The Pongo Hogo Hogo Challenge

Online Donations Closing Soon!

2010-05-15T18:37:00.000-07:00

May 31 signals a year since the Savepongo Online donation facility was created through FirstGiving. It is amazing how time flies! This time last year we were still learning how to walk on stilts, still trying to convince people that we weren't that crazy, and still trying to convince ourselves that we hadn't bitten off more than we could chew.

How a year changes things!

With the challenge now finished and attentions now turned on launching officially the Savepongo Adopt a Forest for Pongo campaign, the Firstgiving site will no longer be continued from May 31.
If you still wish to donate, all funds received by then will go to into the Adopt a Forest Fund, our challenge to save 120 000 hectares for the orangutans by 2015.

After that date, we will still be continuing this blog in conjunction with the BOS-Japan site.

Thank you to all who donated last year through the firstgiving site. The adopt a forest campaign that is about to start, is the direct result of your support last year. Without it, there would not have been the belief by the powers that be, that such a project was worthwhile!

Keep looking for information about this new stage of Pongo's challenge soon.

Thanks again

Mick and Miki

A whirlwind month and the project we have been waiting for!

2010-03-28T17:50:00.000-07:00

We are still alive and kicking around, not on stilts this time, but the shinkansen. After a much needed break in Australia, we returned to frigid Japan, an empty fridge and a full calendar of speaking events to attend.Guest Speaking at Soroptimist Japan - A 3000 dollar Donation to the Pongo Hogo Hogo Challenge!! Thank you so much!

(We first met Takatani san last year when he stopped to give a donation in Okayama late last year. Living more than a 1000kms away, we were shocked to see him at the event, having travelled all day on bullet train to come see us! Amazing and thank you! We'll see you in May)Bos Public speaking event in Nishi Tokyo (Raised $400 in donations for Pongo. Thank you so much everyone for your kind donations)

Travelling by train with stilts seems completely wrong, and more often than not, the passengers themselves have let us know that something is not right with more than the odd uncomfortable look. Then again, you can't really blame them after having to survive a ride with a bamboo pole threatening the holes in their noses. Once arriving at the venues, it is an interesting, if somewhat uneasy feeling to be greeted by a roomful of people all waiting to hear from you about what life was like on top of the stilts. The PR was never a side of the challenge that we were good at (as you already know from the speed of these blogs...which are still coming by the way!), but is one that we are beginning to learn about with each foray onto the stage. It is defintely a different kind of challenge, but we are facing it just like we did the stilts last year and are quickly learning to love the unexpected that comes from talking to different people in different places.

LOVE FRONTIER MUSIC FESTIVAL Shimonseki
(with our good friend Inoue San!)

But there is a reason behind all of this and it comes via news straight from the forests of Borneo!
Our challenge began after students in my class said that the rainforests couldn't be saved because the problem of deforestation had become too big; too impossible. The challenge was to show that nothing is too big no matter how impossible it seems and that if we worked together, maybe we could make a difference in saving these rainforests. The challenge to walk on stilts was one to make believers out of the non believers (including us as it turned out!) in that class, but the idea to raise funds depended heavily on having a worthwhile project in which to use them. We fought against them being simply put in an account somewhere to be divided up and used for paperwork in some NPO with a great marketing department. The money that people gave us, and the work that we were about to do ourselves had to be for a project that promised to do what we had set out to do - to try and protect some of Borneo's rainforests. After months of talks with BOS people all around the world, we got wind of an idea to protect an area of virgin forest big enough to release a good number of the orangutans now being rehabilited in centres across Borneo. It was exciting talk, but always tentative as it was the first time that such a project had been attempted with the Indonesian government's support. However, the ball seems to have bgun rolling and the various groups involved, for the first time, are beginning to work together to make what had seemed impossible, a real, viable prospect.

BOS Indonesia along with BOS Japan, BOS Australia, BOS UK and Red Apes USA are now working together to secure an 86 450 hectare parcel of virgin forest in the East Kalimantan regions of Kutai Timur and Kutai Kertanegara. Almost 3 million dollars will be needed by 2015 in order to secure the land, a significant amount less than the 50 million dollar amount first envisiged by BOS Japan for barren land that would need reforesting. The money from the Pongo Hogo Hogo Challenge will be going to help fund this. However there is still much to be done. 3 million is a bit more than we managed managed to raise last year and so with a good challenge facing all of us now, what we all thought was the end of the challenge at Cape Sata earlier this year has turned out to be the start of a bigger and much more exciting one! A challenge to really save part of this forest.

This time it is about all of us! 3 million sounds like a massive amount, but then, so did 3000kms before we started walking last year. We did it with the help of everyone along the way, and I think we can do it again in the same way; not by waiting for the NPOs to start, not by waiting for the governments to start, but by starting ourselves. Like us if you wish to be 100% certain of what your efforts will do before you decide to get involved please feel free to email us here or any one of the BOS foundations above for more info about it.

Similarly I am including some links to official reports about the project that can bve found online here. Have a look.

Asia Views Online Supplement Article
BOS Japan Link (Japanese Only)
It is an exciting picture to paint. A safe place for these red apes to be.

{:-(l)

より大きな地図で PT Restorasi Habitat Orangutan Indonesia を表示

Januray 25th - National Broadcast NHK Tokimeki Interview

2010-01-25T04:22:00.000-08:00

Pictures of our day at national broadcaster NHK Radio's studios in Shibuya.
Our hour at NHK's studio proved to be one of the best experiences we have had so far. Apart from what has to be one of the most spectacular views of all of Tokyo from the studio window we got to spend time with 2 of radio's most popular presenters who made us feel welcome and relaxed from the start, and who asked questions that we hadn't had the chance to even think about until now. After the hustle of the past week, it was a nice and suprisingly reflective time that brought back many of the best memories from the challenge. It also reminded me that I really must pull my finger out and get writing those blogs. I am still in Niigata! As soon as we touch down in OZ, they will start popping out, so keep visiting!

Thanks Murakami san, Kanzaki san and Nishimura san for an unforgettable day.

Japan Tennis Association Manner Kids Program

2010-01-25T04:08:00.000-08:00

Japan Tennis Association (JTA), through the support of Mr Joji Shimizu of West Green Tennis Club, have kindly been supporting the Pongo Hogo Hogo Challenge, by raising awareness and funds through their Manner Kids Program which aims to foster good behaviour and manner through tennis. Having played tennis since before we could walk, we have been enjoying meeting the kids and look forward to working with them in the coming months.

If you are based in Japan and work for a primary school or private club and would like information regarding the Manner Kids program, please contact us through this site and we will endevour to put you in touch with the right people.

Thank you JTA for your kind support through out our challenge!

Crazy Days!

2010-01-25T03:15:00.001-08:00

It has been a whirlwind 10 days since we stepped foot back in our house, the pace of which has almost made us wish we were back walking on the stilts.
Day 1 - Brilliant welcome home party with our great mates, Steve, Ai, Darrell, Nobuko, Robbie,
Miya and Kade, Matt, Chris, Tony, Sumina, Josh, Alex, and a little boxing freak.
Day 2 - Recovery and more recovery.
Day 3 - Paper Boy drives through our front garage, while asleep in the front seat.
Wakes to a sunburned couple waving worn stilts in his direction. What have you done!!
Day 4 - Why is our electricity all funny? Tokyo Electricity discovers our power has been pulled
out in the accident, along with the power pole in front of our house.
Day 5 - Interview with GARRRV Outdoor Magazine to be released later this month.
Day 6 - Radio Interview with Okayama Radio - Lovely to do the interview from our own home,
even if it was a little more crumpled than usual.
Day 7 - 9 Article for Tokyo's OUTDOOR JAPAN magazine. How do you fit 6 months of stories
into 1500 words? Find out in next months issue.
Day 10-11 Japan Tennis Association (JTA) Manner Kids program promotion at Chiba's West
Green tennis club.
Day 12 - Meeting with BOS Japan Director. Details of our project have been released! Keep
looking here for details of a 11600 hectare parcel of land on the Borneo/ Malaysian
border! This is where you money is going! Brilliant stuff!
THE BIG ONE! My Japanese test with national broadcaster NHK. If I pass, we get on.
After lots of wine, all seemed happy and the green light was given!
Day 13 - 14 NHK prep along with school meeting.
Day 15 - Our NHK national radio broadcast. Miki brilliant as usual. Me, well I walked well on
the stilts while everyone talked! At least I hadn't forgotten that. To be honest, after all
the fuss, the hour went by without a hitch and turned out to be one of the best
experiences we have had to date. Our hosts, Murakami san and Kanzaki san, created
the perfect atmosphere for us to tell stories we hadn't been able to talk about since we
stopped a week ago. The show may even be put online in English we have been told
so we will keep you posted. To look at the profile click here.

From tomorrow, we are back off to Australia for a wee while where hopefully, we can hide away and catch up on some blogs from the rest of the trip.
We will be keeping this site up and donations can still be made to either challenge account until at least April this year. Remember, the land is there now, we just need to pay it off now!! That shouldn't be that hard surely!! :-)

We're back!!

2010-01-12T22:52:00.000-08:00

After a sea voyage that was almost as challenging as our 6 months on the stilts, we are back at home readjusting to life with a bath and a kitchen at our fingertips. It didn't take long.
There have been lots of uploads in recent days on various news sites about the challenge, but most of them seem to fall off as soon as the day passes into the next. How sad it is to be known as old news!

However, one site that we know will be up for a while is that of a documentary team that was with us on the last day. Their effort aired last night and has been uploaded on to the web for all to see. It is in Japanese, but you are able to see some of the sights from our last day, on our run up to the end of Japan. If you get the chance have a look.

Vimeo video cache - Studio Filce - CLICK HERE

8 Days to go!!

2009-12-28T06:17:00.000-08:00

Start the countdown! Get the bubbly ready! We're coming End of Japan!

Merry Christmas Everyone!!

2009-12-25T17:11:00.000-08:00

After a relaxing few days in the beautiful city of Miyazaki, we are off on our final push to our end at Cape Sata, Japan's most southerly mainland point.

Everyone, the date is now set. We will be arriving in Cape Sata, should all go smoothly, which it never really does, on January 5, 2010 at around 3pm. January 5, 2010 at around 3pm. Put it in your diaries. Have a drink with us when we hop off these stilts for the very last time!

Between here and the end we may not have much luck with reception as we are entering smaller towns now so be sure to follow along on the 今どこ？ tab on the Japanese page. English comments are written there also!

Thanks everyone for your Christmas wishes! Wish us luck to the end!

Mick and Miki

Where we are!

2009-12-18T03:51:00.000-08:00

December 18, 2009. There are only 7 sleeps to Christmas. The snow is starting to fall all around us but luckily we have chosen to walk in perhaps the only place in Japan where the weather forecast is for blue skies, albeit minus temperatures. Our next stop on the 22nd will be Miyazaki City where we will spend Xmas, without stilts, before our last push through whatever weather may hit us, to our final goal, Cape Sata, Kagoshima.

Now, for those of you who have been keeping up with the English blogs, you will have noticed that the stories that have been appearing and the reality are now months apart and widening with each day! I apologize for not having been able to get the stories up fast enough to match our pace on the stilts. The brain, I'm afraid, doesn't work well on an empty stomach after a long day when all it wants to do is sleep. Well, my brain anyway. However, I have some stashed away, and will get some more written in Miyazaki, so again, hang in there, they are coming!

Thanks again for all your support along the way. We wouldn't have made it this far if we weren't thinking about all of the people who are supporting us!

3 weeks to go!! 3 weeks to go!

Wish us luck with the snow!

Mick and Miki

Tangled in Red Tape.

2009-12-18T03:38:00.000-08:00

On still shaky legs, we walked up a winding road whose end seemed to be somewhere up in the clouds. Private campsite or council campsite, it didn’t seem to matter. The logic was always the same. Campsites belonged at the top of the mountain, usually the biggest mountain and usually in the most inconvenient place. The website for today’s camp ground had informed us that it was still open, a rarity in an otherwise schedule abiding enclave of campground operators, however as we reached the end of our gravelly torment, the single car that greeted us suggested otherwise. We could see through the window the female attendant, fast asleep on a pile of folded white linen, although, even if we hadn’t seen her, the fitful snorts of her slumber would have told us the same story.
“What do you want?” she demanded more than asked after being woken. For one in the Japanese services industry, her manner was unusually informal and took us by surprise.
“We’re sorry to bother you, but we’re after a campsite for the night.” we asked.
“Well we don’t have any,” she said without emotion. “The season finished yesterday.” Not having the stomach to retreat across what we had just crossed to an earlier campsite, we figured an explanation of our predicament would be enough to twist her heartstrings and allow us to stay the night. After all, we were the only two there and our tent wouldn’t even be noticed once it was up behind the foliage that surround the sites.
“I’m terribly sorry but I can’t do that,” she replied, now much more formal than she had been minutes earlier. “This is a council campground and if I let you stay then I would have to let everyone else stay,” she explained as she waved an arm over the hoard of campers she was imagining stood before us.
“We will be gone by first light,” we pleaded.
“I’m sorry. I can’t let you stay here,” she responded.
“But we have nowhere else to stay,” we pleaded again.
“There is another campsite about 15kms from here. They’re open,” she offered.
“But we’re on foot and it’s already 3 oclock. There is a campsite right here,” we pleaded for a third time. Her official line however, would not crack under our desperate expressions. Ours was a predicament that could only twist the heartstrings of a person with a heart, and as we shouldered our packs in defeat wandered away troubled more by the lack of compassion than by the fact that we were still without a place to stay.
In many ways, Japan’s is still a society that beats to the rhythms of the rules that bind it, and rules, as we were to find out again soon, mean lots of paperwork.

Still smarting from our campsite imbroglio, we woke early from the park we had bunked down in, eager to get as far away from the memory as we could. The kilometers from Niigata City had disappeared quickly in the company of the sea to our right and before we knew it, we had found ourselves approaching one of Niigata’s largest southern cities, Naoetsu. Our unobstructed view of the ocean was soon swallowed up by the urban sprawl that surrounds many of the larger coastal ports, where the sounds of the sea are replaced by the rush and bother of industry and business. Naoetsu was no different. Our plan to stay changed with that first impression and instead, we decided to use our time there purely for the purpose of updating our maps from the local library. A simple job one would think, but then simple never was a word associated with Japanese officialdom.

We needed to make copies of our map route from Toyama to Ishikawa and after finding the appropriate pages went to make the ten or so copies on the library’s ancient copy machine. However before we could get there, we were stopped by the librarian who informed us that we first had to show her the pages we wanted copy, then fill out a form stating those pages before we could proceed to the machine. Little did we know, that with that request, we were about to get our second whipping from red tape in two days.
“I’m sorry, you can’t print these pages,” the librarian informed us when we showed he the maps we needed. “Printing rules state that you can only copy 50% of any one map.”
“You’re joking,” we asked, although we immediately could tell from her unsmiling face that she wasn’t.
After retreating to figure out a possible solution, we found that our route only required us to copy the top half of each map anyway, so we returned having rewritten our request to suit her copy rule.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t print these pages either,” she said as she looked down on us over the rim of her gold plated spectacles.
“Why not? We asking to print only the top 50% of the maps like you told us.”
“Printing rules state also that you can’t make copies of consecutive pages.” It was as if she was quoting the national printing guidelines handbook from somewhere under her librarian’s desk.
“What?! There’s no point in printing these then if that’s the case! We won’t know where we’re going in between!” we explained.
“You should buy the map that you want from a bookstore then,” she countered as we stood shaking our heads once again at the lack of emotion that we were experiencing.
“We haven’t found that map in any shop,” we said as we realized the futility of our words against the unflinching force of officialdom once again.

With half of the maps giving us only half an idea of where we were going from here, we found ourselves walking up yet another mountain to get to yet another campsite that someone had built on its peak. After 300kms, Niigata was finally wearing us out, but it had nothing to do with the distance.

Dodging Monsters

2009-12-03T03:32:00.000-08:00

The road south from Niigata’s capital was a line of green. Pine trees slanted from the strength of winter gales welcomed us like an honour guard that stretched as far as the eye could see. We made good use of the pine cones that littered the ground by inventing a game of pine cone soccer that successfully managed to occupy us for the best part of each morning. For the next few days, we dribbled our way through small coastal towns all boarded up and deserted now that the summer season had officially ended. As pine forests were replaced with our old companion, the Japan Sea, we survived a buffeting from a summer storm, stole a few hours sleep in the dugout of a local baseball field during a night of rain and paid the princely sum of $45 for a campsite in the soggy pits of an empty campground that seemed to be continually in the shade. But while we suffered on the rainy days, we basked in the warmth of the sunny ones, reinvigorating tired muscles and ourselves with quick dips in the ocean whenever the heat got too much.

On our 78th day as we left Kashiwazaki, home to Niigata’s largest nuclear power facility, we were stopped by an elderly local whose mouth sparkled in the sun from the glint of a dozen gold crowns. Despite our stilts and our message board, his attention was focused on our packs and as he cast a wary eye over us, his attention soon turned to our accommodations. For some reason, it was always the next question people asked after learning of our challenge and for some reason, hearing it always filled us with a slight sense of dread, especially when we had used a park the night before. While our feelings were fuelled more by our own consciences than by any official breaches, the question nevertheless caused our hearts to flutter and our faces to flush when asked, especially by gruff old men with mouthfuls of gold.
‘We usually stay in ryokans or campsites. Sometimes we have to camp in a park where there is nowhere else, but we’ve only had to do that once or twice since the start,’ we lied as the sweat trickled from our brows.
‘That’s good’, he said as he took a drag from his cigarette, “we have lots of problems with campers who leave the parks a mess.” His words flowed out through a heavy cloud of smoke as he flicked his ash to the ground.
“All these campers dirty our parks and our beaches. These young people today don’t have any respect for nature. They aren’t responsible for anything!” he growled as he flicked his glowing butt into the crystal clear stream running beside us.
To him there seemed no connection between what he had just said and what he had just done, but it jolted us like an electric shock. Our lives over the past two months had become almost in tune with the environment in which we found ourselves each day. The weather dictated our progress; the scenery dictated our moods; the rhythms of each day were now beginning to match our own. The more we walked, the more we were becoming attached to the very thing we were walking in, which made his seemingly small action so disheartening. Before we could react, he had turned and was walking off, his gaze lost in the swells of a sea he had grown up beside. In his eyes, there was an obvious love for what spread out before him, but time had since uncovered the Earth’s limits for the rest of us. The hill that stood in front of us now looked much more imposing than it had a minute ago and as we climbed we were left to contemplate what had just happened in our own ways.

