Tokyo to Ho Chi Minh By Bicycle

Photos: Suzhou

luke_collings — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 20:55:00 GMT

Photos from my three day stay in the beautiful Suzhou

Photos: Shanghai to Suzhou

luke_collings — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 19:54:00 GMT

Photos from the first leg of the journey to Suzhou

Photos: Shanghai

luke_collings — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 19:30:00 GMT

A few photos I took whilst staying for a week in Shanghai. I now wish I'd taken more.

Shanghai

luke_collings — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 19:01:00 GMT

Arriving in Shanghai was nothing less than a baptism of fire. As soon as we were through customs I was on my own again. I felt completely vulnerable and didn’t really have any idea of which direction to go in apart from The Bund. I’d booked the hotel while back in Tokyo as it meant one less thing to worry about upon arrival, but now I had to find the damn thing and it was dark. I cycled out of the boat terminal and was faced with a big road. It all looked pretty hectic out there. Nobody seemed to give a monkey’s whether their lights were on or not. Do I turn left or right? I found a policeman and bleated some gibberish Chinese at him only to be met with a very blank confused expression. In one of my finer fits of logistical wisdom I’d printed out several maps of the route to the hotel, so it wasn’t long before we connected and I was pointed in the right direction. I found myself at the Bund much sooner than I’d expected, and once I knew where I was, all I had to do was to follow a small river about 5km inland. The traffic was all over the place and I looked like a fish out of water with my flashing LED lights and reflective cycling jacket, or at least I felt that way. After passing several junctions I felt a little more relaxed. Although no one seemed to care about traffic signals and lights, there seemed to be a quite graceful flow to how the traffic moved. If I followed everyone else it seemed like I’d be ok and so was the case. I eventually found my hotel after going in circles for thirty minutes. After asking directions from another hotel that looked much better and was full of interesting travellers, I found the front door which I’d originally assumed was the entrance to a cabaret club and booked in. All seemed well, so off I trotted due to the lack of any restaurant in the hotel to find some food. I thought the safest place to try would be the hostel around the corner, where the staff had spoken English and had been so helpful. The hostel looked great. There was a warm feeling about it as if it was alive. The walls were covered in chalk messages and memorial murals done by other travellers of their tours of Asia. I could sense that this was a place that for many people had been a hostel where they had had a great time. There was a ping pong table, pool table, roof garden, two cinema rooms, reading room and roof bar amongst a host of other amenities, and I left feeling rather down about handing over the cash for three nights in this rather seedy unassuming hotel where the staff spoke no English. I took comfort though in the fact that I was safely in Shanghai, could go back to my room, email the family, let them know I was alright and read the newspaper before going to bed. Well, that didn’t happen. After the hotel website had stipulated that they had an internet connection, they had conveniently it seemed, failed to remember to mention that none of the one bedroom rooms had any connection. It also turned out that there was nowhere in the hotel to gain any WIFI access, so I was essentially without anything for the next four days. It seemed like I wouldn’t be able to do any planning for my trip from here. How could this place call itself a “business hotel” if there was no net access? Were guests forwarding messages to their offices via carrier pigeons? Perhaps they had a telegram service? I’ve always wanted an excuse to come out with a line like “I need to send and urgent wire to London” So keeping my cool and reminding myself that such setbacks were part of the fun of traveling I approached the concierge. It took a while for the problem to get through. They offered me the use of their computer that was covered in fag ash and serenaded by dead filters. Although a kind gesture, I wasn’t looking to use a computer that was probably full of all sorts of nasty programs. They finally put me through to a woman from the website Booking.com who suggested that they upgrade my room but the concierge wasn’t going to give in to this so we continued a long drawn out confused conversation that I could clearly see was going nowhere fast. The concierge blamed Booking.com and Booking.com blamed the hotel. This I saw could potentially go on forever with me in the middle the eventual loser. After a good deal longer the concierge called a Chinese man who I presume had some connection with the hotel. “What do you want?” he demanded. I explained clearly and slowly “what do you expect for the price you’re paying?” he replied. This wasn’t the reaction I was looking for. Eventually after having to endure the pain of someone who I don’t know, on the end of a phone, speak to me as if I’m an imbecile for ten minutes my patience began to wane. I handed the phone back to the concierge and walked out. I knew I didn’t want to stay here anymore so I walked around the corner and checked that the attractive hostel had a room available. They did, so I returned safely in the knowledge that a more attractive alternative was only just around the corner and explained to the first hotel that if they didn’t have internet access then the place was essentially useless for my needs. As the moody woman at the front desk messed around, stalled and was generally a pain in the neck. I returned to the room, packed and brought everything down to the entrance hall before demanding my money back. They refused and a heated discussion ensued. I was put back on the phone and spoke to a whole host of people whom I had no idea of who they were again. The whole ordeal had lasted four hours it was a complete waste of time, but finally I had my money back and made with haste to the hostel. My introduction to quite how appalling Chinese customer service could be had ended. It really was a relief, but I had been rattled at the sheer insolence and brazen, impudent disrespect for a customer’s requirements. After living in Japan it had all come as quite a shock. The attitudes to customer service seemed at polarities to each other. I had left one country where I felt the continuous bowing, faux greetings and apologies superfluous to the needs of any cultured and civilized society and just annoying, a point and opinion that had been aired by many Japanese people I’ve met. I was now in a land which clearly had different standards of an opposite nature. I found myself drawing a parallel with the differences between England and France although I feel that the differences are much less acute especially now with the disintegration of standards within the UK. I was shattered by now, I booked into the hostel, got a great room and polished off some three day old crusty bread I’d bought from Paul’s bakery in Osaka before falling fast asleep.

