Hitchhiker's (sort of) Guide to...Kyoto, Japan, Part 1 #8

From May, 2015

Staring between a bottomless pit and the literal face of the law, I acted rapidly, knowing my life would depend on that very moment. I'd already put the unwilling Rodney in too much trouble and now my typical ruthlessness nature has put his life in serious danger too. I knew sooner or later my actions would have consequences, but I never wanted to put him in the docks. The question is, how did I survive to tell the tale? Or did I even survive? Yes, I did.

Twelve hours late following a horrific hangover and general laziness, Rodney and I embarked on an adventure that would change our week. We decided to give hitchhiking a go and I can safely say that we went places – although mainly by methods of walking and trains at first. Taking advantage of the Japanese niceties and our foreignness, we bought a one-stop train ticket for ¥140 (80p) which shouldn't have taken us out of the town but we managed to blag our way out of Tokyo. And then for another small fee we were at our first stop in the countryside of Yamakita. With little life in sight, we departed the station at midnight and searched the streets for a suitable patch of grass to pitch our tent – between some trees and houses on a main road. There are very few countries in which you would feel so safe doing this, but Japan had gained our trust long ago. If only they knew our cheating ways...

After a welcomingly bumpy and free sleep, we set off for breakfast from the only possible shop in a deserted town on a weekday morning. The national holidays which make up Golden Week were upon us, and the majority of the country were enjoying their little time off from their overworked lives. Realising it was almost impossible to get through a mountain tunnel high above without getting the train, we skipped onto the platform – ticket-free – and started to realise how our poisonous, Western minds were corrupting this peaceful and trustworthy nation. Not that this was going to stop us.

After holding our signs for just the short length of Sigur Ros’ ‘Festival’ – (or ten minutes if you prefer) – we were having a festival of our own. A sixty-something diver and hand glider, who spoke some English, drove us 30 minutes to the service station at Gontemba City. We were buzzing to have been picked up so quickly so we celebrated with a well earned bakery lunch (triangular cheeses in a baguette for me that is). Forty-five minutes passed as we stood outside the main entrance smiling suggestively and we were finally in luck! Three women stopped to speak to us. They said that we were on the wrong side of the road and that everyone there was going to Tokyo. Boy, were we embarrassed. Thankful that we hadn't wasted anymore time, we jumped into their car as they offered to drop us there. Having travelled just a few meters, they stopped to speak to a man. They laughed with him and a chilling reality was to follow. ‘Sorry, u-turn’. So it turns out that we were in the right place and they were clueless. Mon dieu.

Rodney repeatedly bemoaned the amount of families who were walking past as he didn't believe we had any chance going with them. I turned to him and said: ‘Rodders, have I ever let you down?’ And then, lo and behold, I couldn't Adam and Eve it. We were in a back seat, either side of an excited four-month-old baby, with the parents in front. The lovely couple drove us about 45 minutes to their home town of Shizuoka, following their weekend away celebrating the husband’s 40th birthday. Pukka.

After a similar length of a wait at the next service station, a perfect English-speaking Japanese man came to our rescue and drove us for at least two hours to Toyokawa. The former U.S. army medic translator spoke of his college days in Arizona, his hitchhiking experiences and his views on the differences between the East and the West – and he insisted on buying us dinner! Sadly, this is where our luck ran out as the cheeky smiles we were receiving at previous service stations was diminishing, so we forced ourselves on a five-mile trek into the darkness of the rural countryside. Eventually finding the station, we travelled to the city of Nagoya where we visited a British pub before hastily pitching our tent very publicly yet again.

Eager to arrive in Kyoto, the second day failings of hitchhiking saw us abuse the train system once more. All was fine – until we arrived in Kameyama. Again, there were barriers, but this time something didn't feel right going with the ‘we didn't know we had to take the ticket out of the barrier’ excuse. Rodney laughed that we could easily walk off the edge of the platform onto the street. I put the laughing aside, strolled down to the edge – leaving Rodney gobsmacked – and I found myself at a dead end. After searching for ten minutes, all I saw was a gate which looked locked, so I was stumped. Scratching my head, I looked to see why Rodney hadn't followed me – then I saw two police officers walking in my direction. Improvising, I ran down some steps and pretended I was throwing up into a sewer. Both speaking in Japanese, neither understood nor cared for my fake illness and gestured me to stand and took me by the arms. Panicking, I flung their arms away, kicked one officer in the leg, snatched the gun from his holster, and backed out pointing it at them both with serious intent. Well, I was about to do this, but I gave them a chance before I inflicted any pain and they just walked me out of the ‘locked’ gate and said ‘sayonara’. Seconds later, I saw a shocked Rodney who had somehow casually slipped past the barriers. I felt terrible that I had got him involved in such hardcore s**t. ‘Bloody hell’, he said, staring at me aimlessly (and in awe). Adrenalin was clearly rushing through his body after experiencing the most frightening moment of his life. I mean, the worst thing he had previously done was steal a ‘reduced to clear’ pizza…the dipstick.