A municipal campsite, our first of the trip, was our destination for the day and with the sun still high in the sky we were looking forward to getting there and setting up an early camp. However, there was just one, large and rather unexpected hurdle to cross, literally. Before us stood an imposing bridge that spanned a massive gorge at least 300metres wide. All until now had been blessed with wide footpaths on which cyclists, pedestrians and the occasional stilter could cross in complete safety. The road that loomed ahead however was very different. Not only did it lack any safe place for us to walk, but as a national byroad, it was completely congested with trucks that hurtled past at a nerve wrecking pace. The thought alone of what lay in front was enough to send our hearts into our throats, but as our only alternative was a small coastal road whose turn off lay 10km behind us, crossing such a monster became our only option.

As the bridge curved around to the right, we decided to walk with the flow of traffic, hoping that the unhampered sight of us might give drivers ample time to slow down and give us a wide berth. For the most part this tactic had worked in the past, but it wasn’t foolproof.

As we stood to the side of the bridge’s entrance waiting for a lull in the traffic, we smiled at each other, hoping to erase the fear that was obvious in both of our eyes. For a second it seemed to work, but we were soon brought crashing back by the roar of a line of semi trailers whose shear mass almost whipped the hats from our heads. What on earth were we about to do?

As a gap emerged in the flow, we grabbed up our stilts and with one last look back to check that it was clear, took off as fast as our legs could take us with our full packs. With Miki in the front, we ran single file chancing the occasional look back over our shoulders for the inevitable return of those mammoth trucks. As we ran I suddenly realized how vulnerable we were. With no shoulder to work with, Miki’s fully laden pack seemed to bulge frighteningly far out into the lane. If hers protruded that much, then mine, with my sleeping mat attached to the side was doing so more. Any truck that didn’t make an allowance for us was sure to connect. Thoughts of a 10km diversion now seemed much rosier, but it was too late to turn back. The trucks were coming, and by the sound of them, they were big. At that moment, the bridge began to shake as if we were caught in an earthquake, taking us completely by surprise. In order to keep from toppling into the lane, both of us instinctively stepped out, but as we did, the first of the semis roared past missing both of us by inches. We stopped only long enough to see a procession of massive trucks gathering speed behind us. One, two, three, four, five trucks, each bigger than the one before were now bearing down right upon us.
“Miki, keep going girl. Keep going!” I yelled above the roar of the engines, too afraid now to look behind.
The first of the trucks passed to our right giving us a fraction of room, but at a speed that was truly terrifying at such close proximity.
“Just keep going!”
As we rounded the curve we could now see the end of the bridge, some two hundred metres ahead, but by rounding the curve, we were now putting ourselves in a most precarious position. Trucks now only had a few seconds between seeing us and reaching us. The second truck steamed past, much closer than the first, its last minute swerve into the other lane testimony to the lack of any reaction time. As the gap closed to 150metres, I noticed for the first time another long procession of trucks, this time coming from the other direction! My face turned white at the thought. Whatever was coming up behind no longer had any room with which to maneuver away from us. We were soon to be the sardines in a semi sandwich 100metres above the ground.

Unable to run blind any longer, I glanced back over my shoulder in time to see the thing I had been fearing the most. The last three trucks were roaring up toward us, however only the first driver had a clear view of what lay in front. The other two, each one foolishly tailgating the one in front would have little time to react as we came into their view.

If I was going to die, then I wanted to look death in the face, or perhaps I hoped that the sight of my petrified features might be just the thing to convince each driver to slow down and escort us the last 150metres, but it was never to be. The first of the drivers had seen us and was able to swerve around us but with the oncoming traffic now level, the distance between us and his wheels was much closer than our blood pressure could cope with. His action however revealed the disaster that was waiting to happen behind. The second driver, whose view had until then been entirely of the truck in front, now had an unobstructed view of us a mere five metres ahead. The only problem however was that he wasn’t looking at us! His thoughts were lost in the conversation he was having on his mobile phone as his eyes gazed at some point out to sea. As his truck continued on its line straight toward us, I saw in the grime of its front grill the end of our challenge and of us. We had nowhere to go. Still looking up at his face, my feet stopped running as I braced for the impact that was seconds away. “At least Miki is up ahead”, I thought as I began to wonder what the force of three tonnes of steel would feel like. At that moment, the driver picked up our forms in the corner of his windscreen and with his free hand, lurched the truck out and away from where we were tucked in against the bridge wall. The expression of surprise in his eyes was the last thing I remember seeing as the rest of the trucks followed his evasive maneuver away from us.

As we emerged on the other side of the bridge, we collapsed in a heap on top of our bags and just lay in silence. For the next few minutes all we could do was contemplate what might have been as curious motorists sped past, completely unaware of the lucky hand fate had just dealt us. It was our first such experience with a bridge of this sort and as we regained our feet and walked the last few hundred metres to our campsite, we hoped that it would be our last.

Bad impressions and bad impressionists!

2009-11-26T02:52:00.000-08:00

It’s funny how people judge others on their appearance, and I knew that I was being judged as I sat waiting for Miki in Isetan’s foyer. The marble floors that seemed to sparkle under my soiled sneakers and sweat stained backpack should have warned me of the potential social pickle that I was walking into. But after 22kms of steaming Niigata bitumen, I floated dreamlike in the air-conditioned elegance of Japan’s finest department store, oblivious of the stress I was causing one of its patrons as she hesitated to sit in the only empty seat beside me. My first inkling that something was amiss came from sound of someone blowing something beside me. Turning to my left, I was confronted by the horrific sight of an emaciated fox’s face, as it looked at me wearily from the shoulders of an over groomed old woman whose shocking tint and jeweled spectacles left me wondering which of the two sights was more frightening. Then I realized what she was doing. The lifeless fox swung back and forth from her neck as she scrubbed down the seat, blowing away the grime that I had obviously brought with me. As we sat in an uncomfortable silence, she began to read our fundraising sign that was hanging from Pongo’s neck. When she had finished she looked me up and down with a frown crinkling her forehead and asked shortly, “What do you mean by ‘donation’?” After a quick explanation of the challenge, she stood up, shook her head, and with a snort of disapproval turned her back on me and my dirt. As she exited from one set of doors, Miki emerged from the other, triumphant in her search for goodies for her cousins.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as she saw the look of bewilderment on my face. But the moment had passed and it wasn’t worth reliving again. “Looks like you found the cake shop”, I said as the smile returned to my face at the thought of spending our first night with Miki’s cousins.

We whiled away the evening with good food, good laughs and round after round of the kind of shenanigans that can only ever be thought up in the company of kids under 10. It was the one thing that our challenge had been lacking and as the weeks began turning into months, we both realized how much we were missing the company of family and friends. Both of Miki’s cousins had moved to Niigata to get away from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, and the decision looked like it was paying off. Both families seemed to live with a joie de vivre that we had seen in many who called this side of Japan home. Life was there to be lived, not swallowed up in the pressures of working the crazy hours that many did back in the big city. It was one of the reasons we had chosen to leave so much behind, and our search was starting to teach us some important lessons.

Our appearance on Niigata FM was short, but interesting and gave us both the chance to express to listeners the reasons for doing such a crazy sounding walk. With my Japanese getting better with each day, I was able to say a little more than the polished greetings that had dazzled Hokkaido’s public. Hopefully the listeners here would connect with our message because the amount needed for Pongo’s forest was still much more than what was sitting in our donation kitty.

After two very comfortable days with Miki’s family, it was little surprise that our legs felt heavy and our stilts slow on the day we started headed off from Niigata’s central station. So heavy in fact that we called it a day at the 8km mark, barely 2kms from where we had stayed the night before. Had we become a little softened by the company and the comfort of normal life? Our choice to forgo our usual campsite for a karaoke box seemed to tell us that we had. At $15 for all we could drink and sing for the night, it was a carrot too big to ignore. Unlike karaoke in other countries where individuals fuelled by the bravado of 20 pints are dared onstage by equally pissed up mates, karaoke here is an experience where one’s face is somewhat saved by the segregation of singing groups into their own themed singing booths. Lined with couches and an array of every hand held instrumental accompaniment available, Japanese karaoke with its affordable, all you can drink alcoholic menus is an enjoyable social affair that a first timer rarely forgets, or remembers the next day. For us, it was a comfortable reprieve from our stilting reality for just one more night. That was, until, the businessmen arrived. At the stroke of midnight, we were startled awake by a horrible racket that sounded like a thousand fighting cats struggling with tune of Bon Jovi’s ‘Living on a Prayer.’ The alcohol that was running through their veins was having a profound effect on their vocal chords and their ability to read the words on the screen.
“She says we gotta hole on ...to god… It dada dada dada dada mm mm mm mm not!”
“..got ea.. other… and that’s a rot of rub”
“Yeahhhh!!!!!!”
When the battle to read at pace got too much for the slurring singer, the words were replaced by the vocal impersonation of Richie Sambora’s guitar solo. As we struggled to find things thick enough to protect our ears from the aural onslaught, the sound of a crashing table suddenly cut short the businessman’s performance, leaving the real Jon Bon Jovi singing softly in the background. As we both listened expectantly for the wail of approaching ambulances, a soft groan echoed out through the microphone, obviously still in the grip of the now crippled singer.

Whatever became of our Japanese Bon Jovi we never knew, but as we walked away toward the border of Toyama, big bags hanging low under our eyes, we both vowed never to stay in a karaoke box again.

Niigata and the battle that lay ahead

2009-11-26T02:40:00.000-08:00

Crossing in to Niigata, our 5th prefecture on our 64th day, we came face to face with our demons. Since the start, we had been walking each step with an assurance that came from having a mental plan, albeit a simple one, for each prefecture. However, with the scale of what we were about to do too large to fully take in at the time, our mental plans never seemed to get past Niigata, which had always looked so long and so daunting on our maps. The unknown quality of Hokkaido’s leg made the distances disappear in the excitement of each new challenge. In Aomori we coasted along on the euphoria of completing Japan’s biggest island. Akita and Yamagata were where we settled in to the daily routine of travelling together through small towns on the back of our bamboo horses. In the unfolding curve of Niigata’s vast coastline however, we faced for the first time the reality of the challenge that still lay in front of us; the physical reality of walking a half marathon a day on our tiptoes as well as the mental reality of keeping positive amongst the tensions that come from doing something so different in a country where people strive to be so similar. For everyone we had told, ours was the impossible challenge, the fanciful idea that could never be achieved. It was just too difficult. Why would we want to leave our good jobs and our nice house for a year of walking on stilts? Why would we want to do something so crazy? Now, as we stood on the border looking down far along Niigata’s coast, we both began to wonder if everyone else had been right. Had we bitten off more than we could chew? Had we made a mistake leaving our jobs and our house and our life behind? Were we really capable of pulling off a challenge that no one had dared try before? As we meandered along Niigata’s rocky coastline, the doubts that filled our minds became our daily companions despite the fine weather and the beautiful scenes around us.

But Japan is a land of contrasts where moods can change with the rising and setting of the sun and so it was to be with ours. As we passed each roadside sign marking the kilometers left to the capital, we began to see the progress we were making. The impenetrable length that had greeted us at the border slowly began to crumble before our eyes, replacing the doubts with an energy that grew the closer we got to Niigata station. With that energy came chance meetings of the kind that rarely happen when your mind is troubled by doubts and your eyes closed to the world around you. We received a bagful of salt and a lesson in life from a salt maker who had sold his company to make soul healing salts from the blue waters that lapped at the foot of his factory. A little further on, we were treated to free drinks from the office vending machine of a pine factory whose boss wanted only to fill our bellies with dried salmon steaks dipped in sake, the local delicacy. As the coastal scenery changed from rocky outcrops pocked with caves, to sandy beaches blessed with perfectly curling waves, to pine tree lined forests that exuded a golden brown hew from the littering of cones and needles underneath, so too did our moods and our pace on the stilts. By the time the smoke stacks from Niigata’s port factories came in to view, we were buzzing with the excitement of reaching another milestone, our biggest city, and our first contact with family since the start, Miki’s cousins.

As we tottered along busy roads leading in to Niigata’s station, all eyes seemed to be on us. People in cars gawked, some honked, most waved as we wandered past, coming to grips with this sudden, somewhat unnerving public attention. Even a priest who rode past on a spluttering moped with a cigarette hanging loosely from his toothless mouth seemed somehow to have known about us even before he hollered a cheery ‘Gambatte’ as the light changed green. It wasn’t until we were stopped by a heavyset, smiling man on the street that we found out the reason for everyone’s interest. It seemed that the local FM radio had been following our progress ever since we had entered the city, encouraging listeners to call in with information about us and the reasons we were struggling along on our stilts. By the time we had reached the lights leading down to Niigata’s main station, our story was out, and the donations started coming in. A man here gave $10, a woman there gave $5. It was the most overwhelming response to our story since we had begun and on chancing upon the radio’s building on the way to the station, we decided to pop in to say a big thank you for their support. They invited us back in to the studio the next day to answer questions and to chat longer. For us, it was a welcome break from the daily grind and so we happily agreed, looking forward to a day of rest, comfortable coffee shop chairs, and our first studio appearance.

Where we are!

2009-11-23T16:05:00.000-08:00

After 3 long weeks of walking through city after city on the Pacific coast of Japan, we finally bid farewell to the smoke stacks and the factories that line the coast here and make our way down towards the island of Shikoku and its many temples...and mountains. From there we will be catching a ferry across to our final test, Kysushu and even bigger mountains. They are all that stand between us and the finish in Cape Sata.

We have some tentative dates for a finish to this crazy, but life changing challenge. If all goes to plan, we will be in Kyushu on the 5th of December. We have an appointment with some schools on the 10th in Shimonoseki, some 200kms away from our arrival port, for which we will head to before starting our final run down to the finish. We have no idea about how many or how big these mountains are that we have been hearing so much about, but if we can keep up th epace we have been going, we should be standing at the most southerly point of mainland Japan around New Year's Day!

Our donations for Pongo's forest have been going steadily. We are around 7000 dollars, all of which has come from the generous support of individuals. Without corporate support we have rounded our goal down to 10 000 dollars, which will be an amazing help for the reforestation projct we are supporting. With only 6 weeks to go, please tell your friends about us and help us get there! We can do it together!

Wish us luck! The days are shorter and colder but we are still going strong!

Thanks everyone!

New Photos!!

2009-11-14T22:26:00.000-08:00

Our takeuma'ing has come to an abrupt halt with the collapse of Miki's stilts! All along we had thought mine would have been the first to break down on account of the fact that I am the fatter of the pairing, however yesterday as we were coming in to the town of Ako, a small cracking sound signalled the end of Miki's left stilt! All is not lost however, the spares are on the way as we speak and a few twists of the screws and we should be back on the go tomorrow. In the meantime, the delay has made it possible to finally get all the photos up to date - well as far as Osaka anyway. Have a look if you get the chance.

Our route to Kyushu is being uploaded as we speak so that too should be up by the day's end.

We are about a day out from the city of Okayama. The bottom is getting closer, not mine but Japan's so stay tuned! We will try to let you know the finish date as soon as we get the last of our map routes done today or tomorrow!!

Thanks for all the messages!!

Mick and Miki

Pongo Goes National.

2009-11-11T07:02:00.000-08:00

It was a short stroll from our $19 hot spring hotel to the town of Sakata where we rented cycles and pedaled our way around sights made famous by the Acadamy Award winning movie Departures. Our tour took us to the two buildings featured in much of the movie and after paying the $2 entry fee for the privilege of walking the same hallways as the actors had, we had seen all there was to see by the time the opening credits from the introductory DVD playing in the lobby had finished. That such an ordinary place in such an ordinary town came to be such a prominent feature of such an acclaimed movie is truly testament to the savvy of its location crew. Had it been me in charge of that important detail, there is every chance Departures would have gone straight to DVD.

We left Sakata for a campground perched on a hill next to Yamagata’s airport where we became reacquainted with cooking for ourselves and living the simple life. Only our simple life was soon complicated by strengthening winds from an incoming typhoon, the first of our season, and the noisy clamberings of a dozen families and an army of their kids all squeezing in one last weekend in the great outdoors before the camping season officially finished the next day. In Japan there is no camping or swimming after August 31. Don’t ask why, it just is. That night as the first of the typhoon winds threatened to whip our tent with us in it off the top of the hill we both figured that the rule might have had something to do with ensuring camper safety. As everyone else knows, typhoon season officially begins from September 1. Their presence from now on would add a new twist to our daily existence.

As August rolled into September, and the beaches and the campgrounds officially closed for another year, we found ourselves walking under the bluest of skies next to inviting surf beaches all completely empty except for the odd scattering of flotsam brought from Korea and China on the Tsushima current. Not a surfer or swimmer was present in what would have been a bustling scene anywhere else. With the change of months came also a change in my level of Japanese. With each day I was learning how descriptive the Japanese language could be, with a seemingly infinite variety of onomatopoeic phrases to match the infinite variety of moods we were experiencing on stilts. As we tokotoko’d (hobbled) our way further south through mushi mushi (humid) days that made us heto heto (exhausted) or peko peko (hungry) or both, we found that our stilts were becoming boro boro (falling apart), our bodies were now gari gari (skinny), our muscles were always katchi katchi (tight) and that everyone who drove past us, judging from their contorted expressions must have thought we were more than a bit kuru kuru pa(crazy) to be doing such a, well, silly thing. The more phrases I learnt, the more my chances of conversing with the local children improved. Whether the same phrases would work in front of a live radio audience filled me with less confidence however, but it was a theory that would be soon put to the test as we were due to broadcast live on national FM radio from 11 am the next day. Having picked up our story after our Akita broadcast, the national station had now arranged for our interview to air throughout each of the prefectures we would be passing all the way down to Osaka. It was a fantastic opportunity for us to spread Pongo’s message, the only trouble was whether Miki’s phone would have a connection as the mountains of Yamagata’s southern coastline wrapped around us.