I’d agreed to meet Avi and Ryohei on Monday near the Jing’an temple at twelve. I awoke early and was pleased to discover the temple was only a fifteen minute walk away. I was excited about arriving in China and got there three hours early before proceeding to stroll around the area and get my bearings. The park was filled with old people doing strange dances. There were different groups of them swaying around in front of small PA systems. There seemed to be a really optimistic, vibrant and active community in the area. People were greeting each other, joining in freely and there was lots of laughter. It was sunny and warm with a cool breeze so I bought a newspaper and coffee and decided to sit in the park until twelve. The afternoon with Avi and Ryohei was useful. Avi helped me get a Chinese SIM card for my mobile, we changed money at a local bank and we had a great lunch at an Urghur restaurant. The food was excellent, in fact one of the tastiest meals I’ve ever had. The menu was covered in Chinglish (see the Chinglish photo album) which offered some bizarre translations and sent my imagination into overdrive. We drank black beer and had a great time. My first day in Shanghai had been a good one.

I’d offered Ryohei the chance to share a room so that we could both save a little cash, so we had moved into a room together the night before. I was concerned that Ryohei was intending to cycle to Hong Kong with no panniers and spent Tuesday morning researching where we might find some in Shanghai. I also wanted to make some alterations to my bike and buy some extra parts I might need. After plotting out some possible shops that might carry these things we set off for a 20km tour of the city. The streets were bustling with lots of cars honking, bikes everywhere and general pandemonium. After visiting several big outlet stores on the outskirts of the city that didn’t stock anything we wanted we found a Giant (company name, not size) shop that from first glance looked like a winner. Unfortunately though they didn’t have anything either so we returned home empty handed apart from a great deal of Urghar bread I’d picked up. The day had gone well for me as I’d become a lot more confident riding around with a new set of rules quite different to anything I’d experienced before without getting flattened. I’d managed to see a good deal of the city in a fraction of the time it would have taken on foot.

Wednesday was the day before Ryohei would be setting off on his trip to Hong Kong. I spent the morning setting up my travelogue but in the back of my mind I knew I wouldn’t be getting far without some decent maps. Finding any English maps proved to be a non-starter. English maps though would prove useless when asking the locals for directions, so I settled after searching in the bookshop for quite a while on some maps that focused on each province that I’d be visiting rather than some huge road map of the entire country. I was really nervous about leaving my bike out on the street even when double locked. Having my bike stolen would be a game over situation and I’d look a complete fool if I managed to get my bike nicked within two days of arriving in China. With this in mind Ryohei and I took turns to watch the bikes. Back at base at the Le Tour hostel the general melee of travellers coming and going continued. I met Doug, an American from Colorado who was over on business and we chatted over a few beers. Doug invited me to a gig, so I looked forward to sampling some of the local rock bands. That evening Ryohei told me that he’d been asked out for dinner the night before by some girls on the street. I knew what was coming, the girls had vanished towards the end of the meal and he was left to pick up the bill which came to £80, a fair whack by Chinese standards. There are so many scams going on that it is hard to keep track of them all. I knew about this one. Others include being invited by phony art students to a gallery viewing only to be charged an extortionate price for the privilege. Accepting any invitation out of the blue on a street somewhere seems to me to be asking for trouble. I felt bad for Ryohei. He’s the same age as I was when I left home to live in Nepal fifteen years ago. I had had all my camera equipment stolen on a bus traveling from Kathmandu to Varanasi. I hoped that nothing like this would happen to me on my journey down to Ho Chi Minh. I also hoped that Ryohei’s honest, sincere and applaudable Japanese spirit would be left free from anymore skulduggery.

