Day 1: Nihonbashi - Minami-Koshigaya

Distance covered: 25.5km
Weather: Cool and cloudy with long periods of drizzle

Two things weighed on my mind as I walked the short distance from my hotel next to Tokyo Station to the starting point of the Nikko Kaido in Nihonbashi: the weather, and my backpack. A few days ago the forecast for the start of my walk was ideal. Yesterday was meant to have been wet and blustery in the wake of Typhoon Vongfong, and the days following that fine. But in fact yesterday turned out to be beautifully fine and only slightly windy, and now it looked as if it was going to rain on this, the first day of my 146km walk from Tokyo to Nikko.

As for my backpack, I'd done absolutely no training with it on, and only minutes ago I'd shouldered it in earnest for the first time since walking the Koshu Kaido four years earlier. Already it was feeling uncomfortable, and I was beginning to worry about what shape I'd be in at the end of the day, let alone after a week of walking.

I arrived at the bridge that gives the Nihonbashi district its name a few minutes before 8am. A couple of friends were going to accompany me on this first leg to Minami-Koshigaya, and as I waited for them to arrive I looked for and found the monument marking Japan's Kilometer Zero. It felt strange beginning my walk from here. On all my previous walks along Japan's Edo-period highways, I'd traveled in the opposite direction (i.e. towards Tokyo), so I was used to ending my walks here.

My companions eventually arrived and after a few commemorative photos we set off. We walked north for a few hundred meters, past the two new Coredo buildings, before turning onto a side street that took us through Nihonbashi's apparel warehouse district. By this time it had already begun to drizzle. I delaying putting on my rain gear in the hope that it would stop, or at least not get any heavier, but after passing Asakusa I relented. It did ease off a couple of times, enabling me to take the odd photo with my new camera, but I ended up keeping my rain gear on for the rest of the day.

Asakusa

I usually only have two cups of coffee a day: one during breakfast and one after lunch. It's a routine I tend to stick to whether I'm at home or traveling. While passing through the flophouse district of Sanya, however, we came across Cafe Bach, which my companions informed me was something of a local institution, so in we went. The coffee took a while to arrive, but it tasted fantastic. The cakes and desserts looked great too, but we resisted the temptation to try them and set off again in the rain.

At around the 10km mark, shortly before crossing the Arakawa River, I noticed an incredible "conestellation" (a term I've coined to describe groups of cones with artistic merit) by the side of the road. Some of them were made by hand from bits of timber and tape! Luckily it was during one of the lulls in the rain, so I was able to take a few photos.

Conestellation near the Arakawa River

On the other side of the Arakawa River we passed a monument to the poet Matsuo Basho, whose route on his famous journey along the "narrow road to the deep north" followed the Nikko Kaido as far as Nikko. Moments later we left busy Route 4 and entered a narrow shopping street that led us past Kita-Senju Station. There were quite a few nice looking eateries along this street, so we decided to stop for lunch, choosing a restaurant specialising in fish. The main dish was great, and the pickles and miso soup some of the best I've tasted for a long time.

We continued north after lunch, stopping now and then to take the odd photo and admire some of the old buildings we passed along the way (one of my companions was an architect, and shared my interest in quirky architecture). There wasn't much else of interest, really. We were still very much in the greater Tokyo conurbation, which with a population of just under 38 million people is the world's most populous. Perhaps the most pleasant stretch was between Soka and Matsubara Danchi, where we passed through an avenue of pine trees that had been planted to recreate the atmosphere of the old Nikko Kaido. It was certainly nicer than walking on a normal footpath, but the persistent drizzle was beginning to dampen our enthusiasm. We were so eager to reach our final destination that we almost missed the only surviving original ichirizuka, or route marker, on the entire Nikko Kaido. The site was rather poorly maintained, I thought, and even with the benefit of a sign with a photo, it took us a while to work out which of the several sickly looking trees in the area marked the location of the ichirizuka.

We arrived in Minami-Koshigaya just after 5pm. After seeing off my two companions at the station I checked into my hotel. I rested for a bit and hung up my wet clothes to dry then walked to a nearby Saizeriya and had some seafood spaghetti, bread and salad, all washed down with a glass of beer (in honour of Alan Booth). Later, while soaking in the bath, I noticed my hips were a bit bruised from the strap of my pack. Apart from that I felt OK, surprisingly so considering my lack of preparation. And the weather forecast for the next day was good. 