Having secured a room in the only ryokan that was still open now that summer had officially finished, we sat by the phone as the seconds ticked closer to the hour, waiting nervously for the call from national FM. I say we, but in reality I was the only one sweating exposing my newfound Japanese to such a large crowd. Miki was the picture of composure that she always is, handling each situation as it comes no matter its size or weight. With two minutes to go before we were to air, the phone rang and a voice, barely audible down the crackle of a bad connection instructed “Ready for a sound check in 3. Count to 20. Ready. Go.” As Miki counted into the phone, I kept an eye on the second hand of the clock wondering whether the sound checker was either really confident in his abilities or really disorganized to have left such a task to the last minute. With the failure of the test and the sudden panic of his reaction, it seemed the latter was true.
“Tell me the number of your hotel and we’ll call you.” No sooner had he hung up than the phone downstairs was brought up by the owner, now intrigued about why such an hysterical voice was calling for her guests upstairs. Precisely at the moment the phone was handed over, the transfer was made to the studio and Miki found herself asking the DJ whether her new connection was OK. Apart from that glitch the rest of the interview went smoothly with the radio crew even encouraging listeners to donate to the cause. It was the first time that any had gone that far to promote that aspect of our challenge and as we continued walking toward the Niigata border, we realized how powerful such help could be. Having had no responses at all since crossing in to Yamagata 9 days earlier, we were suddenly overwhelmed with honks and waves and even the occasional donation as listeners drove past on their way. It was a trend that was to increase as we said our goodbyes to Yamagata and crossed the border into Niigata, and the longest stretch of coast we would encounter.

News!!

2009-11-06T00:42:00.000-08:00

After 4 days of eating and relaxing at Miki's sister's Osaka apartment, we now find ourselves looking down the barrel of what we hope will be our last run toward our goal at Cape Sata in Kagoshima. From here we walk through the friendly city of Kobe, the castle town of Himeji, Okayama and Hiroshima before taking a new and exciting turn on to a walker's bridge that we have been told will take us to Shikoku. From there a few hundred kilometers along the coast will bring us to the ferry to Kyushu and our final 400kms to the end at Cape Sata.

But the weather is getting colder and the days shorter. With our final run, the challenge will take on a new dimension as we figure out how best to get through the colder days without getting weak or sick or worse, without getting hemmed in by the snows that are waiting for us in the mountains down south.

Our blog has been updated. The photos tab now has all the best photos from Akita, Yamagata, Niigata and some from Toyama - a task that took a total of 15hours on our snail like connection! So if you get the chance, please have a look and make those hours all worthwhile!!

Blogs are on the way! I always say it, but they are coming with lots of tales about trecherous roads in Niigata, horrible tunnels between borders, friendly locals in Toyama, and amazing sights in Ishikawa and Fukui.

Send us your messages! They make our day! Cheer us to the end!

Mick and Miki

Yamagata and the ‘eco’ hotel.

2009-11-06T00:26:00.000-08:00

Our planning for this challenge had been somewhat compromised by busy schedules and a last minute mad rush to say goodbyes, shop for forgotten items and host one hell of a wine party at our house. As such, we had planned Hokkaido’s leg thoroughly, looked at Aomori closely, thought about Akita deeply and that was where it had stopped, for during that final hour of madness, both of us were plagued by serious doubts about whether we would even make it past the first day. As such, little was known about the prefecture called Yamagata other than its name and the fact that it came somewhere after Akita.

On our fifty seventh day, as we walked under blue skies and the shadow of Mt Chokai, the Mt Fuji of Akita, Yamagata’s border sign appeared out of nowhere like a mirage on the horizon, leaving us scratching our heads and doubting the progress that we were making. Had we really walked this far?

In 1689, Basho Matsuo, perhaps Japan’s most famous Haiku poet, ventured through here on an epic 2400km journey that took him to the remote heart of the north. The beauty he encountered inspired his most famous work, the Oku no Hosomichi or The Narrow Road to the Interior which has since inspired the likes of many to follow in his steps in search of the same beauty that his poems captured so clearly. For us, stumbling upon his route was a significant moment, for the Oku no Hosomichi was a path that had also been walked by the only other person to have travelled as far on a pair of stilts – our mentor Iizuka san. At 73, his 2000km walk had taken him almost 4 years to complete, with the aid of a campervan and his equally gutsy wife who faithfully walked alongside for much of his journey. That we were now following in his steps was strangely comforting, for we knew that the road that lay ahead was not the impossible stretch that it seemed on our photocopied maps.

The kilometers passed by as quickly as the pine trees that lined much of the coast. As we moved in land on our way toward Sakata, the towns began taking on a ghostly appearance, many the victims of ambitious dreams that had suffered with the collapse of Japan’s economy at the end of the bubble. Restaurants lined the roads, their once polished entrance ways now overgrown with weeds. As we walked past, we could see that the tables were still adorned with cutlery and sauces, as if ready for another day of service. The overturned chairs that lay strewn across the floors were the only things that told the real story. It is a strange feeling to walk past so many lifeless shells in what might otherwise have been a very pretty part of the world, but in Japan, it has become a common scene, with many owners preferring to leave their failed businesses to the elements rather than part with the money needed to clear them from the more valuable land on which they stand. For us, it was always a shock to find a town that had obviously been flourishing at the time of our map’s printing, in such a lonely state. To see so many dreams crumbling before our eyes had a powerful influence on our own motivations and as the doubts began to creep in about whether we would be able to make the remaining 10kms to Sakata, we were confronted by a sign before us, so unexpected amongst the decaying surrounds, so unbelievable against the experiences of our last 2 months, that we at first walked past it. But the thought of a double room in a hot spring hotel for 19 measly dollars was too big a chance to miss. After hopping down from our stilts, we returned and as we stood outside the 4 storey, marble tiled front foyer, we scanned the sign for any catches in the fine print. ‘Is it really 19 dollars?’ we asked the groundsman as he walked by. Despite his apparent lack of Japanese, his confused nod was enough for us to pack up our stilts and skip inside to see what lay ahead for the price of two meals.

As we handed over our money to the receptionist, another man who seemed not to grasp the meaning behind some of our other questions, we rushed to throw our bags in to our room and make use of everything before someone realized their mistake. I entered to the bath and immediately noticed how dark everything seemed. The lights were off, but considering the early hour of the day, I guessed they weren’t really needed until later, and had just begun washing myself when I was interrupted by the slam of a door to my right. ‘Is this some sort of a joke?’ cried the only other bather as he emerged from the sauna, clearly upset by the lack of any steam. His blood pressure rose with each button he found to flick, and when each failed to elicit any change from within, he stormed out to confront the manager with only his towel and his frown for company.

After wallowing in the warm bath for what seemed like an hour, I bumped in to Miki in the corridor outside of our room, reading a note that had been posted on the wall.
“You are staying in an environmentally conscious hotel. In order for us to maintain our high environmental standards, we request your cooperation in using all electrical items responsibly. Thank you.”
Having not discovered what had become of the frowning naked man and his earlier pickle, I presumed he too had come across this poster somewhere downstairs or had at least been explained its purpose by the staff at the reception. Maybe they only turned on the sauna’s electricity when it got busier?

As we walked down a long winding hall to our room, we noticed too that all the lights were off, and that the deeper we went, the darker the hotel seemed to get. Once inside our room, both of us fumbled around for the switch to the lights, first on the left side of the door, then on the right. High and low we ran our hands along the walls, starting at first from the door, then expanding in an ever widening circle that covered the whole room. There was not one switch to be found anywhere. In our panic, we retrieved our torches from our bags and lit up our surrounds. It was Miki who first discovered the reason for its absence. Looking up we both received our first taste of what an environmentally friendly night in a Yamagata hotel was to be like. Apart from a tiny, candle sized study lamp tucked away in the desk, the rest of our room it seemed, was without any kind of illumination whatsoever. In their desire to be green, they had neglected to put in any lights in any of the rooms along the entire wing of the hotel. Not only that, but as night fell, each room in the deserted building was a black void, lifeless apart from the soft green flicker from the emergency exit signs above the stairwells. As the only two guests in the place, it was a spooky feeling and apart from a quick bite to eat and two quick dashes to the toilets at the other ends of the floor, we were happy to confine ourselves to our rooms away from whatever may have been lurking outside.

A day later, as we ate noodles in a nearby restaurant, we were able to discover the answer to some of the mystery surrounding our ‘eco’ hotel. The eco tag was nothing more than a ploy to hide the thriftiness of the North Korean owner, the hotel’s fourth in 2 years. As the noodle shop owner remarked, “No he’s not eco. He’s just a tight bastard.” Thanks to that tight bastard however, we were able to enjoy our first stay in a real hot spring hotel, even if we weren’t able to see what most of it actually looked like.

LIVE ON RADIO!

2009-10-28T16:11:00.000-07:00

Pongo will air on ABC radio Brisbane from 10.30 tomorrow (30/10/09)!! An interview in English, so I am much more likely to be making sense in this one!! Have a listen and call in and say hi!!!

From Akita to Yamagata and another deadly bath!

2009-10-20T16:36:00.000-07:00

On a scale of importance from one to ten, baths rank the highest at ten, with a nice green tent site close behind at nine. Finding one or the other is usually enough to make our day a great one, but finding both, is the thing of dreams. So rarely does such an occurrence happen that it becomes an event that is forever cherished, like a wedding or the birth of your first child. Unfortunately for me however, hitting the jackpot came with a rude reminder of just how closely sweet can often be followed by bitter; the culprit once again, the Japanese bathhouse.

We arrived at Nikaho much earlier than expected and stumbled across one of the nicest parks we had seen. Despite differences in layout and appearance, the parks we had come across up till now could generally be classified into two broad categories; parks plonked down haphazardly in response to an official need to satisfy a town’s requirement for a park, or parks that had obviously been made to enhance the lives of the residents around it, designed with the care and attention that made them such an important part of a town. Luckily for us the park at Nikaho was of the latter kind, situated thoughtfully next to the rolling swells of the ocean and filled with green spaces, play spaces and walk spaces for everyone to enjoy. It was a perfect place to spend a night.

The location had an added bonus. Situated right next door was a hot spring that, we were told, contained water of the blackest ilk, filled with healing minerals perfect for relieving the kinds of aches and pains brought on from days on hard stilts. We had never been in a hot spring with black water before, nor had we been in one whose healing properties were designed specifically to remedy stilt induced aches and pains. As such we wasted no time in gathering our gear and heading over to what would be, at this early hour of the day, a granny free bath.

Entering through rickety sliding glass doors, we were confronted by a bath house that time had forgotten. A small resting area adorned with a brown leather couch of the kind that you always found when visiting grandad’s hairdresser, lay between ourselves and the front desk. Behind it sat the owner, a frail woman who looked as old and as weary as the peeling paint on the walls. With sad droopy eyes surrounded by two big purplish bags, she was the human incarnation of Fred Basset. Our cheerful greeting failed to bring any cheer to her day and as she took our money, she lapsed in to a frightful fit of coughing that looked certain to cut short our stay. As such, we decided to hustle and make the most of the black water’s healing properties before the paramedics arrived to take her away.

As I entered the bathing area, I could still hear her splutters through the ‘bandai’ or viewing window that linked each bath with the front desk. Common in many older style baths, the Bandai was like Foucalt’s panopticon in the way it allowed the owner to see all and fix all from their perch out the front. Now, as she spat the contents of her coughing fit into her handkerchief, I wondered if this bath’s bandai was more for her benefit than ours.

Because of the early hour, the bath was empty leaving me free to try all of its offerings. Having learnt my lesson about the effect of electricity and water in Aomori, I decided to give the electric bath here a miss and decided instead to focus on the other option, ‘the Turbo Jet’ bath. While most hot springs have some form of jet enhanced bath, it was the first time I had seen one advertised with a Turbo and wasted little time jumping in to see just what it could do. Despite the black water, it was possible to make out the shape of an enormous bubbler mounted to the end of the bath and for all I knew, the other side of an F-18 fighter engine. It was obviously from a time before health and safety standards had banished such installments to the ‘too risky’ category. While common sense would normally prevail in such situations, there are times when it is overshadowed by a stronger sense; that childhood sense that teaches boys to press any button within arm’s reach regardless of the consequences. And so it was, with the press of a button, that I discovered what it is like to receive a full frontal blast of water from an F-18 jet engine propelled bubbler. Those few seconds from when I was thrust back against the bath wall to when I edged my way back toward the button, taught me what life might have been like had I come out into this world minus an appendage. As it was, I was still having trouble finding where it had gone when my search was interrupted by a fellow bather who, by the expression on his face, seemed to know exactly what I was going through. As we traded sympathetic nods on my way out, I noticed the water from the black bath still streaming over its edges, pooling on the floor beside him. His ability to turn a blind eye to what was obviously my gaffe was more than could be said for the elderly owner who, having recovered somewhat from her earlier convulsions was now peering in through her window at me with disapproving, but still droopy eyes. I was on another walk of shame that was taking me once again from the suds and bubbles of Japanese hot spring land back to the study table where I might once and for all learn my lesson that nudity and stupidity should never be mixed in public.

Akita’s hidden surprises – Part 2

2009-10-20T05:45:00.000-07:00

We awoke with the sun, and under blue skies, set off through countryside that was brimming with reminders of an ancient past. More than a millennium ago, Japan’s first people existed here in small organized communities that, while not nomadic, hunted and gathered from fertile surrounds. Their reliance on nature brought with it an understanding of the seasons and of how to survive year after year, for thousands of years often in the same area. Named after the rope patterned earthenware that was always found amongst their settlements, the Jomon were a group that were, by all accounts, ahead of their time. With each prefecture we passed, locals told of Jomon sites that had been uncovered ‘just down the road’, each one unveiling a new chapter in an already long history. The stories had filled our imaginations with adventure and the thought that our every step might be hovering over some yet to be discovered Jomon village made each river or roadside grove an exploration waiting to happen.

Today, our own adventure was about to begin. After stopping in a local petrol station, we got chatting to the owner whose walls were adorned with Jomon artifact after Jomon artifact. The only other place we had seen so many had been in the museum at Aomori’s Sannai Maruyama site, the largest Jomon excavation to date. In front of us however stood a life time’s collection, all of which he informed us, had come not from a museum, but from the river that ran parallel to the next village. It was the most exciting news I had heard since we began and with some vague directions to his site, we were off to find our very own Jomon relics!

As we crossed a bridge spanning a running stream at the bottom of an overgrown gorge, we could almost feel the presence of Jomon hunters chasing their prey below. Somewhere underneath was the stream of my dreams. The only challenge now, was to find out how to get to it. Before us stood a shear drop, 30 metres long with an impenetrable forest guarding its banks. The only way in seemed to be around, a trek of a few kilometers through rice paddies to one of the stream’s branches and our door to the past.

Leaving our stilts and bags on the highway above, we skipped down, well I skipped down in anticipation of what lay ahead, while Miki followed shaking her head at the thought of me crawling through snake infested forest. As we followed a tractor path beside rice fields, we stumbled across a monument stating that this was an area of some significance. To be here, tucked away off the tourist trail, completely unknown to all but the people living beside it made its discovery significant in itself, however, whatever it was on top of that warranted the placement of such a plaque, was lost to me in my search for something more historic, something more exciting. As such, even as I look back over the photos, I have no idea what it was that had made that such a place of importance, for a few metres behind it lay a small, still stream, and the threshold to what I was hoping was the remains of my Jomon village. As Miki stood back, happy to support from the safety of the gravel track, I ventured forth over scraggly rock and through a thick layer of scrub to the stream, eyes alert to anything out of the ordinary. While it wasn’t the stream we had crossed, it was still hidden enough to provide a potential bounty for the trained, or at least enthusiastic speculator.

As I began digging up the bank of the river, my thoughts became lost in the excitement of the moment, and with each hole I made, I disappeared further into the brush and into nature. Now up to my knees in soft sand, and with a small army of angry mosquitoes biting at my exposed parts, my concentration was suddenly broken by the sound of a movement in the grass off to my left. Snakes had been a part of our daily existence on stilts, but from our perches above, posed little threat. Here however, up to my knees in wilderness, the situation was much different. Stories of the deadly ‘mamushi’, a snake more likely to bite first, then sit back and watch its victim die a slow death next, flooded my thoughts as I scanned the ground around for scaly intruders. It was the first time that I noticed where I was. The bush had now become so wild that I was beginning to hope that I wouldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Just as I was about to go back to my search for a little piece of history, Miki’s voice pierced the silence of the stream.
“Snake Mick!!” My legs moved like they hadn’t moved for years. In three leaps, I had escaped the stream, hurdled the thickets and was back on the track faster than Usain Bolt’s legs had carried him to his world record the week before, holding my heart as it threatened to beat out of my chest. As I turned to ask how big it had been, there was Miki, doubled over in fits of laughter in front of me. It never helps to have a wife whose sense of humour has developed around your own insecurities. The laughter continued as we returned to our bags, my hope of finding my Jomon stash, dashed along with my nerve at the bottom of the stream.

Akita’s hidden surprises – Part 1

2009-10-20T05:29:00.000-07:00

As we travelled further south, we realized again, that the time had come to embark on a search for a new set of tires. All previous contributions from enthusiastic bike shop owners happy to be rid their rubbish had ended disastrously. The ‘big boys’ we had received in Hokkaido, while certainly fulfilling their moniker in appearance (they were the tread from a wheelbarrow), lacked the stuff that would take us the distance, usually disintegrating after the second day. Our next offerings from Aomori, ‘the red duds as we referred to them, were even worse, disappearing literally before our disbelieving eyes. They had carried us this far, but after changing them as often as we changed our underwear, enough was enough, and we were now after some more, and desperately as we were on our last pair.

We came across a grocery store owner, who informed us that there had been a bicycle store in the town once, but that the owner had died some years ago, leaving his wife to close up what was left of it. She was sure however, that if we went and asked, there might be some old tires leftover somewhere in the garage. While harassing old widows for their husband’s older tires has never been one of our favourite things to do, the condition of our rubber had left us no choice and so, reluctantly, we went and wrapped on the door of what we were hoping was the right house.

