3BXVzF-VTrKTu-pFTpvtP16MtQ-HHLVThFU77wGVNAEom0_21t9dirVQrklRwpAj0tUZmQ5ktNFVRlt79qa-aGs_7MI4Hw/s320/IMG_9581.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Irene needs to practice her 'peace' sign</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One night in the hostel becomes three. Fuji disappears in a rain cloud and we are very happy to have an excuse not to go anywhere. It makes a nice change to meet other travellers and have a proper conversation as opposed to the usual grunts and groans we exchange with each other. Cas and Zoe are travelling for a while around the world and Cas laments how the backpacking has changed with the internet. Now you can't just turn up in a little place expecting to find a room in a good hostel - you have to book it online in advance. It's something that we have come across in Japan, although actually we did just turn up at the door here and find a room....... Liam arrives with a long list of things to do and see while he's in Japan and he asks Masa, one of the staff, his advice. Temples and shrines. Ninjas. Cherry blossom. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Climbing Fuji? He sets off in the afternoon with the intention of being at the summit for sunrise. But next morning he's asleep in our dorm. What happened? He tells Gayle that in the darkness, on the trail through the woods, he saw what he thought was a dog cross the path ahead of him. And then he heard a growl and realised it was a bear. He ran all the way back down. Abi is an actress from Hong Kong whose group went to the Edinburgh Fringe last year. She asks "Do you have an objective when you travel?" It stumps me for a bit and she explains that they are taught that they should always have a goal for everything they do.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Do we have an objective??</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BkcFI37mRWLsaSe30LJIRqReo9Nto6dou113rT6GKzdywodTqEPFzPDSiXzm9LIxoVLGHgHTYETyBuKw0ktfpM2kMR4OCs_XPRP0BGOwKzFEDHnzDiaEqpV2lLlkxvD9NQTvL4eXSA/s1600/IMG_9580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5BkcFI37mRWLsaSe30LJIRqReo9Nto6dou113rT6GKzdywodTqEPFzPDSiXzm9LIxoVLGHgHTYETyBuKw0ktfpM2kMR4OCs_XPRP0BGOwKzFEDHnzDiaEqpV2lLlkxvD9NQTvL4eXSA/s320/IMG_9580.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>eat more pancakes?</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The day we leave Mount Fuji the volcano is still in cloud. Now we realise how lucky we've been to see it on a clear day. We cycle around the fifth and largest lake which has been given over to water sports, pedalos and 'cruise' boats. A biker gang passes us slowly, a group of nationalists riding motorbikes with no baffle in their exhausts, the old imperial flag stuck on the seat, a Hello Kitty girl wedged on the pillion behind. Their aim is to make as much noise as possible. We saw a gang like this in Okinawa. It's not threatening or dangerous just annoying. Down by the lake shore there are plenty of families out on bikes. The roads are full of lycra-clad road cyclists tearing up the long valley from Tokyo or tearing back down to it. We are happy to finally get some downhill free-wheeling and shout out hellos to all the cyclists who pass by. But then one guy who has overtaken us turns to reply and in the act his front wheel goes under him and he's left skidding across the road. Miraculously there is no car traffic at this moment - an unbelievable blessing. The poor guy picks everything up and limps to the side of the road where we try to help patch him up - elbow and knee now skinless, arse hanging out of shredded shorts. Once he's stopped shaking we let him carry on and we refrain from calling out anymore to the fanatics. It's a hot sweaty Sunday and we stop at a convenience store to fill up a water bottle. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'd fill up at the toilet sink but the bottle is too long to fit under the tap, so I ask at the counter.</span> But, for only the second time on this whole journey and the second time in Japan, the superviser says no. He puts his arms out in a cross and says "No! No free water!" and then points to the fridges full of cold drinks. I get mad and shout at him and insult him. Shotgun diplomacy. Both barrels. He looks very unhappy and would probably thump me if we weren't on camera. But I want to thump him too. He takes me outside and shows me the tap for the hosepipe around the side. It's only later, when we are drinking our tea that Gayle points out the banner blowing in the wind in the carpark. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcxdqwkfK29wpr5jSDxs4JkFgvtIhVXGTHwdlpmM3KD95n3zNefSTbWMDifMjPkbc2xrWp4p-mddhMAt8c06MUVBN660-mVi1zXogeDzz_YcC7kTJE7MVTzQo_S64wMg5ct4398-yag/s1600/IMG_9593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAcxdqwkfK29wpr5jSDxs4JkFgvtIhVXGTHwdlpmM3KD95n3zNefSTbWMDifMjPkbc2xrWp4p-mddhMAt8c06MUVBN660-mVi1zXogeDzz_YcC7kTJE7MVTzQo_S64wMg5ct4398-yag/s320/IMG_9593.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>maybe the milk was on tap...</i></span></td></tr>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-49545502933297446612015-05-30T00:22:00.000-07:002015-06-11T20:05:31.957-07:00up the coast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">An hour after setting off along the riverbank, we meet three cycle tourists and Emma. Emma is also a cycle tourist, I suppose, because she's riding in a trailer behind her German Dad. She notices that Gayle is wearing the same sandals as her German Mum. While we chat about our routes a Belgian Bloke arrives. He is going fast and can't stop for long, but long enough to tip us off about a closed road and then complain about the price of camping in Japan. We all look baffled. Who pays to camp in Japan? We follow along the cycle path to Nara, Japan's earliest true capital, which sits south of Kyoto. In the end we don't get there, even though it's only about 40km. Instead we stop for a late lunch that segues into a long afternoon siesta out of the sun which then blends seamlessly into a cooked dinner and camp in a tiny little park by a canal. An old lady dog-walking stops to chat. It transpires she used to live in Bonn and her daughter will be marrying there in August. She points to our loaded bicycles and tells us her husband likes cycling. "He has sixteen bicycles." How many can he ride at once, I don't ask. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgys4lfol5Uxxye_8OzOjHOo-G7WOiZnvFCEF_pgMxlBzI3eYuv0dtipX-7eR7NbTFup5v_fx0C0yhbApEWK27cieElbLVXGB4T0I-nRvqLUUIMGWEij0pAggawh9LVTu8oU9lfcUkAuw/s1600/IMG_9507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgys4lfol5Uxxye_8OzOjHOo-G7WOiZnvFCEF_pgMxlBzI3eYuv0dtipX-7eR7NbTFup5v_fx0C0yhbApEWK27cieElbLVXGB4T0I-nRvqLUUIMGWEij0pAggawh9LVTu8oU9lfcUkAuw/s320/IMG_9507.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>always pick up the walnut whips left by your dog</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Nara, laid out in the same design as Xi'an, China's old capital, boasts the largest wooden building in the world. It is big. And it's full of schoolchildren. And a Buddha.