Another scorcher – 32 °C at 9 am (with 4 am sunrise, 9 o’clock is more like midday back home.) We hired bikes and headed out through the suburbs to Kinkaku-ji, where busloads of tour-guided captives go to gawp at a temple literally covered in gold leaf. The crowd was beyond my comfort level, but I overheard an American woman exclaiming breathlessly about the staggering beauty and serenity as she peered between a wall of backpack-clad tourists to catch a glimpse of the ripples where a carp had just broken the surface.
Luckily on the way there we chanced upon the lovely suburban Kamigoryo Shinto shrine, where only two locals strolled in to commune with some of the 13 spirits that live there, so I have preserved that as my morning’s memory.
Not quite so beset by tour buses was the nearby Ryoan-ji, a Zen Buddhist thing that houses the world’s best zen raked stone garden. I would love to visit it at dawn to fully appreciate its 400-year-old gardens and streams which, even with a growing crowd, radiated the serenity the aforementioned American found in Kinkakuji.
We thought we would be clever and avoid the crowds at the famous Arashiyama Bamboo Forest, so exhausted ourselves biking all the way across town to the Takenomichi park which justifiably boasts one of the “100 best walks in Japan”. By the time we got ourselves up the final hill on our manual bikes in 34° we had lost the will to walk, so we simply rode around the outskirts, admiring the towering bamboo and the astonishing variety of simple but intricate bamboo fencing, before heading slowly home to cool off.
Just across from our hotel is Sumo Chaya Nagiri where the chef, a former sumo wrestler, prepared chanko nabe, the protein-rich stew traditionally eaten by wrestlers to build up their weight. Cooked on a burner on the table in a surprisingly light broth, it contained pork, chicken, tofu and a whole heap of very welcome vegetables.
July 12
Another scorcher. We subwayed to the famous Gion district, home to the Nishiki markets and Pontocho Alley, both deserted before opening hours. There were sadly no geishas posing in the surrounding alleys because Sunday is their day off from being decorative and subservient, and anyway photos of them are strictly prohibited. The heat drove us back into air-conditioned comfort with a visit the Kyoto Owl Forest, a small room next door to the local Mipig cafe where 15 owls are tethered tightly to branches. Putting our animal rights consciences to one side we gazed closely, took photos and gently petted them with the back of our hands only, as instructed.
Home for another cooling shower and rest, then out to see the famous, and endless, red arches at Fushimi Inari along with a solid block of shuffling tourists. I wished I had limited my experience to the publicity photos, but luckily The Navigator spotted another bamboo forest off to one side that was deserted, and we found ourselves walking an untended track through spectacular bamboo, past a few small unkempt shrines, and into someone’s backyard, which provided the memorable experience for the afternoon.
Back to the hotel refuge with another embarrassingly soaked shirt and finally out again for ramen and a wander through the tiny lanes around Gion. The famous restaurant street, Pontocho, was crowded and ghastly but the sunset over the river was about as lovely as I have ever seen.
July 13
Jill braved the heat and went off to see the famous castle with the chirping floors, while I caught a train and walked to a typical Japanese hardware store way out in the suburbs. Bunnings could learn a thing or two in this town.
Jill found a normal (ie superb) lunch in a small restaurant down a tiny lane near our hotel – katsu curry which I will continue to make as a staple when we get home. Happily, the Japanese supermarket near our home stocks Vermont Curry, the top selling roux in Japan.
Shosiein Garden was not much further down the road – thoroughly Japanese with lakes and tea rooms and very pleasant for an hour or so. It’s a part of the Higashi Honganji temple complex which we would visit the next morning, both well-deserving of being on the tour bus circuit, but fortunately not making the cut. Lucky us. We cold showered again because it was 34° again and extremely humid, then took a chance on TeamLab Biovortex.
There are a few of these art installations around Japan, with room after room offering sound and light shows – some of them interactive. Kanji that floated slowly down the walls dissolved when touched, lizards and snakes exploded when stomped on and re-formed just out of reach, and I may have behaved just a tad immaturely for a while. There was a room full of soapy foam, a golden pond to slosh through, no maps or guides or long-winded descriptions patronisingly explaining how we should interpret anything, and it was all very satisfyingly mind-blowing.
Our final dinner was tempura prepared and cooked in front of us – delicious with eel, fish, pork, chicken, and vegetables – light, crispy and wonderful. When the chef called out repeatedly as he poured sauce over the food before serving, all the staff joined in with an echo.
July 14
Speaking of chants, on our last morning we walked a short distance along the road to Higashi Honganji temple complex, housing one of the largest wooden buildings in the world, to hear the monks doing their morning chants. We arrived early, admiring the buildings and a pile of the 15 cm-thick rope woven with human hair and hemp – the former to give it enough strength to hoist the immense roof beams into place. There was no lack of reverence on my part in choosing to take one of the provided chairs onto the tatami mats so that my nanajuroku-year-old knees did not have to assume the lotus position while we were entranced by the monks’ daily devotions.
Back to the hotel for a quick konbini breakfast – the 7-Eleven across the road is always well-stocked with egg sandwiches and ongiri with salmon and mayo – one last visit to a Japanese toilet, which, if you’ve been here, you’ll know is one of this country’s greatest inventions, and a lovely stroll through back streets and alongside a canal to the catch the Shinkansen back to Tokyo. The two hours it took to travel the 500 km contrasted with the hour and a half it took the suburban train to traverse the 70 km from central Tokyo to Narita Airport, although, as expected in this country, it arrived dead on time.
Looking back, it wasn’t the temples or the museums that made Japan memorable. It was the ordinary things done extraordinarily well. Convenience stores that sold genuinely good food. Tiny restaurants serving perfect meals. Trains that simply worked. Streets without rubbish. And everywhere, people quietly trying not to inconvenience anyone else. No country is perfect, but Japan left us wondering what life would be like if a little more courtesy and consideration became everyone’s default setting.
I have a suspicion I’ll find myself bowing to the checkout operator at the supermarket when we get home.
The Toyota Rental Car shop was only a very short taxi ride from the Abashiri Kankō Hotel but our driver managed to give us a a notably unique experience by nearly going through a stop sign. That sort of impoliteness just doesn’t happen here.
You only need to hire a slow cheap car here – the open road speed limit is 60 kph, with 40 – 50 in built up areas which makes sense to the locals because their country roads are as narrow and poorly maintained as ours are in New Zealand, the difference being that that worries them. Their very low road toll is, I suspect, mostly due to people falling asleep through boredom, while we manage to kill each other at four times the rate by having higher speed limits and far too many drivers puffing P to stay alert. That’s not the way they do things here – respect and harmony win.
