Hitch-hiking in Japan part 2

Hitching through Japan with friends at every turn

By PERRIN LINDELAUF

Special to The Japan Times

Second in a two-part series

Tottori, Yonago, Matsue, Izumo: I had passed through four cities in a flash and hitchhiking seemed even easier than I had imagined — until Izumo in Shimane Prefecture.

Beauty beheld: A visitor admires the cherry blossom at Kozan-ji Temple (top), a National Treasure in Shimonoseki, Yamaguchi Prefecture, on the southwestern tip of Honshu. Others may prefer to feast their eyes on the prefecture's famed Hagi pottery (above). In times past these cannon at Shimonoseki (below) aimed to stop foreigners from entering from Kyushu to do that or more. PERRIN LINDELAUF

"Do you know a good place to get a ride around here?" I asked the kind old man who'd treated me to lunch once we were done eating.

"Sure,I do."

Hitchhiking problem No. 4 (see last week's installment for Nos. 1, 2 and 3): People who don't hitchhike don't know what a "good place" looks like. The well-intentioned old guy let me off on a new bypass of Route 9 that goes around much of downtown Izumo.

In fairness, I didn't realize what a bad spot it was until I had waited for 10 minutes. Although there was a large lane for cars to pull over, traffic was dense and fast. To make matters worse, I was standing near an intersection, so cars bunched up and couldn't see past each other — let alone me. I was breaking the rules of Will Ferguson's "The Hitchhiker's Guide to Japan": This road wasn't slow, quiet, or rural. After 25 minutes on my timer I gave up and started looking at my map.

I decided to go to the station and ride the train until I cleared Izumo's suburban sprawl. I got directions from a shop, but as I started walking another customer came out and stopped me: "Want a ride to the train station?" My shortest lift, less than 10 minutes, was one of my most welcome, as it saved me a 30-minute walk across town.

Two stations from Izumo and a whopping ¥190 later, I caught a lift from a convenience store forecourt. Two men in work coveralls waved me over to their company car in the parking lot and asked me my plans for the day. I had hoped to make it to Oda City in Shimane, location of the Iwami Silver Mine World Heritage site (see Weekend Scene, May 23, 2008), but it was close and still early in the day.

"Do you know Yunotsu Hot Spring?" asked one of the men, in between a long series of jokes. "We'll take you there."

After checking into a cheap inn, I climbed into a very ancient and crusty-looking hot-spring bath that scorched the dust and sweat of the day off of my body. While the local geezers and I were groaning like half-revived zombies in the hot water, I reviewed my day: 200 km in 6 hours, ¥190 for the train, ¥5,200 for the inn. The express trains would do it in 2 1/2 hours, for ¥6,390, so I had saved ¥1,000 for three extra travel hours. I would do better tomorrow, I vowed.

Would I ever. Despite trying to hitchhike on a busy, narrow road the next day, I was picked up after about 20 minutes by a young Filipino man living and working in the area. He was headed to work in nearby Goetsu and dropped me off at another convenience store after 20 minutes of blissfully easy, standard Japanese conversation.

I stood in the rain for five minutes until a man approached me from the store and asked me where I was going. He said he could take me as far as Hamada, the next big city, so within an hour of starting I had hopped two lengths of countryside.

During the previous day, whenever a large truck drove past I lowered my arm to give my shoulder a break. I figured their companies forbade passengers, so I didn't bother trying to flag them down. Because of this assumption, I was taken by surprise when a large freight truck screeched to a halt behind me. A scruffy- looking driver with wild, graying hair and a beard waved me in. "South? To Hagi? I'm headed to home, to Fukuoka," said the driver through a cloud of smoke and a thick Kyushu accent. "So I can drop you off there, no problem." He pushed a pile of ropes off the seat for me and put the rig into gear.

As we drove through the rain we covered nearly every topic of conversation that I had vocabulary to express, from Japanese politics to religion to explaining (after grumbling into his mobile phone) a recent argument he had with his wife. I rode with him for more than two hours, and the temptation to go all the way to Shimonoseki with him was great. Instead, though, I decided to check out the old castle town of Hagi.

Knight of the road: Thumb magic yielded "the best ride of the trip" when Susumu (left) pulled up, saying "Sorry if you fall off" before roaring 120 km through wind and rain and sunshine all the way to journey's end at Shimonoseki in Yamaguchi Prefecture. PERRIN LINDELAUF

Hagi is a quiet little place on a small peninsula, hemmed in by mountains. In its pre-Meiji Era heyday (before the Meiji Restoration of 1868) it was a fortified burg, but now only ruins, old temples and the traces of revolutionaries remain from that time. The best place to learn about its role in the restoration of Imperial rule and the modernization of Japan is at the Hagi Museum, where English guides are present to conduct exhaustive tours of the region's history.