After a few minutes, a kindly looking older woman emerged from behind a sliding screen door, looking over us a little suspiciously. Who would blame her? We were sweaty and dirty from a day on the stilts and more than likely, a little too desperate looking considering she was our only hope in a town with nothing much else. As always, Miki’s tender manner convinced her of our intentions, however to no avail. Having discarded all the old tires after her husband’s death, we were out of luck. With no tires now to cover the base of our bamboo footings, our challenge had come to an abrupt halt, in the middle of nowhere, and our faces seemed to show the gravity of our predicament.

“Well, there might be some somewhere out the back,” she offered having seen our expressions drop.
As we stood expectantly outside her front door, she embarked on a tour of her garden, acting on a hunch that there may be some buried under her tomato bushes out the back. Sure enough, ten minutes later, she returned victorious, a smile covering her face, holding aloft a tire covered in dirt. While its age and state probably placed it somewhere below our red duds in the durability department, we didn’t want to risk dashing the smile from her face and so we graciously accepted, knowing full well we’d be on another search in a few days time.

The Michi no Eki, or driver rest stop, was an oasis in an otherwise barren coastline, complete with its own beachside restaurant (which we made full use of), and one of the most accommodating managers we had found. Having seen us on the news, he took a keen interest in our stilts and our plans for the evening, which we tried hard to keep from him on account of the fact that they involved a plan to camp out the back of his establishment. However, there was a reason he was the manager of a place frequented by travelers stowing away in his building’s recesses. He knew precisely the type of person likely to do so. As such he had cottoned on to our intentions even before they had left our mouths, but it didn’t seem to matter. He had taken a liking to us and to our challenge and from that moment on, made it his responsibility to ensure our stay there was as comfortable as he could make it. After storing all of our gear in his office, he showed us where we could rest and then, once it closed, where we would be safe to sleep. Under his capable charge, we were able to relax as well as we had done all trip, enjoying all that the rest stop had to offer.

Donations - Thank you!!

2009-10-18T01:07:00.000-07:00

Since we last had reception, we have received a few more generous donations from some people we know and some we don't. Thank you to Ella (puddles) Thornton, my teaching buddy for two years and to her mother who, although we have never met, had inspired us with stories of peak grabbing all over the world, for your donations.
To Martha - a student of mine who is on her way to a bright future. We were touched by your generosity at a time when you should be thinking about saving for university. Thank you so much.

And lastly to an anonymous donor who just blew us away. Thank you so much for giving so much.

To all of you, as we walk along, you really do help us put one foot in front of the other! They are getting heavier as we go so when we get to the end, you will all have played a big part in helping us get there! Thank you thank you thank you!

From Akita to a plate full of hormones!

2009-10-07T19:39:00.000-07:00

The 26kms we needed to travel in order to reach Akita city had taken their toll on feet and minds alike, so we decided to take a day to catch up on all the things that needed catching up on. Wash dirty clothes, fix stilts, shop for wire for stilts, look for yet more rubber tires for stilts, shop for food for empty bellies that get us in trouble - the list ran longer than the looks on our faces when we realized that our day off was now taken up by all the little things that need doing to keep such a challenge alive. Such is the case with most of our days off. Before starting the challenge, we had planned to do most of the daily chores as we walked, meaning that rest days could be just that, days to recharge worn bodies and fill tired heads with anything but talk of walks on stilts. However, the daily grind proved to be much different in reality. With 10 hour days the norm, there was often little time left for the all the odd jobs that needed doing, with sleep taking us over soon after the last of the washing had been packed away. As such, there was always a weight that built up in the backs of our minds with each day on the stilts; this needs to be done, that needs to be written. Finding the balance was proving more difficult that we had first thought.

Akita city seemed to lack the spark that I had been expecting of it brought on by sign after roadside sign that proudly proclaimed it as the home of the Akita Bijin - or of the beautiful porcelain skinned woman. Obviously these visions of beauty didn't do their washing in the local coin laundry, which was a travesty as it seemed to be the only place that I was able to really get to for most of the day. With such disappointment clouding Akita's aura we decided to move on with first light the next day, back to the coast and to our path along it. Our moods seemed to have suffered at the hands of a day of chores and stifled both our concentration and our momentum throughout the day, leaving us baffled as to why there was nothing around us when we stopped late in the afternoon. With stomachs grumbling, we stumbled in to a local eatery that we would never have found had it not been for the kind directions of a local who sensed our predicament.

The olderly owner looked incapable of carrying his frail frame from behind the counter, let alone dishing up something for us to eat. However, as we ordered from his sparse menu, we noticed the life come back to his eyes at the mention of what must have been his love, and as such his restaurant's specialty - 'hormones' or boiled offal. For some in Japan, hormone is as good as an accompaniment to beer as nuts are, and as such fill the pages of menus in many drinking establishments. For us though, the site of a steaming plate of greyish noodly gizzards, was enough to put us off food for the night, even with a head full of beer. As such, we ordered what seemed to be the only other things left on a menu that brimmed with hormones of every imaginable kind. However, it seemed our frail owner had ears only for his beloved steaming gizzards.

"Could I have a rice and chicken set please?"
"Hormone?" he asked as if it had come from my own lips.
"Um, no the rice and chicken please," I said with smile that tried to ease that pain that I was obviously causing his heart by ignoring his specialty.
"Just 1?" he asked sadly as I confimed the order. "Would you like hormone too?" he asked again, the spark returning to his eye.
"No thanks, " I said as the spark began to fade. "Just the chicken and rice thanks." My words extinguishing it once and for all.

As he wonder away back in to the kitchen, shoulders slumped a little more than they had before, we both breathed a sigh of relief, Miki especially after having once had a feverish nightmare about them during a bout of flu. Just as we settled down to watch the high school baseball competition that was filling televisions around the country, our dinner was served.

"Here you are," he beamed as he placed our meals down before us.
"And try this! I've just finished making it." he said as he placed a plate of steaming offal, bigger that our own orders at the centre of our table. At that moment something in our eyes must have betrayed the grateful expressions we were trying hard to maintain because no sooner had the gruesome sight of gizzards registered in our brains than his reassuring voice added,
"Don't worry. It's on the house."
The words that had always meant so much, now seemed to matter little as we both sat wondering how we were going to get through this mountain before us.

My Japanese disaster – Part 2

2009-10-01T00:55:00.000-07:00

Walking in to Akita city, we were approached by a man who had just gotten off a bus and was walking beside us on his way home from a day at the factory. His inquisitive nature resulted in question after question about our challenge and our stilts and the monkey that was on our backs. With so much being fired at us, we decided to hop down and have a rest so we could chat more easily with our new friend. Besides, our feet were telling our brains that enough was enough.

As we sat together eating some Japanese sweets that we had been given earlier, our conversation turned from our challenge goal to his, and as he talked more deeply about it, his demeanor took on a seriousness reflecting the weight of a revelation that he was about to share with us.

As Miki gave his announcement the attention that it deserved, my mind was still lost somewhere between the pain in my feet and the empty hole that our sweets weren’t filling in my stomach. While my attention to his utterance may have seemed solid on the surface, the effect that pain and hunger have on my concentration in a foreign language was about to become apparent.

“Ore mo, yumei wo motteirundesuyo (I have a dream as well), he confided as he started to lean in closer.
“Demo, chotto iizuraindesukedo (but it’s a little difficult for me to talk about), he said as his voice bordered on a whisper.
“Ore wa, shiteki shogai wo motteiru node…….

While Miki had grasped the full meaning of his words and was paying it the respect that it was due with understanding nods of the head and reassuring looks in his direction, it had unfortunately come during a lull in my concentration brought on by the realization that we had no more snacks to quell my angry stomach. As such I had only managed to hear the first part in full and pieces from what had come after. For it wasn’t the words ‘shiteki shogai’ or ‘I have a mental disability’ that my ears had picked up during his most personal of revelations. Remembering that his had started as a conversation about dreams, in my weakened state I was sure that I heard him say the words ‘suteki shobai’ or ‘ I want to have a great business.’ Knowing this, I could be forgiven for reacting the way that I had at that moment.

That’s brilliant’, I responded enthusiastically, hoping that my burst of energy would bring back the spark that our conversation had seemed to lose during one of my lapses in concentration.

However, as both Miki and the poor man’s expressions conveyed, it was a connection that was only clear in my own mind. As Miki was left to pick up my pieces, I realized that, for the sake of our challenge, it was time to start working seriously on my Japanese.

Akita City – The city of rice and helicopters!

2009-10-01T00:34:00.000-07:00

The trek from Noshiro to Akita city took us alongside rice paddy fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. Our sea of blue was replaced by a sea of green that was kept that way by a fleet of remote controlled helicopters directed by the steady hands of elderly farmers. It seemed technology was catching on in the country. It was an amusing contrast to see farmers of a generation mostly forgotten by technology, happily fingering the controls of these bicycle sized pest controllers. With harvest a few short weeks away, the playful image masked what really was an important process in ensuring a successful crop in one of Akita’s biggest and most famous industries, rice. With food taking on more of an importance as the kilograms fell away it was something that we were looking forward to indulging in.

A large part of our challenge involved raising awareness and funds for the orangutans and their situation in the face of massive deforestation that is rife in both Indonesia and Malaysia. As such, the media was always going to be an important part of our challenge in getting that message out. However, as we had our hands full with the job of simply walking on these bamboo legs of ours it was not something that we could actively pursue ourselves. Before the challenge started we had attempted, unsuccessfully, to approach some media agencies, but as we soon found out, news requires more than simply an idea. So we decided that the best option was to just start walking and see what happened as a result. That meant that we never knew what was waiting around the next corner and it was an exciting way to live each day. As we entered Akita’s city, we were about to find out that there was more waiting for us than simply its rice.

“Mitsuketa! I’ve found you,” came the husky voice of woman running up behind us.
A short athletic woman with the brown glow that only comes from years spent chasing the perfect wave, was standing behind us, holding up her business card for us to see. Sasaki san, as it turned out was a roving reporter for Akita’s main FM radio station who had come out in search for us on the request of a number of listeners who had spotted us. If the card hadn’t said as much, the blue and white mobile radio station that was parked a few metres behind her would have given it away sooner or later. Finding us was not a difficult feat. For the first time, Miki and I were sporting identical outfits, both choosing to wear our yellow challenge T-shirts over long blue tracksuit pants. It was the thing that many listeners had been attracted to first, well next to the fact that we were on stilts of course. She wanted us to be a part of her live broadcast which would start in 15 minutes. We were happy for the break and settled down with Sasaki san and her other reporter as they readied their equipment for the transmission. Their easy going manner made for relaxing conversation and within minutes we were all chatting and laughing like we had known each other for years. The nice thing was that for once, it wasn’t about our stilts. While Miki had done a radio broadcast in Hokkaido, it was to be my first time in front of the microphone that would beam live all that we said to all who were listening. Thoughts of my Hokkaido TV cock-up came flooding back, however the girls, sensing something amiss, did a brilliant job reinforcing the relaxed atmosphere. As the broadcast began, our conversations continued just as they had in the moments before, making for a fun piece both to do, and judging from the honks and cheers of passing motorists, to listen to as well. We walked our last kilometers into Akita city to the accompanying shouts of ‘Ganbatte’ from well wishers who had been listening.

Like a wildfire, the spark that came from a simple appearance on a morning radio show, erupted in to a media fireball that lasted the next two days. Both TV and print called for stories about a husband and a wife and furry red orangutan called Pongo who always sat happily on the bag of one of them. For us it was a welcome diversion from 10 hour days in the sun, but for Pongo, it was the chance to let people know his story, and what the rest of his family is facing each day in the jungles of Borneo and Sumatra.

Asahi Newspaper Journalist - Yajima san (Aka Matt Damon)
The article went national.

On the go tab - Where we are now!

2009-09-30T16:41:00.000-07:00

We had no idea the pickle our temperamental internet connection was putting us in until a phone call to my uncle in Singapore. 'Hokkaido sounds lovely', he said as I sat talking to him 1000 kms away in Niigata! Obviously mobile internet has a long way to come when you are walking through some parts of Japan! So in order to give you a more up to date idea of where we are and what we are doing, we've gone all techy and have created an instant link to our phones. You will now be able to follow us as we go! The stories and diaries will continue, but as always, they will come a little bit later as you already know! The brain doesn't work so well after the 20km mark!

The instant messaging is linked only on the Japanese site, but there will be English posts too.

Step 1 - Click on the Japanese Tab. This will take you, well, to the Japanese page :-)

Step 2 - Click on the 今どこ？ tab and there you will be, able to see where we are and what we are doing as it all happens!!
ENJOY!!! And the blogs are coming soon! I promise!!

Route Map

2009-09-15T03:07:00.000-07:00

Our route map has just been updated. You will now be able to see where we are throughout the month of September! Check it out!
:-)

New Pictures

2009-09-12T17:49:00.000-07:00

We've just uploaded some new photos (well old photos now!) to the photos page! One of these days when we have a decent connection, we promise to upload all of them! Have a look!

7 more days in Niigata! And today - it looks like a typhoon!

From Aomori to Akita

2009-09-12T16:49:00.000-07:00

Memories of accusing gas stand attendants faded quickly from our minds as our days filled with the postcard images of a sparkling blue sea lapping at the foot of a ruggedly dramatic rocky coastline. Our moods often seemed tied to the scenery that surrounded us, with our happiest days emerging when walking with the rolling swells of the Japan Sea. Having chosen the road less traveled, all of the towns that we were now passing through were the kind that seemed more fitting of a Japan hundreds of years ago. Wooden paneled homes, weathered by the strong winter winds lined our way, each hosting their own organized rows of trellaced bean, tomato, or corn plants. The supermarket that so many of us take for granted in our everyday lives, seemed an unimaginable luxury for such people whose existence depended so much on their daily toil. The more these sights filled our days, the more we began to question our own reliance on the packaged breads and bottled drinks that we had been subsisting on. Everything about growing your own food for your own needs seemed to make so much more sense – until that is you come back down from the clouds with a thud to your own reality, which for us were these infernal stilts.

Our weekly routine, now firmly established, involved quite a lot of tuning and repairing certain parts of our bamboo legs. If it wasn’t the wire that held our footrests to the stilts that needed replacing, then it was the rubber tires that we used to cover the feet. Of the two, it was the latter that was now causing our headaches. The rubber we used came courtesy of the old tires from the shopping bicycles that abound here. Having used up all our supplies except for two cut to size pieces, the time had come to go on a search for a bicycle store willing to donate any of their throwaways for our cause. Once we have successfully assured the shop owner of our intentions and the doors open, the feeling that overcomes us is certainly akin to that of a kid in a candy store. It was this overwhelming assortment of free rubber that was to be the cause of our current predicament. We opted for a fancy red set of mountain bike slicks, our theory being that if cheap rubber tires lasted us 80kms, then fancy expensive looking rubber mountain biking tires would last us twice as long. They certainly looked good on the end of our stilts. But looks are not everything as we were about to find out.

As Aomori’s coast weaved its way ever closer toward Akita’s coast, we began to find that our progress was slowing with each day. The cause, our new red tires. Where the others had lasted us the best part of a week, we now found that we were changing these new treads almost as often as we had to eat. While not a particularly difficult task, done over and over again it was one that began to take the shine off each day. To add to our new dilemma, we also found that our new red slicks, had been very appropriately named! After two months of walking on every type of road imaginable, we were now becoming experts on what was a good and what was a bad road. Yes there is a big difference. The best were a rarity, found only in those towns with a bit of money and a local government willing to spend that money on its town. They were the ones made of the recycled rubber from car tires and made walking a pleasure. Our first experience, which has been our only experience, saw us spend a good 5 minutes just balancing from foot to foot in order to enjoy the sensation of this soft surface. The sight of us looking more like dancing ostriches than normal people must have brought a smile to more faces than just our own. On the other end of the scale, the worst were those that were covered with a thin layer of moss, barely visible from our perches, but with the potential to make us fall far from grace. It was on this kind of danger that we were now walking, with the added bonus of doing so on our slicks! The steps that took us between Aomori prefecture and Akita were slow and required all our concentration. As such, it was no surprise that when we reached Akita, we were both drained and in need of a good rest, not to mention some more tires for our stilts.

Crossing into Akita

Belated News.

2009-09-07T04:12:00.000-07:00

A quick note to apologize for the delay in my posts. My last post about those charming gas attendants happened more than a month ago in Aomori! We have since traversed 2 prefectures and are now sitting very close to our half way point in Niigata City. Lack of reception makes a nice official sounding reason for the delay, but I must take some of the blame also. The days have been long and the inspiration lacking at times! But I will endevour to get these up to speed within the next week or so as there are more stories happening with each day!

Thank you for reading and also for all the support we are getting. We have raised almost 4000 dollars in total and still a long road ahead. News came today that BOS, our charity, successfully released 46 orangutans back to the wild after securing land in the middle of Borneo. With more than 600 more waiting for release they are looking for more areas and hopefully at the end of this, our money, and your money, will go to help secure other much needed areas.

Anyway, back to the stories soon!
Hope you are all well!

Mick and Miki

Do I look like I have a problem with that kind of thing?

2009-09-07T04:02:00.000-07:00

We awoke to discover that we had made a slight miscalculation to the next town. We would now have to walk a total of 23kms under clear skies and the looming silhouette of Aomori’s Mt. Fuji. Iwaki-san. Apart from a lingering memory of the previous night’s ordeal, my buttocks seemed fine and ready to tackle the distance.

Unfortunately for us, it was our stamina, not our behinds that were suffering after an unusually late night. All day we couldn’t seem to get out of first gear, requiring more breaks than we had had to date. Unfortunately, stilting was not proving to be like other sports in the way your body adapts to the physical demands. Each day was as tedious as the one before, bringing with it the same levels of pain in the same areas. Our performance often seemed more influenced by our mental rather than our physical conditions. It was to be another day of just putting one foot in front of the other until we reached our goal.