Going to a gig on Thanksgiving Day with Doug was a real highlight of my stay in Shanghai. I had high expectations of the bands with hilarious names such as “Duck Fight Goose” and “Rainbow Danger Club” and I hoped they’d pull it off. The gig wasn’t far from the hostel either which made it all the more convenient. The bar called Lune had a 60’s kitsch vibe about it. The crowd seemed geared up for a good night with booze flowing and some elegant Chinese girls who spoke with American accents. I presumed the majority of ex-pats where teachers, although I later found out that nearly everyone was involved in the media business in some form or another. A short, pretty girl with an English accent introduced herself. “Hi, you have a British accent so I thought I’d come over and say hello” she stated. The usual questions revolved. By sheer coincidence she was from Peter Symonds School in Winchester. After studying for my degree in the same city I was well abreast of Peter Symonds girls but this was all we had in common. We had more than a decade separating us. Winchester I’d heard had changed a lot by the sounds of things and I was merely passing through Shanghai while she was networking. I left her to it, but it was a little reminder of quite how small the world is. Meeting her all but briefly reminded me of all the fun I’d had whilst living in Winchester and my mind wondered back to a more innocent time in my life. Back then I wouldn’t have imagined for a minute that I’d be where I was now. Life had certainly turned up a few surprises. The first band on were excellent but although the bands seemed more experienced as the night went on the music went downhill. This was counteracted though by the bottles of Tiger beer that seemed to be disappearing rather fast. Rainbow Danger Club looked like they’d modelled themselves on a cross between the character Biggles and early 80’s London ska fashion. The saxophonist pranced around with a pipe when not playing and the guitarist sported a pair of Spitfire goggles. Not a look I’d have expected. As I walked back fairly inebriated after the show I felt like shanghai was a place that I certainly wouldn’t mind living. It felt edgy, alive and real. It wasn’t stale or resting on its laurels but striving forward with an optimistic flair. In its desperate attempt at playing catch up with many other international cities the gap between the rich and poor has become more pronounced yet no-one seemed to be moping around. The poor keep themselves busy by foraging for anything that may be thrown out or recycled, something for which I have great respect for. Not only does this keep them busy and bring them in a little coin but it’s also a service to all those around them. They’re not dependant on state hand outs or burrowing themselves away in shame like in many first world countries. They’re not there due to some dependency on alcohol or drugs, blaming everyone but themselves for their current dilemma. Stand still for a minute and they’ve lost a chance at earning an honest meal. Everyone seemed on their toes, alert and engaging, looking for a chance with a brave face. Like many places I’ve visited I felt that there was a lot to learn from what was going on around me. I’d imagined Shanghai to be a dirty place but it was quite the opposite. There were no flies or rotting debris strewn through the streets. There were no bad smells or stinking drainage systems, it was a working city thanks to working communities. The woman on the rickshaw piled high with cardboard wasn’t looking at the Porsche Cayenne next to her with a murderous glare letting her jealousy eat her from the inside out. She was on a mission, all be it one that revolved around vast quantities of cardboard. It was her private enterprise, her own, and therefore something to be proud of. She wasn’t waiting for a job to suddenly pop out of nowhere, or sitting around complaining that there weren’t enough jobs to go around, she’d made her own. Shanghai it seemed had many answers to many problems that those in the West could learn a lot from. I was then torn away from my meandering thoughts by the sudden desperate need to pee and spent the next few minutes focused on the call of nature. It’s always difficult to know where to go in a new city, especially at night when everything is closed, so to my shame I positioned myself quietly behind a large bush and pretended to be interested in the local flora and fauna.

The next few days were spent planning. Finding my way around the new maps I’d bought wasn’t easy. They seemed to lack a great deal of detail. They were covered in strange unfamiliar writing. I’d realised that whatever I planned I would have to be pretty flexible. Shanghai had whole swathes of elevated highway that wasn’t featured in my guidebook, now only four years out of date. Had that much change happened in four years? Avi had mentioned that there had been approximately only three metro lines working around the time he’d left Shanghai four years ago and that now there were around ten. The city plans to build another twelve in the next ten years. My next few days of planning were dispersed with pool, ping pong and beer with several people I’d met and a rather embarrassingly unconventional massage at the parlour next door. Shanghai it seemed was a place I’d be more than happy to return. I’d stayed longer than I’d anticipated yet I had no regrets. I’d perhaps put leaving off a little longer due to a fear of the unknown yet Shanghai had proved to be an excellent place to overcome this. As I fell asleep with maps all over my bed, I dreamed about what lay ahead. Cycling dreams had become the norm over the last couple of weeks and I awoke early focused on getting out there and putting some distance behind me.

The Xin Jian Zhen from Osaka to Shanghai

luke_collings — Wed, 8 Dec 2010 19:59:00 GMT

Osaka proved to be the perfect place to relax and collect my thoughts before arriving in China. To say that I was nervous about landing, finding the hotel and learning how to get around would be a understatement. Whilst lying in my cosy hotel bed and full of personal insecurities regarding cycling across China, it was a struggle to get up and as a result I eventually arose a good hour later than I would have liked to. After packing and checking out I pointed myself in what I believed to be the right direction and then spent the next thirty minutes going around in circles. I had estimated that the ride would take an hour but left with two in hand just in case. It was a fairly boring ride and after several warnings from other travelers about the quality of food on board the boat, I stopped off at a trusty 7/11, and bought a couple of bottles of wine and some food for the journey. I'd researched this particular ride in detail, so as to not miss the boat and was well aware of a tunnel connecting the harbor to the mainland. What I was not aware about though was the fact that bicycles were not permitted, so as I sat on the bike staring at a giant sign of a cyclist with a large red line emblazoned across it I wondered whether that's what would happen to me if I entered, and if I'd ever be arriving in China at all. I checked the map again but the next bridge looked like a much less inviting choice than cycling the Golden Gate during rush hour, and the only other option was a 20km detour across the city, which under the circumstances and of time being of the essence was not an option. I cursed my luck and thought back at all the other tunnels I'd ridden through over the last few years in Japan. I remembered one in particular that I'd steamed through recently that was about three and a half kilometers long. All the drivers had used their lights and given me at least a cars width of space and in some cases two. I now had about thirty minutes to make the boat after getting lost earlier. I decided I had no option and adorned my most reflective gear, turned on the lights and went for it. I'd only done about ten meters before I heard sirens behind me, and as I turned around expecting an ambulance I wasn't all that surprised to find myself being pulled over by the traffic police. I could see only two ways that this would pan out. One, that I would continue regardless or two, that I'd be booked and wouldn't reach the boat as the Japanese red tape and paperwork would take months to sort out, resulting in me being stuck in Japan indefinitely. My wisdom got the better of me, so I pulled over, and out hopped two men in bright orange overalls and another rather official looking gentleman in a waistcoat. I didn't need a good grade in Japanese language proficiency to understand what they where saying, so I held my ground and tried to explain the problem. It fell on deaf ears, but after a good ten minutes of waving my arms around and smiling like an idiot, the chap in the waistcoat came up with a brain wave. "Why don't we put the bike in the van and drive the silly foreigner?" he told the two overall clad and rather confused looking men. So without further adieu we piled the bike into the van and ten minutes later I found myself arriving at the boat terminal in a police van with my bike much to the surprise of all the other passangers and ticket attendants. I felt like I'd just jumped from the highest diving board and belly flopped in front of an audience of groaning spectators, but with a noticeable lack of any severe stinging sensation.