Our first stop was the Museum of Northern Peoples which showcases the whole northern hemisphere above this latitude, not just the Ainu. It’s a stunningly good museum, carefully curated into 36 displays which cover all aspects of the way of life and the history of people who live in these harsh and brutal climes. The Ainu, the original inhabitants of Hokkaido, are one of the most southern of these, and were heavily suppressed and oppressed by the Japanese mainlanders during the 19th century, extinguishing their language and culture in much the same way as Americans, Canadians, Australians, and British New Zealanders did to their respective indigenous people. What an insecure pack of pricks our forefathers were, unable to tolerate people who simply lived differently. I wonder about “developed” nations sometimes.
Then it was time to check out the Abashiri Prison Museum. The worst of Japan’s criminals were sent here and in the second half of the 19th century were put to work building the roads which opened up Hokkaido to development. They were not valued highly and 20% perished. We enjoyed a “prison lunch” at the restaurant, then drove sedately south to Kushiro to look at a bird.
July 2
The red crowned crane is a monstrous thing, 1.5 m tall and gorgeous, revered as a god by the Ainu and hunted almost to extinction during the 20th century, with habitat destruction almost completing the job. The local population has improved from 30 in the 1960s to 2000 now and the work continues.
We saw a couple in the wild while biking last week, but they go deep into the wetlands in summer so there were none at the usual viewpoints. We contented ourselves with a visit to the rehab centre and took far too many photos.
Next on the list was Ainu culture. Akan is a well forested area, with different, more varied trees than we are used to, and with no wilding pines and no litter along the roads anywhere the landscape felt quite foreign. Known as an Ainu centre, Akan town is a slightly tired TMZ, with lakeside hotels. It’s a lovely lake with tame wild deer providing a foreground for our cliche photos, but the town feels like it was built 30 or 40 years ago for a tourist boom that never quite arrived, and we joined about a dozen local tourists in a 300 seat theatre to tolerate a rather lacklustre display of Ainu dancing. The onsen was good though in our hotel, and I’m becoming much more supple sleeping on futons on the tatami matted floor.
July 3
The beautiful drive – mostly on quiet back roads at a soporific 60 km/hr – through Daisetsuzan National Park would have been even more spectacular had the deeply atmospheric mists lifted. The Navigator even found a proper gravel road which was not much rougher than many of the mosaically patched and potholed tar-sealed roads they have here.
We’ll hole up in a vast loft apartment in Asahikawa, the 2nd largest city in Hokkaido, pop 320,000, for a couple of nights.
July 4
Hokkaido is famous for its flowers, so we drove out to the Furano area to check them out. The famous Panoramic Gardens was TMZed to hell, with tractors towing trailer-fulls of cameras attached to tourists producing a cacaphony of clanging nursery rhymes. Farm Tomita was free with much bigger fields surrounded by much more tasteful TMZs, and the traffic was a lesson in Japanese patient queuing. A superb convenience store lunch fuelled a gentle, winding, and very picturesque trip home.
Later on some retail therapy at the biggest mall in town did not reveal anything too unexpectedly bizarre until we came to the puppies for sale or rent ($NZ4,OOO to buy, or $200/month to rent – we hoped they meant rent-to-buy) and with our minds suitably boggled, we traipsed around the corner to join a queue of locals waiting for entry to a famous small ramen restaurant, Ramen Santoka. Mine was salty and creamy, and Jill’s soy ramen with braised pork cheek redefined how good meat can taste. The pork broth is brought to the boil once only, and served at the temperature it is kept at, and my poorly pronounced gochisosama deshita did not truly capture my gratitude for the simple excellence they served.
July 5
We had an early start today because we had to drive serenely over 200 km to drop the car and catch the plane. We chose a route which took us a fox farm, and what a sad little enterprise it was. It was part of the 1980s boom and for some reason it hasn’t yet joined the corpses of tired old tourist relics from the earlier boom, but it can’t be far away. There are maybe a dozen, mainly old red foxes, some unfortunately imprisoned behind glass in tiny stalls and the whole thing takes less than 10 minutes if you walk slowly. We gave it a Don’t Bother rating and sped on, finally noticing that the speed limit is displayed on the driver’s display automatically in this technologically advanced nation.
We only had to put 25 litres of petrol in the car (a smallish hybrid Toyota) for about 700 km, but if you drove anything at this speed all day you’d get the same economy.
We arrived at the airport with half an hour to spare, feeling rather pleased with ourselves, only to be told that our flight left from a similarly-named but entirely different airport some 120 km away. At this point we realised that he who shall not be named had buggered things up right royally. [Can’t blame the Navigator this time – Ed.] The wonderful charming young things behind the counter sorted us out with refunds and new (way more expensive) tickets, without making us feel that we were any bother whatsoever; in fact they loved helping us out and were sorry we were leaving them but happy to see us on our way.
All the travellers tales of vast and complicated train systems in Tokyo are wrong.
Having an excellent Navigator on hand, we walked out of baggage claim at Haneda Airport, down a couple of flights of stairs and straight onto the monorail to Hamamatsucho, straight onto another train and 6 stops later walked 5 minutes to our home for the next 5 nights. We later discovered that Google Maps is even better at directions here, to the point of advising which carriage is nearest your next exit.
We were in Taiko City, 6 km out of central Tokyo, and its tiny streets, and simple suburbness, along with its mandatory silence at night would prove to be exactly the welcome respite we would need after our daily 20,000 steps around the city.
I googled “best ramen near me” and we walked 10 minutes to Craft Ramen where we had a genuine Midnight Diner experience. I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to replicate the savoury glazed mushrooms on rice.
July 6
I turned nanajuroku years old today and I’m very happy about it. I must have 七十六 printed on a t-shirt.
A great euro-style breakfast at a local cafe, coffee not as good as convenience stores here, but the toasted avo sandwich and Jill’s calzone were a welcome break from rice and fish.
We did some sightseeing on the wrong train for a few stops, sorted ourselves out and got to the Tsujiki Fish Market to meet up with David from last week’s group ride. The actual market is surrounded by a few streets of tourist-packed TMZ, all the family groups having an authentic experience which they will remember forever, but us old cynics retreated to a local food hall for excellent tempura.