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiot4hK5UKjh067XA8yn3rodQrG58xnJ4xN8eQ6nqYy2UfZtIxOGtSjnaF-pANA3DiY9cYWFaAbDQYg-F7TFu0kSYAQiCZqw5AaErfVLZYubrg7QpUzeWZyX0y_-YlQMZ4FbukhO_fzSw/s1600/IMG_9369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiot4hK5UKjh067XA8yn3rodQrG58xnJ4xN8eQ6nqYy2UfZtIxOGtSjnaF-pANA3DiY9cYWFaAbDQYg-F7TFu0kSYAQiCZqw5AaErfVLZYubrg7QpUzeWZyX0y_-YlQMZ4FbukhO_fzSw/s320/IMG_9369.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>and this isn't the big one</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Outside there are groups of Chinese tourists looking baffled. They are probably on day three of a five-day tour and have no idea where they are or why they are there. We visit one of the nearby gardens open to the public and then try and find a tourist office with internet because we forgot to check the onward route and we know there are mountains between here and Ise. The old fellas in the office get out their road maps when the computer is too slow to provide the answers : which way is best for bicycles? Gayle communicates with mime and smiles. One guy speaks enough English for them to help us. It's baking as we head out of the city and the end of the afternoon finds us plodding up a busy road into the hills. It's tortuous but finally we turn off the main road and race towards a park we have spotted on our map. It's signposted and promises a tree and a bench. In fact it has a lot more, including baseball field, football pitch and tennis courts. And it is closed. It's not just closed. There is an electric fence around the whole site. Signs inform us they are to protect the property from wild boar and deer, but this is rubbish. It is clearly a conspiracy to prevent rogue cycle-tourists from camping happily in a pleasant riverside location. Well, we do anyway, but just down river where there's a track we can get onto.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOV55FCVfxTqSy9g3zNK-L6E2vKBKXB-cifPc3OO2UE809-iEU7vUM1F6STPc29SD4zzlP0iOg59hMr7VJddgVcX-VSUWunaISSGf6zxEeLlevmSDrsJafpFYOmzgJgqoYDRoHxsQhew/s1600/IMG_9365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOV55FCVfxTqSy9g3zNK-L6E2vKBKXB-cifPc3OO2UE809-iEU7vUM1F6STPc29SD4zzlP0iOg59hMr7VJddgVcX-VSUWunaISSGf6zxEeLlevmSDrsJafpFYOmzgJgqoYDRoHxsQhew/s320/IMG_9365.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>some of the Nara Tourist Information Team sub-branch office (retired division)</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our road to Ise is tougher than we are prepared for. Plenty of up and plenty of down, which means more up and more down until we are worn out with it. The sun is blazing still and we seek shade at a <i>michi no eki</i> at a road junction, but then set off again in the afternoon while it's still too hot. At the end of the day our road suddenly disappears in the trees. We have been gradually climbing to a pass and we think we have reached it, but the road suddenly turns into a little backwoods single track. We camp on a dirt track that has been bulldozed into the mountain and suddenly stops. It's quiet. It's spooky. It's perfect.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxh5Go27KYIjeIeyD-1akEStmNs0iWYjz_oah3tAZI1Rku4EHFmF-TyOqynquideIrnf1q1zpMyOPcWAasOOtKLDbFUZffbuPB786WRHxAzbD4shKaD71-LTjEHnio9JGtx_8FW1DqaA/s1600/IMG_9395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxh5Go27KYIjeIeyD-1akEStmNs0iWYjz_oah3tAZI1Rku4EHFmF-TyOqynquideIrnf1q1zpMyOPcWAasOOtKLDbFUZffbuPB786WRHxAzbD4shKaD71-LTjEHnio9JGtx_8FW1DqaA/s320/IMG_9395.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>it seemed that the road building had stopped because of, er, landslides.............</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The road to Ise is downhill on the single track road which is shattered and crumbling in places - very neglected - but a wonderful start to the day in the cool of the pine forest. Ise is almost at the coast so we are hoping for an easy cruise downhill but no such luck. Our route twists and turns and eventually spits us out on a riverside road that finally brings us to Ise, a small town with an important Shinto shrine. And a bike shop next to the post office. I need a new bottle cage. The bike shop guy tells us that 20 years ago he visited Oxford and the Cotswolds.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mFYJsGWucnWcqssRSFlk9ueKuIk8RTQxCSYKzr5HAH94-891wo4aONL43ee9Em9OgrF9UEGnaujtsXljk0zu9M1JBwwzOoStUTFFaOScaebgGxQpaBWsbiBH41XgVgRFgFrqEfaqeg/s1600/IMG_9403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mFYJsGWucnWcqssRSFlk9ueKuIk8RTQxCSYKzr5HAH94-891wo4aONL43ee9Em9OgrF9UEGnaujtsXljk0zu9M1JBwwzOoStUTFFaOScaebgGxQpaBWsbiBH41XgVgRFgFrqEfaqeg/s320/IMG_9403.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>mountain road</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The shrines are disappointing. As per tradition, the shrines are rebuilt every 20 years or so, and the Grand Shrine is brand spanking new. At the other site there is no access to the shrine. But plenty of access to the tourist shops. Shintoism seems to have evolved from animist beliefs and used to supply the emperor with the necessary spiritual backing to rule. These shrines are dedicated to the solar deity goddess and to farming. Maki had commented to us that she thought it was odd that Chinese tourists visited Shinto shrines when they are, by default, dedicated to the Japanese imperial family - chief priests and priestesses must come from the emperor's family. But who cares about all that these days, when both countries live in such a harmonious neighbourly co-existence...........er, erm.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbQ_25yZg1hTr516pRJ6sOWHPuPnF8Hnub2XmXL2-PEqYTKJvGOIuIE5Dgyf3PLdmICAgGENvWULqeuJO0WZ4nN7vbMKpEow0zZqvnmY6SSj0mQGpAnMgvBgqkCX_YoRUsCIiRTNmPQ/s1600/IMG_9415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbQ_25yZg1hTr516pRJ6sOWHPuPnF8Hnub2XmXL2-PEqYTKJvGOIuIE5Dgyf3PLdmICAgGENvWULqeuJO0WZ4nN7vbMKpEow0zZqvnmY6SSj0mQGpAnMgvBgqkCX_YoRUsCIiRTNmPQ/s320/IMG_9415.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>look, but don't come in</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There's a ferry that takes us over the sea to a peninsula which means we can avoid Nagoya and it's industrial sprawl. The Nagoya area is reckoned to be in the top 20 biggest economies of the world in its own right, helped along by being the home of Toyota. So definitely worth missing on a bicycle. Instead we find ourselves riding a ridge above the Pacific Ocean in all its wild glory. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHuFgpF5YQJCBekiNtRHi5Tlwlc-oTgI03cN5k4pvY-x-d-TeHgi6G0ehiYRcrLYZ6rgfP3DzbGZxdwcvn2t6JeOIz4pI4nTUh7Uv3riC_Gkp_Z5qC1oBFyjSVWv3r2ecC_AL5HhDZQQ/s1600/IMG_9409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHuFgpF5YQJCBekiNtRHi5Tlwlc-oTgI03cN5k4pvY-x-d-TeHgi6G0ehiYRcrLYZ6rgfP3DzbGZxdwcvn2t6JeOIz4pI4nTUh7Uv3riC_Gkp_Z5qC1oBFyjSVWv3r2ecC_AL5HhDZQQ/s320/IMG_9409.