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Update 11 • Korea and Japan
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As we left port from China to Korea, I sat on the top deck at dusk, reflecting on the previous ferry we had taken, across the Caspian Sea into Kazakhstan. In our journey across the greatest central Asian landmass this was the first time we had touched the sea. Back then we were embarking on the real core of the journey, the greatest unknowns, the highest peaks, and the most massive plains. I felt a veteran compared to my previous self on that kazakh ferry, there was a greater degree of wonder and giggling excitement, now replaced by a settled c’est la vie. It wasn’t that interest had dimished in life, but more by moving slowly across such great distances allows one to recognise the commonalities of global life. With a greater sample size, links and likenesses are easier to determine. The unique nature of all things is never lost, just the similarities become more apparent.
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In my head at Lotus, the journey to Beijing would be our last great push, and from then on Beijing, Korea and Japan would be a long form victory lap. After the 6-day post-Beijing time-trial down highways and across industrial ports, I had reviewed that victory lap judgement to start in Korea and finish in Japan. And so this proved, as descrbed below, our time cycling through Korea and Japan was several degrees more relaxed and luxurious, this allowed us time to contemplate the trip and it's approaching ending. But the closer I come to finishing the journey, the less the completion matters. The breadth and depth of experience we've had, and what can be retained of this, now matters the way completion used to mattter to me. This trip has been a lesson in living in your time, not in your achievements.
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After the wilderness we've experiened, Seoul, with it's famous flashing street signs and the Cheongbok holiday sales, was to us a high-powered all-access money-extraction machine. Consumers are spun expensive streetwear, flashy jewellry, and snail slime face cream - as ever the preservation of youth is the most powerful money magnet. In all, it quickly made one yearn for more rurality, and for an environment where the rule of consumerism is not quite so complete or suffocating. After a few days city break we were ready for the rivers and rice paddys of the Korean countryside.
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Latest on Lotus
The below is from the last update and is still the most relevant news on the Lotus project. We have turned our attention to a great last push in publicity to raise the final quarter of the cash, keep your eyes out in the West Country Media.
From last update:
We had two really successful meetings with Solar Tech CEO Erdene and project manager BK. The team were so professional, knowledgeable and helpful, and we achieved a lot in short time together,
We now have a more concrete project schedule: orders for hardware will be made in Febuary, work can begin in April or May as the ground thaws, and by June we should be ready for an opening and operations.
Learn more about Lotus Children’s Centre
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Special Thanks
Our first host in Japan, and its biggest resident AP fan, James.
And still our families and loved ones - not long now.
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The rising sun cycle was never meant to pass through South Korea, and yet it was arguably the best country on tour. The original plan had been to cycle from Beijing down the Chinese seaboard to Shanghai, and from there to Japan. But after a conversation with Woo-Jae, a Korean university friend, we quickly ditched the idea of cycling through the world's largest industrial port region, and replaced this with a Utopian vision of cycling the length of Korea. Here Wooj's local knowledge was the key factor: he had told me how a recent Korean president had been universally unpopular home and abroad, but had driven through one flagship policy that even his most vicious detractors had conceded was a great idea well executed: the world's premier national cycle path.
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The 4 Rivers cycle path begins in the North-West of the country near our port of arrival, Incheon. It quickly passes through the capital Seoul, before running alongside the country's 4 major rivers, before running out in to the sea in the far South-East of the country in the second city Busan. The route is consistently beautiful: the staggering skyline of Seoul was left behind for rice-paddies and river forests, the steep valley slopes acted as a great verdant cloak hiding aged shrines, temples and village idylls in the land's folds and ruffles. The section following rivers up into mountain streams wound us past waterfalls and hot springs, before descending to the flatter meanders where the river widened from a hop to hundreds of metres. Finally, the waters flow out into the Pacific in the direction of our eventual ferry to Japan.