Ajigasawa was our first coastal town since Rumoi, and while its position on Aomori’s beautiful coast was spectacular, about the only thing going for it was a over preened white Akita dog called Wasao (who had the day earlier been made a citizen of the town!). The rest of the town was charmless, with its people even more so. Help seemed hard to come by as people went about their daily business, uninterested in these two strangers looking lost on their streets. While Miki, whose charm and looks were more likely to elicit the helpful responses we were after, went about the important job of asking directions to baths and to campsites, I was left the relatively easy job of filling our fuel bottle for tonight’s meal. Up till now, I had never had a problem with gas stand attendants we were happy to fill me up for the pittance that it cost to do so. Then again, up till now, we had never been to Ajigasawa.

“Sore wa dame desuyo” (No I can’t do that.) said the attendant warily as I handed over my opened fuel bottle.
“Why not? I’ve never had a problem before?” I replied reassuringly, adding my best smile to convince him of my integrity.
“Iiya, dame desuyo!!” (No I can’t do that!)
“What are you talking about?” I said unbelievably, as my chances of having my bottle filled quickly disappeared.
Sensing the alarm in my voice, attendant number 1 called over attendant number 2 to add some finality to his decision. After conferring with each other, number 2, who was older but obviously not wiser, strode over to give me his opinion too.
“You shouldn’t be doing that!” he scolded as if I were the naughty child and he, my teacher.
“Doing what?!! What are you talking about??!!” I asked half shocked and now completely bewildered by where our conversation was going.
“We’re not going to sell it to you if you’re going to drink it!” he said as he shook his head disapprovingly.

It took about 2 minutes for the shock to subside enough for me to be able to say something.

“I want fuel for my bloody camp stove not for my bloody self!” I replied, the disbelief dripping of every syllable.
“Oh, in that case, no problems.” Attendant number 2 said cheerfully, as if the conversation earlier had been all in his imagination.
But I’d had enough and after telling them in my most gracious voice thanks, but no thanks, I wandered back down the road, past a bemused looking Miki, to a home centre that we had passed 20 minutes earlier.

It was a long day, and as we settled down for the evening on a bird crap littered car park after being told we could not camp in the park and that there was no campsite here, dreamed of a new day in a new town far away from here.

The Electric Bath!

2009-09-06T17:05:00.000-07:00

The camping life meant our body clocks were becoming accustomed to nature’s rhythms again. We awoke with the sun coming up over the hill behind us and had everything packed and ready to go by 7am. Starting early gave us a slight reprieve from the heat later in the day and we were able to walk a good number of kilometers before it got too hot.

As we came into town we were called over to the business of a man who had himself ridden around Japan during his younger years. “Come in for a drink,” he called. Even though we were making good progress, the offer was timely as the heat was just starting to get going.

We were happy to share our stories over drinks at the conference table, the breeze through the window and the friendly chat making leaving a trying proposition. After telling how he had spent his summers during school pedaling his way around Japan, he reached in to his pocket and retrieved two 1000yen notes.

“When I was travelling, I met a man who also stopped me and gave me vouchers for food and drink that probably would have amounted to 2000yen at the time. In return, all he asked was that when the time came, I too should do the same for others who are chasing a dream. So this is for you. Buy some lunch or some drinks. Remember, it’s not about money, it’s about the gesture to look after others.”

In taking his kind offering, we too were acknowledging our responsibility as members of this special kind of traveler’s fraternity. When the time came, we would strive to do our best to look after those who were chasing their dreams. It was a nice responsibility to receive, and one that made us realize that we were not alone. In the end, our successes perhaps wouldn’t be measured by the amount of money that we raised but rather by the number of people that we were able to involve in some way, small or large.

Goshogawara, was a pretty town, big enough to have everything, but small enough to retain some charm. It had made the national news a day earlier for having the second highest university acceptance rate amongst high school leavers in the country. A staggering 85% of high school students successfully went on to further study, revealing a standard of education that seems to be disappearing in the bigger cities of most countries.

After eating and catching up on some much needed washing, we began a frustrating search for phantom hot springs that while clearly written on our maps, were nowhere to be found. Eventually we were directed back toward the direction from which we’d come, a 3km turnaround that seemed much longer on tired legs.

We stumbled in to a bathhouse packed with tourists and locals who had arrived on mass after celebrating the town’s own Nebuta festival. Entering the bathing area, about the only bath that was free from screaming kids or hairless old men was one that was ominously named “Denki Buro” or “the Electric Bath”. Everyone was obviously giving this bubbling pool a wide berth. The logic seemed clear – electricity and water do not mix well. After once surviving a near death experience in an outdoor hot-spring whose wiring became ‘live’ when exposed to the rain, I should have been the one least likely to even consider a bath with such a name. However for some reason, call it exhaustion or stupidity, I felt like throwing caution to the wind. I felt like a bath and if it was going to come complete with timed electric shocks to my buttocks, then so be it. I eased in to the stares of a dozen bemused onlookers, each expecting the worst for this sunburnt, naked foreigner in their midst. As I settled down into position between the electrodes, I was just beginning to wonder what all the fuss was about when my right buttock began twitching uncontrollably. While not painful, it was definitely not a sensation one would call pleasant either, however, as I was caught in a performance before an audience of curious onlookers, I battled hard to maintain my composure in the face of ever strengthening shocks. The twitching had extended across to my other buttock, each one now beating in rhythmic time to an unheard beat. It was at this moment that I noticed a warning list that stretched halfway across the wall in front of me. Perhaps my curious audience, with a stronger grasp of the written language than me, knew something that I didn’t. After what seemed like an eternity I decided I had more than done enough to gain the respect of those around. Besides, my twitching had now reached a tempo that was embarrassing. As I stood slowly from the bath, towel covering my modesty, I half expected a round of applause for my efforts. What I got instead was a row of amused faces, each trying hard not to lose control in front of me. It seemed my muscles were still reacting to their static treatment, however, now they were in plain view for all to see. The ten metres to the change room seemed to take forever as I walked gingerly past all, not knowing which part to cover more with my towel.

It took a good five minutes for the twitching to stop, revealing two bright red patches where the current had entered. It was enough excitement for one day and I fell asleep wondering just what effect it might all have on my stilting style tomorrow.

Generosity is a man called Ootaku-san!

2009-09-06T06:58:00.000-07:00

After a relaxing time spent in a quaint local hot-spring, we were suddenly faced with the depressing prospect of finding a place to stay in the middle of nowhere with the sun now beginning to disappear behind the mountains. At that moment, we received a phone call from Ootaku-san, the Elvis look alike who had caught us in our earlier trough, offering to take us to another of Aomori’s famous Nebuta festivals, this time in a town called Goshogawara. With all other options looking quite dire, it was not difficult to say yes and soon we were being treated to the charming conversations of a man whose outlook on life was about to teach us a thing or two about ours.
Over a much anticipated dinner of handmade noodles and tempura, we listened to Ootaku san’s story of how a serious illness from overwork had caused him to reassess what was important in life, resulting in him quitting his job and chasing his dream in construction. He was now his own boss, working for the love of his job, doing something that he valued and his face showed every bit of it. It was a simple message that so few ever really heed. Why do something if you don’t love it? Why do something if you don’t want to do it? The result of following a head full of dreams and a heart full of desire was a man who had found the true meaning of life in the routine of everyday. When you wake up excited about what’s for breakfast, you know that things must be going Ok in your life.

Our next stop was an unexpected treat. While we had spent the week before enjoying the Nebuta’s of Aomori city, little did we know that Aomori hosted three such festivals, each as big as the other, simultaneously in three different cities. Goshogawara as we were about to find, was the host of the ‘tachi nebuta’ or standing floats. The name however does little to convey the true scale of these creations. Made of paper and weighing up to 3 tonnes, these tachi nebuta on first glimpse leave you grasping for the right adjective to describe them. Perhaps Miki’s first words, in some ways, captured best the essence of what we saw.
“ I think I just saw Godzilla with a wig walking behind that building.”
But it was true, for when the tachi nebuta came in to full view, we all stood speechless. What was even more amazing was the fact that some of these things had been put together completely by the local high school students. When I recall the struggles I had trying to put squiggly clay hair on my clay face sculpture in grade 9 art class, it becomes obvious that my path doesn’t lie in the same direction as these kids. When we couldn’t imagine them getting any bigger, another would creep its way around the building, more massive and more impressive than the last until finally, we were faced with the big daddy of them all – a 27 metre tall monster than defied words. Otaku –san stood by with a smile, happy in the knowledge that it was going to be a night we would never forget. For in his mind, it was still not finished. There was one more trip to make and it was to be the best one yet.

Aware that the time was now quite late, Ootaku-san suggested staying at his house. It was closer, we could relax and sleep in, and in the morning he could take us back to our starting point. To him it seemed like the perfect solution, and to us, it seemed again like the better option. In fact, as we hadn’t secured any place to stay, it was really our only option. He smiled a big smile and headed in the direction of his house which, after passing through rice fields and weaving between forests of towering pines, ended up being right on the beach with the perfect view of the squidding boats, illuminating the horizon far out to sea. The smell of the sea air immediately breathed some life back in our weary bones and as we put our bags in the doorway, Ootaku-san said the words that I will never forget.
“Right. My wife is waiting so I’m off. I’ll be back in the morning to pick you up. You can rest here; get your legs back. Feel free to use everything that’s here. Oh and one last thing, look in the back room. There is a surprise.” And with one final grin, he was off, leaving us, two relative strangers, the keys to his beach house for the night. While Miki seemed to have cottoned on to the suggestion earlier, I was completely taken back by this most generous of offers. My inability once again to pick up some of the essential details, left me standing with my mouth wide, wondering if there was a catch.
We wondered to the back room and opened the door. A smile came over our faces as we now knew what he had meant by his surprise. Earlier in the evening when Miki and Ootaku-san had reminisced about their sporting backgrounds, they discovered that they had both competed in table tennis at the prefectural level, with talk of a matchup between the two soon bouncing back and forth between all of us. Now that matchup was etched in our near future. Before us stood an immaculate table tennis table with Miki’s name on it. Sleep was definitely going to take a back seat tonight. In twelve short hours Ootaku-san would be back to pick us up. Miki, with her title on the line, had some practicing to catch up on.

My first experience with the infamous Aomori dialect!

2009-09-06T06:41:00.000-07:00

It was a difficult walk away from the rider’s camp that we had called home for three days. It wasn’t just because of the bonds that we had formed either. Hana-san was right! Our legs didn’t seem to want to work for us anymore. The 2 hours of dancing had taken their toll and as we took our first tentative steps away from our new, leather clad group of friends, we were struck with the horrible feeling that it was going to be a long day ahead.

As we walked however, we both began to feel the shadow of anticipation that greets every new adventure. Apart from the Nebuta festival, we knew little else about our surroundings and what lay ahead. Our goal was a hot-spring marked on our maps at about 12kms from our starting point. Up until this point, all of our route maps had consisted of copies from the pages of whichever road maps we could lay our hands on in local libraries. That often meant that we were relying on data from ten years ago which had on more than one occasion left us scratching our heads as to the location of a park or a campsite that while clearly marked on our guides, had long since become the victim of time. While we had taken such hiccups in our stride at first, we soon tired of those last minute searches for a place to stay after a long day on the stilts. Today, however, it seemed our destination was solid, for we had been told so from the mouth of a local herself. She had also given us directions for a short cut that would get us there much faster than the road we were currently on. As we walked however, further and further down what looked to be turning into a major highway, we started to doubt her words. With the sun beating down more strongly than it had for the last month, we reluctantly pulled up stilts and began a long walk back to where we had first met her, hoping to show her a good deal more than the creases she had left on both of our foreheads. The three kilometers seemed to take forever wiping all smiles from our faces and leaving us walking in silence toward a goal we did not know. At that moment, a truck pulled up in the clearway next to us and out popped a well dressed man, with jet black hair that reminded us of a younger Elvis. Our dour moods did little to dampen his spirits as he clicked off a few photos on his mobile phone. Ootaku-san, as he introduced himself lavished us with words of encouragement but before his enthusiasm could do any more, he had slipped away back into the flow of traffic from which he had emerged. Little did we know how big an impact he would have on us over the days and weeks ahead.

On the advice of another, more trustworthy looking local, we altered our course for another hot-spring a little further out of our way, hidden between the pine trees and family farms of a more rural Aomori. We were immediately happy with the decision. As the traffic thinned out, time slowed to the pace of those around, who seemed happily content with the simplicity of daily chores under a blanket of blue. We soon picked up a tagalong, a young boy of about 12 who seemed relieved to have the company of someone other than his grandmother whom he had come to spend summer with. Ryuto’s quick wit and cheeky way made him quite an easy companion to walk with. He spoke with an innocent cockiness that comes from too much time listening to yourself, but we enjoyed all he had to say about the ups and downs of being a 12year old in the middle of nowhere. For us, his brash way proved a nice diversion from our troubled day, but we were soon to see how it could also get him into strife.

As we rounded the corner, a farmer’s mini truck came careening across the road and screeched to a spluttering halt inches from the edge of the road and certain doom. Down came the window and out popped the head of a toothless farmer whose well wrinkled smile showed no hint of concern for the fact that he had just parked diagonally across the road, blocking the path of any oncoming traffic. I guess parking where one wishes becomes the reward for reaching such an age. As to what came from his mouth next, I can only surmise as no amount of training in the Japanese language could have helped me to decipher the thick Aomori dialect that was flowing from his toothless grinning mouth. Only occasionally could I make out a familiar word that gave some idea about what he was talking about.
“La di da di do di dum America!”
“La di do di da di dum Iraq!”
“La di da di do did um Takeuma!”
“La di Takeuma di do di dum Hokkaido to Kagoshima!”
Despite the gruff manner in which he spoke, his offer of a bag of tomatoes from his garden conveyed his feelings clearly. Just as I was about to say thanks, Ryuto, who had been listening up until this point, grabbed the bag and handed them back to the old man. His cheekiness was about to get checked.
“You can’t give them these. They’ve got spots on them. Haven’t you got any others? They’re walking on stilts you know!”
Before Ryuto could react, the old farmer’s hand had let go of the wheel and swung out of the window in a lightning fast arc that connected with the boy’s baseball crew cut. Such speed was quite impressive for a man who looked likely to drive himself off the road no less than 5 minutes ago.
“You learn to keep your mouth shut about things you don’t know about – you can’t buy them like that!” replied the farmer, possibly, for we all were still in shock, more about the fact that he could do it, rather than the fact that he did do it.

As Ryuto rubbed his head, the old man bid his farewells through his open window, yelling encouragement through his toothless mouth as he chugged off ungracefully up the hill in what sounded like third gear. Our first experience with Aomori’s infamous dialect had proven a memorable one, more so for our travelling companion than for us.

Bye Bye Hokkaido. Hello Aomori and a festival to remember!

2009-08-28T04:45:00.000-07:00

The truth was, we would have no idea whether our slip up, sorry, my slip up, would reach the screen until we saw it that day. Nakano-san had promised to do all he could to erase it or ‘edit it nicely’, but as he said, all executive decisions were left up to the head editor not him. So all we could do was wait and see for ourselves. That was of course, if we could make it in time to Tomakomai and a TV screen. The story was to air at 5.17. All we had to do was walk the 21kms that stood between us and our final cut! The only problem was that despite all our good intentions, we had managed to oversleep horribly and with the sun now beating down strongly on the bitumen around us, we began to feel the heat from more than just above.

Our luck at having had a footpath for most of the way was about to change as we neared Tomakomai and its busy port. Trucks rumbled past alarmingly close to where we were walking and as the shoulder of the road narrowed, so too did their margins for error. Up till now, many of the truck drivers that we had met had been courteous to a fault when driving past, taking good care to leave us plenty of room. Unfortunately for us on our last day, many of the drivers who roared past were young ruffians more alert to the messages on their mobiles than to the pair of us hugging the roadside in front. Our nerves were being smashed with each close call, but as it was our last day, we were determined to try to walk the last few kilometers on stilts. However, as we walked, we became aware of an ever growing number of roadside signs marking points in the road where fatalities had occurred before. We hadn’t come this far to fall victims to reckless drivers at the last hurdle so we reluctantly stepped down for the first time of the trip to walk to the next ruffian free section of road.

As the afternoon grew long, we realized that we had grossly underestimated our final calculations to town. At the pace we were walking, we wouldn’t make it in time to see our TV debut and whether that debut included that cock-up! Our walk soon turned in to a brisk walk, which soon turned in to a jog as we entered the 60minute countdown to the premiere. We chose the first place that came by and after quickly handling the formalities, settled down in nervous anticipation of what was to come.

As always, it is never as bad as one thinks, and our ‘debut’ turned in to a very informative piece about the current plight of the orangutans and how we could all help. Having taken the fancy of the chief editor, our 2 1/2 minute fluff piece ballooned into a 7 minute feature. Watching the final edit, it was easy to see that the thanks lay more with Nakano san’s ability to weave a catching story in with the footage he got than it was to either of our own performances. Overall our bits amounted to little more than a few minutes of the total, which were, luckily for me, sans cock-up! To have such a powerful medium delivering such an important message in the professional manner in which Nakano-san had handled it was more than we could ever have asked for, especially as the orangutans made a much more powerful impression than either Miki or I ever could.

After 400kms, a 5 day crossing of a plain with absolutely nothing, a bear chase, a sea urchin feast, a party with Jesus himself, and uncountable meetings with some unforgettable characters, our Hokkaido leg was finally over. 4 weeks earlier, as we stood on the tip of its most northerly promontory, we did not imagine then reaching the point we were standing at now. There were too many unknowns, too many question marks that we could not answer. The whole trip was a big question mark and we hadn’t even begun. But after putting one foot in front of the other each day, for 31 days, we had done it. Our Pongo Hogo Hogo Challenge was now really alive. As we stood on the deck of the ferry that would take us to Aomori, we looked at each other with big grins and hugged. It was a sweet moment that we wouldn’t forget for a while to come.

Our arrival in Aomori was timely. The city was abuzz with final preparations for its famous Nebuta festival, which was renowned, quite deservedly, as one of Japan’s top three. Every year, the city is inundated with 3 million extra visitors who flock to see the famous Nebuta or lit up floats that are paraded through the city’s streets each night during the first week of August. This time, we would be lucky enough to be a part of it. We had met a motorcyclist on the ferry, Hana-san, who told us about a yearly tradition involving all of the motorcyclists who gathered from afar. All 300 or so of them would flock each night to an area between the Nebuta, and partake in a 2 and a half hour frenzy of bell ringing dancing and chanting that would leave the untrained voice of a novice in tatters for days. Ours as it would turn out. To be a part of the party, all we needed was our own festival yukata complete with a fistful of bells so as not to be outdone by whoever was next to us.