The boat was a far cry from any boat with Cunard written down the side of it. Any romantic vision that I'd had of lying on deck sipping margharitas in the sunshine whilst watching skimpily dressed girls jumping in the deck pool was immediately quashed. There was a restaurant, TV, kareoke room and small shop that never opened. I was led to a big room where I would sleep on the floor and found a young Japanese archeology student from Sapporo who introduced himself as Ryohei. At this moment I discovered that I wasn't the only touring cyclist on board which lifted my spirits a little. After exhausting the usual set of questions that touring cyclists ask each other I grabbed a beer and went on deck. I was amazed that a can of beer which I expected to be around 400yen / £3 was only two hundred yen. As I strolled around the deck I looked back across the water to where I'd been several hours earlier, it was like traveling back in time. I could now finally sit back and relax in the knowledge that I had a two day sail ahead of me, whereas two hours ago I'd been pondering over whether I'd end up in a police station and miss the boat. After living in Japan for four years this would mark my final farewell. As we sailed out of Osaka port and along the coast I looked back on all the wonderful memories I had of living in Japan and of all the tours I'd done around the country that had served as a platform for the much longer tour that I was now on. Leaving Japan though was surprisingly unemotional.

The journey was generally a quiet affair. Drinks on deck with a mixture of Chinese, Japanese, English and American people helped pass the time. I met Avi, an interesting young guy from Pennsylvania who was returning to Shanghai after a three year absence. There was Ryohei, the Japanese student, an English couple who had recently crossed parts of the Altai, Mongolia on camels, some very excitable Chinese girls and an old drunk Chinese man who smiled like it was going out of fashion to add to the fray . We passed the Japanese space program and saw what I believe was the launch pad. I watched several episodes of Sparticus and Mad Men on my laptop. I amused the crowd with renditions of Johnny Cash songs in the karaoke room to such an extent that a Japanese man insisted I have his leather jacket so that I look more the part. A gift that I politely refused until the situation became embarrassing. Trying to explain that a leather jacket wasn't quite the thing I needed for touring around China on a bicycle just didn't seem to register, but it's the thought that counts and I was very grateful all the same. No sooner than the boat had left Shanghai it all seemed to be over. Arriving in Shanghai by sea was an awsome spectacle. The dock yards and ship building yards were dazzlingly large. The quays running 3-4 km long, and the stunning amount of cranes used for loading and unloading the freighters served only to convince any spectator that China's promotion to the second strongest economy in the world was by no means mere imagination. We saw parts of China's ever expanding naval arsenal and more destroyers awaiting completion. I watched the Chinese as they looked so happy and celebrated their return home and then before i knew it, it was time to pack and hopefully glide through customs.

I'd been dreading this point for a while. What would I do if for some reason they decided to deny my visa? We waited forever to disembark and I fell asleep against a vending machine but awoke with a jolt. I was one of the last off and several people thankfully helped with my luggage. Carrying four panniers, handlebar bag, tent, sleeping bag and rucksack is never easy. As we qeued for customs the man who I hadn't seen without a drink in his hand for the entire journey, and who I'd had a drink with on deck the day before, was still clasping and swigging back his rocket fuel. He smiled a toothless smile and looked at me with googally eyes. I reckoned that if they'd let him back in then I had nothing to worry about, and so was the case, I had finally made it to China.

Tokyo to Osaka - The Journey

luke_collings — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 01:05:00 GMT