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This area is given over to intensive farming and greenhouses. We finally get down to shore and come across a whole mob of surfers at the beach. It's a scene. We want to camp on the beach but I'm weirded out by a beach bum - a man who has holes in the seat of his pants and red rheumy eyes. So instead we mooch on and finally come to a little park at the mouth of a river. Here there are picnic tables and toilets and freshly strimmed grass and about ten wind turbines towering above us. The coast is lined with these turbines as we head north east but there's something not right about them. Are they just for show? I think so. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBCxUtjw-Co-haFr1X0kqOpbVCB3DB2rprE5L3FdrKjL4O-W-rZCrKA9TrDjeBcwwUPm77GSOinQUkJY10hVlOCC8TmoDji987ZqRjFylD5vE7gmWqZhqGBs8N40fMUqpKK6PNB-9xw/s1600/IMG_9463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBCxUtjw-Co-haFr1X0kqOpbVCB3DB2rprE5L3FdrKjL4O-W-rZCrKA9TrDjeBcwwUPm77GSOinQUkJY10hVlOCC8TmoDji987ZqRjFylD5vE7gmWqZhqGBs8N40fMUqpKK6PNB-9xw/s320/IMG_9463.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>takes me back to Mongolia</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We are now following the Pacific Coast Cycling Route on waymarked paths that stick to the coast and occasionally get us lost when we have to return to the roads in order to cross bridges. Somewhere we are diverted around a huge nuclear power station. Aha. The turbines are just for show - a sop to the people after the Fukushima disaster? Or is Japan starting to look at alternative energy sources? The coastline here is wild and windy, waves crashing in and battering the surfers who bob around looking for the Big One. </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgLoxrtdNOD-2C4Pmavgv3vWMEM1_ce6rlg2BWXkxQxjawwVxrG0EZrcpL0TaF3dbBi29LryHl2aGmZlySw_ACzU56hllUuMaqtsC_M6aBeDzROaEbPtJ-w0omrbQZyzex5PhhGEn7g/s1600/IMG_9487.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgLoxrtdNOD-2C4Pmavgv3vWMEM1_ce6rlg2BWXkxQxjawwVxrG0EZrcpL0TaF3dbBi29LryHl2aGmZlySw_ACzU56hllUuMaqtsC_M6aBeDzROaEbPtJ-w0omrbQZyzex5PhhGEn7g/s320/IMG_9487.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>dining alfresco</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There's a surprising amount of small industrial plants tucked in behind the pine forest and earth bank that protects the land from the sea and the winds. We enjoy this stretch just for the relief of not being on a main road and for getting away from the built up coastal areas. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But escape is not always possible and we end up in a small town - again we camp in a park, another one located on a detailed map we check in a convenience store. This one is an island surrounded by tidal water channels. It's overgrown and unkempt and untypical of Japan. But there are the ever-present toilets so we're happy to be able to wash all the sweat and salt-spray off us. And so we edge closer to Mount Fuji.</span><br />
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-31510601431352466942015-05-24T00:50:00.000-07:002015-06-05T05:30:36.283-07:00stop, we want to get off<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="vk_ans" style="margin-bottom: 0;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-dobid="hdw"><span style="font-size: large;">templed out</span></span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_ent_ph">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="lr_dct_ph">temˈpelːlɪd/ </span><span class="lr_dct_ph">aʊt/</span><span class="lr_dct_spkr lr_dct_spkr_off" data-log-string="pronunciation-icon-click" style="display: inline-block;" title="Listen"></span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_sf_h">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i>adjective</i></span></div>
<div class="xpdxpnd vk_gy" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">adjective:<b> templed out</b></span></div>
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<li><div>
<div class="lr_dct_sf_sen vk_txt">
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>1</b>. </span></div>
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<div class="_Jig">
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">very tired (esp. of old buildings).</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="vk_gy">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"she returned to the guesthouse, t<b>empled out from</b> her day in Kyoto "</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
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<table class="vk_tbl vk_gy"><tbody>
<tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="padding-right: 3px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">synonyms:</span></td><td><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">tired out, worn out, weary, dog-tired, bone-tired, bone-weary, ready to drop, on one's last legs, asleep on one's feet, drained, fatigued, enervated, debilitated, spent</span><br />
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<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click">More:<br /> </span></span></div>
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<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click"><i style="padding-right: 4px;">informal</i>done in, all in, dead on one's feet, beat, dead beat, shattered, bushed, fagged out, knocked out, wiped out, running on empty, zonked out, worn to a frazzle, frazzled, bushwhacked; </span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click"><i style="padding-right: 4px;">informal</i>knackered, whacked (out), jiggered; </span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click"><i style="padding-right: 4px;">informal</i>pooped, tuckered out, whipped; </span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click"><i style="padding-right: 4px;">informal</i>stonkered; </span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click"><i style="padding-right: 4px;">vulgar slang</i>buggered; </span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click"><i style="padding-right: 4px;">vulgar slang</i>rooted; </span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click"><i style="padding-right: 4px;">archaic</i>churched-up; </span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click"><i style="padding-right: 4px;">rare </i><span style="padding-right: 4px;">proper</span>mozzied </span></span></div>
<div class="lr_dct_more_txt xpdxpnd xpdnoxpnd" data-mh="-1">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click"></span></span><br />
<div class="vk_gy">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click">"I must go shopping—I'm templed out"</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span data-log-string="synonyms-more-click">
</span></span></td></tr>
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<div class="xpdxpnd" data-mh="-1">
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<tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="padding-right: 3px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">antonyms:</span></td><td><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">fresh as a monk, raring to go</span></td></tr>