Having been taken under the wings of some veteran ‘riders’, we made our way to the rendezvous, filled with a warm glow from the festive atmosphere that was oozing out of everyone’s pores. The traditional pre-performance booze up may also have been a factor. As performing members of one of Japan’s top three festivals, but having not yet received any of the promised training, we stood wondering what it was we should do when the time came.
“Jush doo wot da fella beshide you doesssh”, answered a fellow reveler whose chances at even making it to the start looked slimmer with each gulp of his canned beer.
Before we could gather any details, a lone firework signaled the start of the parade and we found ourselves being carried along in the throng, the chants of “Rasharai Rasharai – Rasha Rasha Rasharai ringing loud into the evening sky. The excitement of being a part of this first day was as contagious as the new strain of flu that was spreading across the rest of the country, only our medicine came through the beat of the drums and their infectious influence on our senses. For two and half hours, we danced at the heart of the rider group, a hundred people jumping as one to the beats of the drums that lead our procession. Our own voices had long drowned out any sense of the world around us. Our only clue that all the other Nebuta had come to a halt came from the faint glow of the fireworks above. While the other groups began to disperse, ours stood around, still beaming from the experience of having been a part of the Nebuta Festival’s first night. People who had been complete strangers only hours before, were now embracing in celebration of being there, together, as one. As Miki and I stood, arms entwined with our newfound friends, a familiar face peered in through the congestion of sweaty yukatas, glasses fogged over from the exertion of the night. As our hands clasped together, Hana-san beamed a smile as bright as the full moon above and said, “Good luck on the stilts tomorrow.”

Pongo's TV Debut!

2009-08-20T03:07:00.000-07:00

The weather remained temperamental for the few days following our phone call, delaying our meeting with Hokkaido TV and our first taste of life in the spotlight. Not that it was an anticipated event. While Miki remained her usual composed self throughout, fear began to spring from the depths of my subconscious, most of which revolved around my Japanese and how it would cope with a camera that was going to immortalize, for good or bad, every pidgeonized word that would potentially trip, stumble or crash horribly out of my mouth. While my Japanese has progressed from the awkward mumbles that accompanied purchases in the local convenience store to awkward sentences that help me now at least find the toilet, to say it was ready for an on camera onslaught would be an embarrassing misrepresentation of the truth. Over the past few weeks, it has been known to jumble word order of its own accord, resulting in some rather mortifying constructs such as "Etchi no Miki" or "my salacious Miki" in place of the Michi no Eki s or roadhouses that we have been frequenting. "So what is your goal today?" "My goal is a salacious Miki!" I would often reply with a grin from ear to ear. Such mistakes, while terrible for poor Miki, pose no long term threat when confined to one or 5 people that we will now surely never meet again, however, the potential for such a slip to reach a wider audience was now playing on my mind, producing the kind of nerves that could quite easily result in an on screen disaster.

On the morning of our second last day in Hokkaido, we received the call.
"The weather's fine. We're on our way. We'll come find you in about an hour."
As I had had a few days to settle the nerves and to banish some of those fears to the deeper parts of the brain, the news of their imminent arrival did not have the effect that I had been so anxiously anticipating. In fact, as we continued on our way, we laughed and joked, becoming lost in the euphoria of nice weather and the knowledge that we were in spitting distance of our first major goal.

At 9.30, a van pulled over to the side of the road and a young man in a dress shirt and pants stepped out. " Hi, I'm Nakano. Sorry we're late." Together with his young crew comprising a camera woman and sound technician, they went about their jobs of preparing the scenes that they would need for our story while we watched mesmerized at the efficiency with which a TV news story was planned. Our story was to be a 2 1/2 minute piece detailing our last month and the reasons behind such a crazy challenge. The youth of each member made for a friendly atmosphere where work and a relaxed banter mixed freely making everything flow much more smoothly than they had anticipated. Before we knew it, they were ready and we were about to find out what life in front of the camera was like.

"Do this. Walk like this. Can you do this on stilts? No, what about this? Walk faster. Walk slower. Walk together. Line up this way." The directions came thick and fast as they tried to gather as many shots as they could to tell our story in their own way. We walked while they filmed and before we knew it, 2 hours and about 7kms had passed beneath all of our feet. For the first time since the first day, we had managed to string together a walk without breaks for longer than an hour and a half. And our feet were telling us so. As such we were relieved when Nakano-san asked us to stop ahead so that they could begin the interview part of the story.

Miki and I had talked about what they might ask and how we might respond. After 8years together, Miki had become quite adept at knowing precisely when to jump in to help finish a sentence or to help clarify some of the blabber that had on occasion found its way out of my mouth in public. However, there was something about having a camera fixed firmly on our faces that blighted any such cerebral connection between us. When the camera was on us, we spoke, and the when the camera panned away to the other, we sat locked in a state of alarm, pondering whether what we had just said was at all comrehensible. As such, I became acutely aware of the solitary nature that my TV 'debut' would take and at that moment, the fears bubbled back up the the surface of my brain like a boiling pot.

On account of my being non-Japanese, the reporter had wanted to include a question in English, with my response in Japanese. While initially relieved, it was this seemingly innocuous dialogue that would cause my downfall!

"So, how do you think Hokkaido?" asked the reporter in typically erroneous Japlish.
I had toyed with two responses to this most unchallenging of questions. One could talk about not wanting to leave 'Hokkaido' where we were, the other could opposingly talk about not wanting to go to the next place on our route, 'Honshu'. Either one would have been a perfectly safe, appropriate response to his simple question. Either one was easy to utter, even in my pidgeon Japanese. But it was such confidence in this simplicity that caused a horrible lapse, an unconscious merge that resulted in stifled laughter from the crew, and a look of shock from the reporter that will remain with me for many years to come.

What came out of my mouth that day was the spoken equivalent of the middle finger to the people of this big island. Under the pressure of the camera, the words flowed together out of my mouth and before I could reign them back in I realized I had just told the people of Hokkaido that due to our experiences so far, I never wanted to come back to their prefecture again! (Ima made no omoide de, kore kara, zettai Hokkaido ni ikitakunai!)

My first foray in front of the camera was memorable for one horrible slip of the tongue. Now the waiting game would be played out once more. Would this be a slip that would come back to haunt us? More importantly, would Miki ever be able to forgive me for my stupidity.

Bye Bye Hokkaido – Hello 6 Oclock News!

2009-08-17T04:01:00.001-07:00

The 19kms from our 3000yen guest house to the city of Iwamizwa seemed to float past under feather light feet and the energy that comes from a free feast. While the imminent separation from a loyal travelling partner might normally draw a tear or two for the road wearied traveler, for us, our separation from koitsu was to harbor no such emotions. We could hardly contain our glee as the roads split, leaving koitsu to carry the same sour faced drivers to wherever it was they were sadly heading to. We, on the other hand, had a date with a ferry that was heading to Honshu. All we had to do was to make it in time. 80kms in 5 days? That wouldn’t be that difficult, would it?

Our first impression of Iwamizawa was provided courtesy of one of the town’s living relics, complete with tinted blue hair (why must all women over the age of 80 demand such a shocking do?) on an equally ancient tricycle designed for grown-ups going to the shops. Her witch like cackle would have been enough to frighten us off our perches had we not heard it coming from 50 metres away along the highway.
“Ooo Haa Ooo Haa!! Where do you think you’re going on those things!” she cackled as she pedaled up behind us, like a dwarf on a circus trike.
“Kagoshima.” Our reply set off another cacophony of cackles.
“Ooo Haa Ooo Haa!! Where did you come from?” she asked us in between breaths and cackling fits.
“Cape Soya.” Her second round of laughter was even more vigorous than the first, the stabilizing third wheel of the tricycle a savior that no doubt kept her from a disastrous fate had she been riding such a fully loaded regular bicycle.
As she pedaled away, still laughing at the thought of such an inconceivable idea, we were left as dumbfounded as when she had arrived, wondering just which of us was crazier?

We spent the night in our first rider’s house, although to call it a house would be overstating what was there; a basic room barely big enough for the both of us that looked like it had been slapped down as quickly as the old woman had left us earlier. On the upside we were lucky to have the place to ourselves and as we settled in, our attentions were drawn to the happy chatter and splashing sounds of people, women, close by. Opening the blinds we were confronted by a sight that would scar a man for life. The position of the rider’s house, either by pure luck or by some mischievous forward planning on the part of the builders, looked out directly on to the women’s outdoor bathing area of the hot spring complex in the adjoining building. Unfortunately for us, our timing coincided with what looked to be the bathing time of the tricycle rider’s knitting circle. A valiant attempt to avert my gaze in time to save me from the horror scene that was, only resulted in more naked blue tinted knitters who were completely oblivious to the damage they were causing in the rider’s house above. For Miki, such a scene was a normal as the pack was now to her back, but for the untrained foreign male eye, it was enough to put one off staying in a rider’s house for the rest of their life.

We woke after a fitful sleep filled with cackles and tricycles and baths and leather bags. Our aim was to make an early start in order to put as many kilometers between ourselves and the memory of last night as we could. Our walk was soon interrupted however by a phone call from a TV station who had heard about our challenge and who wanted to run a story about us for the nightly news. We arranged to meet as soon as the weather improved and so began the countdown to Pongo’s television debut and perhaps the biggest cock-up of my life!

Bye Bye Koitsu!

2009-08-16T05:46:00.000-07:00

Returning to Route 12, or koitsu as we had been calling it, required some adjustments after our pampering at the hands of Otojiro san and his family and friends. The joy of sleeping in a warm bed made the thought of camping again a difficult one. As such, a compromise was needed and we decided that to draw a little more from the budget to stay the night in a guest house would be a necessary sacrifice in order to maintain morale and momentum down to the ferry at Tomakomai. The only problem was finding one. Each town we walked through seemed to be missing the one sign that we were keeping our eyes opened for. Why is it that you can never find the thing you want most when you are actually looking for it? The more we walked, the more hopeless our situations appeared to grow, until that was we happened across a bristly haired police officer by the name of Arakawa san.

A small town ‘koban’ or police box was an unlikely place to find one of Hokkaido’s highest ranked homicide detectives, but it was precisely that change of pace, in addition to a little prompting from his local wife, that resulted in Arakawa san’s decision to relocate to the quieter side of the force. While his generous offerings of sweets and coffee may have masked a determined attempt to keep him company while nothing unlawful continued to happen around, the friendly banter that accompanied the feast more than made up for lost time on the stilts. Eventually our conversation turned to where we intended to stay the night, and as if posing the question opened the floodgates of fear that had been creeping in with each unsuccessful search, we both began pouring our problem out onto Arakawa san’s table. His understanding nods here and grunts of agreement there seemed to confirm our predicament. Koitsu’s reputation had obviously affected the tourist industry badly with not a guest house this side of cooee to be found. But there was a possibility, he offered suddenly. A small guest house that catered mainly to construction workers was just a few kilometers away in the next town. He knew the man and offered to call on our behalf.

“I’ve got two stilt walkers here looking for a place for the night. You could spare a place for them tonight couldn’t you?” he said with an air of authority that seemed more like a statement than the question it was.
“5500 yen?” he repeated as he looked over for confirmation.
Our downcast faces immediately suggested a price out of our range so cupping the phone so as not to let the guest house owner in on our conversation asked,
“What can you afford?”
3000yen was what we had been paying for places much nicer than what we thought anything along koitsu could offer, so we tentatively made that our starting price.
Arakawa san’s nod of confirmation sent him back down the phone on our behalf.
“What about 3000yen. How’s that? Can you do it for that?
The guest house owner was throwing up smokescreens however. The price was obviously not to his liking.
“It’s a bit noisy with workers at this time of year you say”, repeated Arakawa san, letting us in on the conversation as it went.
Our nods, smiles and waving of hands to convey that such noise was definitely not a problem was taken in stride and without missing a beat Arakawa san went for the jugular.,
“That won’t be a problem for them. So I’ll send them over to you now OK. For 3000yen Ok,” his thumbs up confirming our reservation.
But Arakawa san, obviously one with an eye for an opportunity finished with what was for us, the icing on the cake.
“And that 3000 yen will include dinner and breakfast won’t it.”
The guest house owner’s will was gone. How could he possibly try to haggle one of Hokkaido’s highest ranking homicide detectives out of a few thousand yen. It was a futile battle with the now happy stiltwalkers, the victors.

Our second encounter with Hokkaido’s police had left us in a much better state than our first. With only a few kilometers to go before we bade koitsu a much anticipated farewell, our run to the finish was now starting to look much brighter than the guest house owner’s mood.

The Long Way Down - Horrible Highway 12

2009-08-06T02:39:00.000-07:00

Our first two weeks had been filled with visions from a wildlife documentary. There was always something to fill our imaginations as we walked along the coasts or through the hills that rang high above them. We had been spoilt, for no sooner had we turned to head away from the coast, than the roads began to fill up with traffic jams and the streets with tacky fast food shops. The beauty of the sights before however was replaced by an amusing myriad of bewildered faces peering from the windows of passing cars. We became quite good at reading lips with comments ranging from ‘Su~goi~’ or ‘Look at that will you!’ to ‘Baka da ne’ or ‘Look at those crazy bastards will you!’ Sometimes people said nothing, as they drove, mouths agape toward the very edge of disaster before recovering their composure and, fortunately for them and sometimes us, their direction. Almost every person that passed however mouthed the word ‘takeuma’ or stilts, as if seeing them brought back some recollection from their youth. For many adults, takeuma were as much a part of their childhoods as school was, with most holding some dear memory of a time spent playing on these simple objects of fun. While their origins may have stemmed from China initially, takeuma had now become as Japanese as sumo, and it was one of the reasons why we had chosen them to do such a challenge. Walking down the length of Japan on something not traditionally Japanese seemed wrong, and as we watched lips after lips mouthing the same familiar word, we silently congratulated the decision to use something so central to everyone’s past.

Route 12 was to be the highway that would take us down through the middle of Hokkaido and to Iwamizawa, our last major town before we took a left turn onto our final road to the ferry terminal to Honshu. We had chosen it for no other reason than it seemed the fastest and shortest route to take us where we were headed. Fast and short, however, could just as easily have been interpreted as dirty and boring, for Route 12 turned out to be one of those horrible roads whose only purpose seemed to join together the kinds of satellite factory towns that gather so hideously on the outskirts of major cities. With nothing endearing to capture our attentions, we walked at a steady pace, counting the steps left to the goal at each day’s end. Even the people passing in the cars revealed expressions that matched the dreary surrounds, stealing the fun from our lip reading practice sessions. As days passed along this smoggy choked arterial, it began to act less like the inanimate object that it was and more like a living thorn in the side of our motivation, so we decided to give Route 12 a name that more clearly captured its true personality. ‘Koitsu’ or ‘ You Son of a B….’ as it was now unaffectionately known became our new travelling companion and the brunt of many a frustrated outburst as we struggled slowly along. Days that had disappeared in a flash before, we taking forever now, as we trudged slowly south.

For some horribly sadistic reason, every campsite that we found at the end of the day tended to be perched at the end of the road of the town’s highest hill. It was enough to make us change tactics and begin searching for local parks to bunk down in instead, always with the blessing of the locals. Just as people are delighted when rare species spontaneously appear on their beaches or in their towns, so too were the locals intrigued when they woke to the sight of strange stilt walking creatures in their midst. At times we felt like caged animals, as locals disrupted their morning walks to peer in to our tent and observe the still sleeping creatures up close. It was an unnerving feeling to wake to a row of curious faces lined up at the tent window, smiling with each roll or yawn. Luckily for us we were saved by a phone call from a man who had first seen us on our first day. Otojiro san had contacted us wondering whether we were interested in visiting his house for the night to share stories and relax with his family and friends. Any chance to escape the morning viewing sessions was a blessing, and so with after a quick call to confirm a time, we were of like Free Willy to Otojiro san’s house and a night that we would never forget.

We walked in to a party that was in full throng, with people sharing stories in one corner, or telling jokes in the other. We were welcomed in and at once relaxed in the comfortable atmosphere of what really felt like a home with people who were happy to just be. As the food and wine flowed, we were treated to a musical bonanza that even included a performance by Miki, who was most relieved to find that she still had full use of her fingers, despite the thrashing they had been getting at the hands of the stilts. We sang, we laughed, we talked, we drank and as I look through the photos now, it seems there was a point where we even acted something out. Don’t ask me what, there must have been a reason I erased that memory from my imagination! The time flew by and before we knew it, the dawn of the new day signaled our bed time. There would be no stilt walking today. It was time to catch up on some sleep and to soak in the family atmosphere that we had been missing so much. I lay down and as I flicked through the pages of children’s book detailing everything anyone could ever want to know about poo, I realized that tomorrow (or today) would be another one of those days where we would have to say one of those inevitable goodbyes that just don’t want to leave your mouth.

Week 1- 3 The Characters of Hokkaido

2009-07-30T18:45:00.000-07:00

My apologies for the delay in entries. It has been a crazy two weeks filled with travels over oceans, new towns, new friends and even some dancing in one of Japan's biggest summer festivals! But before I get to that, let me go back to the thread of the last blog and fill in some of the events from before.

As you have probably guessed, our journey up till now has not been the solitary affair that we had been preparing ourselves for all those months. Apart from some stray wildlife, we have also had the pleasure of clouds; big grey threatening clouds, low rumbling angry clouds and some very fat cold looking clouds that all have managed to successfully wet every one of our possessions at least once along the way.
If it had not been for some fortunate meetings with the local people of Hokkaido I fear our account of the trip to date would have turned into a boring affair, much of which might not have been publishable on account of the language that went with describing such troublesome travelling companions.

But luckily that has not been the case. After our day of torment at the hands of those cows, we stumbled in with our last ounces of energy to a guest house run by an angel by the name of Kobayashi san. Not that we had been expecting that! Before she emerged silently from an unseen door to our right, both Miki and I had been placing bets as to how many people had died in the grips of a guest house that could easily have doubled as a haunted house in an amusement park. Its dark wood stained walls lined felt billiard green floors that seemed to soak up all of the light, leaving you, quite literally wondering what creepy crawlies lived in the shadowy darkness beyond the lobby. We had been contemplating sneaking back out when we first met Kobayashi san whose smile and welcoming manner seemed to breathe life into the walls much better than the glow of any light bulb could.