Day One

After a week in Tokyo making final arrangements and going through all my equipment I decided it was about time to hit the road. I'd had a great time and hung out with all my all friends again. Saying goodbye to Nana, my girlfriend who had been so supportive and understanding of my tour was particularly difficult, as it's hard to say when we may meet again. I've seldom met anyone with the patience and generosity which she displayed. It would have been so easy to put it off for a couple of days, but after booking a ticket on the Osaka-Shanghai ferry I knew that time was of the essence, and putting things off any longer would just equate to escapism. I left Ogikubo, Tokyo on Sunday morning and said good bye to my wonderful friends Tim and Keiko Williams who had so kindly looked after me for the week. Tim walked me up to the 7/11 convenience store and watched as I rather desperately rustled through my front panniers for anything that I may not need. I'd tested the bike fully laden properly for the first time only half an hour before, and was really concerned about the wobble that seemed to have developed under weight on the front handlebars. I'd thought I'd tested the bike enough by doing two short tours earlier on in the year. The first from Toyama to Tokyo in June, alone, in which I'd covered 450km although pretty slowly I might add. The second was from Nikko to Tokyo with my good friend Mathew. This was particularly interesting because it was my first experience of cycling with a partner, and with Mathew not being a cyclist, it had been amusing watching him cut his teeth on his first tour. He coped extremely well, and Mathew intuitively recognized that this method of travel offered a wild sense of freedom and exposure to the world around you that no other form of travel allows. On both these tours though I'd had no problems with my handlebars wobbling. I hadn't read anything about this particular problem anywhere. So with Tim watching me while I tried to sort this minor setback out whilst looking calm on the outside yet having some grave reservations inside I decided that the shoes I was wearing would be first for the chop. One of the girls at the counter happened to be emptying the outside dust bins and wasn't expecting a tall blonde foreigner to suddenly walk up, smile at her, take his shoes off, throw them in the bag she was sorting out then saunter off. This clearly wasn't normal Sunday morning behavior in these parts. As I'd been unnerving the locals with my strange manners I'd heard a whole host of strange noises going on around the corner and returned to find Tim grinning like the Cheshire cat at what can only be described as a fairground attraction on three wheels. Now I've seen some particularly horrible examples of bad taste reflected in peoples choices of transport in my time. Visits to several kit car exhibitions as a teenager with my father, giant plastic gin palaces in the mediterannian or fluorescent lime green Lamborghinis cruising the King's Road in London spring to mind but this was a corker. Not only was it completely impractical and covered in every cheap plastic Halfords accessory you can imagine, it also played fairground music and was covered in lights that moved in time with the music. This was a spectacle guaranteed to take my mind off the present problems I had, and as Tim and I posed for photos and the owner announced that "Japan was number one" I reflected on how this might be the bizarre sendoff I needed. So as the garish spectacle blasted off into the distance Tim and I said are farewells and I in completely opposite fashion wobbled off slowly into the distance. A whole host of questions rattled through my brain but it was a refreshing feeling to be finally on the road and on my way.

I was already a day behind schedule and I'd decided to take a train from Tokyo to Mishima just North West of the Izu peninsular. Mishima is of some significance for me as it's where I had started my very first tour ever about three and half years ago. As I was pushed for time with the boat leaving in five days from Osaka, I felt that Mishima would be an sentimental place to start cycling from, a decision that I'd later on look back on as a wise move. As I arrived at Ogikubo train station I was reminded of how awkward it is to take bicycles on trains in Japan, especially when you have panniers and other items to carry. So I went through the motions of disassembling the bicycle and putting it into the bag that I'd used so many times before on a whole host of different tours I'd done of Japan, before boarding the train to Tokyo station. Tokyo station was the usual scenario, a rabbit warren, labyrinth of different neon lit signs pointing to different train lines. As I reflected upon all the times I'd done this before with the bike I made my way in snail like fashion towards the Shinkansen ticket gates. Over the last few years I'd developed a method in which I leave the rear panniers and racked equipment on the bike, whilst pulling the back of the bag slightly forward in front of the rear wheel, so that I can lift the front and then wheel all the luggage around attached using the rear wheel. This is particularly effective when you have a lot of items that need to be kept together, alleviating the need to make several trips backwards and forwards moving different sets of luggage when one trip could suffice. This time though it was not to be. On approaching the gates a guard decided not to let me through, stating that I wouldn't be allowed to take the bike on the train. An impasse developed and in typically inflexible Japanese fashion I was left to try and reason with him that I had done this many times before, understood the rules and that once on the platform I'd finish preparing the bike for the train. A women approached who announced she was a travel agent and that you can't take such items on the train. According to her it was my fault for not reading the web site properly. I replied by asking her whether she had anything useful to contribute to the problem rather than just making it worse. It was frustrating to say the least and resulted in me having to make five journeys back and forth to the platform when one could have been case. So after four years of dealing with my equipment in a practical and logical fashion while taking bicycles on trains in Japan it was the last journey that proved to be the one that was a problem. I was really relieved to be on the train. Tokyo is a superb city with much going for it yet I felt a sense of weight lifted now that I was about to be whisked at high speed away from it. I'll reserve my reflections on Tokyo for another time, another post.

The train journey passed without any problems. I managed to get off at the correct station, not something that was guaranteed, and on arrival in Mishima set and loaded the bicycle up before wheeling it out of the station. When exiting the station though another guard approached, all be it a rather pretty one full of smiles, and after a lost in translation moment she helped me out through the gates. A perfect example of how a simple smile can go a long way. She was a far cry from the surly, grim looking, inflexible, autocratic, dinosaur of a man and the smug, po-faced office lady in Tokyo. I was free, with the winding open road in front I imagined that everyone would be generally friendlier and more engaging than the general population in Tokyo, a point that I was not about to be proven wrong over.

