Tour de Japan

There is a universality to the beauty and sublimity of nature. Once one strips down the confines and separatism of culture, one is left with the truth of a place; the natural purity of a virgin landscape. One could be anywhere in the world. I feel as I get further and further from the city, my love of Japan strengthens. While I still love the cities and their perpetual excitement and liberating anonymity, I also love the personability and charm of rural living. I have spent the past 3 days cycling around the Japanese coastline and islands, and have seen more beauty, both natural and human than one could hope to see in an entire trip. The magnitude of the beauty of rural Japan was a shock to Tom and I; we didn't know that mere hours from the city existed an archaic Japan steeped in tradition, where the scenery is pure and the people are genuine.

I find the self sufficiency of one's own two legs and two wheels and determination as a beautifully liberating means of travel. One is not confined to train tracks or bus routes but can venture further into the heart of a place; the truth of an area.

We got to the core of Japanese culture, to the most archaic and ritualistic of traditions. We spent hours in communal baths, stripping down our clothes and inhibitions to the equality of nudity and the soothing warmth on tired legs.

We traveled 200 kilometers over three days, and I came to admire Tom's tenacity and quiet self belief. There was never a time when I sensed any hint of self doubt or incapability. My uncle traveled with us, being a Japan cycle tour operator and his abundant generosity of time and money gave Tom and I an experience we will not forget. When I expressed that there was no way I could possibly repay him, financially or with gratitude, he told me of the basis of reciprocality. There is a world community of travelers, reliant on generosity, and when this generosity exceeds one's ability to repay, it is through reciprocality that it is leveled. As he has done for me, I in turn shall do for others, and they in turn will do the same, thus is the nature of this unspoken world community.

I am now back in Kyoto and having the first day of rest for the trip so far. I have so long away that there is no reason to rush. I have seen and experienced a lot and I must now stop and reflect on it. I fear that by sitting inside on a computer and writing this, I am wasting possible time that could be spend immersed in Kyoto's culture, but I realise that writing is important to traveling. To write is to consciously think, and to thoughtlessly travel is a fruitless exercise and gains nothing. One may look but not see or listen but not hear, and through this blind, deaf travel, one takes nothing new from a place. I wish not only to take something, but to leave something behind, but this, in a country of such massive populous is a near impossible task. I wear two necklaces, each with world coins on them. I see a young boy and I realise to leave something behind does not need any grandeur. The boy is perhaps four or five years old, and very inquisitive, staring at me when I get out of the bath; an admittedly awkward experience. I don't know why, but I gave him one of my necklaces and his jubilation told me I had done the right thing. I know I will leave Japan, having made some small impact on an anonymous young boy's life, and I hope that somewhere now he is wearing it.

The day before the bike ride was a warm, clear day in Kyoto, and we took every opportunity to see as much of this ancient and beautiful city as we possibly could, though I fear, even with cycling around all day, seeing sights and sampling the culture, I have merely scratched the surface of this rich culture, and I understand why my uncle has stayed here so long. I am sure he feels, like I do, that there is always something new to see or experience, and with that thought I begin to dread the possibility of a very superficial trip; perpetually shooting through in the Australian tradition and never stopping to smell the metaphorical roses.

Temples and shrines dot the landscapes wherever one looks in Japan, and it is frighteningly easy for one to become immune to their beauty and the tradition they depict, so I have, at times had to consciously stop and appreciate what it is I am seeing and everything it represents. The centuries of history that has brought what I see from what it was to what it is. I think that aspect of Japanese culture is my favourite; the omnipresence of history and tradition in the contemporary.

I know, even as I write this, that I am speaking too much of how I feel and not enough of what I see or what I do, but when I read back on this in years to come, I will have photos to remind of what I have done, but these words will be my only reminder of how I felt.

There are aspects of home life that I miss, and there are people I long to see, but more so than it makes me homesick or makes me want to stop traveling, it assures me that when it does come time to go home, I will have people worth going home to, and things that have been worth missing. It is incomprehensible that everything back home is still going on. My parents still go to work, one more begrudgingly than than other, my girlfriend still goes to school, and I think about her daily. My nieces are growing up and it pains me everyday to be missing them grow and to fear they are forgetting me and to not know where their uncle is. Everything is the same, and that is a constant comfort and reconciles me that I am not missing out on anything, but missing people none the less.

My technological laziness prevents me from ever uploading a photo onto this blog, but I hope my words are enough.

It is raining today in Kyoto. The gardens are getting watered and there is something beautifully cleansing and purifying about rain in a city. It falls rhythmically on the roof as I sit and write and it sounds and feels like home. Tomorrow I will do something more, but today, I am content to sit and read and think about all I have seen and all I will see.

Yesterday was a long day, riding, catching trains and being on the go for 13 hours, and I am exhausted. The emotional fatigue of the Hiroshima Peace Museum still remains and it is now coupled with the physical exhaustion of the past few days.

It is all I can do force myself to continue to write, and I fear in my exhausted state that my writing will stop making sense or will stop actually saying anything, so I am going to go and settle into the quiet restfulness of my temporary home and the melancholy of the weather.