We subwayed to Shiboya to walk the famous busiest intersection in the world and buy me a backpack at Hands, did some heavy retail work for a while – Don Quixote, pronounced “Donkey” by the locals, was heaving, dazzling, jangling and bizarre – then bounced to Shenjuku to check out the 3D cat. That knocked off the two busiest train stations in the world in one easy step – actually about 5,000 easy steps. We probably could have walked from one to the other entirely underground – enormous doesn’t begin to describe them. That ticked off today’s cliches and we found a tiny, genuine restaurant, Shinpachi Shokudo Seibu, just an ordinary small chain restaurant where you order on the iPad on the table and quickly receive a sublime and exquisite meal served by people who seem genuinely, humbly grateful that you have chosen them to feed you. Typical, really.
Perhaps most typical of the country and these people, I especially remember the young mother of two well-behaved toddlers on a crowded train treating me to a beautiful smile and murmured arigato as I managed to secure her a couple of seats by blocking other passengers. Everyone on trains is so concerned with not invading anyone’s space that they bury themselves in their phones, completely shutting off the world around them, and nobody seemed inclined to make room. Misplaced politeness, perhaps, or not wanting to offend anyone by noticing them, but the habit of giving up your seat for the elderly or otherwise needy is conspicuous by its absence.
July 7
Art day. Misplaced Google reviews lead us to the Tokyo Museum of Art, but the promised great European art was nowhere to be seen, just vast halls of undoubtedly wonderful calligraphy. We quickly left, glad that there was no entry fee for the elderly. That’s been the case at a few of the museums here.
The Museum of Western Art was a different beast. It was initiated in the early 20th century by a wealthy industrialist, Matsukata, with the aim of giving Japan some insight into the western mind. Outside there’s a big Rodin collection – I got a photo of Jill beside the third copy of The Thinker we have seen. Inside the collection begins with a large and, to my eyes, tedious, collection of 15th to mid 19th century stuff, before getting to the art that really interests me. Matsukata was a big fan of the Impressionists and became a good friend of Monet, purchasing a large number of his works directly from him, along with many others from that group. There’s a whole room of Monet, perhaps 20 works, including the original water lilies, painted in his Japanese garden at Giverney, completing a connection I hadn’t realized existed until now.
That would have been enough for me but Tokyo demands 20,000 steps a day so we had a quick lunch in a nearby station (air-conditioned and frequented mainly by locals, then found our way to a market full of junk, food and tourists, paused for a drink and were served the traditional, compulsory and expensive otoshi – a small serving that justifies a seating charge. That’s a tradition that jars with me, but is apparently expected and anticipated by locals.
After a wee zizz we went again to Shinjuku to see the young things emerging from the station dressed to kill in their frills, bows, lace, school-uniform gear and goth boots – sometimes all in one ensemble – and check out a less-than-whelming light show on a big government building. Dinner was a quick yakitori snack in the Memory Lane area – a TMZ but fun anyway. The subway was still crowded after 10 on a Tuesday night.
July 8
First stop, Kurashige Yamasuke tools, tucked away anonymously on the third floor of an unmarked building way out in the sticks. A random guy saw us checking our phones outside and ushered us in and up to a room the size of our living room packed with artisan tools. I didn’t buy any chisels, kannas (hand-forged blades sold dull for the craftsman to hone to their chosen perfection) or hammers (so that’s what balance feels like) but I fell for a couple of pull saws and Jill finally found her perfect kitchen knife. After a konbini lunch we strolled out again to look at a relatively untouched old corner of town, Yanaka, miraculously undestroyed by the ‘23 earthquake and American carpet bombing in ‘45, home to many cats, a very good little shopping street and almost no tourists except us.
It didn’t seem far to the Museum of Contemporary Art so with only about 1 hour walking in between 2 trains we arrived at a really impressive example of modern architecture, with halls sparsely populated by inexplicable things, although the pages of art wank beside each piece did valiantly attempt to provide some insight.
Home through the rush hour in the quiet and polite subways. We missed the katsudon next door at the tiny tonkatsu restaurant because they close quite early, and the ramen down at the corner was only OK, although it would probably win awards back home.
July 9
One of the major highlights of this trip. You can keep your thoughtfully designed gardens, spectacular temples and waterfalls and head straight for the MiPig Cafe in Asakusa in Tokyo. While seething hoards of tour groups swarmed the famous Buddhist temple and gardens and had their authentic shopping experience in the surrounding TMZ, we went up a steep flight of stairs and played with miniature pigs. Bloody marvelous and I had to learn how to say we were very happy in Japanese (totemo ureshii).
Then off to Ginza, the poshest of all posh shopping streets, where the subway emerged next door to Tiffanys, with Issy Miyake, Rolex, Cartier, and Paul Smith etc. all vying in vain for our attention. We found the Muji flagship store around the corner and had a gorgeous pastry or two and a perfect iced coffee before a very successful and reasonably-priced bout of retail therapy. If they would only make clothes for portly Westerners as well as teeny locals.
We subwayed to within 10,000 steps of the Imperial Palace but ran out of oomph in the humid 35° and only got as far as the second moat. The grounds are vast and would probably take a day to explore if we were interested but we’re not, and we’re off to Kyoto tomorrow anyway.
The highlight of the day, and one of the great dining experiences of this trip, was right next door to our apartment, a tiny 6-seater tonkatsu restaurant called 花とくor Hana toku. It’s run by an elderly woman and her daughter, there are only 4 items on the menu, and I really wish we had gone sooner because we could have eaten here every night. We both had katsudon and I should have ordered the katsu curry, in fact I thought I had, but there was no English spoken or written and the don was delicious anyway.
July 10
On our way to catch the Shinkansen to Kyoto, we dropped into the world’s largest electronic store, Yodobashi Akiba. Seven enormous floors full of everything from phones to fridges. We only bought a phone cover for Jill’s phone because we don’t need anything but it was interesting to see the first floor (ground floor here) almost completely full of iToys with only an acre or so at the back dedicated to Android things; actually not unexpected in a country that places such emphasis on being quiet, refined and conservative. On the PC floor above they had a large section of Sake and craft beer – an interesting and revealing exercise in associative marketing.
Further along the overhead railway line there was a group of about 50 artisan stores actually under the tracks, with designer bags, pottery, bags, furniture, bags, clothing and some beautiful bags. Finally, a showcase of good Japanese design.
It was too hot to be tourists so we retreated to Shinegasen station to wait to be taken at up to 292 kph to Kyoto. A modern and excellent no-frills hotel awaited us 10 minutes walk from the station, a konbini opposite, and with several restaurants nearby we were able to satisfy our need for katsu curry with a short stroll over the river.
