First Kyudo Tournament & No Competition in Aikido

 

(The pictures included in this post are of a bike ride I took to Jouyama in Kamiichi Town, of my  home Prefecture, Toyama, on this lovely over-cast early spring day-off. Please enjoy.)

Yes! It happened.

The night before I had a very pleasant and relaxing night, going to aikido, watching the current anime of my interest "Darker Than Black", drinking a couple cheap fake Japanese beers ... but then I couldn't go to sleep. So I drank some more, and then fell asleep.

 

The next morning I woke up, nervous, without enough time to drink my coffee, and had temporarily been separated from my wallet. The frantic search-time gave me a chance to finish the coffee and curse about how I couldn't believe I had signed away another precious Sunday to doing something other than not being tied to something I am required to do.

I showed up, signed in, met with Sensei and many others, and got started.

I'd call it a success. It was a great learning experience. It shook me out of my comfortable nest. It introduced me to a lot of new people, dojos, and ways of kyudo. Most importantly, I didn't do anything incredibly stupid, and a few of my shots at the target felt really good.

But as far as awards and hitting the target and all that ...  I wasn't considered a "winner" I guess.

In this kind of kyudo competition you enter in a team of three and shoot eight arrows each ... four arrows in a turn. I hit one ...

One single stinking arrow!

I usually hit more than one in eight, so in a way I am disappointed. But then again, there's a huge difference between one and zero, so I'm happy to get that one. If I got zero though, I probably wouldn't feel any different, and it wouldn't mean anything else at all. I had a couple arrows that felt really good, but just missed. Sensei says that's most important: To know when you made a good shot. Hitting the target represents the achievement of your tangible goal, but doesn't necessarily mean you shot well.

So, overall I feel good about the experience, and in that "overall" kind of wholistic kyudo experience category, I learned a lot. In the dojo every morning I'm chiseling away at the skills I'm developing, putting small bricks into my kyudo castle. But at events like these, you get to step back and look at it all a little better.

 

I spent a lot of time talking to Sensei about certain aspects of shooting, and am making a lot of progress internalizing and slowly producing results. Most of all, in my tenouchi (left hand that holds the bow). This is my weakest point in kyudo, but as mentioned, one that is making progress.

The most memorable part of it all though, is something ... less than exciting. In fact, it might be the opposite of exciting. The tournament was a reminder of how much "not-shooting-arrows" is part of the kyudo experience. I was at the dojo from 9:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. That's seven hours. 10 minutes of that time, I was shooting an arrow. Seriously. That means I spent seven hours and fifty minutes standing around, chatting with people, eating free munchies and drinks, watching kyudo. It wasn't hell ...

but really ...

Seven hours and fifty minutes doing not-kyudo when I was at a kyudo event!

I know how "not-doing-kyudo" is actually also "doing-kyudo" and all those zen philosophical meanderings, but frankly, it's way less interesting when you're actually doing it.

It is true, that we learn a lot about what we do, by not-doing, and sometimes it's fun to talk about these kinds of things in an objective space separate from the mud and sticks of building technique, but it's a space that doesn't require much time. I spend a lot of time "not doing kyudo" in my daily routine. I get it. I'd like to spend that time I devote to "doing kyudo", actually doing kyudo, and leave my philosophical clouds to train rides and drinking parties.

I love kyudo. It's a huge challenge for me. It's a huge challenge for anybody. That's kind of the point. But, budo-wise, sometimes I feel like it doesn't quite click with me like some other arts, like aikido. I love aikido, and I love kyudo, but they are very different. I feel like I can kind of just walk into aikido and fall into the seams of its movement fairly easily. I think I'm naturally good at aikido and pick up on it's nuances quicker than other people. I don't think I'm being over confident, rather just conscious of my strengths and weaknesses. I could tell you a million things I'm less good at than aikido, and a large percentage of those things I'm worse at than the average person. For the discussion at hand, I mention kyudo. Every single movement of the shooting process seems to be a huge leap for me. Improvement takes longer, more obstacles appear, and the truth of failure feels a little more stark than I've felt in other arts. Aside from the techniques, all the other parts seem to take a little more effort to adjust to. With aikido, at least with my dojo, we show up, practice, and enjoy each other's company. We are all searching for truth, but not at the expense of everything else, and we also love drinking together. With kyudo, there's so much extra stuff, and so many different people. That part of doing kyudo, the "not-doing-kyudo", gets to be really big, and sometimes feels like a waste of time.

This certainly is a difficult discussion to conduct.

Lastly, I'd like to end on a positive note with kyudo; specifically, concerning competition. This is a very good thing for kyudo, and any form of budo in my opinion. In a competition, you most likely go to a dojo you're unfamiliar with, other competitors you don't know deeply, and are set out within a limited space that reveals your ability. In front of everybody, most of which are looking very intently at every little bit of you, you must complete the act of shooting an arrow. Actually, you shoot eight, and what you hit is what you hit. There's no "buts" or "maybes". Kyudo is about managing a lot of psychic energy inside of you with a lot of physical technique based on minute movements and balances, and so a lot of getting good at the art is managing these in a place where you can actually start dealing with them: usually a quiet dojo with fellow practitioners and supportive teachers. Competitions shake this all up so that you need to readjust, finding a solid base to shoot from. Some people don't like competition. Some people love it. Most people like the idea of it, but are scared. No matter where you are, participating every once in a while will make you a much better archer. That goes for tests too, but I'll wait for the next one I go through to imbellish this subject.