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No matter how wonderful this scenery was, it couldn't compare to the truly stunning achievement of public utility that is the Korean cycle network. Ignoring how this will turn into a case study of accidental Alan Partridgisms, I'll now try to describe this. To a cyclist tempered by Mongolian dust paths, marathon waterless Uzbek desert stints, or Kyrgz tunnels, cycling in Korea was not just luxurious but entirely alien. It started in Incheon, where the path first greeted us with colossal cycling cartoon statues, the purpose built rubber-asphalt path was wide enough for two cyclists abreast in either direction, and a constant array of cycle signs kept the nav apps in the pocket. Out in the country we enjoyed long wooden paths built on stilts into the river - these would wind around sheer cliff-faces, this minimising climbing.
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The flawless cycle infrastructure was accompanied by every conceivable convenience: spotless public toilets punctuated the route every 20km or so, there were cycle-friendly cafes, mini-marts selling bike spares, designated camping zones with pagoda platforms for tents. Bike shops were numerous, but there were even regular 'Self-Fix Stations' with pumps and basic tools. What are the Koreans if not utterly meticulous, the attention to detail was astonishing: when crossing roads the cats eyes on our path had been specially dug flat into the road to cater for sensitive bike tires, there were fridges stocked with free mineral water, at times there were even lampost speakers playing Debussy and Chopin to serenade us on our way.
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Yet the most memorable and indeed possibly stereotypical feature of the route were the blue phone boxes at each checkpoint. These contained an ink pad and a unique rubber stamp of a local landmark. These stamp-boxes exist throughout the national cycle network, and a verified full collection is rewarded by an official medal and certificate. This coupled with a Pokemon 'Gotta catch'em all' mentality explained the grown-men on road bikes in full racing gear sprinting between stamps. Around the cities, these superb cycle ways are well-wheeled by the weekend warriors, wobbly families, and couples on rental bikes. But in the countryside we would have these world-class cycle-paths to ourselves for hours at a time.
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To anyone still reading these missives who may well be considering an exotic but introductory cycle-touring locale: Korea is the answer, before any question arises. It was for all these reasons and more that Korea was the ideal stint for a remarkable event: The Return of Asli - High Voltage.
She had been considering renting a bike an joining us for a few days. But In a Seoul rental shop, she made a spur of the moment choice and bought an E-bike. This tipping point of a decision was somewhat alike to me publicly stating the journey and its cause, for this purchase locked her into traversing the whole country by bike, rather courageous given the distance was more than double what she'd done on the Danube earlier in the trip.
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But down the Korean rivers, Asli was a different cyclist. The most dramatic change stemmed from the ability to take her and her bike to a cafe and recharge both simultaneously with a coffee and plug socket respectively. In this manner, she disproved my Hungarian hypotheses as to the impossibility of 'sexy cycling'. For much of the ride and certainly on any incline she was the pace setter, and I would follow behind panting. Whenever people saw us on hills, they would gaze wide-eyed at Asli, effortlessly and glamorously spinning up a steep hill one hand on the handlebars, the other flicking her hair or waving. Only a tiny minority would think to look down for a battery. As I passed the next moment and they saw the kitchen sink on my bicycle; I occasionally received applause and wow's, or at other times pedestrians would burst out laughing in silent understanding of the nature of Asli's and my relationship.
Whilst the electric bike had opened up a raft of possibilities, Asli's own capabilities had also evolved. When I met her in Japan she had more luggage with her than when I had moved house for the first time, but now she was contained in a single if weighty backpack. She was becoming comfortable with setting out into an evening and not knowing where her bed would be. And when the guesthouse prices weighed too heavily one evening, she led us in squatting in an unattended off-season glamping site. She was no longer shrieking at insects, despite the size and plurality of the Korean offering. On the last day she cycled with me enduring typhoon rain, smiling and shivering in her white leopard print mac. Slowly but surely she was developing into a true cycle tourist.
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The Jorō spider. Our ever-present companion and resident mosquito catcher. Ubiquitous in Korea and Japan it is a member of the golden orb-web genus. Non-lethal despite its appearance.
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Rob(ishko) was for the most part an admirable and gentlemanly third wheel, staying patient with me as always, and extending that patience and perhaps some extra courtesy to Asli. I think he relaxed and reveled in the dreamy pace of cycling, podcasting his brain onto a higher plane of Joe Rogan and other conspiracy theories. Occasionally, I would feel squeezed and pressed between two gears operating at different speeds, having to act like a bicycle chain made of elastic, stretching and pulling my insides tight in order to keep the mechanism moving without too many judders and squeals. But these occasions were rarer than the occasions where I was the necessary butt of the joke being the point of connection for both parties, but I was more than content to play this role if it maintained harmony.