24 June: 3 days in and I’m already addicted to Japanese politeness, toilets, onsens and convenience stores.
We could only fit in a quick trip this year – a three-weeker – so we’re doing an organised eight-day bike tour (Adventure Hokkaido) on the northernmost island, Hokkaido.
After that we’ll have a few random days to satisfy our need for winging it, before dropping into Tokyo because, being the biggest civilised city in the world, it’s exempt from my usual anti-city prejudice. And we will probably get to Kyoto too, because by that stage we will simply be tourists.
June 22
After a comparatively brief 11-hour flight and a free, polite shuttle to a nearby hotel, we assembled dinner from the super-fresh snacks in the little 7-Eleven in the lobby. A perfectly cooked crumbed pork cutlet with a hint of mustard between two slices of white bread that looked and tasted exactly as white bread should, but rarely does. It sounds inadequate for dinner, and there were plenty of more substantial meals available, but this was sublime. Simple, perfect, tasty, cheap, no fuss – just food being what food should be.
June 23
The hotel’s free shuttle took us back to the airport from where we caught a train through Tokyo to Haneda, the other airport, and to a rare event in this country – a delayed flight to Abashiri, where the bus to the city had waited for the plane. Politely.
The hotel , the Dormy Inn, has an onsen, a guest only bathing area with its natural (legally required) hot spring water on the 9th floor. Read about the process elsewhere – this isn’t going to be an instruction manual – but rest assured that we obeyed the no clothes, no tattoos rule and emerged clean and relaxed. And there’s a 7-Eleven right across the road for a quick and tasty meal, topped up by the hotel’s free evening ramen. Hotels with onsens also provide yukatas (night wear) and slippers which guests wear everywhere. We crawled into our floor-level beds and rested until sunrise flooded the room at 3.30 am. We’re 500 km north of Vladivostok and it’s summer solstice!
June 24
There’s a couple of very good museums here, one based on their infamous prison and the other centred on Northern Peoples, but we explored local culture browsing supermarkets, Uniqlo mega stores and op shops (a Kalashnikov for NZ $95). In the evening we met the others on our tour – a few kiwis, some Aussies and some Americans, mostly around our age. We got fitted to our bikes then were taken out for a local traditional meal, a cut above the 7-Eleven offerings but still simple, sublime and perfect. I can feel myself melting into the culture.
June 25
Today was the first day of riding, a very pleasant 45 km around the peninsula under clear blue skies, pleasantly warm, and with 12 new friends to get to know, along with three tour guides. This isn’t our usual style of touring and we’re rather enjoying the relaxation of having all the decisions made for us, with our batteries checked and swapped if needed.
Language lessons are part of the deal and we’re already saying itadakimasu when food arrives, calling out gochisousama deshita to the chef when we leave, using sumimasen frequently to excuse our Western crassness, and arigato gozaimasu to thank just about everyone for everything. These people have a good basic attitude to life.
June 26
92 km. Everyone else did 88 but The Navigator might have neglected to glance at the provided map a couple of times . Note to self – when on group rides keep the group in sight.
Farmland that looked like NZ, and a good honest 400 m climb to a cold, windy pass above a volcanic lake, where ramen could be ordered through a Japanese-only online system that would have failed my old UX diploma. Then a downhill swoop on slightly patchy tar seal that made me appreciate the skills of cyclists who ride these rigid skinny-tyred beasts. A quick stop at an Ainu museum, a paddle at a hot sand beach much like Lake Taupo, and a super luxury onsen with free booze and an awesome buffet dinner. Oyado Kinkikyu Bettei Suikazura
お宿欣喜湯 別邸すいかずら
June 27
83 km. We started by being dutifully impressed by a large, steaming, sulphur-coated gash in the hills surrounding the lake – and none of the kiwis said “yeah yeah, Taupo, Rotorua, White Island.” We’re trying to out-polite the locals, and besides it was pretty bloody impressive.
Then there was another good honest climb of about 400 m in the rain. I have my biking legs back again and they worked flawlessly all the way up. An early lunch at a dairy farm – a fantastic patty of their own beef in a katsu style curry followed by home-made ice cream – too much food fuelling an easy cruise along a rolling rural road to the Toyo Grand Hotel,Nakashibetsu. The onsen melts away the day’s aches and the meals will be great, and we are astounded at the value because for the same price we would only be able to rent a camping ground cabin anywhere in NZ.
Day 4 June 28
The first 50 km or so of typical NZ scenery was pleasant and reasonably quick. The Giant bikes are under-powered with a long range, and Diasuke, Ayumu and Richard make sure the batteries never get below 50% if there’s any distance left to run, so it’s very relaxing for us seasoned e-bike travellers and we chug along easily on power level 1 or 2 all day. The voice directions from the supplied routes on RWGPS ensure that we don’t get lost. The sun shone without too much warmth and the roads were mostly smooth but I am noticing the lack of full suspension and softer, stickier tyres, especially on long downhill runs where you have to be far more cautious (skilled?) than we are accustomed to.
As we peddled up the Eastern coast of the Shiretoko peninsula, the fishing villages reminded us of Ngawi, but scruffier. Japanese architecture around here is not impressive, in fact quite lacking in any of the virtues I have admired in what I thought I knew about their design aesthetics.
A convenience store picnic lunch at Rausu, gateway to Shiroteko National Park, at 63 km, was a real treat, then most of us carried on 15 km further up the coast – slowly in our case due to the deer that had to be photographed. On the return journey we also paused for a family of foxes and a deer with a day old fawn, grazing amongst piles of old fishing floats.
The 100 km day is as much as we have ever done, the Ryokan had an outdoor onsen, and I was lucky to be sitting with Ayu for the sumptuous set meal to have a commentary on what we were actually eating.
June 29
A short ride across the peninsula, but with a big hill. Under 50 km is often a rest day for us, but the catch is that it started with a 14 km, 700 m climb in cold rain, with, near the summit, a series of mini glaciers in the high valleys creating rushing streams cascading towards us. It was another good honest climb with nothing over 10% and we all sailed up it and down the 8 km other side with no problems. A side trip to look at a lake, and another to look at a waterfall we couldn’t see because of the misty rain, but we did see a bear, and accidentally got a bit closer than the recommended 50 m. The track was closed while we were in there because they take their bears, and our safety, very seriously. Very cool.