 

Aikido, my great unquestionable love, on the other hand, has no competition (at least the kind I practice). In aikido, you don't get this kind of experience, which is kind of a shame, really. When you test, you're in a "competition-like-scenario" like I described above: you're set out alone to complete certain techniques, what happens happens, and failure is possible (perhaps the key to all of this competition-testing conversation). However, you can't measure things in a strictly black and white, win-lose, kind of way so easily in aikido. There's too much grey. What is considered winning and success in aikido? Successfully throwing an opponent? Nope, that's judo. Is it successfully being thrown? (A very interesting topic perhaps only aikido could indulge, but yet not clear enough). In aikido there are so many small variables that depend much upon one's partner, it's really difficult to see the benefits of competition might afford, at least for beginners (like me!) You could say randori (aikido's free sparring of sorts where partners attack and one moves with techniques as one would like) is a good form of competition, but first of all, I don't have much experience with it, and two, it's still very difficult to see one's actual ability. The greatest problems I find in people's aikido is when they define a level of success and start chasing after it. The comes in the guise of young agro dudes at seminars throwing each other around with faces that reflect the epic tension of the battle inside. Actually, it's one of the most ridiculous things I've seen in martial arts altogether. These dudes who "go all out" at a seminar showing off to a crowd, of usually none others than aikido practitioners (who should have some idea what's going on) feeling like they're on a battlefield fighting for their lives. You know what is way cooler? The doshu (head of aikido) doing aikido with his partners with skilled technique and a calm expression, as if he's doing this as a demonstration for other practitioners of aikido.

Aikido: such a gem of practical martial arts technique and mode of self cultivation, yet so very often abused.

 

Anyway, this is difficult, too. It seems no matter where you step down with a statement, it leaves you vulnerable to a sweep.

But this blog and budo itself are less about making definitive statements, and more about doing your best and questioning reality.

I'm now left with memories of various very important conversations with my aikido sensei which all ended with the same theme:

"If you think you know aikido, then you have no idea. If you think you're good, then you're failing."

This isn't indulgence in shallow (though helpful) proverbs, but the words of a man who sincerely believes this of his practice.

If you practice an art that has competitions and tournaments, go try one! If not, do your best to shake yourself up. And if you think you know ... well, you probably don't.

Hauntings in the Mountains

This was the first sign that notified me that I had begun to tread on haunted ground. I didn't see any ghosts or things moving against the normal laws of time and space, but this place was weird. I assume she acted as a sort of scarecrow, but it doubled as a scaregaijin.

Here's another view with her friend over there on the left in purple. If I could, I would love to meet their maker, but maybe in a voyeuristic kind of way. I'm not sure I'd want to talk to her right away, but see what kind of person put together this manakin for the crows. Across the road from these frightful broads was another scarecrow of sorts, but was just clothes on a cross with a large farm hat. From it I could hear nonstop chatter. I quickly realized it was a radio blaring; the only sound in this strange mountain town. I looked to find someone around working who may be listening (seems like a pretty normal thing to expect right?), but I didn't find anyone. I wonder how such a poor farmer can afford such battery use.

And the abandoned granny wagon on the side of the road? How far could someone who needs this kind of transport gone on their own?! Have you reader's ever heard of Tengu? In Japanese folklore they are a kind of half-crow, half-human goblin responsible for various kinds of mischief. I've only read about them in books until now.

But before I move on to the really strange stuff, I'll give you a little background information for this particular trip into the mountains on my mamachari. It was a Sunday morning I awoke to my summer ritual of a fried egg, english muffins with blueberry jam, and a little too much coffee. Oh yeah, and a slightly more than slight hangover this time. The night before was my last enkai, Japanese work party, which are famous for heavy drinking for those willing to go to afterparty after afterparty. Because it was my last one, I made a big speech which I did pretty well with (excellent planning, poor practice, and extremely nervous upon delivery), I talked with a lot of other teachers, and went to a few afterparties with the usuals. I think I'm much closer with my coworkers at Sakurai High School than most other ALTs (Assistant Language Teachers). This is probably because I only go to one school whereas many others often go between 5 or 10 different ones a week. Also, I speak Japanese enough to make conversation, and so I do so daily with the various teachers at my school. Furthermore, I don't mind having the same conversations over and over and over and over again that come up in such enkai scenarios; as long as I can drink and make the other party laugh in the end. If there's no drinking and no laughing, my face gets sore from fake smiling so much and I want to drink way more than I know I should ... that situation happens often in my line of work/life here in Japan.

So, I felt as though I did as much beer imbibing and socializing that a weekend needs and was just writhing to get on my bike and into the mountains. Funny thing is, there was an annual beer festival in Toyama City where small breweries from all over Japan come to Toyama for a big party. The fact I passed this up means I really wanted to be on my bike and away from people. This is kind of like school teachers who are forced to become crabby and bossy when kids drive them crazy at work; maybe they're not like that naturally, but because of their circumstances, they become so. I feel as though I'm a pretty social and extroverted kind of guy, but because I'm constantly around people in social situations that are not fitting to my ideals, I'm constantly finding myself escaping more such events. Perhaps this makes me anti-social. Maybe other people should find more interesting things to do. All I know, is that at the time, being stuck in transit and paying large amounts of money to drink beer while I already had a hangover and have to make conversation with people known and unknown alike made me feel like I'd really hate Monday when it came along. Therefore, I was off.

This brings me to an important tangent about enduring harsh weather and hangovers. Both are quite separate, but first, by far the best way to deal with harsh weather is to get out in it. Lately it's been the rainy season, and so it's in the low 90's, incredibly humid, and it usually breaks out into raging thunderstorms at least once a day in the middle of sunny weather. If I spend all day under air conditioners and fans, my skin and feeling gets all screwy and I hate it. Moreover, when you finally get out into the heat, it's just unbearable because you could just as easily be under the air conditioner which you've grown accustomed to all day, all season long. And you know what? I really don't mind the heat, which sounds weird when I hear myself say that, because usually I prefer colder to hotter temperatures. But seriously, I could care less if I'm sweaty and stinking. I only care because it is uncomfortable for other people if I'm teaching at school or getting together with friends. I'll sit and write on my blog in my apartment and lose track of things in the world and look down at my arms to realize I have more beads of sweat than an elephant in the oven. I don't care! I'll drink water. When I'm on my bike, I'm either not around people, or people are already staring at me because I'm white, so what does the sweaty factor matter? It just adds to my general freakness here in Japanland. Anyway, the same works for snow and rain. Weather only sucks if it keeps you from doing what you want. So you should just do what you want in whatever weather is happening, and if it's really what you want, the weather won't matter. This little conversation has gone differently than I thought, I wonder if you learned anything. Oh yeah, hangovers: if I can manage to get out of bed then I can completley forget about the hangover when I'm leaking sweat in the sun towards the mountains.