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</li>
<li><div>
<div class="lr_dct_sf_sen vk_txt">
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>2</b>. </span></div>
<div style="margin-left: 20px;">
<div class="_Jig">
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(of tourism) completely overwhelmed.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="vk_gy">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"John couldn't remember where he was, he was so templed out"</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span>
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<div>
<table class="vk_tbl vk_gy"><tbody>
<tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="padding-right: 3px;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">synonyms:</span></td><td><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">used up, at an end, consumed, finished, spent;</span></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipsLuhPSsMmp7YtArTXNaOTLL5GN9R-IzvbXCxZoqrW7ZUuuXL25Z9kQeLx3lGAJEZasa50Cdn230-LUPaSVJb79Tk9htLWcR_sgFQLqH2-dh3xHgtxmZfsjDozoQ_EZ4utefJO4PdzA/s1600/IMG_1758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipsLuhPSsMmp7YtArTXNaOTLL5GN9R-IzvbXCxZoqrW7ZUuuXL25Z9kQeLx3lGAJEZasa50Cdn230-LUPaSVJb79Tk9htLWcR_sgFQLqH2-dh3xHgtxmZfsjDozoQ_EZ4utefJO4PdzA/s320/IMG_1758.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>these toris are sponsored - the football shirts of Japanese Buddhism</i></span></td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLVfSebl1L57lzweSVaNYJJq4PbYubdck3MA1nYyg7eY6L2Byx4-ldieHHeu2rtZUrWOvN73hAbHdq-10_NCwzVW0T9J8pq2SgZEjAPNmhKuuCZcADVA-GdXk37S_DWRnp1ygTTFvCg/s1600/IMG_9109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBLVfSebl1L57lzweSVaNYJJq4PbYubdck3MA1nYyg7eY6L2Byx4-ldieHHeu2rtZUrWOvN73hAbHdq-10_NCwzVW0T9J8pq2SgZEjAPNmhKuuCZcADVA-GdXk37S_DWRnp1ygTTFvCg/s320/IMG_9109.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>yeah!</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The traffic along the riverside is horrendous. Endless queues, getting cut up, people passing too close for comfort, narrow lanes, and bollards that make it really awkward with the loaded bikes. But the cylce path that goes from Osaka to Kyoto is a vast improvement on the roads. It's a Sunday and the World And His Wife are out on their bikes, in lycra, in jeans and straw pork pie hats, in court shoes, in sandals. It's a lovely sunny day and the riverside is a ribbon of green. When we reach the city we head over to one of Kyoto's UNESCO-listed temples. It's tucked away on a backstreet, behind a railway line, but as soon as we see white faces we know we've found it. We call this one the 'Many tori Temple' because it has a walk through the forest made up of a tunnel of vermillion gateways. The temple is dedicated to good harvests - which translates as business success these days - and so the toris are donated by businesses seeking a better return on their investment. The temple has been voted the best in the whole of Japan on a popular travel website. But as Maki points out to us later, it is free to enter. Not all of Kyoto's fabulous collection of temples are free, but as there are over a thousand to choose from, we thought we'd start with a few freebies and see how we get on. Down the road is the Tofukuji Temple, a temple dedicated to good tofu. If you want it, they've got it in Kyoto.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBI53_iJa_oK6rb4E30Jaxl6PiQITX8cYo95o1w5KnhT7Ll-mvDDILoapNF52vbpYTEAU4L80l1b0JL7zfyHG0ZnmxiYqAJwPeaZ3HGr5-28cm8ZiR28F6Goq1hown66t2TC6T-ZgaA/s1600/IMG_9050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBI53_iJa_oK6rb4E30Jaxl6PiQITX8cYo95o1w5KnhT7Ll-mvDDILoapNF52vbpYTEAU4L80l1b0JL7zfyHG0ZnmxiYqAJwPeaZ3HGr5-28cm8ZiR28F6Goq1hown66t2TC6T-ZgaA/s320/IMG_9050.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>a bar for everyone</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Guesthouse Soi is easy to find on the south-east side of the city. Hostels are notoriously busy in Kyoto and when we contacted Maki a while ago, she warned us that bookings were high. We know Maki because she ran one of the best hostels we've ever visited with her husband Sim in Chengdu. A while ago they sold up and moved back to Maki's home country to open this place with friends Suzuki and Koori. Sim isn't here sadly - he's out in Penang setting up a new guesthouse in Georgetown, but when we arrive Maki is on the phone to him, so we say hello. Maki had kindly agreed to receive two parcels for us - replacement zippers for our tent generously sent by Hilleberg - and a 'Red Cross' parcel from Gabor who is now back in Germany. We are delighted to receive biscuits we dreamed of in Mongolia, an indestructible silicone spatula, and home-crafted handbrakes for our bikes. So much thought and care has gone into the parcel - I only wish the same could be said about what I wrote about our ride acrosss Mongolia together and sometimes not together..........</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1R162yVk8zkpajCRWLRaRvSrt_N4ttS6Z_cfwXGERqqaA0j2Y1qrcwFzaORcIOgDv_pKSpeAlZiZ7ShtgDAvXTbXZZN2wW5XVJL_0xbUNHGfU3vgfUlubxzARoUj6wNA5DBaA3nf8mA/s1600/IMG_1926.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1R162yVk8zkpajCRWLRaRvSrt_N4ttS6Z_cfwXGERqqaA0j2Y1qrcwFzaORcIOgDv_pKSpeAlZiZ7ShtgDAvXTbXZZN2wW5XVJL_0xbUNHGfU3vgfUlubxzARoUj6wNA5DBaA3nf8mA/s320/IMG_1926.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>roof detail</i></span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiecQ8M5fTULXSuoDnfFHWwxXwabJDJzgsrBe_KHBLsV3AeLhcpiwdjxlKZaVsq3O77W1vREl2oZfg7eSci2sE5VH4DTVzSsDy5ujFmTZTdOiWKpni0puXxn0m1971NZXy08qfx9uw0Vg/s1600/IMG_9201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiecQ8M5fTULXSuoDnfFHWwxXwabJDJzgsrBe_KHBLsV3AeLhcpiwdjxlKZaVsq3O77W1vREl2oZfg7eSci2sE5VH4DTVzSsDy5ujFmTZTdOiWKpni0puXxn0m1971NZXy08qfx9uw0Vg/s320/IMG_9201.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">No time to dilly-dally though, there are sights to see, places to go. Temples, temples, shrines, temples. Kyoto's downtown area is not particularly remarkable but where the city edges out into the surroundings hills and forest you can find plenty of wonderful temple complexes in extensive and leafy grounds. Some are overrun with coachloads of tourists, while others remain calm and peaceful. This temple is under a huge scaffold while an army of workers rebuild it. That shrine is covered in moss and cobwebs, seemingly undisturbed for years. There are streets of old buildings given over to selling souvenirs, reminiscent of what we have seen in China, and others where the rich live in the luxury of 'old' Japan, with large manicured gardens and wonderful examples of traditional houses, all discreetly tucked out of the sight of prying eyes behind grey stone walls. Money buys you space in Japan. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">All this sight-seeing is exhausting - we are out of practice. On the other hand Michael, a young Aussie, doesn't pause to take a breath. He's travelling around the world in about five months. He's been in Japan for three and a half days and already travelled the country and he's read a 1001 Things To Do Before You Die and decided to try and do them before he's 25. His Japanese souvenir is a tad large and tasteless but it's hard to tell him this to his face. So he might just read it here instead. And anyway he is obviously thrilled by it. He will return to Tokyo to get the shoulder/torso tattoo completed before he leaves. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>950 Japanese schoolchildren try to recreate a famous Beatles album cover</i></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Kyoto is full of pantomime dames</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We also have an accommodation headache because Maki hasn't got room for us after two nights. In fact on the second night we sleep in the booths in the dining area which Maki offers us for free. This is very kind of her. We had made a booking for another place on the other side of the city and changed the booking when she said she had a free room. It's all very messy and as a sign of how far removed from reality we can get, the thought of being charged £12 for changing our booking at the other place quite stresses us. We cross town to find a traditional house hidden behind modern appartment buildings in a quiet neighbourhood. The guesthouse is excellent and great value but we decide not to like the owner for charging us that £12 fee. On the way there we pass the Golden Pavillion. It's close to 5 o'clock but we take a look anyway. "You're too late" a man shouts to us as we set about parking our bikes. Ian and Martin are sat sweating in the shade. They are staying in a capsule hotel near the station tonight for want of a better place to stay. Martin is nearly 2 metres tall so he's not looking too sure about it. Ian is a jovial Englishman ready with a story. Have we been to Kobe and tried the famous beef there? No, was it good? we ask. Weellll. The Kobe beef was a little too expensive so they headed to McDonalds instead and had burgers. So now if anyone asks they can say they went to Kobe and had some Kobe beef<span style="font-size: xx-small;">burgers</span>. It's a hoot chatting to some cheery Englishmen. The city is full of tourists from all over the world but we feel that sudden displacement commonly felt when we switch from travelling in parts of the country that sees no foreign tourists to the complete opposite. And hey, why does no-one say hello to each other? Why are we being blanked? All of a sudden the world feels cold and friendless.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6hp4HmeIYBfyKDNz3BjxnkhEdfTh7Y-bUTmtTl-2eA6y8wzXmOTqxfN2sgdXHUoUB_OlJWs8CzfOOmfB1BWd5_W62RslkPcC6omZzyJNz0BzwEMG5Q5sikhKjgB7gXtc6x15uGD8PA/s1600/IMG_9247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6hp4HmeIYBfyKDNz3BjxnkhEdfTh7Y-bUTmtTl-2eA6y8wzXmOTqxfN2sgdXHUoUB_OlJWs8CzfOOmfB1BWd5_W62RslkPcC6omZzyJNz0BzwEMG5Q5sikhKjgB7gXtc6x15uGD8PA/s320/IMG_9247.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Japanese maple</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We are happy to return to Maki's guesthouse. When we stayed at their guesthouse in Chengdu she was usually in the office managing a large team of staff whilst Sim had the fun of mixing with the guests and doing jobs around the hostel. It was too big. They employed 45 people and had over 100 rooms. They wanted something smaller. But Maki observes that the kind of guest that they have in Kyoto is rather different to Chengdu and rarely do long-term travellers pass through their doors. Masato has arrived and begun helping out. He has cycled quite a bit in China, where he met Maki and Sim in Chengdu. He speaks English well and adopts the air of a traditional English gentleman's butler, but with a warm and friendly smile. He has improved his English by watching television. Maki takes us and Masato out for a lunch of ramen noodles at a locals' place in the north of the city and then up onto the mountain in the north west where there was once a large and influential temple complex. It was here that many leading Japanese buddhist monks studied before then heading off and setting up their own splinter group sect. There are still many important buildings here and the main prayer hall has the most atmosphere we have come across in Japan thus far. But there looks to be few monks here. Maki wonders why a young man would become a monk in modern-day Japan.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Desperate for a proper rest, despite getting one with Danny and Christine, we stay a few days longer. Maki once again grants us special exemption to sleep in the dining area on yet another full night. This means we can meet Romain whom Gayle found fast asleep in the sunshine in Kagoshima about two months ago. Romain has met his parents here before he starts a year's stay working in Japan and gets in touch via Facebook. He is taking time off the bike for a while. It's something we need to start planning for too. We have been invited to house sit for old travelling friends Fabien and Coralie who now live in Luang Prabang in Laos and, for the record, are far from old. So we book a flight from Seoul to Chiang Mai for early August. After a break in Luang Prabang we need to find work to save some money for the onward journey. It's a good opportunity to take a break from travelling and do something different.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPAEEie164wkxYDVZrquOJuBgVFjuepT9BIE8hAuDteKuTcz1KVFKDE0Q3HEG3vd884TqJ3VuIjvW32qNkujHe6wLrXoeKSKCNaZogICYC64Ext6iLrUqH2AhmnLBcrluBV_2Sy2PhQ/s1600/IMG_9315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFPAEEie164wkxYDVZrquOJuBgVFjuepT9BIE8hAuDteKuTcz1KVFKDE0Q3HEG3vd884TqJ3VuIjvW32qNkujHe6wLrXoeKSKCNaZogICYC64Ext6iLrUqH2AhmnLBcrluBV_2Sy2PhQ/s320/IMG_9315.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>with Suzuki and Maki outside Guesthouse Soi</i></span></td></tr>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-6495033575558755622015-05-17T06:39:00.000-07:002015-05-23T18:55:08.744-07:00between Kyoto and the deep blue sea<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The sky is blue when we awake to the sound of birds chirping and a vacuum cleaner. Vacuum cleaner? Yep, that sure sounds like a vacuum cleaner. It gets nearer and nearer before finally we hear an old lady muttering and trying to blow leaves away. Is she really doing that? Or is she really trying to tell us to clear off? Japanese people are very polite and do not like confrontation so maybe this is a not so subtle hint to us. When she retreats we get moving. It's all a game.