The Decision
At the end of September of 1984 my plane touched down at Narita International airport of Tokyo. The decision to visit Japan had matured while I was in Goa pondering what to do after my almost seven-month-long trip through South Asia. The logical choice would have been to return to Europe and my old job in Lugano, Switzerland. The alluring alternative, though, was to follow the suggestion of a Japanese woman I had met on several occasions in Nepal and India. She had been very successful at planting an idea that would have never crossed my mind, telling me that with my looks, my blond hair and blue eyes I could easily become a celebrity in Japan, work as a model, act in movies or appear on TV and alike.
So, when a plane from Bangkok flew into Tokyo I was on it. The first impression of Japan was like a mindboggling dive into a different universe. I had come with the belief that Tokyo was just another cosmopolitan capital of the world. However, I quickly realized that even though the Japanese people did have a penchant for all things American and admired Europe as the old continent, speaking foreign languages was not one of their strengths. In fact, practically nobody spoke English; road signs, train tables, subway stations, restaurant menus and even prices of goods were all displayed in Japanese.
Some months into my stay in Japan this feeling of overwhelming strangeness had gradually made way for an ever-growing interest in this culture of stark contrasts. The unbelievable side by side of hyper-technological modernism and age-old traditions along with the courteousness and modesty of its people had stirred the wish to learn more about this extraordinary culture. In short, I was not at all ready to leave the country when my tourist visa was about to expire after three months. Indeed, I had decided to study the Japanese language and find a job in Tokyo, but a work permit was very difficult to come by in those days as foreigners were not really encouraged to stay for an extended period let alone work in the country unless they had a special skill the Japanese didn’t possess.
Luckily, teaching languages was one of those “special” skills and becoming a teacher seemed a passable way to live and work in Japan. The problem was, though, that most language schools did not sponsor visas and hired only staff that was already in possession of a valid residence or work permit. After doing some research I learned that there was a workaround to this apparent catch 22-situation by obtaining a student working visa that allowed students to also work a limited number of hours a week.
Such a visa could be applied for at the immigration office in Tokyo, however, it could only be endorsed outside the country. As Japan is an island chain, any journey to another country involved costly air travel – or that’s what I initially thought.
However, as I was considering this problem, I realized that the closest country I could possibly reach with limited funds was South Korea – by ferry from Shimonoseki, a port city on the southern island of Kyushu. Travelling through Japan by rail was prohibitively expensive, practically like a journey by plane but then yet another possibility presented itself: Hitch-Hiking!
Tokyo – Shimonoseki
My Lonely Planet guidebook ‘Asia on a Shoestring’ contained a short section on Japan highlighting the most famous sights and featured a rudimentary ‘How to get around’ guide. In this part, I read that hitch-hiking was practically unknown and therefore rather difficult if not outright illegal – the guidebook did not provide any detailed information on that matter.
Nonetheless, the simple fact that it was mentioned at all made me decide to attempt this probably absurd undertaking. It was December, a few days before Christmas and my tourist visa was about to expire on Christmas day. For my plans it didn’t really matter as Japan, being a Buddhist/Shintoist country, did neither celebrate Christmas nationwide nor did it have season holidays. What was true for Japan, I thought naively, must also be valid for Korea and so on a misty cold December morning I stood at the entrance ramp to the Tomei Kosokudori or the motorway that connects Tokyo and Osaka. In my hands I held a carton board with the handwritten Japanese characters of the port town of Shimonoseki, my destination on the southern island of Kyushu.
Admittedly I was rather nervous. Nervous because I had little time to leave Japan. Nervous because my Japanese was very limited and I knew I would not have been able to sustain any conversation, however basic. Nervous because I was alone, and the weather was all but inviting. It was wintery cold and there was a slight but constant drizzle and the uninterrupted flow of cars going up the ramp sprayed my legs with dirty water.
For a long while no car stopped. I saw puzzled faces looking at me through the windscreens of their cars and I heard giggles and laughter when they passed. My outstretched thumb was about to become numb and my cardboard soaked with humidity when suddenly a car stopped. The driver rolled down the window and apologetically told me in broken English that he did go in that direction and would be willing to give me a lift but was unable to take me all the way to my one thousand-kilometre distant destination as his wife was expecting him home for dinner.
The prospect of the warm interior of the car energized me and I somehow convinced him to give me a ride to as far as he could take me. He reluctantly agreed and I climbed into the car and was finally on my way. After a few exchanges of polite formalities silence set in as neither his English nor my Japanese was sufficient to exchange more than just rudimentary information. He did, though, occasionally interrupt the silence by repeating that he really could not take me to Shimonoseki when I repeatedly assured him that his generosity was more than appreciated and that he should just please drop me off at any service station near his destination.
That he did. After about 150 kilometres on the motorway he pulled into a service area and dropped me off. With many apologies he then left, and I had to find a new ride.