At such a late hour our chances of getting a meal were looking slim, but as we had not eaten all day (the rain had made our soggy sandwiches even soggier), we hoped the sight of our downcast faces might be enough to sway this motherly owner in to whipping something up. I tell you, we must have looked like those African children in the Unicef pamphlets, for what came out was enough to feed a whole village of those African children – for a year. Spaghetti, meat sauce, pork, eel, shellfish soup, salad, rice, watermelon, kiwi fruit, pickles. It was more food than we had seen since beginning this trip and all after she had said that she could only cook us something from whatever was leftover in her fridge! I wish our fridge always had leftovers like that. After an hour we had left the dishes spotless, and as we sat warm and content with our full bellies, we couldn’t help but feel touched by the gesture of this woman who had given so much more than we had ever expected. Since the beginning of our trip we had been accumulating experiences that did not fit our image of life as it had been in the big smoke. Here people would happily stop you in the street to chat or to give you something to help you on your way, like a drink or a snack. It was a place where smiles and waves were as common as the road under our feet and served as a refreshing change from the expressionless stares that had greeted us on our training walks back in Tokyo. But what is it that makes such a big change? Is it the simpler life that draws attention to the more important things around us like the people that fill our lives? It was a question that Miki and I had talked about often and one that we would talk about again soon as we moved on once more through coastal towns to our half way point for our Hokkaido section.

A few days walk away from the warmth of Kobayashi san’s guest house, stomachs a little fuller and legs a little fresher, we were greeted by our first major hills of the trip. While not as tall as the mountains that we would face further south, they were enough to bring out a good sweat. A little rain now, would have been the perfect tonic to cool our overheated bodies, but, as sod’s law would have it, the sun had decided to poke its face out from behind the clouds for the very first time since our start. Wouldn’t you believe it! We spent the next few hours battling hills in the swelter, thinking only about the last one, and the soggy sandwiches that were waiting for us at the bottom of it. No sooner had we come to sense the leveling off of the road and the sea breezes on our now sunburnt faces, than the sun decided to go back to its regular hiding place behind what looked like the monster of all clouds. Before we could even stop to put on our waterproof gear, the heavens opened up and caught us in their fury, the sounds of Sod’s Law once again laughing in our ears. As Miki contemplated our unbelievably bad luck in the relative safety of the nearby bus shelter, I wandered to the next road sign to see how far we had left to the next town and hopefully a dry place to stay. It was here that we met a sea worn set of locals that would leave us with our second unforgettable experience.

“What have you done with the other one?” The question rung out behind me as unexpectedly as the rain had come.
Turning around I was confronted by a woman in her 70s, her face weathered with lines from a hard life on the sea, and a younger man whose build showed the results of years on a ‘see food’ diet.
“Has she given up has she?” they asked again as the rain fell around us.
“ You mean Miki? She’s hiding in the bus shelter over there”, I replied as their cheeky grins removed all caution from the conversation.
“ Well, we’ve been waiting for you. If you want to come in the back we’ve got some sea urchins for you,” and without waiting for my reply, they turned and started walking back to their workshop behind a typical seaman’s house.
Sea Urchins? Spiky, poison barbed sea urchins were a delicacy in these parts and also a favourite of Miki’s, but were not exactly the type of thing I was thrilled to be hoiking about on my back. But before I could worry about it for too long, Miki emerged from the shelter, eyes wide with expectation. “Sea Urchins?” she asked as if she had heard every word.

We made our ways to the back of the house where the two were working steadily beside the older woman’s husband, splitting and seeding a bucket filled to the brim with freshly caught, wriggling sea urchins or ‘uni’ as it is known in Japanese. Despite the open door, it was a cosy change from the deluge outside, and as we sat and watched them work, they kept piling uni onto metal ladles for us to sample. While Miki dived in like a kid in a candy store, I eyed the little yellow balls cautiously, remembering not so fond experiences with this expensive fare from past sittings. But to reject such a sincere offering would be bad form, especially considering the vigor with which Miki was devouring hers, and so I put the slippery yellow mass on my hand and sucked it all down, hoping with all my heart that it would stay down. Expecting the worst however is not the best way to face new experiences as I was to discover. The freshly caught uni had a much sweeter taste than the stuff found in shops and was surprisingly easy to eat. With ladels filling up faster than troughs in a pig pen, I took position next to Miki and fell in stride with her efforts to keep up with this buffet from the sea. The three of them seemed to be enjoying our expressions of delight as much as we were now enjoying eating it all. The nicest thing about the experience that didn’t really hit us until later was how natural everything all seemed. Even though we were complete strangers, we were accepted in to their homes as easily as if we were their own, with conversations flowing freely as hands and minds focused on the chore at hand. It was nice to be an insider for a change, and to be given an insight in the real lives of people whose days were determined by the rhythms of the sea.

As the rain continued to fall, so too did our hopes of ever getting to the next town on foot, and as we contemplated a long swim through puddles the size of small pools, we were surprised by their offer to have us stay in their house for the evening. Not wanting to burden these busy people, but also not wanting to swim in the rain, we half heartedly tried to think of reasons to move on, each one soon falling flatly against their warm reassurances. We were treated to their work room, a warm space filled with the glow of burning wood from the ‘maki’ stove at its centre. They left us to rest well, coming only to bring more food from their garden or to tell tales from their life on the sea. Once again, we were falling asleep with stomachs full with prizes from the sea, heads swimming around stories of sharks and walruses and salmon runs and uni fishing, and hearts warmed by the generous gestures of more people who were happy to share with us a little piece of their world.

The rest of the distance to Rumoi, our half way point for Hokkaido, disappeared under the happy thoughts of the past days. Here we would rest for a day before taking on the final challenge; a 200km trek through the centre of Hokkaido, and a road from hell.

Week 2 1/2 to 3 - Our rainy reality!

2009-07-30T17:06:00.000-07:00

Our decision to start in Hokkaido in July was based on the weatherman's tip. Unlike the rest of Japan, Hokkaido it seemed had no rainy season. If we left in July, we would be able to enjoy the blue skies and cooler temperatures while the rest of the country wallowed in the sticky beginnings of summer, made even worse by the daily deluge of the 'tsuyu'. It appeared like a foolproof plan. After all, the weatherman is never wrong is he?

With the first week under our belt, the reality of the day to day grind had set in, and so it seemed had the rain! It was no longer a matter of if it would rain, but when. We had come ready with our weatherproof gear, but there were some things that no amount of planning could prepare us for. How would our stilts handle the drenchings? How would we handle the drenchings ourselves? Our rule was to walk regardless of the weather. Rest days would be determined more by what we wanted to see or what we wanted to do in a certain place. But as the rain continued to follow us, our resolves started to crumble as did our faith in our weatherman that we had so eagerly wanted to believe.

We knew nothing of the road that we were travelling except that, on the map, it snaked its way from the coast through what looked to be an assortment of dairy farms that stretched as far as tthe computer screen would allow. For the first time we would be off the sea and in, what we hoped, would be the green rolling hills of the Hokkaido that filled our imaginations when planning this trip. After a few kilometers, it was obvious that we had found our dairy farms. The smell of raw, freshly dumped cow manure was overpowering in the soggy surrounds and seemed to invade our every sense. With our hands occupied with the job of maneuvering the stilts, we were left open and at the mercy of the prevailing winds and their frighteningly powerful bovine baggage! The sight of those green rolling hills may have been enough to distract us from our predicament, but with 3 metre tall snow shields lining our way, it was to be a sight that would remain in our imaginations. As we dodged potholes big enough to swallow a cow, our conversations were limited to curses at either the cows and their smells or at the ever worsening weather.

Our stilts were beginning to suffer too under the strain. While bamboo is known for its strength and durability, we were slowly finding out that it was also very good at absorbing the rain. The footrests which are the nuts and bolts of our stilt's construction, were slowly being strangled by the two metres of wire that fastened them to the bamboo poles. In order to take every opportunity to dry them, we took shelter as often as we could in the bus huts that line Hokkaido's country roads. While most were built to be cosy refuges in the harsh throws of the winter months, the ones we had access to along these roads seemed to be the ones everyone had forgotten about, except for the menacing looking spiders that hung from spindly webs across the seats. It is amazing however that when you take away all the comforts of life, the most important things become the simplest of things, like shelter from the rain. As such, we were happy to share space with our beady eyed friends, as long as they were happy to stay in their spindly webs.

From Teshio to Rumoi, a total of 140kms over 1 and a half weeks, we had one week and 3 days of rain, we had to fix our stilts a total of 5 times, we met probably 100 menacing spiders hanging from spindly webs (none of which were tempted to broaden their diets to include us thankfully), we cursed the weather enough times to be barred from heaven for all eternity, and after all of the promise shown by the map beforehand, we saw absolutely no cows!

After the beauty of the week before, our second was a reality check that showed us the other side of the challenge and that taught us the meaning of the Japanese term 'Gaman' or to grin and bare it. There would be more days like these, but they would be outweighed by the people we were to meet along the way!

Donations

2009-07-25T18:42:00.000-07:00

Having had no reception for the past few weeks, we were completely overwhelmed by the support that has come through via donations here in Japan and through our justgiving site! We have been suffering in this rain which has been making walking really slow going, but knowing that we aren't alone on this challenge gives us the energy to get up each morning and strap on the stilts in the face of whatever is looking us in the face!

THANK YOU for being a part of the Save Pongo Challenge! We will do it together!

Check out the Donations page for more info!

Thank You!

Week 2 Photos

2009-07-22T17:31:00.001-07:00

New photos from Week 2 are now up - finally! Check them out by clicking on the photos tab!

Week 2 - From nowhere to somewhere!

2009-07-22T15:21:00.000-07:00

It is amazing how motivating fear can be! After our previous day's 22km effort in search of the next available toilet, we had vowed never to go over our daily limit of 15km again - ever! Our bear encounter the night before had changed all that. As we tightened the last strap and walked out onto the highway heading south, we were looking down the barrell of what would be our longest walk to date - 26kms of nothing but coastline, birds, and lurking somewhere in the bushes beside us, that bear.

As we walked along, there was something about this wild place that I knew I was going to miss once we began reaching the towns again. Out here where the only thing before you is nothing, you begin to enjoy the anticipation of what you might find over the next hill or around the next corner. With nothing to keep you occupied except for your imagination, the excitement of that unknown is something that is easily lost in the city where our senses are overridden by the gadgetry that has taken up such a big part of our modern lives.

Sitting here in the comfort of my gadgetry filled room however, it's easy to say that! I do recall now that our strongest thoughts at the time revolved more around food, toilets, baths and bears. Ahh the simple things in life! By kilometer 20, our imaginations that had been so happy anticipating what was around the next corner, had obviously failed to make an accurate mental note of the distances between sign posts and as we approached Teshio, we were shocked to discover that we had a few more than the few kilometers we had been dreaming of. With parched throats and a setting sun, all we could think of as we struggled in to Teshio was 'I hope it's around that next bloody corner!!"

We did make it, and the effort called for our first rest day of the trip. After waking Miki from the dead, we revelled in our first day of sun in what has to be one of the prettiest towns we have ever been to. Grass like a well manicured golf green lined every street of this ancient Kofun village. Famous for its Shijimi jiro - or mussel soup, we indulged in as much of the local produce as we could, knowing full well that from tomorrow, we would be back on the soggy sandwiches once again. It was a job made easier by our fortunate meeting with the Mr and Mrs Kuwamura, locals who ran the best restaurant in town, who kindly filled our tummies with the most delicious tonkatsu and our imaginations with the most fantastic tales from adventures past. Contented, we ended our most perfect of days with the sun setting over the sea from a little place that had, in such a short amount of time, managed to steal a little piece of our hearts.

Little did we know, that the going was about to get much tougher!

Everyday Stuff Part 1 - Bags

2009-07-18T05:58:00.001-07:00

We have stopped for the evening to escape the rain that has been following us like a bad smell, and while I wait for the washing to finish erasing all of my bad smells from the past few days, I thought it would be nice to share a few of the everyday things about this trip that you may not know about.

What's in Pongo's Bag?
One of the main challenges that we faced when planning this trip involved our bags and just how much we could carry to live comfortaby enough over an 8 month period without breaking our stilts on the first day or without breaking ourselves. After many long hours, a few tantrums, and toward the end, a few aspirins we managed to get the weight of our bags down to 13kgs for Miki and 18 kgs for me. Still, this did not take in to account the extra weight that would come with water and food.
So what did these 'essential' items include? (clockwise from bottom)
1. Diary/ Journal
2. Cooking Pot/ Frypan (it is the one thing I always seem to miss when
camping!)
3. Waterproof Jacket (green and black mesh bag- kindly donated by
Patagonia)
4. Inflatable pillow (black bag)
5. 4 season sleeping bag (orange bag)
6. Pongo (how could we forget Pongo!)
7. Sleeping Mat (blue mat under Pongo)
8. Tent (pink bag - has been with me everywhere. Next to Miki. the love
of my life!)
9. Pack cover for rainy days (blue bag next to tent)
10. Food (potatoes, carrots, bananas -for pongo of course!, and rice)
11. Tent Pegs/ Poles (next to Pongo's left arm)
12. Stuff Bag full of 'stuff' - (black bag next to tent)
13. Water (2litres)
14. Computer (grey waterproof bag)
15. Stove (black bag peaking out under the computer bag)
16. Stilt Repair Kit (clear bags full of runner bands, plyers, wire, tyres
and all other essential stilt fixing items)
17. Good Book and cards for rainy days!

All of that, taken on the first day, weighed just over 20kgs. That is why I have no hesitation in devouring everything the first chance I get! Anything to take a few of those kgs off my back.

Any suggestions on making it lighter - I am all ears!! :-)

Miki's Bag
1. Cables for camera, portable HDD and I Pod (cream case with green
palm leaf- Miki has much nice bags than I do as you can see)
2. Food (Miki usually carries what we will be eating that day - mine is
usually the heavier stuff that we can use again)
3. Medicine and vitamin bag (clear bag next to bread)
4. Important item bag - because Miki is better than me with important
items (clear waterproof bag behind bread)
5. Waterproof pants (black and grey bag)
6. Pack cover (orange bag)
7. Sleeping bag 4 seasons (black bag next to pack)
8. Sleeping mat (brown mat next to pack)
9. Route map (clear file in front of bag)
10. Thermo bag for cold food storage (brown bag in front of route map)
11. Dirty washing bag - actually very handy and explains why she
smells better than me most days! (white bag with bikini).
12. Mobile phone and Pongo child
13. Sunglasses case
14. Stove (which I said was in mine but was lying! I have the fuel
bottle:-0)
15. Miki's toiletry bag (Pink Stripey)
16. Miki's stuff bag for all her 'stuff' (black and blue bag)

My couldn't do without items (Mick) - sleeping bag and rain jacket. Both have been
brilliant. Sunscreen. My thongs (beach sandals for
all of you not up with the lingo!:-))- after a long day
walking, I don't want to see my shoes!
My couldn't do without items (Miki) - beach sandals, fleece, sleeping bag.

My like thing, that I probably didn't need after all (Mick) -
inflatable pillow (never use it) and my board shorts - no swimming up here unless you are a seal!
My like thing that I probably didn't need after all (Miki) - shorts, passport! (Thought Hokkaido was overseas :-))

We're Back!! The story of Week 1 and of our BEAR!

2009-07-14T17:28:00.000-07:00

We are back in the land of the living after what feels a lot longer than just two weeks. Today has turned in to a rest day after the bad weather that has been plaguing us along the way finally caught up, so we are making the most of a basic bear proof cabin on the outskirts of a small town called Obira while the wind blows everything else away outside.

Bear proof?? For all of the stories we had heard before we left, in our hearts we really didn't think (or hope?) we would have any real encounters and while the signs were along the roadside, the only hairy beasts we were meeting were the reflections of my face in the mirrors at each of our toilet stops along the way. Why does a beard grow so fast when you aren't looking? Despite some horrible weather that greeted our first week, we were enjoying the days and were happy to be finally walking these roads from Cape Soya. Our initial plan was to walk 15kms each section, but as we discovered, not much really exists up here between the towns, so in order to enjoy a bit of porcelain luxury at the end of the day, we decided it was worth a bit more pain along the way and so after the first day, we began averaging distances between 20 - 25 kms over periods of up to 10hours! Our bodies were not prepared for the pain that comes after a 20km walk on stilts - rather than the muscular pain you feel after a workout, this hits you in the bones and as walking on stilts is like tiptoeing your way along a 3inch gang plank for 10hours, it was our feet that have been suffering a pain that just doesn't seem to go away. If any bears were to find us, I think our only option would have been to hit them with the stilts or repel them with our smells as running away was now looking as unlikely as finding a decent shower or bath. But bears, up to now, had only appeared in our imaginations as we walked along the highways heading south.

Our days were being filled with much more interesting things. An appearance in the Hokkaido newspapers which had been organized by BOS Japan, meant that many people knew of our challenge and those that lived along our route all seemed to be waiting at their windows for our passage through their town in order to hand over a bag of sweets here or a bottle of tea there. The hospitality was a warm welcome from the cold weather that we had been getting and a nice reminder that, despite what you come to believe from watching too much news, the hearts of people everywhere are genuinely good and that friends are easy to find if only your eyes are open to what is going on around you.

While the first 2 weeks were always going to be the crux of this Hokkaido section, for me, they were also shaping to be the most exciting, with landscapes as wild as we would find anywhere along this trip. Wildflowers that have adapted to these frigid conditions were making the most of the respite from an 8 month winter up here, and dotted the green landscape with speckles of yellows, reds, purples and whites. If you did happen to get tired of that sight, a glance up in to the skies above revealed a moving grey stage with a million types of birds the actors in an ever evolving play about life on this broad plain. Sarobetsu Genya is one of the world's great gathering places for migratory birds on their way from the frozen north and here we were, lucky to be right in the middle of their transit lounge.