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's hard to believe, but in the English-speaking Japanese Times we read that yesterday we cycled through Typhoon No.6 It apparently worked it's way up the country from Okinawa. Thought the rain was a bit heavy. Today is in stark contrast as we climb over a pass in a blaze of sunshine and descend into one almighty urban sprawl. We are riding into the region that includes Osaka and Kyoto and in between the unheard of city of Takatsuki. It takes a bit of pavement riding and then we give the road another go as we are now descending to what seems like sea level. We are so happy the sun is out again we don't care about the surroundings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Finally we get close to our destination - we are being hosted by Danny and Christine, two English teachers - and we stop to cook our tea beside the river. There are plenty of people out for the late afternoon run/stroll/powerwalk/cycle. It seems rare that anyone is actually socialising with anyone else - no-one is walking with a friend or jogging together - which strikes us as a bit sad. Do people feel lonely here? Some look slightly amused to see us cooking our dinner. Some smile and nod as they pass by. One bloke flies by on his bike and then turns around to chat to us. Masa has cycled across Australia. He seems like he is struggling to remember his English at first, but it might just be that he has so many questions to ask. We talk and then he sets off again. A bit later he comes back with bananas and a camera to take photos. Such encounters are disarming. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIKU5v7we8vwRnEBbgyehrL4_wxXBNKWD8KcPm5MAmKg2psAxvrm4_2yZFVts6HSv4EApF_3rwIoIJFmQZ4umg5MvLoG_loJ8t_lwfQCvKFMF47JL7vmDYlaA4tj4R_eqJOe8QPWnCuw/s1600/IMG_8897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIKU5v7we8vwRnEBbgyehrL4_wxXBNKWD8KcPm5MAmKg2psAxvrm4_2yZFVts6HSv4EApF_3rwIoIJFmQZ4umg5MvLoG_loJ8t_lwfQCvKFMF47JL7vmDYlaA4tj4R_eqJOe8QPWnCuw/s320/IMG_8897.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>another tea in the park - down by the riverside</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We let ourselves in to the flat. The key was in the letterbox. The light switches don't seem to work but there's an empty room where we dump our bags. Danny had explained that they are both teaching and won't be back until after 9pm so to make ourselves at home. I go for a shower and Gayle sets off the panic alarm. The fire bell sounds on the landing and all the neighbours appear on the stairs to find out whose being murdered. Meanwhile I'm hopping about trying to get my clothes back on and Gayle is burying her face in her hands. "I thought it was the light switch" she cries. She's too ashamed to open the front door so I have to go out and speak to the alarmed neighbours. Meanwhile the bell is deafening. Finally I work out how to switch it off - rip off the switch cover and pull the switch out. Silence. Gayle apologises to the neighbours. Stupid foreigners, they're probably thinking. With any luck they'll think we are Danny and Christine. We all look the same, right? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">"Hi, I'm Danny." Danny looks Irish, speaks Yorkshire and has a Scandinavian surname. We feel instantly connected to him because he offers us tea. With milk. A friend for life. Christine is a a lovely American who clearly enjoys living in Japan. She's been here about 8 years. Both of them are teaching young kids and have just come back to work here after time off in the States and the UK. They've only been in the appartment for three weeks. Last year Danny cycled the length of the country from south to north with the intention of writing about the journey and Japan. He's working through a second draft of the book and asks if we could read it. It's very funny and insightful. We recognise some of the quirky and puzzling aspects of Japanese life. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvWSDIfKD55kFQCVY_IV2i0wMXmeUCcMwvwTwSuf1RXdQeP_6kw2Q7y-1XYgmJSd-YuQUbNDgvar2yjRWvsXyWcshyphenhyphenrLEb_peucJgVAdWwOWei8zldYeMeRW61x4islWYs-otF34BXg/s1600/IMG_8899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuvWSDIfKD55kFQCVY_IV2i0wMXmeUCcMwvwTwSuf1RXdQeP_6kw2Q7y-1XYgmJSd-YuQUbNDgvar2yjRWvsXyWcshyphenhyphenrLEb_peucJgVAdWwOWei8zldYeMeRW61x4islWYs-otF34BXg/s320/IMG_8899.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Christine and Danny have mastered the Japanese kneel</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We have felt slightly frazzled riding through Honshu and being in Christine and Danny's home is like an oasis of calm. The typhoon day also made us wonder if we can bear to stay longer in Japan - the rainy season begins in June. Danny is optimistic - he thinks it won't be so bad. In fact, he wonders if the Japanese don't overegg the pudding sometimes when they talk with such certainty about the weather and the seasons. It's almost as if they believe their world is one of fixed certainties, an unchanging world. It's hard to explain but we know what he means. One Japanese truism is that Japan has four seasons. It is said as if this is a unique quality of Japan. He tells us that once he was asked in a classroom if England also has four seasons. And anyway, Danny only had two days of rain last year on his ride. So this probably means we face a month of storms and heavy flooding..........</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We abuse our hosts' hospitality, chain ourselves to the railings and refuse to leave. Thankfully they are such a chilled out couple and don't mind if we cook for them - always an experimental activity when you can't quite find what you want in the supermarket. On one night they treat us to pizza. It's a decadent pleasure. But the real pleasure is having people who live here who have an understanding about the country to talk to. I hope Christine and Danny don't think we are too hard on Japan. We are critical about so much - and maybe this is because we haven't been able to bounce our opinions off anyone in the last three months. But there's so much we like here too - and we understand why they are happy to live and work here. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One of the desciptions Danny uses to describe Japan is that it is like a huge ship sailing in one direction and incapable of changing tack. It might end badly unless the country can turn in another direction. If you think the statistics for government debt in the UK are bad you should see those for Japan. They have a much higher debt in proportion to GDP. But the economy is only one part of Japan's problems. The ageing and shrinking population is another. What is incredible here is the sense of conformity and the priority of group harmony over personal wishes. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuPyDfkpQDW7yQnZhN_qzXlmGr38M1b1-HxFbA85kQ1NAchFxc4YUdwY8losw-uLbqPwwvlk0h-0iJ4ygQeCzrVH5S6u_DMytYkPh4t2tASIxwKGXXA3THbzDqTJW-wCq5fNJj0O5RZg/s1600/IMG_8902.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuPyDfkpQDW7yQnZhN_qzXlmGr38M1b1-HxFbA85kQ1NAchFxc4YUdwY8losw-uLbqPwwvlk0h-0iJ4ygQeCzrVH5S6u_DMytYkPh4t2tASIxwKGXXA3THbzDqTJW-wCq5fNJj0O5RZg/s320/IMG_8902.