After the usual start, stop, start stop routine that usually follows after leaving a train station on a bicycle for fear of cycling completely the wrong way, and with the taxi drivers all laughing about the fact I intended to cycle to Osaka, I was off and pointing in the right direction. The sun was shining, it was warm and after a quick stop off for food at a convenience store where I witnessed the strange spectacle of a car inside a car I started to hit pace and rhythm. I was averaging about 15km hour including all the traffic lights and decided to pull off route 1 and take the the 380 B road down the coast which didn't prove to be any better, just smaller with the same amount of traffic. I then found the coastal cycling path which I stayed on for most of the day. It was a sporadic affair that often entailed having to return to the main road to cross bridges but the removal of traffic from the cycling equation and serenity coupled with the beauty of cycling right down the coast literally next to the Pacific Ocean and Suruga Bay made it a special experience. At stages down the coast the cycling path would descend into nothing, forcing you to navigate huge highways or rubbish strewn paths sandwiched between a motor way and train lines. For a country that depends on the bicycle so heavily, I was amazed at how badly thought out whole swathes of the coast were for cycling, but the good parts were really good, it's just a shame they're not joined up. After 40km or so the light started to fade so I found a place on the map that looked like it would provide a good camp site and went for it. By the time I reached Shimizu it was pitch black but I managed to find the peninsular that had provided such a natural harbor.

I always like to stop off and buy any food and supplies I need before actually finding the exact position to camp so I stopped off at a convenience store and made my way towards where the dolphin is pictured on the map. I set up the tent on the foundations of a Summer house and cracked open a beer whilst admiring the beautiful lights of the port across the water. I'd done it, I was really on my way and before retiring to my tent to sleep I used the time and light to understand better how my camera worked.

Day Two

It wasn't an entirely peaceful nights sleep. At one point a man started bouncing a buoy on the wooden planks 10ft away from my tent which made a seriously disturbing sound and later another started fiddling around with the bike but all in all it was a good start. I had a charming chat with an old man in the morning who was curious and friendly before setting off again down the coast. It was warm and I had a lot of distance to cover. It was Monday and I realized that with the boat leaving on Friday I'd need to do about 120km today. I managed to get into a rhythm in the morning but by the afternoon a very strong headwind pulled in and slowed me down to half the pace I'd been managing. It got worse and worse as I cycled across the Omaezaki peninsula and I hadn't eaten properly. I finally had lunch which consisted of a big bowl of steaming ramen around 1pm before continuing along the coast fighting against the headwind.

The Pacific cycling path started out of the blue which gave me the opportunity again to escape the traffic and I spent the rest of the afternoon cycling along the coast again. There was a campsite up ahead which I was aiming for and after stocking up on food made a bee line for. Nearing the campsite and with the sun going down, I was distracted whilst passing what looked like a racing circuit. I watched for a while as the motorbikes blasted up and down the straits until a local explained that it was where Suzuki test their motorbikes. This made sense as all the barriers had been covered in a think blanket of protective padding. The bikes were reaching ridiculous speeds at full throttle, and I imagined the rider would have had little chance if there was a major mechanical failure. Things fell silent and I continued towards the camp site which I was dismayed to find was under a wind farm. Considering the hellish headwind I'd had most of the day though this explained many things. The campsite owner wanted £20 before he'd let me pitch the tent which I felt was extortionate and after a few wrong turns I decided to make it across the bridge before nightfall and find another place to camp.

Once across the bridge I followed the path along the coast but was stopped by a huge construction site and a crane swinging in my general direction hardly filling me full of confidence of finding a good site to camp. I got turned back and cycled into the urban area which I hoped would be less windy. After cycling around for a while I found a small park away from the wind. It was my best chance so I quietly pitched the tent behind a hedge away from prying eyes and after checking the map to figure out where I was, fell asleep.

Day 3

I slept amazingly well on the second night. I awoke around 6am to find all the old pensioners going about their strange exercises in the park, a few waved hello and smiled and I did the same in return. I thought it best to make a move as quickly as possible and within 45 minutes I was on the road again before stopping for breakfast 10km later. The aim today was to make it to the Irago - Toba ferry ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ise-wan_Ferry ) which had been reported as closed down, but was still apparently in service when I called them before leaving Tokyo. The cycling path did it's usual stop start routine most of the morning and I passed my first other touring cyclist riding in the opposite direction. I was cheerful considering he looked Japanese that I was on the right road. After crossing under the elevated highway running along the coast dozens of times I was quite taken aback to round a corner and find five large ostriches staring right at me. It was the most unlikely place for them to be hanging out so I turned the video on and had a chat. They looked mad a snakes frankly, and I didn't reckon much of my chances if they'd not been behind a giant fence. I bought a coke and watched them for a while before being joined by a Japanese family who looked equally bemused. The man came over for a chat about the bike and he turned out to be a cyclist himself, but of the lycra kind. He realized fast that the bike wasn't from Japan before questioning me about the gearing system. The eccentric bottom bracket really foxed him though, so the camera popped out and I watched as he examined the bike in fine detail. They were also on their way to the ferry so on parting we waved good bye in the knowledge that we would probably pass each other again later in the day. Ten minutes later and a rode past them along a tiny coastal road that descended into a rather large sand dune. I've had no experience of cycling in sand with a loaded bike and subsequently gently toppled over into a dune. Moving a loaded tourer through sand is no joy and as I peddled/pushed past the surfers, I wished I hadn't been sidetracked by what looked like an easier route. A rather sandy hour later I was out and back on to the main road. The 42 road is frankly dreadful until you pass the junction with the 410 road. I was up and down small hills like a yo-yo and with little area on the side of the road to cycle and many long queues of three to a dozen trucks passing full of chicken manure. It was a thoroughly stinky experience. Finally the Pacific cycling path started again so I jumped at the chance to get off the road and continued towards Irago. The cycling path winds around the small hill in Irago before descending towards the port, something I was very glad about considering the amount of tour buses I had seen in the distance using the rather thin road full of hairpin bends. The girls behind the ticket counter were cute and helpful and I was lucky to only have to wait five minutes before boarding the ferry. It was hardly busy, just three cars, a scooter and my bicycle. There's nothing much on the ferry but the cruise reminded me of crossing the Solent to the Isle of Wight as a child when my parents lived there. Ferries always remind me of the start of the holiday and it felt great to be out on deck watching all the small islands roll by.