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In Busan, we were at the mercy of typhoon Lingling, she had threatened and trumpeted her arrival for several days. The hangover we had cultivated the night before was an extreme and rare an event as the typhoon itself, it was also paired perfectly, as there was little more to do than huddle up in the airbnb. When we did venture out for food and and supplies, there were no other pedestrians along the beachfront, just a mad pair running into the churning sea. Walking the street, one had to watch and brace for crossing the road, the streets formed wind tunnels for the gale to build up speed and pressure along. In wet and slimy flip flops, a determined and concentrated march was required for every crossing of the street. Holding on to one another we hoped the combined mass would be enough to weigh us down. After all these miles across the world, the only other comparable conditions were in Ireland on the Dingle Peninsula, where it all began.
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The aquaplane high speed ferry to Japan that we had booked only allowed folding bicycles. With 15 minutes till departure we persuaded them our partially dismantled bikes could fit in this category, a supercharged two person gun run then ensued, hoicking three bicycles and all the panniers and equipment through security, customs and boarding in a dash for our ticket to Japan. For some bizarre reason no trolleys were permitted. This frantic and early morning transition didn't allow for much consideration or contemplation for reaching the final country in this long year of self-powered travel. But that is the way with this trip and life beyond, the landmark moments that you build up with great significance ahead in your mind are rarely the most truly impactful times. It is usually non-preconceived moments, that would prove unexceptional any other time, where the slow drip of meaning rises to drench you in existential reality.
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Nippon Road Life
The strongest allure Japan had held over us through the whole trip was not it's position as a finish, but as a dinner table. Through the great wild space of Central Asia, in every bowlful of instant noodles, and inside every rotten horse dumpling, there was a great dream and longing for Japanese cuisine. In our first week in the country we tried a dozen or more individual styles of cooking or food types, each one would have been the crowning glory of any Steppe country's offering. Japan has an embarrassment of riches in dish diversity, and the bar is set so high by even the most common and average fast food places. To put it in perspective, Japan has twice the number of restaurants per capita as the US, and Tokyo has more 3-star Michelin planes as Paris and London combined. But near the port of Fukuoka, we started poorly and cheaply in a place best described as a TGI Friday's equivalent. Though the freshness of flavours and balance in the meal set would have notable in a high-end restaurant back home, and impossible to conceive of for £10 in an out-of-town chain eatery.
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It all stepped up and weirded out that evening however, at the original Ichiran Ramen Restaurant. An official form greets you upon sitting down, on a 1-5 scale you select the following: seasoning, richness, garlic level, spice on 1-10, and noodle texture from extra firm to extra soft. There is even a how to manual poster steps 1-4 with graphics: 1.'how to order', 2.'focus on taste', 3.'extra ordering', 4.'make soup with leftovers'. The second point is the secret to the restaurant’s success. There is the utter minimum of human interaction, you hand the form through a slit in the bamboo curtain to a loud 'hai!' ('yes!'). A few minutes later the bamboo curtain is rolled up momentarily, and a meal tray appears before you, with another sharp but undecipherable exclamation. As a serving experience it's ideally suited to anyone terrified by eye contact or social interaction of any form. The coup de grace was in the bog, 6 individual roll dispensers were proudly fastened to the wall, with an attached note stating 'Ichiran strives to make sure that you will never, ever run out of toilet paper'.
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For the first 10 days every meal was an opportunity to be grasped and savoured, every mealtime a new cuisine style. Be it Ramen in Fukuoka, Okoniyimaki in Hiroshima or later in Osaka, or takoyaki in Osaka, Unagi in Nagoya, or the beef in Kobe to come. The Japanese seem to be more committed foodies than any other nationality, we saw absurdly long queues outside certain restaurants, all waiting with perfect patience, all from different demographics - not just hipsters with too much time and money on their hands.