My goal for this particular bike trip was a place called "Kitayama", which literally means "north mountain". It's really not that far north and niether a particularly high mountain. One of my maps said there was an onsen there, and it looked a bit far, which were both good enough reasons to get me excited while I stared at them with my coffee cup in hand in my "living room", which has tatami mats and isn't really like what most people would think of as a living room. So I'll call it my "living tatami room". To skip all the little details of things I saw and get on to the weird stuff, I went looking for an onsen I didn't find, and instead found myself in the same place I did almost exactly a year ago in an equally disappointing trip where I was so close to what I was looking for but didn't find. After the initial feelings of failure, I decided to follow the road further up, and found this strange town of Kitayama. It was all rice fields and farm houses ... except ...

FOR THIS BUILDING!

I first saw this unfitting gigantic building from the bottom of town and I was pretty excited to make the rest of my trip downhill. However, I was just mesmerized by the oddity of this building. I thought maybe it was some kind of community center, maybe a hospital? Maybe it would even be an onsen. Many of the nicest onsen are actually in hotels that look pretty bare or even shoddy from the outside. I decided to give it one look before I go down because I was pretty sure I'd never be here again.

As I got closer, I noticed graffiti on the walls and a lot of broken windows. Also, a wall of shrubs grow around the perimeter save a long sheet metal barrier. I rode my bike beyond it to higher ground, like a wolf circling some strange corpse to extend the time of distant investigation.

This place was really tagged up. I couldn't see a single intact window, and any space along the inside looked like it was covered in graffiti. I looked down on the sleepy farming village, and then back to this giant decrepit builidng ... it didn't make sense. From my perch I looked for an entrance and then descended upon the mystery.

I went back to that sheet metal wall, and parked my bike conspicuously across the street. I found a space that was slightly ajar, just wide enough for some punk high schooler with a bag of contraband to get through, which fit me just fine. I walked through for twenty meters through overgrown grass and came to the entrance of the building. A part of me synched right back into a mode of exploration I honed growing up in my forested island hometown. Investigating abandoned buildings alone or with friends always began by rustling through head high brush and grass. The outside had been completely razed by bats (of the swinging smashing sort) and spray paint. There was no real door inside on the bottom level. I could have taken the rusting metal staircase that went along the outside, but I went for the midget-sized cutting in the side of the building which seemed to function as the main entrance for whoever it was that had been here last.

Ever since my plan to find onsen was foiled earlier, all I heard in my mind was "I don't know anything. It's OK if you don't know anything, it's if you do know that you get in trouble." This conversation echoed from the last car conversation to "strange" aikido earlier in the week. Sensei got on the topic of how to get good at aikido, and the concept of time came up ... practicing aikido 3 times a week for 5 years is better than practicing aikido 5 days a week for a year. "But what about practicing 5 days a week for 5 years, Sensei?" I wanted to ask, but for some reason I held back. Anyway, both of those scenarios are better than practicing once or maybe twice a week ... that is way too slow for my liking, however, it is my near future hear. At least for the next year, my aikido training will most definitely be cut down to one, maybe two if I'm lucky, training sessions a week. I told Sensei, "I'm very worried." There was dead silence for about 5 seconds, and then I said something else. I wish I hadn't have said it. I was begging for some kind of fatherly reassurance. "Don't worry, Zac, you'll be good no matter what." Or "Well, maybe I can fit in another practice or two for you sometime." But there was nothing but the dead silent reality of a question with no answer: "How am I going to get better at aikido?" I really wish I hadn't said it, and I understand at least on some surface functional level, that it's way better for me to smile and say no problem than to worry about this ... for so many different reasons.

Where was that onsen? I don't know. What is this building? I have no idea? Nothing ... in reality there's nothing but nothing, and limited questions that lead to real expansive nothing.

It was incredibly dark. Not pitch-black, but incredibly dark. The pictures only reveal as much as they do because I used the flash. I was thoroughly creeped out. It was dead quiet and my eyes were wide open trying to pick up any sign that may indicate I need to get out of there as quickly as possible. The area I had walked into was a wide high-ceilinged ballroom of sorts with stairs on either side spiraling up to other open areas. Graffiti revealed itself quietly through the shadows. My vision was maybe at 20%.

This seemed to be the main piece in the gallery, possibly naming the group that was responsible for the recent life in this place: "MASK THE REVOLT!!! SEXGANG CRU!!!" They really should have had a native speaker look at this to check their English. Maybe I should have left my card in case they need my future services. I saw this slogan along with a drawn face (unfortunately covered by the post on the right) in many different places in the building. Wandering around I was still incredibly weary of whether someone else was in the building at that time. Who knows how recently anybody was in there? Were they punk high school kids? Junkies? Biker gang rapists? A couple weeks earlier I was talking with another English teacher and he mentioned a story about a biker gang about ten or twenty years ago who abducted two high school girls, and took them against their will to an abandoned school in the mountains. They were never seen again. This wasn't a school though. The main area I was in looked like a dining area. I have no idea.

I investigated further and found a few nondescript rooms, totally ravaged and tagged, and found the main staircase. It led to a hallway that could be seen from the outside. (See pictures above of view from outside.) On each floor there were four rooms, which looked like domiciles. Actually really nice ones at that. Each had an entryway, a large main room, a small bathroom, and porch space. It looked like a hotel room to me. The balconies looked out towards the ocean which yielded great views of Uozu City and the ocean. I went through and checked each room, each equally abused and individually marked by artistic creations.