Road Cone Exhibition

The other day I took my camera into central Christchurch for the first time since the earthquake in February. My main aim was to take some photos of the Road Cone Exhibition for Erik, but I also took a couple of photos of buildings inside the "red zone".

This is Clarendon Tower, which is awaiting demolition.

 

And this is Rydges Hotel, which is currently inaccessible but due to reopen in 2012. In the foreground is the plinth that once supported the Scott Statue, which toppled and was damaged in the earthquake. There's a picture of what's left of the statue here.

 

So, on to the exhibition, which featured over 40 cone sculptures by Certificate in Design students at the Christchurch Polytechnic Institute of Technology (CPIT). The venue was under a large tree in the Botanic Gardens.

Below are just a few of the many fine pieces on display.

 

 

 

By any other name

Excerpt from a letter to the editor published in this morning's edition of The Press complaining about student behaviour in the wake of the Christchurch earthquake (emphasis added).

Not only were the students running down the middle of Ilam Rd against traffic, some decided to pick up and throw the orange road safety witches' hats down the road, while many strolled over the road, en masse, through traffic, making drivers stop.

Earthquake!

This morning someone from the council came along and placed these shiny new cones around a pile of silt in the middle of the road by our house. The silt is the result of soil liquefaction from Tuesday's earthquake.

Cones of the Koshu Kaido

I originally put together this little collection of traffic cone photos from my Koshu Kaido walk for my erstwhile walking partner and traffic cone artist extraordinaire Erik. But I may as well share them with you all. Enjoy!

100 days to go

I've long been of the belief that traffic cones can fly. Now I have the evidence!

Distance walked since last post: 10.3km
Total distance walked since Koshu Kaido training began: 29km
Days left until departure: 100

The Bridge

Auckland

Mrs Fool and I have just been up to Auckland for a couple of days. Here are some photos from our trip.

Mysterious sunken cone on the Auckland waterfront

Rangitoto Island

Giant squid at Kelly Tarlton's Underwater World

Downtown Auckland from Orakei Wharf

Wellington trip report

Saturday

Keiko drops me off at Christchurch airport just before midday. As I go to check in, members of the Indian cricket team saunter past, fresh from their impressive batting display in Wellington on Friday, and on their way, as it would transpire, to an even more impressive display in Christchurch on Sunday. Half an hour later as I'm waiting to board my plane, I see the Black Caps arrive, looking rather bedraggled.

I love flying to Wellington. It only takes 45 minutes. No sooner has the plane reached cruising altitude than it begins its descent. Or so it seems. It's hardly worth getting out a book, let alone struggling to untangle iPod earphones.

In Wellington, I catch a shuttle to my hotel on The Terrace (which happens to be part of a chain sponsoring the Monet exhibition at Te Papa). It's past the check in time of 2pm, but my room isn’t ready, so I wander down to Willis Street and grab a late lunch (a curry) at a food court. Back on Willis Street, I pass Unity Books and decide to go in for a browse. It's not long before I find a book I've been looking out for for weeks, The China Lover by Ian Buruma. For good measure, I also buy a William Boyd novel, The Blue Afternoon.

I get back to my hotel just after 3pm and settle into my room. Then I remember there's a free big band concert on in Civic Square from 3.30pm, so I head out again, taking a different route down to Willis Street that takes me passed this piece of cone art. Or is it a cone prank? When I pass the same sculpture the following day the cone is gone, so I suspect the latter.

At Civic Square, I stay long enough to catch a couple of numbers by the New Zealand School of Music Big Band directed by Rodger Fox. But I don't like the idea of standing in the sun too long, and wander slowly back towards my hotel, stopping at a few outdoor clothing and book shops along the way. By the time I get back to The Terrace I realize there isn't much time before the first concert of the evening. Because I'm attending two shows in a row, I won't have time for dinner later on, so I start looking for a place to eat. None of the restaurants I check out have started serving dinner (it's only 5pm), so I make do with a large piece of quiche and a glass of wine in a bar just across the road from the concert venue inside the Town Hall.

First up is Tunisian "vocalist and oud virtuoso" Dhafer Youssef, whose backing band consists of a Polish pianist (Marcin Wasilewski), a Canadian bassist, and a Japanese drummer. He's a very engaging performer. He thanks us profusely in halting English a number of times, and also thanks the members of his band, the lighting director, and the soundman at least twice over the course of the show. The tunes are long, often rhythmically complex, but mostly based on simple riffs that are repeated over and over again. Youssef sits centre stage and plays his oud. Occasionally he wanders across to the side of the stage and watches the band perform. He seems to take great delight in Wasilewski's piano playing. During some of the tunes he sings. Or rather, he vocalises. There are no lyrics, but this is not scat, nor is it throat singing. It's more like the Muslim call to prayer set to music.