Accomodation at a family run Ryokan overlooking the beach, where we had a private onsen and a truly wonderful tempura dinner. We are a really loud bunch, it’s a bit embarrassing, but I was surprised at the reaction to my muttered gochisousama deshita as we left.
June 30
89 km along the coast back to Abashiri, mostly flat except for one diversion along the Road to the Sky, 2.5 km of a climb to 100 m and, at a right angle, back down again. I bettered my bike’s recorded max speed from 57.7 to 58.2.
The first part was a lovely coastal ride, then farmland on our favourite type of empty rural roads. My rigid frame, under-powered Giant bike is great for eating up smooth flat tar-sealed roads, but boy do you notice every single small bump.
Guided tours are a novelty for us – we’ve only done one before – and having Richard, Ayu and Dai introduce us to the language and culture, as well as look after the bikes, made for a very different experience from our usual independent travel. We were also lucky to have such an enjoyable group to ride with.
In the past, the Manawatū has mostly been drive-through or fly-over country for us – flat, apparently featureless, and home to Palmerston North (famous for making anywhere else look attractive) and Bulls, the pun capital of New Zealand (Coffee on the Moove and toilets labelled Relieve-a-bull).
When we biked through on our Tour Aotearoa ride in the summer of 23/24 the route took us on remote tracks through untouched parts of the Whanganui National Park, and down into the very charming river city of Whanganui. The next section was northern Manawatu and the Eastern Ruahines which are neither flat nor boring, however for logistical reasons at the time we missed out a part of that route. We therefore decided this summer, while travelling in the Egg, our faithful motorhome, to do an overnighter to plug that gap.
Ashhurst
Once renowned for its concentration of fundamentalist churches, Ashhurst is actually a pleasant small town with an excellent council-run campground. It has free, clean hot showers and powered sites at $10 per head per night – a perfect place to leave the Egg overnight (especially with buggered solar). I’ll always remember it for the branchling tūī.
I learnt that word after sharing a photo and video of a baby tui with the Birds of NZ Facebook group, hoping someone local could check out the chick we rescued after we left. It was sitting on the ground at the edge of the campground road, having clearly fallen from the tree overhead, while its concerned parents called from above. I tried to encourage it to move to a more sheltered spot without touching it, but after three or four short attempts at flight it gave up.
Branchlings are youngsters that have left the nest but haven’t yet grown their tail feathers. They hop around on branches, still being fed by their parents for a few days until they fledge properly. I put my hand in front of it and it climbed onto my finger, letting me carry it closer to some bush where, I was assured by proper bird people, its parents would teach it to camouflage itself for a few days. We have plenty of tūī at home and I’ve watched fledglings grow and return year after year, but I’d never seen one this young.
Apiti and Makoura Lodge – Pohangina Valley
The Tour Aotearoa route between Apiti and Ashhurst had changed in 2026 due to road closures on the original line, so we rode it in reverse – up Spur Road, up Zigzag Road, and more up Ridge Road. We stuffed ourselves with roadside blackberries and wowed at the expansive rural views across to the Ruahines.
The roads were mostly quiet gravel (we saw three cars, two cyclists, and a walker), but there was more climbing than we’d bargained for – which is to say, we’re out of shape – and we very nearly flattened our batteries. We recharged both ourselves and the bikes at the Apiti Tavern, where we were pleasantly surprised by excellent pub dinners of smoked wild pork burger, and pork belly.
With replenished batteries, we rode a few more kilometres to the very comfortable Makoura Lodge, perched high on a narrow plateau between two spectacular gorges.
For the return ride we had two choices – the flat, tar-sealed Pohangina East Road or the hillier, gravelled Pohangina Road, potentially impassable. Reassured by the Kennett brothers, we chose the latter, of course. As on the previous day, traffic was minimal, the views excellent (though sadly no blackberries), and we discovered Totara Reserve – a perfect, quiet camping spot by the river. It would be very easy to lose a week or two in this neck of the woods.
Flying Fox
Back in Whanganui for a few days to get the solar sorted, we decided to fulfil another ambition and stay at the Flying Fox, up the Whanganui River towards Pipiriki. It’s an easy 50 km ride – rural at first, then for the last 10–15 km right inside the National Park.
The Flying Fox is accessible only by, you guessed it, a flying fox across the river. Big enough for two people and their luggage, it takes about three minutes to cross to what’s rated as a mid-range hotel but is really a collection of rustic, self-contained cottages, all solar powered. Hosts Kelly and Jane are friendly and laid back, and make it feel as though you’re staying in a hand-built house in a friend’s back yard.
We cooked our own meal in the kitchenette rather than use their catering; I grabbed a beer from the fridge in the main house (honesty box), and next time we’ll stay a couple of nights. There will be a next time, because the Tui Cottage is one of the four best places we have ever stayed anywhere in the world. List available on request, but the common factor is a total lack of pretension.
Total distance: 69.82 km Max elevation: 556 m Min elevation: 74 m Total climbing: 1334 m Total descent: -1043 m Total time: 08:02:50
This post is purely to keep a record of this trip for us, although anyone who chances upon it is very welcome.
Tasman
December 2025 After Golden Bay our first stop was Marahau, nestled into the foot of the Able Tasman National Park, and existing solely to serve the tourism industry based on the park. There’s no hype, just a few slightly competing business based around water taxis, with a good general store, a couple of cafes and a few camping options. We were there to catch up again with Jill’s cuzzies, Sue and Ian, and their dog, Miss Daisy.
Abel Tasman
The water taxis buzz to the bays along the track all day taking hikers to and from various sections, and The Navigator got to work. We took a taxi to Torrent Bay, walked to the Anchorage (6 km) from where I took a taxi back with a bit of seal-spotting along the way, and Jill walked the remaining 14 km. I can see why people go tramping, around here anyway where it’s fairly flat and scenic.
Harwood’s Hole
We nipped back to the top of the Takaka Hill, getting caught by the 20 minute delay through the one way roadworks. Campervans and caravans are not allowed on the 11 km road to the Hole so we parked at a lookout and had a very pleasant ride up and down a small hill, then a 2 km walk through a Tolkeinesque forest to a large pile of enormous rocks guarding the actual hole. We couldn’t get close enough to look down but I imagine that were a group of goblins at the bottom, 176 m down, gathering up the gold rings that LOTR fans would chuck down. It’s a DOC site and there are bike and hiking trails to amuse the young and agile, and a farm for sale if you really crave remote living.