Each hallway as well had been marked. A lot of English phrases you'd expect to find from foreign taggers, but nothing too explicit. When you see amatuer graffiti in the States, I'd say most of it are strings of the most obscene English words available accompanied by pornographic illustrations. There were certainly some explitives written, and strange faces drawn, but nothing like you'd see in bathroom stalls at home. There was a lot of Japanese as well, it looked like a lot were names and locations. Here we can see the musical choice of some of the members: "Metallica" (perhaps a sign of aggression and good choice in music), "Mr. Children" (Really? I don't think anyone who listens to Mr. Children would be responsible for anything more than harmless misdemeanors), and others above read, "Radwimps" (They're OK but still pretty mainstream) and something else I didn't recognize.

There were four stories of these kinds of rooms and I went through each one. As I advanced to the next floors, I had a very ominous feeling like I was ever getting closer to some horrible revelation or impending doom. Perhaps unknowingly I was slowly walking into a trap that would change me forever.

Man this place had some really good views.

One other interesting note about this place is that there were no empty alocohol containers or any trash for that matter that wasn't originally in this place. Isn't that a crucial part of tresspassing and trashing public property? Pissing and throwing your trash around in defiance? Not here. Maybe these were well seasoned hikers well accustomed to "pack-in, pack-out" philosophies.

Ah-ha! Some hard evidence! 2002. Almost ten years ago. I would imagine if someone had been there since for such destruction, it would be written on the walls. But I checked every square inch of wall in the building and this was the only date. That's a pretty long time for the residents of the town to tolerate such a monstrous monolith of youthful rebellion in their sleepy farming village. Such a demolition. project would be incredibly expensive and time consuming.

I have to mention again, this is extremely rare. Perhaps in the city you'll see some abandon buildings taken over by such activity, but this is the first time I've seen it in Toyama. What makes this especially weird to me is that it's deep in the mountains at the very end of the road and civilization. When you live in town and go about your daily life you really don't see the kind of people whom you would associate with this activity. But even in small country towns in Toyama certainly have their own underbelly. If you're out late at night around the highways you'll see and hear biker gangs from time to time. Not quite the Harley image, but a younger Japanese version. If you go to the right bars, you'll find the people who could really care less about fitting into Japanese society, but the difference about Japan is that if it's clear this is the case, then you're obviously an outsider. On rare occurences I have been sitting in an onsen and just before closing time seen bald men with goatees and scars wearing yakuza-esque tattoos on their chest and arms. The other Japanese ignore them with contempt. The counter culture is incredibly hidden in Japan, but most certainly existent.

I made it to the roof and expected some kind of epic conclusion to my shady adventure, but instead found nothing, expect myself standing on the roof in plain view of the town. I crouched down and left the premises soon after. I got back on my bike, which obviously belonged to someone who had went for a tresspassing peek, and descended from the town. As I passed through I rode by an older woman who was certainly surprised to me and let out a "Harro!" and laughed. I said "Hello" back and laughed myself.

In the end I would guess it was a failed hotel project of sorts. One of the many signs, all over Japan, that there was a time a decade or two or three earlier where lots of people had big ideas and wallets. Maybe it was built for workers out there in the mountains. Along the many rivers in the area, there are huge dams everywhere and lots of people come from major cities to do seasonal work in the country on various projects from time to time. But I don't know. Certainly it wasn't to boost tourism. Maybe it was intended as a weekend resort area for people living in Uozu? Maybe there was onsen there one day!

I didn't find my onsen, but I found something far more ... something. You never know what you're going to see when you start taking nameless roads inland. This was definitely the last town into the mountains here, but tiny roads followed rice fields further up, and alternative routes leading out of the town were on either side. This was enough for me on that day, but by no means had I exhausted exploration in the area. I would be back. Especially because I think I saw a sign for castle ruins and an extremely enticing road leading into darkened woods away from civilization.

I'll be back.

Lesson 8: Triad of Gaijin's Aikido Approach

Tonight I have realized that I have three important concepts that I have been pondering lately that are now greatly contributing to growth in aikido.

1.) Just go to training! Consistent practice is most important. If you go half the time thinking its OK because you train REALLY hard the few times you go, then you're missing the infinite potential that lies in what happens subconsciously when you are practicing regularly. If your practice consistently goes in waves, where for one week a month you just fall out of training, then you're missing the benefits of self-discipline that aikido can give its students. Go to training consistently, and do your best to relax and have fun. Since I've been doing this, I get into the rythm of practice a lot faster, even if I'm not so enthusiastic at the outset.

2.) One movement. I've finally gotten used to flowing through the technique even if I don't have every little detail down. I've found techniques just magically falling into place a little bit when I try to do a technique through constant motion. It's taken a long time to realize how much aikido depends upon the constant flow of the uke. Once you stop, the opponent loses his momentum, which is your power, and you give him a chance to initiate his own attack. Just keep moving. I found that towards the end of training sensei has built up the techniques to fairly advanced ones that are a brain scramble for most white belts, but lately I've been able to catch on to them much quicker because I try to flow through them instead of focusing on each individual movement to perfection. Flow through and it can become magic.

3.) Pay as close attention to ukemi as possible. When you're being thrown, be present for every movement. When the best black belts are being thrown, look at them instead of the uke, and they will show you the greatest gems. You're not only just missing half the time of your practice if you're not paying attention to uke, you're missing a lot more, because as your uke skills go up, so do your tori. I'm not sure it's necessarily true the other way around.

I'm actually feeling the benefit of these three principles, and that makes me a less frustrated aikidoka.