On arriving in Toba though it was too dark to cycle to my first choice campsite so I opted for one near the port. It was up a steep hill on the other side of the bay. I walked up the hill and found a smart looking hotel and strolled in to speak to the concierge. It was a "security risk" apparently to allow me to camp on their campsite. A risk to who or what was never explained and they wouldn't budge. It seems extraordinary to me to have a campsite but to not allow anyone to camp on it, especially when the next one is 20km up the road, the persons on a bicycle and it's about to get dark. I left feeling rather put out that they'd been so unhelpful but I'd spotted a small park on the way there and decided to have a look at that. When riding around the park I was approached by a man who on first impressions struck me as homeless but turned out to be the park warden. This was a major stroke of luck and after a short chat he said it would be no problem for me to stay the night there. We both decided on a good spot before I ran off to get dinner before returning and setting up the tent. I found a good perch on top of a large climbing frame and watched the world going by. The sky was completely clear and I wondered what surprises the next day would have in store for me before retiring. The warden came around at ten to check everything was ok just as I was dropping off and sunk into a deep sleep.

Day 4

I awoke after sleeping pretty well and was met by the warden with a hot coffee in his hand. We chatted as I packed the bike up and then parted company and went our separate ways. I stopped though less than five minutes later after finding the back rim of the bike making some strange noises against the brakes. I was seriously worried and at first glance it didn't look good. I tried to figure out where I might have damaged the wheel. I remembered hitting some pretty large rocks hidden in the sand the day before and some of the bike lanes had involved pavements that may have jolted the rim slightly untrue. The rim had been untrue before from a head on collision I'd had three months before, involving a girl on a bike riding with no lights along the wrong side of a one way street under an elevated section of a railway line in pitch darkness. I had two days to get to Osaka and worried that the wheel needed attention at a specialist shop I decided to air on the side of caution and get the train direct. I found the train station, packed the bike and found the train to be arriving in five minutes which created a mad dash to the platform. I boarded the train and sat back content in the knowledge that I'd be making the boat. Starving after the rush and not having enough time to buy any food I settled for a crisp sandwich which brought back memories of when I was at school and such things were all the rage. On the way to Osaka I managed to explode a beer all over the carriage in front of the ticket collector which was deeply embarrassing, by the signs of things no one was much amused by the smelly gaijin in the back seat. I was lucky to get off again at the correct station and once off the train proceeded out of the bowels of the station before setting up the bike. I knew that this would be a great opportunity to check the back wheel and I was amazed to find that it was a break problem not a rim problem. This was excellent news all round so after setting the bike up, heading for the nearest Starbucks and booking a hotel room, I felt confident that all was settled apart from the steaming pile of dirty clothes in my panniers. The New Oriental Hotel wasn't that far away and on arriving I found myself negotiating beween some rather over enthusiastic and excitable Siberians and the hotel staff. The Russians wanted a receipt that they could fax to their boss back home but somehow all this had got very confused and they seemed most interested to find out if there were any heavies around who might sort the concierge out. "I was in Italy with La Cosa Nostra" he proudly told me without hesitation. "If only they were here now" he mused. I didn't want to explain that La Cosa Nostra was the US arm of the Sicillian mafia or that given he was in Japan the Yakuza wouldn't give a monkeys whether he was in the right or wrong, they'd side with the Japanese regardless and parade him around Osaka on a stake if need be. Still, I managed to sort things out in the end. The Russians were apparently dealing in pottery which I was highly suspicious was a euphemism was something a whole lot less savory. So I'd made some rather hearty Russian friends and from then on everytime we met in the hotel there was throaty chuckling as if we were all in on something secret that nobody else knew about. My stay in Osaka was a great move as it enabled me to sort through my equipment and post what I didn't need back to the UK and prepare for the boat and China.

Photos: 19th-21st Nov - Osaka to Shanghai

luke_collings — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 22:06:00 GMT

Photos taken on the boat journey between Osaka and Shanghai

Photos: 14th-18th Nov - Tokyo to Osaka

luke_collings — Wed, 24 Nov 2010 21:43:00 GMT

Photos taken on the journey from Tokyo to Osaka

The Introduction

luke_collings — Wed, 3 Nov 2010 23:29:00 GMT

We all throughout our lives have a long list of things we'd like to do and choices to make. Whether we actually get around to doing those things or make the right choices is another thing all together. I know that one thing for sure is that I've had my fair share of making some good and bad choices like anyone and have a list longer than my arm of things I'd like to do. It's easy to dream whilst sat at a desk in a fluorescent lit, boiler room city office, watching banal TV, or simply having an honest pint at the end of a hard day’s work and wish your life away. Stepping out the door and leaving it all behind while putting your absolute trust in your interpretation of what might be around the corner could be viewed by some as either sensible, reckless or rose tinted. Have you ever watched the contrail of an airliner flying high across the sky and romanticize about what it might be like to be on that flight or where it's going?