Down the hill again, with a 30 minute delay this time – thank goodness for motorhomes with tea-making and toilets. We stayed at Riwaka in a very well set up POP, The Big Shed, where the owners had built themselves a enviably huge dutch barn with their house on one side, and on the other a very tidy ablutions block on the other side where we parked under a stunning sky.
Total distance: 22.61 km Max elevation: 885 m Min elevation: 656 m Total climbing: 606 m Total descent: -591 m Total time: 03:56:55
You have to admire the literary pluck of a surveyor naming a spring a “resurgence”, but the Riuwaka River starts with two of them. I read later they use the term a lot in karst country where it’s quite common for a river to disappear for a while.
We biked there from Motueka, following the Great Taste Trail to Kaiteriteri, a favourite spot of a lot of people judging by the expensive homes and vast camping area, and it’s also a centre for Abel Tasman activities. The trail is a very easy, well maintained family focused route, but the last part into Kaiteriteri took us through an easy section of the MTB park, fun but just bumpy enough to trigger my recently sprained elbow which made me whimper audibly. We paused for an excellent coffee and pie while the pills kicked in then went hunting for resurgences.
The resurgences are not as pristinely clean as they were even ten years ago according the the locals, the once-fabled purest water in the country now bubbling up over slime covered rocks, but that didn’t stop a group doing manu into the icy cold pool. It’s a cool spot, with good bush and nicely maintained paths without woke railings.
Total distance: 60.21 km Max elevation: 112 m Min elevation: -2 m Total climbing: 655 m Total descent: -659 m Total time: 05:48:40
The Great Taste Trail does a big loop around the back of Nelson, but sections had been badly damaged by the great floods 3 years ago and are still being repaired. The Spooner Tunnel has only recently been made accessible, but only from the East, so we went out to the charming and slightly feral Tapawera Cycle Trail Campground run by the delightful Julie. We shared the grounds with her dog, an enormous unsheared sheep and a large goat.
The trail runs right beside the camp, and it’s probably not the most interesting part of it, but the tunnel, the longest bike able tunnel in the Southern Hemisphere at 1352 m long, made it worthwhile.We did another section the other way to the top of Baton Pass, passing too many hop farms before the small bushy hill climb.
The next day we parked at Woodstock triggering a 1970’s earworm (thank you Joni Mitchell), and biked up the Baton River to almost where we left off yesterday, discovering Lublows Leap Store & Museum, a biker’s dream.
From the official website:
Heading along the remote Baton Valley Road, you will find farmland with a cyclist rest stop. It is operated by Richard and Fiona Lublow who have a long history with the farm, dating back to 1906.
Today there is on-farm accommodation plus a shed and museum where people can learn about the history of the Baton Valley. The idea of the shed is to provide a stop for the cyclists – they can jump on the Wi-Fi, as this is the most remote part of the trail and there’s no mobile coverage.
Cyclists can also fill up their water bottles, buy ice cream, make a cup of tea and read about the area’s history. The shop runs on an honesty system and is unmanned, it has Eftpos and a cash box.
We drove over to Mapua where we stayed at the Mapua Leisure Park, once famous as a nudist resort, now unclothed only in February and March, but when Jill stayed here decades ago she remembered there was plenty of skin to be seen. The legendary fish ‘n’ chips on the wharf are as perfect as ever, but there are now loads of boutique stores as well.
Total distance: 67.36 km Max elevation: 344 m Min elevation: 120 m Total climbing: 801 m Total descent: -803 m Total time: 07:01:56
Through Nelson with a brief pause for Christmas shopping – what a ghastly season this really is – and along to Cable Bay, named for it being the site of the first trans-Tasman cable connecting NZ to thee world. Messages could be sent to Britain in only 4 days for as little as 1 shilling and ninepence – $30 when adjusted for inflation today. The nearby Pepin Island is connected by a tombolo and the shallow bay surrounding it is covered only briefly by a high tide. We biked around it as far as we could to Maori PA, finding an interesting reserve, Paramata, but no information as to why the ethnicity of the pa had to be so carefully defined.
Total distance: 17.89 km Max elevation: 34 m Min elevation: 3 m Total climbing: 137 m Total descent: -144 m Total time: 01:41:35
Before embarking on next year’s Paitua I thought I would shake the cobwebs off this interweb thing and tell you what we’ve been up to recently.
Ticking off the bucket list
November, 2025
After a few months in one place (home) our feet started to itch so we treated The Egg to one of the new 1 year COFs, and dawdled off to Golden Bay on the top left corner of the South Island. On a previous quick trip we had missed getting to Totaranui, and I’ve been envious reading about motorhomers braving the narrow road to the Doc camp ever since. Bucket list #1.
Cape Farewell is the northernmost point of the South Island – BL #2 – And Farewell Spit is there too – BL #3.
And then there is the Whanganui Inlet and Anatori, the most southern car-accessible point on the West Coast. – BL #4.
Also: Cobb Dam and Harwoods Hole (BL #5 & 6) because we haven’t been there, but not Pupu Springs, because we have
That’s quite a list for one small corner of the country, so we switched on dawdle mode and started to tick them off slowly. And just to clarify, these are not the only items on the BL, but are probably the only NZ ones left.
Also, I hate the term “bucket list”.
BL #1 – Totaranui
One of the stops on the Abel Tasman Trail which I will never walk due to an aversion, although it’s extremely lovely and I strongly recommend it. It’s not such a scary road, plenty wide with slightly corrugated gravel to slow down the hoons, and we stayed for 3 days because it’s so good there that I’ll never tell anyone about it. So was Awaroa, courtesy of the water taxi, so no tedious tramping for me.
We stayed for a couple of nights at the Pohara Top 10 to catch up with Jill’s cousin Sue, Ian, and their dog Miss Daisy, then …
BL #2 & 3 – Cape Farewell and Farewell Spit
28 Nov 2025
I love a good long beach drive, and if you can add in a worthwhile compass point and a few birds I’m a happy chap. There’s only one way for the public to get along the spit – Farewell Spit Eco Tours – so we parked up at the Collingwood Motor camp, enjoyed their excellent bathrooms, and set off at 6:30am the next day. It’s a low tide tour, of course.
Our driver, Allan, had a great sense of humour and a well-rehearsed patter backed by in-depth knowledge, and he stopped to pick up the two bits of litter we saw in over 25 km of beach. They don’t go all the way to the end to leave the gannet colony alone, and you’re not allowed to walk on the beach above the high tide mark, so we felt that we were in a Very Untouched Place. There were occasional seals but don’t expect lots of birds.