Mamachari-Do

Karate-do is awesome, I love aiki-do, and I would even like to try sa-do, but I have found my true calling ... mamachari-do! The "-do" we are speaking of here is placed at the end of certain words and means, "the way" or "the path" and is pronounced "doe". It is commonly seen in martial arts like karate-do, aiki-do, ju-do, kyuu-do, but can also be in other cultural arts like cha-do (the way of tea). This "-do" denotes a spiritual path one can undertake in a specific art to cultivate themselves. To many foriegners, it may be desirable to study many "do"s to be a talented person in various fields, and even in ancient Chinese martial arts, one ideal was to study many other subjects to supplement martial arts like calligraphy, literature, tea, etc. However, generally it seems to me that the Japanese traditionally admire someone who undertakes only one art fully. I think that has some importance when discussing the meaning of "do". One art is not better than any other, and in the grand-scheme of things, they really aren't anything at all. But, these various "do" can be used as tools to reach higher planes of existence. By having one art, you can concentrate all of your effort for one goal.

Mamachari: heavy-ass, one-speed bicycle, with at least one basket and a bell. AKA, granny bike. It also helps if it is rusty and the brakes sqeak revealing diminishing effectiveness.

Mamachari-Do; this is my spiritual path.

When I came to Japan, I had two primary goals. One was to train in a traditional Japanese art. I would have taken tea ceremony or flower arranging if it was the most available, but I have been lucky enough to find what I really wanted, aikido. The next goal, was to travel around Japan and see as much as possible. When I asked my ALT predecessor here in Kurobe at Sakurai High School if she had travelled much around the area of Kurobe, or even Japan, she said no. I was very dissapointed. I ask other Japanese, and am culturally disappointed at their lack of knowledge of the various regions of their own country. I was going to be different, and explore everything from the tip of Hokkaido to the southernmost reaches of Kyushu and Shikoku. Well, though there certainly are trains connecting the whole of Japan, it didn't take long to find out that they can be extremely expensive, confusing, and time consuming. It is not so easy. Generally, for me to take a trip to Hokkaido or Kyushu, it would cost about $200 one way on the train system. Narrowing it down to a smaller and closer region, to go to Tokyo and Kyoto, it's about $100 one way. Then, down to my region of Hokuriku, it can be down to $30 or $50 one way to the farthest reaches like Fukui-ken. As the possibility of me traveling was getting smaller and smaller as regions go, I now arrive to my current traveling status: Niikawa, the area including the surrounding towns on this side of the Toyama-ken. Taking the regular JR trains in the region only drops you off in the middle of each town and city, and to take the smaller local train, it can be extremely slow and a bit expensive, and will only take you to smaller town centers. Walking, well, things are a bit too far to just walk. So, the mamachari is my preffered means of transportation. I was given my mamachari by my predecessor immediately upon arrival, but I looked at is disdainfully for a month, and thought it would be silly to ride. However, I soon realized it was just foolish to force myself to walk everywhere. 20 minutes one way to the grocery store, 25 minutes to my favorite bar, 40 minutes to the train station. My biggest and most time consuming travel experiences were limited to these locations, which is pretty lame. Once I finally jumped on my bike, the euphoria hit me instantly, and ever since then I have been flying all around Niikawa, weaving through the streets and popping tires from going off curbs to fast.

Mamachari-do.

In a small town called Kamiichi, which lies a bit closer to the mountains and towards Toyama city, I had heard of a temple with a waterfall that buddhist monks sit under in the coldest throws of winter for spiritual cleansing. I hadn't heard of it until recently, which means its not among this biggest of attractions here, which means that it may still have elements of less popularized locations that I find enticing. At school I asked the social studies teacher, who is also a buddhist priest, and he gave me some very vague information about it in Japanese that was particularly difficult to understand. But I had names of places, and a sense of direction for these kinds of things, and the next free chance I had I was off. That happened to be this weekend.

For those that are determined to proceed with this post, make sure you have the time, and your favorite internet browsing beverage at hand, because you are about to start an adventure that took me up several mountains in search of castle ruins and hidden towns. You may want to stop reading if you do not enjoy epic adventures across foreign lands and deep into the soul. For those that continue, thank you and enjoy!

Friday night we had stayed up late playing poker, and I had the idea to wake up casually the next day and start my trip after noon sometime. But that Saturday morning I woke up around 8:30. I looked at the clock, got a drink of water, and tried to convince myself to get more sleep. But I couldn't. Despite feelings of grogginess, something was forcing me up. For years I have been trying to get up earlier to do something "productive", usually in the form of martial arts or traveling, and in this case, it may be a sign of its fruition. I talked with my parents on skype for a bit, and around 10:45, it was time to go. On my last bike trip to Unazuki, I had talked to my mom on skype before, and it is becoming a bit of a pre-adventure ritual that seems to help me on my way.

Into the increasingly hot and humid early Japanese summer, and through the rice-fields I cruise!

Here is a picture of the dojo where I practice aikido from the backside. On my way towards the mountains.

There are small rice-fields connected to the majority of houses all throughout Kurobe, but once you start heading to the outer-reaches, the houses become less and the rice-fields become much bigger. If you're heading to the mountains, you can see wide rice-fields in amazing terraces. This is a picture of an Obaachan (old woman) working the fields. I was able to get a lot of good shots like this today. But I have to admit that I passed-up many oppurtunities due to an uneasiness I have about taking people's pictures. Perhaps this is one thing that will forever keep me from photo journalism. The thought of traveling to third world countries and taking candid pictures of the local people just turns my stomach. So here in Kurobe, I would be cruising down these small roads between the rice-fields with blonde hair, shorts, sunglasses, on my mamachari; all of which are about as rare as I am in Kurobe. So my presence was usually always noticed, and so my pictures of such instances are pretty rare.

When I head from my apartment towards the mountains, I'm starting to find a routine of routes I take, and this time I came across a park I had visited many months back. It was closed at the time, but now it was open, and I discovered quite a gem hidden in Kurobe.
I think these are cherry-blossom trees, and if I'm right, this place must explode in pink wonder during hanami; cherry blossom viewing season.