Youssef announces that the band is playing their final song, but that they'll come back for an encore. The last song ends and the band leave the stage, but despite the rapturous applause they fail to reappear. The house lights come on and there's an announcement. Due to the tight scheduling of events we have to leave the venue right away.

It's 7.15pm. The Tomasz Stańko Quartet is due on stage at 8pm. I walk up Cuba Street and find a nice coffee shop where I wolf down a slice of apple and blueberry pie with cream. I then walk back to the Town Hall and have a glass of red wine in the foyer before going back in to find my (new) seat.

I few weeks ago I was dismissive of the description of Tomasz Stańko as the "Polish Miles Davis." Now I know what people mean. Stańko's trumpet playing has the same clarity of tone, economy, and touches of vulnerability of Davis's. And like Davis, Stańko doesn't like to talk to his audience. He speaks only once the entire time, to introduce the band members. But I'm enthralled from start to finish. The music has all the qualities I hold dear. It's melodic, romantic (but not soppy), haunting (but not depressing), beautiful, moving. Pianist Marcin Wasilewski, playing in his second gig of the night, seems more at home in this all-Polish unit, who meld together perfectly. Before the concert I was a Stańko novice. By the end of it I'm a fan. Even if the rest of the weekend turns out to be a complete disaster, I'm satisfied because I've been to the best concert of my entire life.

Sunday

Sunday dawns calm and fine, one of those perfect Wellington days when the harbour shines. Unfortunately I have work to do, so aside from venturing out to buy breakfast, lunch and coffee, I'm confined to my hotel room until the evening.

At 6pm I meet a couple of friends for dinner, after which it's back to the Town Hall for the Brad Mehldau Trio concert. It's the biggest audience so far, but they're all milling around in the foyer because the doors to the hall are firmly shut. The start time of 8pm ticks passed and still there's no sign of them opening. There's no explanation as to what's happening, but I'd looked at Mehldau's website before coming to Wellington and noticed that he was due to play a concert in Melbourne the previous night, so I suspect he's arrived late and is still doing a sound check.

We're eventually let in and the concert starts around 15 minutes late. Brad Mehldau seems like a very nice man. He has a relaxed stage manner and talks often throughout the show. But his music doesn't do a lot for me. There are one or two nice moments. One is an extended, very classical-sounding solo, which is the only time during the concert that I think he sounds like Keith Jarrett. Perhaps if I'd had high expectations, or had come to Wellington especially to see Mehldau, I'd be disappointed, but I'm still on a high from hearing Tomasz Stańko play the night before.


Monday

Although the day starts out cold and wet, by mid-morning the rain has lifted and it's quite pleasant. I have a couple of hours to kill before I'm due to meet a friend for lunch, and decide to check out the Monet exhibition at Te Papa. When I get to the fourth floor, however, I'm greeted by a long queue and so decide to give Monet a miss. Instead I wander around looking at some of the museum exhibits. I come across a small gallery with some etchings. Among the mostly European works inside is a print by Hiroshige. It's Maisaka from The Fifty-Three Stations of the Tokaido. Except something's wrong. It's a lot smaller than the Hiroshige prints I'm used to. Plus the composition is different from the print of Maisaka I'm familiar with. It's from a different edition of the series, called the Kyoka edition.

After walking around some more I come across this intriguing sign:

I find the colossal squid and start taking some photos, playing around with the different settings on my camera. I'm quite proud of the results.


I leave Te Papa and manage to squeeze in some more shopping (two Tomasz Stańko Quartet CDs, and Edmund White's The Flâneur, which I intend to take to read while walking the Tokaido) before lunch. After lunch there's just time for a coffee before heading back to the hotel to pick up my bag and catching a shuttle to the airport. I've done quite a bit of walking over the weekend. I have no idea how much distance I've covered. But my calves are quite sore. It must be from the hills.