A detour to Cape Farewell on the way back meant we can now tick off every major compass point around the two main islands.
BL #4 – Whanganui Inlet and Anatori
29 November, 2025
Only 50 km as the Kororo flies from Kohaihai, the northernmost road on the true West Coast, but 472 km by car, this is the southern-most car-accessible point on the West Coast of Golden Bay. We drove in past the vast mudflats of the Whanganui Inlet to Paturau on the coast, and hopped on our bikes to ride down a spectacular coast road too narrow for The Egg. The road continues to service farms but we were stopped by a thigh-deep “ford” where we watched locals coming down the road on the other side on their quad bikes for a leisurely dip in the ice cold river. We biked back and took a slow drive back along the now full and very lovely Whanganui Inlet.
The Pakawau Camping Ground was a peasant place to stay for a night before the next day’s small hike across the dunes to Wharariki Beach, famous for a hole in a rock. It’s a typical West Coast Beach, wild and vast and impressive like all of them, so I took no photos until we got back to the carpark and found the cafe closed and guarded by the resident peacock.
We stopped for a night at the Golden Bay Camping ground (the Best in the bay) after an unreviewable late lunch at the iconic Mussel Inn – if you can’t say something nice etc – although it was during a powercut and the roaring fire and impromptu live music did make up for it..
Total distance: 23.44 km Max elevation: 60 m Min elevation: 3 m Total climbing: 813 m Total descent: -810 m Total time: 03:07:32
At last, a bit of real climbing – an unrelenting 850 m up a gravel road through the spectacular Kahurangi National Park. I didn’t realize how much I had missed it. Not. A few months ago, after 3 months of Alpine biking around the elevated parts of Italy and the Balkans, we thought that 800 m hills were a great way to warm up in the morning, but we have returned to our usual level of fitness. We used a lot of power.
We parked in a rare wide spot at Sam’s Creek on the Cobb Valley Road, and if you’re reading this and plan to the same, that’s as far as you should go, and in fact the Blue Hole 5 km back would be even better. It’s very narrow above there, and far too lovely to waste on driving. There was the last of the snow on the peaks above the dam and the katabatic wind sweeping the length of it slightly reduced its charm when we descended the 200 m from the summit. Jill rode the full length of it, straight into the aforementioned breeze and both our batteries were very nearly empty when we got back.
We stayed that night in a freedom camping spot back towards Takaka where we were woken by the trucks arriving at 7 am. The front-end-loader driver laughed as he said “Well we have to be here and awake at 7 so why not you lot. Best time of the day!”
We moved on over the Takaka Hill, not pausing to do Harwoods Hole because the low cloud blanketed the tops. We’ll be back.
Total distance: 37.08 km Max elevation: 1056 m Min elevation: 177 m Total climbing: 1406 m Total descent: -1399 m Total time: 05:17:37
We are amateur bike tourers really, having only done three long-distance tours — each 3 months and over 3,000 km — and a good handful in the 300–500 km range. We tour on on full suspension Moustache e-bikes, and while they have made a world of difference to what we can do and how far we can go, it hasn’t exactly made everything easy.
Touring on e-bikes is very different to manual, but it comes with its own baggage. The way we do it is best described as credit card bike packing.
The ideal tour
W do slow adventures. No plan, except to try to avoid cities and even towns if possible. Small, less used roads our our favorites, with little or no car traffic.
The Pros: Why We Ride Electric
Hills and Headwinds: E-bikes take the sting out — essential when you’re no longer a spring chicken. Sure, there are a few indestructible old buggers still muscling their way up mountains at 89, and good on them. We trade-off the buzz of high achievement for gratitude for actually making it up the hill.
More Distance, More Adventure: We’ve gone further and seen more because of the bikes. Routes that would have been too hard, too hilly, or just too long are now within reach.
Old legs: We’re not carrying tents or stoves anymore, and we’re not trying to prove anything. We ride for joy and discovery — not for achievement and it’s best friend, suffering.
The Cons: What the Brochures Don’t Mention
You’re Tied to Power: The battery needs a charge every night. That means no wild camping unless you carry a spare (which is heavy and still won’t get you more than a day or two).
Heavy Chargers: The charger’s a brick. When you add in the USB plugs, international adaptors, cables and it weighs more than 1.5 kg to be electrified, and the battery is 3 kg on top of that. That comes out of the clothing allowance, so out goes the ball gown. We’re not hauling cooking gear, so there’s room, but the trade-offs never stop.
No Flying with Batteries: This one’s absolute. Airlines will not carry your e-bike battery — not in checked luggage, not in the cabin, not in a box of chocolates. You can ship it separately if you’re persistent and cashed up, but even that’s dicey.
Train travel is getting tighter. Cheap ebike kits badly installed can catch fire and that makes train companies as nervous as airlines. Transport for London have recently banned all ebikes on their trains and others will likely follow.
You Need Accommodation Every Night: And not just any accommodation. You need somewhere with power and somewhere to stash the bikes. Booking.com still doesn’t have a ‘bike-friendly’ filter, and explaining “indoor, secure, preferably not up a flight of stairs” is a conversation we’ve had too many times.
The Real Challenge: Logistics and Lifting
Weight Matters: An e-bike with panniers isn’t something you casually lift up steps or onto a train platform. We’re at the age where “just hoick it up there” isn’t a realistic option. Gates, stairs, steep ramps — they’re all obstacles now.
Planning Ahead is Non-Negotiable: But it doesn’t have to be long term.
In Europe off-season, even shoulder, we have always found a place by the night before
On NZs West Coast we booked ahead 6 days because there were few options. But we do have to book – no deciding this is a nice spot and putting up the tent. We need to know where we’re sleeping, whether there’s power, how steep the access is, and secure storage for our bikes. TBH I’ve never liked camping anyway.
So Why Do It?
Because the alternative is not doing it.
Yes, it’s heavier, more complicated, and demands more planning, but it also means we’re still out there, rolling through towns and over mountain passes, meeting people, seeing new landscapes, and collecting stories. E-bikes haven’t made it effortless — they’ve made it possible.
Our last day dawned chilly with clear blue skies and we set off from the Invercargill Holiday Park at the northern end of town at our usual 9:24 (you could set your watch by it – no matter what, we nearly always hit the road at 9:24). We skirted the city via a series of parks, and a shared path down the Waihopai River, to the industrial area where we had classic Southland cheese rolls at the very good Industry Cafe. Then it was cycleway all the way to Bluff – estuaries full of birds, acres of saltmarsh, and shimmering reflections on the glistening, still water of Bluff harbour, which we suspect doesn’t happen often. Even the sewage treatment plant looked attractive.