With a huge sloping hill and wide grassy lawns, this would be absolutley ideal for beer, lounging in the sun, and frisbee. Or even cheap snowboarding during winter? I couldn't believe my eyes when I found this place, because like all of the most amazing parks in this country, they are somehow hidden and tucked away, and thus very hard to find without prior knowledge or an adventurous spirit. I am 99% sure no other gaijin in the area know about this. Maybe I can open it up to them. I have no idea what this is, but it looks very Japanese to me, and very cool. More interesting Japanese park structures. I'm really going to miss this when I leave someday. So much quality and individuality put into each and every park that hardly anyone visits. Certainly more than just a bench and a barbecue.

Back on the road. I have a loooong way to go. My last trip to Unazuki was the longest yet. One way with no stops it would take between one and one and a half hours, but this one to Kamiichi would easily be twice as long. However, it was in a direction I had never been on my bike before, so I knew there were going to be a lot of side-trips. Actually, this is an important thing to know about me when I go somewhere new. When I explore, I tend to go uphill, towards any enticing distraction, and get easily turned around. I am coming to believe I have quite a nose for these interesting paths, but that has little to do with staying on task. Beware travelers accompanying Gaijin.

For instance, this tunnel is certainly not going to get me to Kamiichi ... but how could you not go through!? Always towards the light at the end of the tunnel right?

Ah, just as I thought, an overgrown road to nothing! This does give me a great happiness as I become nostalgic of my home on Orcas Island, where such roads are more common than those regularly used. From here I turn around, and find another way. Oh, what's this? "Please ... blah blah blah ... blah blah blah." I'm sure it's something really important, but I can't read it. That sums up a lot about my kanji (Chinese characters in Japanese language) proficiency. I can read some things, but if it's important, I can only tell the overall message it's trying to convey. This says to please do or do not do something. Whatever. I'm just a silly gaijin anyway. I have yet to find myself in trouble with authority and claim no Japanese language or cultural knowledge, while playing the silly stupid gaijin card. This was an awesome downhill cruise; that led to some generic industrial compound. I would have to ride my mamachari all the way back up. If you somehow skimmed over my description of a mamachari earlier, I mentioned it was a "heavy-ass, one-speed bike." If you haven't had the experience of riding such a bike uphill, well, it's a bit taxing. And yet ... this is all part of mamachari-do! Ying and Yang, for every up there is a down, and each with their own qualities. It is a philosophy of self-sufficiency, and there are no escalators or lifts to carry such a practitioner up hills.

Wow, uphill on the mamachari in 80 degree weather is awesome! This is part of the euphoria of physical suffering that comes from such a spiritual practice. At this point, I couldn't be more wet if I had jumped in the Pacific Ocean. I was swimming in sweat all the way to the top. Upward and onward.

Ah, rest at the top of this level was sweet. Here is a view of the lowland area where Kurobe and it's neighboring towns rest. Just beyond is the ocean, and a bit further, you can sometimes see the Ishikawa peninsula stretching out across the ocean. However, on this kind of day, it's a bit too hazy to sea. I'm not used to such effects, as the summers where I grew up were not humid at all. Is this lack of visibility due to humidity? I'm not sure.At this point, I have certainly gone uphill towards the mountains, but slightly in the opposite direction of Kamiichi, which requires me to go parallel with the ocean for a couple of hours. But I know that I'm on the right path to somewhere because of this bear warning sign. Follow these and you'll find cool spots.

Ah! This is a beautiful sign! In mamachari-do, this is a reward of sorts for you hard work. 7% downgrade runs make that inchi-by-inch uphill peddaling worth the while.

With the rice-fields, towering mountains, and bear signs, it's easy to forget that you're in a fairly industrial part of Japan. In fact, the home of YKK, as well as other large industrial and technological companies such as this Panasonic one. The parking lot was fairly full, which meant there were thousands of Japanese pounding away towards an over-worked lifestyle for national commercial success. It makes me cringe, and so I pedal on.
Here ends Phase One of the journey, and the beginning of another: Matsukura Castle. A castle? I know enough about traveling in Japan that if there is a legitimate castle around, everyone knows about it and it will be the focus of many tourist pamphlets. I've never heard anything about such a castle in tiny po-dunk Niikawa, which only means I must inquire.

The road become little more than one lane, and wound upwards towards the mountains in highly forested areas. I had no idea such a place or route existed, and slowly I realize there is much more to this area than I had never known. Where would this road go? Why is it here? And what am I doing on this mamachari in such hot weather up seemingly endless winding roads? I'm supposed to be going to Kamiichi anyway, and this was not the way.

About 30 minutes of snail-pace upward struggle finally revealed signs of civilization, and a potential end to my search for this unknown castle.

There were no more signs in English about a castle, but at this point it seemed to be about the 8 kilometers the first sign had told me. The road wound up to this small village. Again with the questions: What is this place? How come I have never heard of this? What are the people doing here? Before this trip I was under the impression that human settlement in Niikawa was limited to the main towns like Kurobe that went across the coast. But now I am seeing when you go away from the ocean and towards the mountains, there are many more small anonymous towns. I followed the signs which Ithink signified the main attraction of the town, maybe the castle, and it lead me here. The castle? It was certainly a center of sorts, with some cultural importance, but it was locked, and I was there to ponder to myself, if this was a building on the remains of a castle, if I had followed the right road, and what the sign said above the bike in the picture. Exhausted, I sat on those steps, and let the frenzy inside of me settle in the silence of this early-afternoon.Unknown towns surrounded by unknown forests in unknown mountains. I felt as though I was in another world and I had only slightly strayed from the borders I call home. I wonder if any gaijin had ever sat on these steps as I had. I wonder how many Japanese who lived ten minutes away by car even knew this place existed. Everyone could marvel knowing the second highest mountain in Japan was in the mountain range that was so close, but other than that, little attention is put in this direction. Metaphorically speaking, It seems everyone gets to the lodge at the base of the mountain and cries, "We made it! Look at us! Hey honey, take a picture of me. Wow, this is definately going to be my profile pic on Facebook. Man, I need a soda. Ooh, look, thise vending machine's hot dogs are only $10. Geez, I'm really tired, let's get home before Idol is on." I grew frustrated with this thought. All I could think of were the limitations of the stupididy of mankind. Why? In this Age of Information, if something is important, then it will have its own entry in Wikipedia and will have a website. Therefore, one should go to it and take a picture with it. Perhaps older "savage" civilizations were right when they thought a picture would steal something's spirit. Perhaps the most amazing people and things on the planet were hiding in such mountains. Perhaps it requires effort and determination to find something special. The cultivation of spirit requires work and individual discovery. I looked at my mamachari and smiled.