Of most interest are the biographies of Shoin Yoshida and Shinsaku Takasugi. The former was one of Japan's first advocates of an international, democratic nation, a teacher whose failed attempts at revolution got him executed; the latter was one of his students who formed a militia with the support of Western weapons and fought against the Shogun's armies for the restoration of the Emperor.

After seeing some temples, poking around shops to see Hagi's famous pottery and visiting the museum, I decided to try to catch one more lift south. I hung out at a convenience store near the entrance to the highway until a police car parked there drove off, and then worked some thumb magic.

Ancient ways: A path between the walled grounds of houses in Shimonoseki's old samurai district of Chofu, which was once home to revolutionary foment. PERRIN LINDELAUF

A man called Susumu pulled up and revealed the best ride of the trip: a big black scooter. I couldn't resist. "Sorry if you fall off, eh," said the young guy as I climbed on, backpack and all.

"I'm just going to pretend that I misheard that," I said to myself as we shot off. For the next two hours we whipped through mountain passes and tunnels, into sun, wind and a spattering of rain, past blooming cherry trees that looked like fuzzy pink clouds through my teary eyes. We shouted at each other about movies and life plans, or lapsed into silence as we admired the ocean views that opened up between the peaks.

Around 120 km later I arrived in Shimonoseki in southwestern Yamaguchi Prefecture, weak at the knees but elated. I had covered 260 km in six hours of hitchhiking and had only taken my wallet out for snacks. The 460-km trip had taken 13 hours of hitching, nine rides, and ¥5,290 for the train and a place to stay one night.

In comparison, the train on the same seaside route costs ¥9,960 and takes 7 1/2 hours, so for a slower pace I cut my costs in half and had a lot more fun.

As I wandered around Chofu, Shimonoseki's old samurai district, poking into Kozan-ji Temple (a National Treasure) and the Mori estate, where Emperor Meiji once stayed, I couldn't believe how easy hitchhiking had been, and how friendly my drivers were.

That evening, I boarded the ferry to Busan in South Korea. I was undoubtedly sad to go — but confident that I had ended my stay in Japan with an affirmation of everything I loved about the country. I would be back.

Hitch-hiking in Japan

Do's and don'ts when you hitch in the backside of Japan

By PERRIN LINDELAUF

Special to The Japan Times

Backpack: check. Thumbs: check. Sense of adventure: check.

Have thumb, will travel: Having carefully chosen a spot that's both legal and also gives drivers plenty of chance to weigh him up and then stop safely, the author waits for the usually short time it takes to get the next lift in hitchhiking-friendly provincial Japan. PERRIN LINDELAUF

That's about all you need to hitchhike in the wide-open countryside of Ura-Nihon (the Backside of Japan).

The slightly derogatory term Ura-Nihon is used by Japan's urbanites to describe the quiet prefectures of Tottori, Shimane and Yamaguchi. Here on this page, though, I can share a secret with you: It's a hitchhiker's paradise.

But why hitchhike when Japan's extensive rail network is very fast and its bus companies have cheap fares for those on tight budgets?

For an initial answer, I can cite the fact that several years ago I bought Will Ferguson's "Hitchhiker's Guide to Japan." It tells of legions of English teachers crossing the nation in thumbing rallies, and independent travelers being picked up by kindly drivers, shown all the local sights, and treated with the immense hospitality that can only be found in slower-paced, rural areas of Japan.

That was all in the mid 1990s.

Now, as I am planning a long stint of travel through continental Asia, I set out to test a simple hypothesis: Is it still possible to hitchhike long distances in Japan, meet wonderful people, be safe, have fun — and do it all for less money and time than you'd spend on a bus or a train?

Specifically, I would attempt to travel from Tottori City to Yamaguchi's Shimonoseki City at the southwestern end of Honshu, but if it didn't work out, the train would be my safety net.

The first problem that arises when you decide to hitchhike here is permission.

"Hitchhike?!" say your Japanese acquaintances. "Impossible. Japanese don't hitchhike."

Don't listen to this. It is certainly true that Japanese people generally don't travel by thumb, but this is to the benefit of a foreign visitor. A slightly lost-looking foreign traveler standing on the side of the road in a region totally devoid of non-Japanese is both extremely interesting and cause for concern. So, when you are picked up, it will be out of compassion or fascination.

Hitchhiking is actually so uncommon in Japan that there are no laws specifically governing it. According to the Road Traffic Law, it is illegal to interfere with traffic, or to walk on an expressway, but as long as you aren't inconveniencing vehicles or causing them to stop in no-parking zones, you should be in the clear. Ferguson does note though that trying to hitchhike in front of a police box is just stupid. They'll tell you to scram.