We arrived at Stirling Point to cheers from another couple who had just arrived, also having done a modified TA, and then we all cheered the next arrivals – three young, genuine, dot-carrying brevet riders. A bit of wine and beer may have been consumed by all.
We had a bit of momentum left after 3100 km so we dropped our bags at the Captain’s Cabin, and with featherweight bikes (and battery assistance) we shot up the steepest gradient of the whole trip to the summit of Bluff Hill, where, With today’s clear sky, we had a stupendous 360° view of all of Southland and Stewart Island to the south.
Over an appropriately Southern meal of Bluff oysters, Blue Cod and chips served in paper at Stella’s, the conversation quietly changed from “well done us” to “what’s next?” I can’t wait to find out.
There was nothing much to see on what, on a fine day, would be a pleasant quiet back-road route, so we celebrated the twin milestones – our first rainy day, and passing the 3,000 km mark – by scoffing luke-warm Jimmy’s Pies in the shelter of a pine tree hedge. The carrot of a hot cup of tea propelled us on last leg, which was a long straight slog into our old friend the sou’wester.
A note of caution when stocking up in Invercargill – it’s one of those archaic monopolistic Trust areas where alcohol sales are restricted to far-distant bottle stores. Bloody uncivilized practice.
if you find yourself travelling south by car, bike, or even motorhome, today’s route is a great way to avoid the main roads. We didn’t take photos because it was damp – not raining but close – and we had a friendly southwesterly straight from the Antarctic blowing in our face all day, but it’s a lovely route with views and history you won’t find on the main roads. SH1 between Clinton and Gore is named the Presidential Highway, a dad joke from the 80s, no more amusing now than then, and we crossed it while deviating for a warming cuppa in Gore, to fuel the battle on to Mataura.
Poor unfortunate Mataura. In the 19th century it boasted a paperworks, dairy factory and freezing works and the falls in the middle of town were beginning to become quite a tourist attraction, but they were dynamited to provide more water for the local industry.
It’s worth making the effort to walk up the other side of the river from where, with a bit of trespassing, you get a view of the river and rapids emerging from under derelict warehouses like a scene from a Mad Max movie.
More recently the town became infamous for having vast amounts of toxic waste from the Bluff Aluminium Smelter stored in the now-defunct paper mill, right on the flood-prone river. (Now removed).
Check out the photo – this could/should be a tourist attraction in an otherwise dying town.
To paraphrase Flann O’Brien’s Third Policeman; as we went upon our way I was slightly glad that I’d been there.
Another scorcher – 32 °C at 9 am (with 4 am sunrise, 9 o’clock is more like midday back home.) We hired bikes and headed out through the suburbs to Kinkaku-ji, where busloads of tour-guided captives go to gawp at a temple literally covered in gold leaf. The crowd was beyond my comfort level, but I overheard an American woman exclaiming breathlessly about the staggering beauty and serenity as she peered between a wall of backpack-clad tourists to catch a glimpse of the ripples where a carp had just broken the surface.
Luckily on the way there we chanced upon the lovely suburban Kamigoryo Shinto shrine, where only two locals strolled in to commune with some of the 13 spirits that live there, so I have preserved that as my morning’s memory.
Not quite so beset by tour buses was the nearby Ryoan-ji, a Zen Buddhist thing that houses the world’s best zen raked stone garden. I would love to visit it at dawn to fully appreciate its 400-year-old gardens and streams which, even with a growing crowd, radiated the serenity the aforementioned American found in Kinkakuji.
Another scorcher. We subwayed to the famous Gion district, home to the Nishiki markets and Pontocho Alley, both deserted before opening hours. There were sadly no geishas posing in the surrounding alleys because Sunday is their day off from being decorative and subservient, and anyway photos of them are strictly prohibited. The heat drove us back into air-conditioned comfort with a visit the Kyoto Owl Forest, a small room next door to the local Mipig cafe where 15 owls are tethered tightly to branches. Putting our animal rights consciences to one side we gazed closely, took photos and gently petted them with the back of our hands only, as instructed.
Home for another cooling shower and rest, then out to see the famous, and endless, red arches at Fushimi Inari along with a solid block of shuffling tourists. I wished I had limited my experience to the publicity photos, but luckily The Navigator spotted another bamboo forest off to one side that was deserted, and we found ourselves walking an untended track through spectacular bamboo, past a few small unkempt shrines, and into someone’s backyard, which provided the memorable experience for the afternoon.
Back to the hotel refuge with another embarrassingly soaked shirt and finally out again for ramen and a wander through the tiny lanes around Gion. The famous restaurant street, Pontocho, was crowded and ghastly but the sunset over the river was about as lovely as I have ever seen.
Jill braved the heat and went off to see the famous castle with the chirping floors, while I caught a train and walked to a typical Japanese hardware store way out in the suburbs. Bunnings could learn a thing or two in this town.
There are a few of these art installations around Japan, with room after room offering sound and light shows – some of them interactive. Kanji that floated slowly down the walls dissolved when touched, lizards and snakes exploded when stomped on and re-formed just out of reach, and I may have behaved just a tad immaturely for a while. There was a room full of soapy foam, a golden pond to slosh through, no maps or guides or long-winded descriptions patronisingly explaining how we should interpret anything, and it was all very satisfyingly mind-blowing.
Speaking of chants, on our last morning we walked a short distance along the road to Higashi Honganji temple complex, housing one of the largest wooden buildings in the world, to hear the monks doing their morning chants. We arrived early, admiring the buildings and a pile of the 15 cm-thick rope woven with human hair and hemp – the former to give it enough strength to hoist the immense roof beams into place. There was no lack of reverence on my part in choosing to take one of the provided chairs onto the tatami mats so that my nanajuroku-year-old knees did not have to assume the lotus position while we were entranced by the monks’ daily devotions.
Looking back, it wasn’t the temples or the museums that made Japan memorable. It was the ordinary things done extraordinarily well. Convenience stores that sold genuinely good food. Tiny restaurants serving perfect meals. Trains that simply worked. Streets without rubbish. And everywhere, people quietly trying not to inconvenience anyone else. No country is perfect, but Japan left us wondering what life would be like if a little more courtesy and consideration became everyone’s default setting.