I find myself sitting in a sunny roof garden in Shanghai, there's a clear, creamy ultramarine sky and whilst the sun warms my back there's a crispness in the air reminding me, considering my present circumstance that Winter is approaching with more haste than I'm comfortable with. But quite how I got here seems more to do with logistical destiny rather than any grand idea that might have popped into my imagination whilst sat, having an ideological meltdown in a London office, nigh on five years ago. Whilst recently back in Europe and being someone who likes to spark up a conversation with all and sundry, It was great to have the opportunity in passing to chat to many people in my native language. The conversations often drifted inevitably around those safe topics that we're all too familiar with that allow us to socially examine each other, satisfy our curiosity yet keep a safe distance. Whilst chatting to several people I met they remarked on how "lucky" I was to have been living in Asia for the last four years, or "lucky" because I was about to embark on a journey across the Continent. On one occasion a women stated that she very much hoped I was doing it for charity, and I wondered whether the last time she'd gone on holiday she'd done it for charity. "Lucky" though seemed to bother me somewhat, an overused and misunderstood word that represents an idea or feeling that you can't actually articulate at the time of speaking. Luck in itself has a dark side and I was pretty sure that with all this talk of luck things could turn nasty at some point in the future. I was all for reducing luck in my travels and having more independence and control of my future. I'm lucky no doubt to have a wonderful family in my life who have loved, helped, nurtured, encouraged, enthused, disciplined and given me a firm foundation, sense of self worth and a philosophy strong enough to enable me to survive in such an immensely diverse and rapidly changing world without completely falling to pieces. I'm lucky to have been born into the post World War international jet set generation, to have witnessed the new dawn of the computer revolution and to have grown up in a country that offers a medical and educational system far in advance of many countries. As far as I know you can't choose your family, country or particular time in history to live, or at least not yet, so I'm pretty sure I can count my lucky stars there. But "lucky" to be sat here after years of planning, reading, riding thousands of kilometres to gain enough experience, organising and working to save the money so that I can travel and follow through on a promise I made to myself years ago doesn't sit well with me.

Another thing that's been bothering me recently is this idea of happiness. In my travels so far I've managed to witness some extreme forms of poverty, yet never questioned the incredible strength and tenacity of the human mind to cope with some quite appalling situations with strength, hope and most importantly, sense of humour. I've also witnessed some extreme forms of wealth and excess, yet I've never been able to define any formula that equates wealth beyond one's family's basic needs and security with happiness. He who dies with the most toys, contrary to the beliefs of some out there does not win. The idea of happiness seems altogether a more philosophical, cerebral and intellectual phenomena than something that can be packaged and bought on a shelf. This is something I first found myself conceptualizing around the time I turned thirty. It seemed to me that in the rush of Blairite Britain I'd found myself doing such things as retail therapy, which was at first in all its novelty after being a student with a lack of funds an incredible luxury. I'd perhaps buy a couple of beers after work or go to a smart restaurant once in a while, but as time moved on these became more regular activities and in the same way that they became more regular, they became less significant. Several years down the line and I found myself feeling that these luxuries were some kind of God given rite after a hard day’s work, yet in the back of my mind I knew that their loss of significance uncovered something altogether very ominous about what I was being sold and buying into. By this time I'm a bit podgy round the edges and looking somewhat more weather worn and jaded than I was at the beginning. I wasn't appreciating what was around me anymore with the marvel that I had, and this felt altogether wrong. On a recent trip to a media multiplex store in Tokyo I had the opportunity to play a computer game in 3D. In the evening I had a beer with a great friend and during the conversation I mentioned to him how amazing it was to play a computer game in 3D, at which point he replied how amazing life was because that was already in 3D, and a damn site more realistic and better quality. I was stumped because he had a point and I felt another piece of the jigsaw was in place. So I'm now constantly reminding myself how incredible it is to be here at all, to be writing this and to be sitting here on a rooftop in Shanghai with three homeless cats staring at me and probably wondering what the heck I'm doing. I find myself thinking that happiness doesn't exist anymore in the glossy, Technicolor, splendor that it's sold to me as being. It's an anomaly within the realms of advertising as it's the one thing that can't be sold yet it's their strongest card. In the same way whilst staring at the rainbow it's easy to start dreaming about the pot of gold that isn't there, and loose focus of the beauty and magic in front of you. Happiness seems to be reflected more in our ability to stand back and revel in the spectacular glory of a rainbow, rather than chase the damn thing. It's time we all took a step back and really looked at what's around us for what it is, after all, we and everything around us is just space dust which is a wild thought in itself. The cats look pretty happy lounging around in the sun and taking it easy, because they know this already and have more sense to take things easy and watch the magnificence of it all just cruise on by.

I hope that my blog and diary will give those that read it hope and inspiration. I hope that it offers a reflective insight into what life is like on the road across Asia. I also hope that it gives my family a chance to follow my progress and remind them that in the big scheme of things I'm not that far away. Lastly I hope that it helps me the focus on the past achievements and wonderful life I've yet to witness, which in turn will help me focus on continuing when times get hard. If you've got this far then thanks for reading, I hope you have a relaxed and stress free day, week, life get reincarnated as your favourite animal or object, don't get sucked into a wormhole and enjoy the trip.