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We have clearly not neglected sushi whilst here. In the better places, the chef will serve a single neatly defined mouthful at a time. This presentation defines the rules of the game and the manner of consumption, only leaving the 'tasting ceremony' to you. This unitary delivery encourages extreme sensory focus and attunement more than any other food design, the meal becomes a precise exercise in enjoyment. But more than the high-end it is the basic places where Japan most excels. Even 7-eleven's offering, which we have made such heavy use of, ranks as exquisite compared to most of our journey's fare. With ATM's, printing, full private bathrooms, microwave, kettle, coffee machine, plugs, cafe area, and attentive and immediate Japanese service, you could not design a better service station for cycle tourists. Alan Partridge would be proud, it makes being a serial roadie that much more palatable, especially when partnered with the wonder of Onsens.
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‘Here’s one I made earlier’
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Onsens are public baths built on volcanic hot springs, all onsens will have several hot baths at different temperatures, seated showers, and hopefully a sauna and ice bath. There are fancier and pseudo scientific offerings like Busan's SPALAND or some of Osaka's establishments which boast Himalayan salt far-infrared saunas, Ochre rooms, vibration resonance therapies, even a pyramid room with sloped sides matching the exact angles at Giza. But the vast majority keep things very simple and very naked. Sexes are split, but ages are not, and as a traditional daily practice in a country with one of the longest life expectancy's - one gets a very good appreciation of the effects of age on the human body.
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They are used by a younger crowd in the cities, and in Osaka we became inadvertently part of a extreme sauna ritual. We were sweating it all out when, around 25 naked men and two assistants crammed into the sauna in under a minute. All sat down and started covering their faces with wet towels like nude highwaymen. One assistant then dropped bucket-load after bucket-load on the coals bringing the temperature up like a runaway train, whilst the other fanned the resulting heat daggers straight at the crowd. Each initiate gets several full frontal air blasts, several men surrendered and dashed out early, but they missed out on the collective applause at the end of the ceremony - what a way to build community spirit. Call me Scandy, but nude public bathing seems a fantastic way to cultivate an open and trusting society. In this vein, ice baths follow the saunas and a near nirvana state can be approached for a time. And call me Wim Hoff, but regular ice baths will be a life take-away from this trip, little else can slow the breath and mind so powerfully. Yet here and now, Onsen have played a crucial role on our Japanese leg in enabling us to tent permanently without feeling an accumulated grubbiness. We would visit whenever I needed a shave, roughly every three days - neatly coinciding with peek pong.
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The food, the world's most 'convenient stores', the Onsens and the ease of urban camping have made Japan a feather bed to lie down in at the end of this mammoth journey. Long gone are the days of ambiguous meat gruel, a second skin of road grime, and sleeping in faece-filled concrete pipes. I feel like I've retired from this world of struggle, and for the most part gone to cycle touring heaven. But before leaving you up in the clouds, first one other final cloud that casts a long mushroom shaped shadow.
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After arriving at Fukuoka, Hiroshima was the next major city we came to. After watching England vs USA, we set off into the city's parks to find somewhere to tent. Waking in the morning, our first sight was the iconic Bomb Dome. One of the only buildings left standing after the world's first nuclear blast, it remained because the bomb had exploded directly above it, so the shock-waves were vertical and not horizontal. I later worked out we had camped about 150m from the explosion's epicenter. We continued on to visit the bomb museum: clothes and personal artifacts tell of lives snuffed out, what might have been, and the horrifying enduring after effects of radiation. The exhibits gives the human stories of the tragedy before going into the historical context, science or politics of the event. This order ensures the rational brain is not activated and doesn't shield the rest of the mind and body from absorbing the sheer emotional trauma. Alongside the War Museum in Ho Chi Minh, it was by far and away the most potent and moving museum experience I've ever been to.
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Hiroshima after the bomb
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At the end there was a technical video explaining the basic physics of the bomb. Two inimitably American children were watching this video on repeat, and exclaiming 'kaboom!' each time the video reached its explosive conclusion. This repeated excitement expressed in this accent in this setting by those so young was excruciatingly eerie and depressing. Especially when after years of restraint, 2019 saw the first nuclear weapons test by the US in a decade.
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