I began my departure from this town, but as I was headed out, I thought I could spend the 60 seconds it would take to cover the breadth of the town on my bike. The end of the road led to a small shrine, which actually, was one of the most intricate and beautiful one's I have ever seen.


This is but only one of a few intricate carvings on the shrine. I could only imagine the time and skill needed to make such a beautiful carving. It was not in some gift shop to be marketed, but on a shrine in this far-removed town.


I rarely perform the Shinto ritual which is often done at such shrines, but I believed it would be appropriate here. Really, its a few claps and bows, not much to ask for. Though the large and more popular temples in Japan are of Buddhist origin, I love these Shinto shrines the most. There are many in every town in Japan, and rarely visited.

It was time to leave this place and resume my journey to Kamiichi. The half hour I spent pedaling up to this location, would now reveal an epic downhill flight!

Half-way down I noticed a small bridge and path into the woods. I stopped to inquire, and found a wondrous overgrown path to somewhere. This is precisely the kind of adventure I like most. However, I only looked and appreciated it, as today called for something different. Maybe next time.

Here ends phase two: Maybe Matsukura Castle.

I glided down the hill that was so menacing before, and was blessed by the wind that blew my hair back.

And yet, at the bottom of that hill, was the beginning of another.



I uttered an explicative common to such instances, snorted sweat and snot out with a gruff, and began another ascent.

In Japan, many police and construction signs are marked by cute little woodland animals such as raccoons, frogs, monkeys, and moles like this. I think it has quite a different connotation than ... pigs.


At this time, I had made some progress towards my goal, and found a sign for another potential side trip. Ruins of Masaguta Castle ... only 1.9 km? Sure! My optimism was beaming from a recent downhill section. Here begins, Phase Three: Ruins of Masugata Castle.


What looked flat from the sign, soon shot upwards through rice fields. This would be a 1.9 km straight uphill. More sweat, more pedaling. At this point in the journey I have developed quite a technique for getting up these hills which sends my torso bobbing to each side of the bike each time my foot completes a pedal. Hunched over the handlebars on my bike, I can see my fleshy lungs from the inside, filling, emptying, and my heart surging blood to keep this organic engine pumping. All of these separate gears of organs and powering limbs urged on by the spirit of mamachari-do.


Signs of the castle! This must be one of the chariots Niikawa samurai rode in 15th century feudal Japan.
Soon I reached the top of what I could see, and found evidence of attractions. This marker, a covered area with picnic tables, and maybe one of the only drinking fountains in all of Japan. In Japan you can easily find vending machines with a various assortments of drinks, yet a drinking fountain is really a rare sight.

I dismounted my mamachari with an authority that accompanies the premonitions of a victory of sorts, and started up a path to the ruins on foot.

Here it is! The ruins of Masugata Castle! Wow, these trip is really redefining my idea of what a castle can be.

Oh wait! There is a samurai! Let's ask him.

He muttured something unintelligible from an ancient language, so I turned around to gaze upon this mountain spot. Something called me toward the forest and I started walking where there was no path. All I could think of was how exciting it would be trail blaze through such mysterious territory, when all of a sudden, a crash from the woods made me shriek and leap, and I looked over to see some medium-large black figure leap away from my direction into the forest. What the f*&^ was that!? Seriously, it was definately not a deer, and I'm pretty sure not a bear. In fact, it looked like a huge pig. Wild Japanese boar? I don't know, but I became very nervous about being alone in the woods and quickly biked away.

A glorious downhill glide brought me back to more ricefields and flat land.

The difference between Tokyo and Kurobe is, that when you walk down the street in Tokyo, you see tall sharp businessman headed towards the most profitable and serious of endeavors, and when you walk down the street in Kurobe, you see ojiisan and obaasan (old men and women, think image of elderly grandmothers and grandfathers), all of which are afflicted by the most distortioning of hunched-over backs. I wonder as to the transition period between the 40 and 50 year old black haired straight backed Japanese, to these more horizontal than vertical ojiisan and obaasan. Well, it's clearly from working the rice-fields there entire lives. This is extremely hard work, requiring you to wade knee deep in water while you're hunched over placing thousands upon thousands of seeds into the mud. In modern Japan, the young adults flock to the cities for business oppurtunities and dreams of eccentric city life, which leaves work in temples and fields for those of generations past. What is happening to this part of Japanese culture? Who will tend the temples and fields when these toiling wonders of the old ways are gone?


Maybe the streets will be lined with abandoned granny wagons? What? This is weird. Earlier I had climbed this hill and passed an obaasan on a similar vehicle, and now coming back, I find it abandoned on the side of this one lane road. With no sign of it's rider, I wonder if like Yoda, she disappeared into the Force.

By this point, I had probably only made it a third of the way to my goal of Kaimiichi, and had already spent 4 hours climbing three mountains to castles that didn't seem to exist. Time to get some Ramen, and get on the road.

With my goal being the Buddhist meditation waterfall that I think is called Nisseki-ji near Kamiichi, my notion of its location was a bit too foggy, so I bothered some locals in a barbershop for directions. An old man grumbled something, and who seemed to be the wife took me outside and revealed the way. "Arigatou gozaimashita!"

Pedal gaijin, pedal, pedal, pedal. Hot sun burning skin. Legs tired from mountains climbed. Body leaking sweat and quickly depleting vital fluids. Pedal, pedal, pedal.