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>riverside oasis in a connurbation of 18 million</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Often in the cities we see children cycling home from school in the evening. Like Taiwan there is a lot of pressure on children to do well in school and many attend cram schools. Christine explains how the teaching environment she has experienced here emphasises learning through play - an antidote to the standard rote-learning methods more commonly used. She describes with sympathy how most children say, when asked, that their favourite activity is sleeping. When we stayed with Kiyoka we asked her about this and she felt that too much pressure was put on children. She did not raise her kids this way. But then Kiyoka is clearly not a typical parent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">After four nights with Danny and Christine we set off, reinvigorated, for Kyoto. It's a Sunday morning and Danny is off to play cricket. Cricket in Japan. Who'd have thought it? But then I think the Japanese are interested in so many things from the West, America especially, why not cricket. Danny's team is mainly English and Indian ex-pats and now has a fanatical Pakistani player too. I don't mean a jihadist - just the kind of guy who wants to bat, bowl, keep wicket and umpire, ideally all at the same time. I can't play cricket for toffee, but I secretly wish I was joining Danny for a game in the park. It's rare that I miss much from home, but spending time with these great people has got us thinking about England. Now then, which way is Kyoto?</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>can you see it, luv? It's round here somewhere</i></span></td></tr>
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by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8845723091978647046.post-72143574796466437632015-05-13T00:22:00.000-07:002015-05-23T06:56:02.752-07:00coasting towards Kyoto<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We're back on Honshu, the main island, but our plan is to avoid this more built up region and try and cross back to Shikoku, mooch east along the north coast before crossing back at the eastern end to Honshu. Our first day or two along the Honshu coast is quite pleasant. It's mostly small towns and villages that have sprawled out over the fields. The roads are quiet enough and the going good because there are no hills. It seems the cities are built more inland and not exactly on the coast. Down at the waterfront we pass some industrial plants, some small shipyards, golf courses and out of town shopping zones. It's not beautiful and we are getting used to riding the footpaths when the road gets too narrow, but we are looking forward to crossing back to Shikoku. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>we met some Indonesian welders who told us it takes a month to build a ship</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The plan takes a twist the day we are setting off for the long bridges crossing back to Shikoku. We have camped down by a river, next to a golf course and a baseball ground. It's quiet at night but in the morning we see a couple of joggers and dog-walkers. An old man with a big straw hat comes along and says hello. He asks where we're going but when we say Shikoku he tells us that we can't take the bikes over the bridges. "Too dangerous." We have now realised that you're as likely to hear a Japanese say "It's safe" as much as you're likely to hear an American say "I don't know". We think that possibly from living in the safest country in the world the Japanese have recalibrated their safety index to such a sensitive level, that even going to the toilet requires a health and safety warning. Seriously. In one shopping centre we have seen a specific warning to wearers of Crocs about using the escalator. (Ironically there was a Croc shop in the mall.) Anyway, we already have a cunning plan B in mind - keep plugging away along the Honshu coastline to Kyoto. We check the map. Er, the coast follows a big peninsula southwards. Okay, plan C - let's just head in as straight a line as possible to Kyoto. We reconsult the map. It's covered in green blotches. It's the Golf Course Route.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzclW-MCyEiV4Wb4YcaYwKOS9lWYCWBNOiOQn4WDIRgP9xB9IBy28-FyzEWFpR82ywL7HDH8REx8kg3iPqLYx4jacvdY4SR5B_x5VIp1cuCoEy-gyLPRXbL-_bWVwqJbIerY7DR4fn-Q/s1600/IMG_8874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzclW-MCyEiV4Wb4YcaYwKOS9lWYCWBNOiOQn4WDIRgP9xB9IBy28-FyzEWFpR82ywL7HDH8REx8kg3iPqLYx4jacvdY4SR5B_x5VIp1cuCoEy-gyLPRXbL-_bWVwqJbIerY7DR4fn-Q/s320/IMG_8874.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Following a tried and tested formula, we follow a river eastwards that cuts through the hills, thus avoiding the big detour around the peninsula. At the end of the day we find ourselves on tiny roads with 15% gradients because we can't use the main road which is a toll road with no shoulder. Finally we find a <i>michi no eki</i> in the middle of nowhere which is deserted. This service station has a waterpark, garden and go-kart track but it's all closed up on a Friday night. We pitch round the back away from the carpark and fall asleep to the sound of alarming grunts coming from the bushes. (A few days later we realise the grunts are actually croaks from huge toads or bullfrogs - they sound like someone practising on a tuba.) The next day we are back on the coast and following it past small industrial plants and grey-looking towns. It's a rainy morning and the small towns lack trees - there's no room for foliage. Happily, by the end of the day it's sunny and we have motored almost to Himeji city. We camp in a small unused park surrounded by houses. We can tell it's unused - there are weeds everywhere, cobwebs on the benches and in the toilets, and the gravel hasn't been raked. This really is the lowest of Japan's high standards for public spaces.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Sunday morning softball - a passerby depresses us by telling us the UK election result</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At seven am on a sunny Sunday morning we are awoken by babbling voices. Gayle looks out out of the tent. "There's a crowd forming at the far end!" she hisses. "Get up. Get up." I look out. A line of men carrying pitchforks and hoes and shovels is marching up the road. It's an angry mob coming to run us off their patch. Well, no, it's just a group of elderly residents who have gathered together for their annual "Clean Up". One old man gestures to us and suggests something in Japanese. Basically, we're in the way. The group of pensioners then set about Cleaning Up. This involves all the women sitting down in the weeds and using a small hook to cut them out. The men split into a ditch-clearing team and rakers. Raking looks a doddle and it seems that the most important factor is turning up, rather than doing anything useful. We notice that the men and women seem to separate and stick together. We wonder how easily the two sexes socialise in Japan. When we see schoolkids they are never mixed up - even from the same school, boys with the boys, girls with the girls.