The service station was located in some mountainous region in the neighbourhood of Shizuoka. Clouds were racing overhead and the unabating drizzle started to penetrate my clothes and my spirit. As the parking lot was nearly devoid of cars, I gave myself a break and entered the restaurant for some hot ramen and tea. But time was ticking on and I soon headed back for the ramp to thumb down any passing cars. Unfortunately, the time of the day, it must have been early afternoon, didn’t see much traffic and I felt stranded. After a frustratingly long time waiting in vain I walked back to the service area and courageously started knocking on truck doors hoping to find a driver who was willing to give me a ride.
At last I was successful and after a long time of awkward explanations in English and broken Japanese the driver of a small delivery van agreed to give me an onward lift. The driver was not very talkative, and I didn’t know how to sustain any conversation in my poor Japanese. After a while I realized that the van was pulling off the Tomei Highway, which was supposed to take me to Shimonoseki. As I tried to communicate this to the driver, he only nodded and said: “Ok ok, no problem.” The farther we proceeded down another highway, the more panicky I got. When the driver then left the highway, I urged him to leave me at the exit ramp.
I got off the van and stood in the middle of the wintery landscape not knowing what to do next. I hoped that someone would take me back onto the Tomei highway, but the ramps were almost devoid of traffic and I became rather desperate.
Sometime later a police patrol car passed by and disappeared only to return a few moments later with flashing lights. The car stopped in front of me and an officer got out. He walked up to me and asked for identification. I gave him my passport which he scrutinized for a long time and then said gravely: “Your visa expires tomorrow, and you must leave Japan immediately, otherwise you will be arrested for overstaying!”
“I know,” I said, “and that’s why I’m trying to get to Shimonoseki.” I showed him my student visa application and explained that I was on my way to Korea.
“Anyways,” he said after some reflection and talking to a walkie-talkie on his shoulder, “hitchhiking is illegal in Japan and you can’t go on like this.” His face showed that he wasn’t going to discuss the matter any further, so I asked him what he suggested I do now.
“There is no town or train station around here,” he replied, “so we are going to take you to Nara, from where you can take a train to Osaka and onward to Shimonoseki.”
This was indeed a very welcomed answer and I gladly got into the police car and had the officers take me to Nara.
Unfortunately, I had no time to explore this historical former Japanese capital with its tame deer roaming the parks and marvellous temples and shrines as time dictated that I arrive in Shimonoseki on that same day or the next morning at the latest and so I headed straight for the railway station and took a local train to Osaka which was just about a thirty-minute ride away.
Leaving Osaka station, I approached some young men to find out about the nearest road to get back to the highway, because despite the stern warning by the police I had no intention of giving up on my attempt to reach Shimonoseki hitch-hiking. However, rather than receiving some useful advice, people could not understand my desire to reach Shimonoseki in what they thought was a nonsensical manner. Instead, they tried to convince me of the advantages of train travel.
As the afternoon moved on it got darker and even though I hated to admit defeat I reluctantly decided to return to the station and take another train onwards – of course, the cheapest local commuter I could find. The train passed Kobe and Okayama on the Pacific coast, stopping at every station along the way. I could not understand any of the numerous announcements and had therefore no idea where exactly the train was headed. After a while I nodded off, tired from the demanding day on the road so I did not immediately realize that at one stop all passengers had got off the train and it was going back in the direction it had come from.
This was not at all what I had in mind so somewhat in a panic I got off the train at the next station, which to my dismay turned out to be not much more than a commuter stop in the middle of some barren rice paddies. The platform was nearly unprotected and completely exposed to a freezing cold wind. I began to shiver and tried to huddle in some sheltered corner when suddenly a uniformed man approached. He was clearly the stationmaster. He started to speak to me in Japanese but as he noticed the confused look on my face, he said something like: “No train tonight. Last train left. Next train tomorrow morning!”
Now this was really bad news. He then showed me a timetable, obviously all in Japanese.
“When is the next train in the direction of Shimonoseki?” I asked.
“Night train,” he said, “Stops here at three thirty.”
“How much is a ticket?” I inquired.
“3500 Yen plus a surcharge for the sleeper”.
“Can I also get on the train with just the ticket?” I probed as I didn’t want to spend that extra amount of money.
“Well, possible yes but no berth,” he said, “you must sit in the aisle. Very uncomfortable!”
In the end I bought just the ticket and convinced him that I was tough enough to spend the four-hour journey sitting in the corridor. He was then kind enough to offer me a place at the stove in his little spartan office at the end of the platform and prepared a hot tea for us. Satisfied that he had done all to accommodate his odd customer, he then retreated to his desk studying some documents and occasionally speaking on the phone on stationmaster business.
Sipping the hot brew, it was hard to stay awake and I continuously drifted into sleep. At last the night train pulled into the station and, after the stationmaster had a short chat with the train conductor, probably explaining why this strange foreigner didn’t want to book a berth, I finally got on. Once settled in on my corridor seat I leaned against the window and immediately fell asleep. The train stopped at many stations during the trip and every time I was awoken by people getting on and off. Finally, in the early morning hours of the 24th of December, the train pulled into the station of Shimonoseki. I had reached my first destination.
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