Kamiichi! I eventually arrived, and found that there were a quite a few different famous sites, so I followed to the signs to what I thought would lead me to Nisseki-ji. But along the way I saw a sign for something else that had a cool name, and the path lead upwards into the woods, so I would have to make just one more detour before the climax.


This was definately one of the most appealing of roads I had been on so far. It's not so often in this area that you have large forest immediately off the edge of the road, but here it was, and the afternoon light beamed through the trees for a mystical effect.

This was a steep hill, and my legs were so tired I had to resort to walking my bike most of the way. Up this hill, to what? The name was interesting, but I wasn't sure exactly what it was. All I knew is that it had the kanji that read "Dai" which means great or big, and that was enough to pull me up the hill.



Well, this is what I came to, and it sure looked a lot more castley than anything I had seen before. The doors at the base were locked, which was a pity, but I investigated the building from the outside as much as needed, and admired the viewpoint. Patience was dwindling for the end of the journey, but the idea of a downhill cruise through the woodland road gave me a surge of excitement. Next stop, Nisseki-ji ... or whatever it is I'm going to find.

I followed the signs down the main road all the way to it's end, where it became a small one lane road into the woods and up a mountain. Here, there was only a small building that smelled of onsen, and a few cars parked outside. I walked around the building and came back to the front to read the kanji: Nisseki-ji. This is where buddhists come to pray?

I walked inside, and it looked more and more like an onsen. As I entered, a small old man shuffled around and went behind the main desk. We both looked at each other confused. Our conversation began in Japanese:

"Is this Nisseki-ji?"

"Hai."

"Is this an onsen?"

"Hai."

"What's further up the road?"

"Mountains."

"Umm, are there any temples?"

"There's nothing up there."

"What's up there?"

"Mountains."

"This is an onsen?"

"Hai."

"Oh."

"Oh. ... Do you want to enter the onsen?"

"Uhh ... Yes, but later. Not yet. Ummm ... I'll return."

Confused looks, a few bows, and a few thank yous. I went outside to gather myself and try to figure out what was going on. This was certainly not a place where buddhist monks come in the winter to pray under a waterfall, and it must be around here somewhere. I have found that often old men in this country are by far the least reliable source for such information. So I decided to proceed up the hill on the one lane road a bit to see what I could find.

I pushed my bike up the hill, and found two signs. One pointed to something in one direction that led up for 2 km, and the other way was something that denoted a temple that was 10 km up. I decided it was too far, and started back down the hill. Then 10 seconds later, I told myself I had to go up and see. Then, 20 seconds later, I changed my mind again and stopped and sat on the ground to think.


My clothes were drenched with sweat while I was still having a continuous flow of sweat from my pours. My arms looked red and my face felt burnt. I had no more water. I certainly could not bike up any more hills, and at the least would resort to pushing the bike. It was almost 5:00 and I had been riding for about 6 hours. The next possible point of attraction that could maybe be the temple I was searching for was probably the one another 10 km up. And if this would end up like the rest of my escapades, I would find nothing resembling a temple. What more could I ask for than an onsen to mark the climax of the trip. And so with that, I crawled upon my bike and floated down to the onsen, to meet the old man once again, and enter the onsen.

When I got inside to change, I took off my clothes and looked in the mirror to find quite a sight! It was me, but greatly distorted by the trip. My face was very burnt, except where my sun glasses were, and my neck and arms had become so red compared to the rest of my body which hasn't seen the sun since last September, and I had what was the most amazing farmer's tan that has ever been found on my body. From the sweat and wind, my hair shot up into a flat top, making me look like Guile from Street Fighter, and I stunk very badly. The old man I asked questions of was probably too shocked by this gaijin to communicate effectively, and I got more strange looks than usual when I got in the onsen.

As a matter of fact, this has become my second favorite onsen to Kintaro, though it was very small. Something of the ambiance, and perhaps my experience, made this an especially nice onsen trip. I actually liked the sensation created from the burn on my arms reacting in the sulfurous water. One Japanese man attempted to talk to me, but I had absolutley no clue at all what came out of his mouth, and so I said some key phrases I've learned to use in such situations to keep a conversation going though I understood nothing.

After the onsen, I drank a bottle of water, a bottle of lemon vitamin water, and a bottle of cold oolong tea from the vending machine, and began to muster what it would take to make the straight road back to Kurobe.


Like most trips, I always forget that I have to get home, and so I was left with what ended up being another hour and a half ride up and down a few hills to my home in Kurobe. I had much to reflect upon. What had I seen today? Maybe two ruins of castles, some outlook tower, and paths to things I don't know through towns nobody knows exists outside of their small populations? What would I tell people when I get back? What really happened?

As a matter of fact, I met with a few other friends to play poker that night. They laughed at my burn, and couldn't believe I rode my bike to Kamiichi. I tried to explain that it was much more than that, and I had followed paths into the mountains to castle ruins and found towns they've never heard of. But they just laughed at the raccoon eyes made from my sunglasses, and wondered why I was crazy enough just to ride my bike to Kamiichi. To them, nothing existed beyond two streets from the main road.

I can't wait until Monday when I still have a sunburn on my face and I probably have realistically over one hundred Japanese people ask me about what happened to my face.

I drank a lot of beer, and lost a bit of money at poker. We watched some of the World Cup. I was a content gaijin.

What are we to make of such experiences? How could anyone understand their significance? Most of my friends here know I do aikido, but they certainly don't know how important it is to its practitioners. I haven't told anyone in this country about my blog. I have different activities I do with each friend to satisfy different facets of social interaction, but it seems rare to find one quality friend these days.



This journey is mine, and only my own two legs will get the pedals going on my mamachari. Mamachari-do is as serious as any other Japanese art, and I look forward to continuing it's training. But for now, I must rest, be an assistant language teacher at a high school, find a way to get some food and pay bills before payday, and practice aikido. Such is the ebb and flow of a gaijin on the path.