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">If you're into castles then Japan has plenty. Most of them were vacated during the modernisation period in the late 1800s and turned into public parks. The buildings haven't all survived. Restoration sometimes means reconstruction. Himeji castle is rated as one of the best surviving originals. It has just reopened after a six-year renovation, so maybe it's no surprise that when we reach the train station there's a busy flow of tourists coming and going between the perfectly located station, along a boulevard, to the castle at the northern end. Bright white, from the station the castle looks like a wedding cake. We sit outside the tourist office on the pavement to access the free wi-fi. It's tedious but we need to sort out accomodation in Kyoto. Later we go up to the castle and crowd watch. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>almost as good as the crowd watching</i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">We look at a couple of guesthouses but the rooms are windowless closets so it's really without much consideration that we head to the central park in the evening to cook our tea and pitch the tent. We give up our first choice pitch when we notice a few cars cruising around and a couple of police cars. It's rare to see the police out and about, so seeing them glide past twice in half an hour sends us looking on the other side of the park. We're not too concerned about the police finding us camping, but I am still not carrying my passport. We're not sure of the crime rate in Japan - ex-pats tell us how they never lock their houses - but one thing we do know is that if you get arrested in Japan then you are Going Down. Get this Detective Maclintock: Japan has a <b>99%</b> conviction rate. Most suspects arrested make a confession. This might be because the police can incarcerate you for 23 days without access to legal representation. Apparently most confessions are made to avoid more shame being brought on the family. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There is also the widely-accepted belief in Japanese society that the judiciary and police never make mistakes. As a cycle tourist without a passport I have stopped shooting red lights or waving the V sign in road rage just in case.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>We're Watching You - ostensibly a warning to fly-tippers but maybe to others too...</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At the end of one day that has been spent flitting from one town to the next we head towards a park marked on our map. If it's on the map we know it'll be big, but nothing quite prepares us for the Hyogo Disaster Management Centre Park. It's spread over a large hill and at it's apex there is a huge covered structure that looks like something out of James Bond. A sign tells us it's the indoor tennis arena - but it looks like a nuclear weapons command base. The park has golf, football and baseball grounds plus a running track. It seems endless. The car park is massive and empty bar the few cars of locals out for an evening run or walk. We camp behind an empty building in a picnic area where there are signs warning us about snakes and a particular type of spider with distinctive markings. I am thus unalarmed when I see such a spider on the tent only seconds after pitching. It is quickly flattened. We wash in a brand new toilet block. The place strikes us as quite mysterious as we are not that close to Kobe, the nearest city, so who are the facilties for? Only later do we read about how the Red Cross in 26 other countries raised funds for victims of the Kobe earthquake back in the 1990's. The funds were controversially used to build this sports park/relief centre, although I doubt that many Japanese know much about this. The media here seems rather tepid - news agencies get put under pressure from the government and rightwing organisations - so you are more likely to hear about another child being born to the British royal family than any big corruption scandal or cover-up. The park has never been used in an emergency but it's there, just in case.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjsvjkxha0y9kKYnhfOtzaDD5d30i6yejfT_Vfy87P-hFtNxCivCqx421_EvN4KMNx-3a0TCxle_WjaFFAZOJtZiuUISURnQWkZhZyxfe3ogemHnaUP6RAdhkXFXrsCXHwTQTD-3U83g/s1600/IMG_1650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjsvjkxha0y9kKYnhfOtzaDD5d30i6yejfT_Vfy87P-hFtNxCivCqx421_EvN4KMNx-3a0TCxle_WjaFFAZOJtZiuUISURnQWkZhZyxfe3ogemHnaUP6RAdhkXFXrsCXHwTQTD-3U83g/s320/IMG_1650.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Japan's infrastructure is failing to keep pace with its ageing population</i></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The next day we are expecting rain, so are quite happy to be able to pack up with everything dry. But from 9 o'clock onwards it all gets a bit messy. We find shelter mid-morning at a <i>michi no eki</i> that is really just a restaurant, shop and toilets. Still, there's a settee under cover so we bagsy it. After lunch we head off just as the rain eases. The rain then gets heavier, of course. We push on. Mid-afternoon, soaking wet, we stop in a convenience store that has seats. This is not so common in Japan - most punters sit in their vehicles in the car park drinking or eating their purchases. We dry off a little but the rain continues. Checking the map for possible camp spots we note a park in a hot spring area with lots of hotels. But getting there turns into a marathon struggle up steep hills in horrendous rain. To make matters worse, there's a wind with it. I'm sick of it. Gayle's sick of it. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">like meeting an old friend</span></i></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Finally we reach Arima - a nook in a mountainside jammed tight with some quite ugly hotels. This is spa territory - lots of five star establishments and no atmosphere. To get to the park we have to push up a ridiculously steep road, rain still pouring. But hallelujah, there's a toilet block, there's an arbor and there's space for our tent under the roof. We cook our tea and toast our good fortune with a bottle of vino. The only trouble is that while we eat the floor of our shelter starts to fill up with water as the wind blows the rain in. It seems our good fortune has run out. I had noticed steps up to a shrine when we arrived, so I suggest to Gayle that tonight we bed down inside the shrine. She immediately agrees and we go and check out the place. But there is no shrine. There's a locked-up building and something covered in tarp - but Gayle sees that there is actually a very dry space under a concrete roof next to the tarp. We can't believe our luck. We fetch our bikes and pitch the tent bone dry. What a day.</span></div>
by The Slothshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02811976667549788182noreply@blogger.com0