Distance walked today: 0km
Total distance walked since Tokaido training began: 76.9km
Days left until departure: 68

Multi-tasking

Once again, Erik has put me to shame. He's vowed to walk ten miles per day, everyday, until he leaves for Japan. How on earth does he do it? Work full time, make wonderful art, blog, and train every day. By being organized, focused, and dedicated, that's how. I, on the other hand, have never been very good at multi-tasking. Last week I was inspired to work on my memoir. I wrote like a demon, getting through most of 2001, which was quite an achievement (it was an eventful year), but everything else suffered. Work, blogging, walking all took a back seat.

Speaking of multi-tasking, last night I sat down and watched Bukowski: Born Into This, a feature-length documentary about the poet and novelist Charles Bukowski. Bukowski managed to be a drunkard, a womanizer, a postal worker, and an incredibly prolific writer all at the same time. Like Guy Debord, he seemed to spend most of his life in varying states of inebriation. And like Debord, he was accused of being a misogynist. He denied the accusation. He said he loved women. In fact he spent a lot of time researching them for one of his novels, Women. But during one astonishing, booze-fueled interview included in the documentary, Bukowski, beer bottle in hand, lashes out both verbally and physically at his then wife, who's seated next to him on the sofa, first claiming she, like all his other girlfriends, had taken advantage of his kind nature, then threatening to hire a "Jew lawyer" to get rid of her, and finally pummeling her with his bare feet like a petulant child. So, a misogynist and an anti-Semite.

I have a bit of a weakness for artists who not only have seriously flawed personalities, but also have no qualms about parading their flaws in public. It's reassuring to look at them and think, I know I've got my problems, but at least I'm not as messed up as that guy. Or, Hey, he's more messed up than me, but he still managed to become a great artist. I guess it helps if you're also incredibly talented. I've never read any Bukowski. But the documentary ended with the following poem, read I think by the author himself, which took my breath away. Not that I wept or anything.

Bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Distance walked today: 16.2km
Maximum altitude reached: 365m
Total distance walked since blog began: 511.2km
Days left until launch of Kisokaido Project: 58

Three photos

More seeds

So there we were in Tokyo in 1996, Erik teaching English and me doing research at Keio University but feeling rather unmotivated and increasingly homesick. Although I wasn't particularly busy (I had no lectures to attend and was working at my own pace), I looked forward to the weekends, when I usually stayed at Erik's apartment. We drank, did art, listened to music, and watched videos into the small hours, whereupon I'd collapse on a futon in Erik's bedroom while he and his girlfriend slept on another futon in the lounge. Erik encouraged me in my artistic endeavours, and I discovered a fondness for collage.

Occasionally we'd venture out, often to art galleries during the day, and restaurants at night. We also played chess. One evening, inspired by the Situationists and fueled by cheap red wine, we concocted our very own "drifting" game, which involved heading off on foot from his apartment with a deck of cards, the direction and duration of our urban rambles and other decisions determined by cards drawn at each intersection, with various other "signs" (the sighting of a cat, for example) triggering additional changes in direction or other predetermined actions. The drift would end whenever a joker was drawn from the pack, at which point we'd race each other back to the apartment.

Along with a French-Australian astronomer called Boud, Erik and I became involved in the nascent anti-McDonald's movement in Japan - actually, we were the nascent anti-McDonald's movement in Japan - which formed in the wake of the famous McLibel trial in the U.K. In October 1996 we marked the International Day of Action against McDonald's by donning clown costumes purchased at Tokyu Hands and leafleting several McDonald's outlets in Shinjuku. The high point of our anti-McDonald's campaign was a protest in Shibuya on the evening of 7 March 1997 which ended with Boud and me being hauled off in our clown suits by the police for interrogation. The episode was filmed by Erik and formed the basis of the hit movie Bashing Ronald (25 min.).

By this time I'd decided to go back to New Zealand, at least a year earlier than planned, a decision that upset Erik a lot more than I realized at the time. I left Tokyo on 16 March 1997. I wouldn't see Erik again for over four years, although we did keep in touch, our correspondence taking the form of everything from scribbled notes on napkins to erotic postcards, and at least two cone-letters.

Erik stayed on in Japan for another couple of years, devoting an increasing amount of time and energy to his art. He then moved to New York, where he continued to paint. Keiko and visited him there in June 2001. I bought three of Erik's paintings, which hang in our living room. We last saw each other at the end of 2004, when Erik visited New Zealand, spending time in Christchurch and Karamea. Since then we've kept in fairly regular contact, mainly via email, but of late increasingly via Skype. In fact it was during a Skype conversation that we came up with the idea for the Nakasendo Project.

Distance walked today: 3km
Total distance walked since blog began: 61.7km