The second problem is misinformation.

"Hitchhike to Shimonoseki? Well you'd want to take the expressway. Don't take country roads. No one goes there."

Your concerned, but inexperienced friends, are thinking of the fastest routes with the most traffic: This is not for you.

It is very difficult for cars to stop in the proximity of expressway ramps because of the traffic's high speed and a lack of places to pull over. The ideal place to catch a lift, according to Ferguson's book, is on a main or secondary highway through the countryside, on the outskirts of a town, where the visibility is good, traffic is a little thin and speeds are moderate. You need to give your driver enough time to decide to pick you up and pull over without incommoding other road users. In short, when you start to see rice fields, you are entering good hitchhiking territory.

Ferguson makes special note of appearance. Men should appear clean and respectable, preferably clean shaven. Women should dress conservatively, to avoid giving the wrong impression to the wrong kind of driver. Let me be clear though: Solo women should not hitchhike. Japan is safe, but not that safe, unfortunately.

His book reports that couples and pairs of women have hitchhiked successfully, but it is always best to exercise caution before getting into a car.

With this information in mind and a map in hand, I caught the bus from the urban sprawl of Kyoto to Tottori, where I would meet a friend and begin my hitchhiking experiment.

Tottori is a strangely beautiful prefecture: Its coast is lined by the dramatic cliffs of the San-in National Park, which once harbored pirates who roamed the present-day Sea of Japan, and the massive sand dunes on the edge of the city to which people flock to pose with a camel, enjoy the beach in summer, or even practice hang-gliding from their lofty heights. The whole area has a desert coast atmosphere reminiscent of the dry coastlines of California or Morocco, and my chosen hitching highway, Route 9, ran right along these beautiful oceanside locales.

Enter a third (non) problem: A friend or an unknown friend of a friend says as you begin to stick out your thumb: "Hitchhiking? Don't do that, I'll take you."

"OK . . . thanks for the lift," you reply.

So, before I even had chance to extend my thumb hopefully toward oncoming vehicles, I had a ride from Tottori an hour west to Yonago with my old university friend — because we were having difficulty saying goodbye.

Arriving there, I found Yonago is a quiet port town: It and nearby Sakai Minato are mainly known in connection with Shigeru Mizuki, creator of the monster-filled "Gegege no Kitaro" manga series that is enjoying a revival in print and film these days. The spot I chose to start hitching in earnest seemed ideal: space to pull over, and with a slight curve providing good visibility and traffic slowed by a intersection just ahead. I waved goodbye to my friend and, having set my stopwatch, put on a big, friendly smile and stuck out my thumb.

Precisely 1 min. 57 secs later I had my first ride. It was from a middle-aged man in a business shirt driving a white sedan. Before jumping in, I gave a little bow as the guy rolled down the window and thanked him for stopping. "Doko made? (where to?)" he asked. "I'm planning to go to Oda City today," I replied, "but toward Matsue is fine." He was headed that way for work, so I jumped in and launched into an awkward conversation.

I should warn that without small-talk- level Japanese proficiency, there isn't much point in hitchhiking. I broke out my best English-teacher conversation starters and muddled through a social situation of which neither of us had much experience. He was from the Oki archipelago, an almost totally unvisited cluster of islands off the coast of Shimane Prefecture, where I had had one of my first hitchhiking experiences.

On that occasion — during Golden Week 2008 — I'd been in the tourism office of Nishi-no-shima (West Island) asking about buses headed toward Japan's tallest sea cliffs, when an older woman broke in: "Why don't I take you? I'm bad at driving, but if you don't mind granny driving . . . "

She took me to the western end of the island, where I hopped on a tour boat that braved stormy seas to visit the cliffs, which towered so high as to disappear in the dark clouds above.

Actually, I wished I could go back there, but we flew past Matsue and its ferry terminal. Then, after a half-hour ride, I was waiting for my second lift just outside of Matsue. I was only there 5 minutes before a kindly old man in a Toyota Prius pulled over. It was almost lunch, so conversation started with the virtues of the Matsue region's cuisine and its unusual lake, Shinji-ko.

"Shinji-ko's waters are a mix of salty seawater and fresh river water, so many people think it's fish are quite delicious," said my host. There followed a list of fish and shellfish names that I had no chance to absorb, but to prove his point, he took me to lunch!

After being treated to some local fish at a busy cafeteria, I was dropped off with a can of coffee as a parting gift on a long, clear stretch of a Route 9 bypass in Izumo City. There was room to pull over, so I proffered my thumb. Ten minutes, 20 minutes; the cars roared by and few people even looked my way. I was stuck.