On some days, the distance passed by like a flash, but then there were those that seemed to last forever and ever. With signs marking the distances at 1km intervals, you always had an idea how far you had come, but knowing how far was left was always a surprise that wasn't revealed until you came within 2 kms of the next parking or rest stop. With the hours ticking and the sun decending faster and faster, these were the times that you wished you had chosen a bicycle to do this challenge on, like ever other sane person up here. It was on one such day, when the kilometers had taken their toll, that we had our first ever close encounter with Hokkaido's wildest life!

After walking a total of 25kms, we were relieved to get to a parking area at a place called Wakkasakanai, right at the heart of the Sarobetwu Genya. We had asked the locals about bears and had been told that there were none around this area, so after a few days walk, we had all but lost the fear, even deciding to leave the bear bell that I had been kindly lent by a teacher at school, in the dark recesses of the pack. And so on this day, with tired legs and sore feet, all we were interested in was retiring to the warmth of our sleeping bags for an early night and a well deserved rest. No sooner had I closed my eyes, or so it seemed, that we were awoken by the sound of a rustling outside. The thing I that I had always loved about camping was that feeling of being 'in' nature, the thin walls of the tent amlifying the sounds around you, especially at night. Now, with the sound of rustling no more than a few feet from my head, I had completely forgotten about that notion as I fumbled around for a light and for Pongo, our orangutan mascot that we had brought along with us. If anything was there, perhaps he would prove the more effective option in repelling whatever was looking for a quick snack. No sooner had I found the torch, than a light came on through the door and in peered the faces of two young police officers on duty, it seemed, in a place where the only thing to do while on duty was to wake weary stilt walkers.

"Good evening. We're sorry to bother you....."
"What time is it?", I asked through sleep crusted eyes.
"It's midnight. Once again we're sorry to bother you but we thought you might want to know that there is a bear in the area".
"What!"
"Yes. We saw a bear just a while ago not far from here crossing the road."
"What?!! How far is not far?", suddenly much more awake than I had been a second ago.
"A few hundred metres away. Just over that hill."
" You're joking aren't you."
"No. We don't get them here often so it was quite a surprise. If you haven't been cooking anything and you just turn on your radio to make some noise, I'm sure he won't be any trouble, " he replied without the slightest hint of concern in his voice.
"Well, WE DON'T HAVE A RADIO and WE HAVE BEEN COOKING!!"
"Oh. Oh dear."
"What should we do? Can we sleep in that shop entrance over there", pointing to the cafe next to the parking.
"No. I'm afraid that is private property so you can't do that. If you just make some noise, I'm sure you will be fine. Bears don't often come here anyway. Anyway, once again, we are sorry to bother you. Have a good night and just keep an eye out for us OK."

And with that, our very polite but completely unhelpful local law enforcers disappeared back into the blackness that they had so unexpectedly emerged from, leaving us with a bit of a dilemma.

What on earth were we going to do at midnight with no radio and no place to stay in order to escape our marauding surprise visitor?!
A quick glance at Miki was all that was needed and without a word being uttered, we had the tent down and all of our belongings in that coffee shop entrance before we could say "Yogi bugger off!" We slept fitfully for the rest of the night wrapped in a cocoon of every noise making possession we had. It was not the ideal rest after such a long day.

We woke sore and exhausted from the ordeal and despite a thorough search of the surrounds, the only thing we managed to find were a pair of my underpants that must have fallen out in our haste to get inside the night before. Perhaps it was the sight of these, more than the crackling sound of a radio, that were what had spared us from the hungry jaws of our unexpected visitor. Either way, we were not hanging around to ask, and after a quick wash and pack, we were off, looking down the barrell of another 20km day that would take us to the edge of the park and back towards civilization.

{:-(l)

Week 1 Photos!

2009-07-14T09:04:00.001-07:00

Taking photos is not always the easiest thing to do when you are a metre off the ground and your hands are controlling your feet but after the first week we have managed to take a few and, even more amazingly, have been able to put them onto this site with our snail like connection, so if you have the time, have a look at them under the Photos section of the blog!

HERE WE GO!

2009-06-30T02:00:00.000-07:00

We arrived in Wakkanai 2 days ago to grey skies and weather that was much colder than we had anticpated! The stilts arrived safely and produced a few surprised looks as we passed through the hoards of tour groups waiting outside the terminal. " Are you going to walk up to the top of Reshiri Island?" "Where are you going to go on those?" Or our favourite, "I used to make my own stilts just like that when I was a boy. I could walk all the way to school on them." If only he knew where they are going to take us from tomorrow. We parted with smiles wishing that we too only had as far as the local school in front of us!

Thew reception has been good so we will try and keep in touh as we go along! Must go and do my face! The papers are meeting us tomorrow for the first day!

Wish us luck everyone!!

Kick Off Party!!

2009-06-13T06:33:00.001-07:00

A big thank you to all of you who came and helped make the Pongo Hogo Hogo Challenge kick off party such a big success. Together, we managed to raise just under $2000 US for the Borneo Orangutan Survival Foundation. A special thank you must go to the Grand Hill Ichigaya for pulling out at all the stops to to make things work the way we had planned; to Steve Driscol, Yoichi Fukamoto and Tetsuya Watanabe for producing the most exciting stilt race ever to grace the Grand Hill ballroom; to Ai, Nobuko, Rie, Miyuki, Yumiko, Toshiko, Takako and Yumiko for helping to make things run smoothly throughout the night, and lastly to Saori for being the perfect MC!

Hopefully we will put the photos up soon - if we ever find our camera!

Thank you once again!

Donations : Thank you to the folloing people for your very generous donations on top of the event entrance!
Ishida Aoi - 10 000yen
Miyazaki, Rinji - 20 000yen
Signity Japan - 10 000yen

What It's All About!

2009-05-26T17:46:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Miki and I had an amazing experience that reminded us exactly why we are doing this crazy challenge!

Whether you love them or hate them, zoos are undeniably powerful in drawing people in and educating them about animals and the situations many are facing in the wild. As such, we had initially planned to approach zoos here in order to find out what kind of support they could offer the Pongo Hogo Hogo Challenge this year. Chiba Zoo seemed as good a place as any to start, being the closest and, more importantly, the home of two quite endearing characters - Futoshi and Nana - two orangutans that were born in Yokohama Zoo and Chiba Zoo respectively.

For Miki and I, it was our first time to meet real orangutans since deciding to do this challenge. For the past year both of us have read almost everything there is to read on these guys and seen just about every documentary that has ever been made! But nothing really prepares you for that first, initial live encounter. Ours yesterday was with Futoshi who swung down from his perch above to sit with us at a viewing window off to the side of his enclosure. Unlike humans, orangutans do not seem to make eye contact with each other very often at all, as it was with Futoshi yesterday. While he may have been sitting next to us, first impressions seemed to suggest that he really had no interest in us at all, more content to be looking away at a child in the distance or the lemurs next door. It was something that definitely affected his popularity with the crowds, as we overheard more than once, visitors saying that he looked bored when he turned away from their clicking cameras or from them, as they peered often 5 at a time into his window. However rather than leave with the others, we sat and stayed chatting to each other while we waited for our meeting. It was at these moments that we became aware of his ever so slight movements; a glance down at our hands next to his at the glass, a glance up to our faces when we weren't looking, before returning his eyes to something further a field. While direct eye contact may not be that common, it is through such cursory glances that the majority of information is taken in and for the thirty minutes that we spent there yesterday, it really seemed as if he had gotten a good feel for us by the end. For us too, we reluctantly went to our meeting feeling that we were leaving something much more than simply another animal. As Miki said afterwards, it was more like leaving a person.

The distinction between 'us and them' is a broad one that often fails to take in the things that make certain animals amazingly special. The orangutan is one that too often and too easily falls into the 'them' category by definition of its being an animal, however it is one that I think resembles much more closely, us. Next time you find yourself at the zoo, devote some of your time to sitting with the orangutans rather than simply clicking the camera and moving on. Don't stare. Just be there and see what happens. I wonder how you will view your experience then? It would be something we'd love to hear about either way!

We are on Facebook!

2009-05-10T19:54:00.000-07:00

Pongo is now on Facebook thanks to Kasumi Mizoguchi and Hiroko Yamamoto! Thanks you two! That would have taken us into our next lives to complete!

The countdown is on!

2009-04-28T17:36:00.000-07:00

The time left before we start this epic walk has begun to tick louder than the horrible alarm clock that sits beside our beds! As always, it is at this 11th hour that all the doubts that we had managed to tuck away begin to rise to the surface, crowding our thoughts in all that we do each day. 3000kms? Will we make it? Are we prepared enough? Will people get behind this new idea? Will we get eaten by the bears in Hokkaido? Are we really crazy??!!

If this challenge were only about Miki and I, then I am sure that these kinds of thoughts would have crippled us and our preparations long before now. But it isn't. Right from the very first day, it was always going to be more about those people who wanted to make a difference and about their efforts to do so. Without this aspect, I don't think there would be any way the two of us could finish such a crazy challenge. But knowing that people do want to help and are thinking of ways to make a difference is what will keep us going each day this year.

Right now students at my old school, Shibuya Makuhari in Chiba, are working hard to get all kinds of fundraising activities in place for this year. Despite some hurdles with red tape, their enthusiasm has never waned or faltered. What is amazing to us is the speed at which they have managed to get things organized - things that have been known to steal a few weeks of my life have only seemingly taken a few hours for them! They have given us our second wind just at a time when organizing all of the fiddly details that have to be organized were beginning to take their toll. You will be able to see some of the fruits of these labours this weekend (May16, 2009) at the Kaihin Makuhari Baytown Matsuri where they have organized a stall and will be manning an information booth and takeuma training area for all of those who are interested in trying!
Come along and have a go!!

Not all fundraising efforts have been here in Japan. A special mention must go to one Martha Georgina Vargas Bogliani of Spain whose amazing attempt at raising awareness and sponsorship for this challenge is a lesson in determination for us all! After buying 60kgs of wholesale bananas with two of her friends, Martha set off on a journey that took her from houses to schools and finally to PRISON all in the aim of selling the bananas and using the profits for this charity! Don't worry, we are assured that the police were all very supportive of their attempts and that no orange overalls were needed. When you consider that Martha is finalizing her preparations for her university entrance exams, to go to such lengths is a truly inspiring achievement! Thanks Martha for your enthusiasm and support!

How to Donate!

2009-03-30T06:43:00.000-07:00

For People in Japan
Borneo Orangutan Survival Foundation (BOS) Japan has kindly set up a charity account for this challenge with Japan Postal Bank. Donations can be made by bank transfer (振込み） from any bank or post office ATM.

From Japan Postal Bank

Account Name - ポンゴホゴホゴプロジェクト
Account Number - 00190 - 4 - 484794

From Other Banks

Account Name - ポンゴホゴホゴプロジェクト
Branch Number (店番) 019
Account Number - 0484 794

For People Outside of Japan
We have created a FirstGiving account page linked to Borneo Orangutan Survival (BOS) US, also known as Orangutan Outreach. All funds from this account will also be automatically transferred to our challenge account and used for the same designated charity.

By clicking on the Donate button, you will be taken to the FirstGiving page where you will be able to make a donation easily through their secure online donation facility.

Donations
A big thank you to all of the following people who have kindly donated.
With your help, we have been able to raise $3050 so far!

1) Murayama, Kenichi & Sa-chan - Miura, Kanagawa - ken
2) Yamada, Rena - Funabashi, Chiba - ken
3) Tamura Sensei - Ichihara, Chiba - ken
4) Nakajima, Noriko - Shisui, Chiba - ken
5) Darrell Nelson, Nobuko Iba - Makuhari, Chiba - ken
6) Takeda, Seiji - Wakkanai, Hokkaido-ken
7) Anonymous - Bakkai, Hokkaido - ken
8) Anonymous - Obira cho - Hokkaido-ken
9) Minami, Hideo & Sachiko - Horonuka -cho, Hokkaido-ken
10) Matsushita, Otojiro & Rikako san - Asahikawa - shi, Hokkaido-ken
11) Asuma, Ryuji, Junko and Kaori - Asahikawa - shi, Hokkaido-ken
12) Iishida, Tomonori - Horonuka - shi, Hokkaido-ken
13) Kobayashi, Yoshiko san - Embetsu - cho, Hokkaido-ken
14) Ooyama san - Tsunagawa-cho, Hokkaido-ken
15) Bunya, Kasumi & Moria, Hiroshi - Naie- cho, Hokkaido-Ken
16) Kaihatsu, Nozomi & Mobara, Mai - Naie-cho, Hokkaido-ken
17) Detective Arakawa - Chashinai-cho, Hokkaido-ken
18) Taka Shimada - Townsville, Australia
19) Degan Ellis and Kel Speechley, Melbourne, Australia
20) Aoi Ishida, Sakura-shi - Chiba-ken
21) Jackie McMaster, Brisbane, Australia
22) Allen Cullen & Sue Roberts, Brisbane, Australia
23) Jennifer Claro
24) Cary, Chika, Aisha & Kaia Price
25) Anonymous :-)

JAPEC Interview Is Here!

2009-03-28T04:28:00.000-07:00

If, unlike me, your Japanese is up to scratch, you can now read the Japec interview here!
Just click on the photo above.

Farewell ShibuMaku - A message to the students!

2009-03-26T20:28:00.000-07:00

When Miki and I first thought of doing this challenge, it was a simple idea, with a simple goal, that would take us away for a year on our own simple little adventure. However the bigger it got, the more time it began to take up and so, looking down the barrel of what is going to be the biggest year of our lives, we decided at the beginning of the year to leave our jobs a little bit earlier in order prepare for what lay ahead.

As always with decisions like these, the end never seems that real until, that is, it's staring you in the face. And so it was, under a flurry of essay marking and number crunching, my end at ShibuMaku appeared. As a teacher, it is an end that you are never really prepared for, no matter how many times you have thought it over beforehand. And yet, as is the case with all of them, you know it has to come eventually. The students I taught here were often the best part of each and every day, and many possessed an uncanny ability to brighten the gloomiest of moods with a simple chat here or a word in a diary there. Such things are always forgotten in the day to day grind of being a teacher, however it always amazes me how you realize what you've got as soon as you know you are going to lose it. The many words of encouragement and the many thoughtful gifts will be more than enough motivation to keep our spirits high on the hardest of days this year.

To all of the students at ShibuMaku, and my classes especially, thanks for the great memories!!
Make sure you keep in touch this year throughout the challenge and let us know how you are getting along! You are the reason we are doing this challenge and you are as much a part of it as we are!

See you in a year!

JAPEC

2009-02-25T18:05:00.000-08:00

A few years ago, I was fortunate to have been involved with a great group of people at an organization called JAPEC (Japan Association for the Promotion of English to Children), which organizes learning experiences for Japanese children that promote the practical use of English. It was an association that has resulted in some really exciting news for the PongoHogoHogo Challenge, with JAPEC offering their support in raising awareness of the challenge through their own events and through the 1000 schools that they are affiliated with! I hope the message rings out loudly and clearly - "Teachers and children of Japan - lets work together to save our mate Pongo and his/her jungle home!"

Thank you Mr. Ono for your interest and friendly enthusiasm and to Ms. Satomi Terai for coming to our school all those years ago and starting it all! You are brilliant. :-)

The SavePongo Big Send Off - Part 1

2009-02-16T04:37:00.001-08:00

On Sunday June 7th, 2009, the Hotel Grand Hill in Ichigaya will play host to the official launch of the Pongo Hogo Hogo Challenge. Never in our wildest dreams could we have imagined a place as elegant as the Grand Hill and even now, we need to pinch ourselves when we have our planning meetings at the venue. It is a far cry from the community sporting halls that we had initially approached to host our event. Where once our concerns had centered around what people would think of the smells left behind by the sweaty school children who frequent such community halls, now our most pressing decisions revolve more around which cuts of meat will best match the range of wines that the hotel is kindly offering us for the event. We would not have been able to fathom such an opportunity had Miki not made such an impression on the management during her time as a wedding pianist at the hotel in her past life. Fond memories obviously linger long, and it will be something that we'll hopefully try to give all of you who join us as well. Stay tuned for more news! It's going to be a cracker.

Venue: Hotel Grand Hill Ichigaya

Date: 7th June, 2009

Time: 4.30 - 6.30pm

Cost: 8000 yen

Dress: Dress Up (but be prepared to move about too :-) )

1 year, 2 stilts, 3 thousand kms

2009-02-16T02:06:00.001-08:00

～１年　２竹馬　３千キロ～

-1 year 2 stilts 3 thousand kms-

The Issue

Since 1980 Borneo has seen more than 80% of its forests disappear due largely to illegal logging activities and the expansion of palm oil plantations. The rate of deforestation is not slowing with Indonesia still losing the equivalent of 6 football sized areas of land every minute. The process of clear cutting and then burning the forest to make way for oil palm plantations causes massive damage to the environment, and has directly resulted in Indonesia's inclusion as one of the world's top 3 producers of greenhouse emissions (after China and the US.)

What is more, the expansion of these plantations in to some of the most biologically diverse ecosystems has meant that whole species now face the threat of extinction. Pongo, the orangutan, is one such animal.

Despite being one of our closest relatives, the orangutan has received the least attention of all the great apes (compared to gorillas and chimpanzees especially) which has meant that the public is largely unaware of the seriousness of their situation. According to recent studies, if the current rate of deforestation continues, the orangutan will be the first of the great apes to become extinct, with some figures suggesting by as soon as 2012. That is only 3 years! While they may share 97% of our DNA, making them more like humans than any other animal, the current situation in Indonesia has left them helpless and facing a very grim future without help from us.

The Challenge

- 1 year, 2 stilts, 3 thousand kms. We will walk the length of Japan, from its most northerly point to its most southerly on stilts in order to raise money to protect the rainforests of Borneo and Sumatra, and in turn the orangutan
(otherwise known, to us anyway, as PONGO!)
- We will attempt to stop at every school that is on our route to meet, talk with and be inspired by the people we are doing it for – the children of Japan.
- We WILL NOT use any money raised to cover any of the costs associated with the challenge. All of the costs will be paid for out of our own savings so that every
cent will be used for the cause we are working together for.
- We will not have a support vehicle or support crew. The challenge will be 100% carried out by us. Food. Water. Tents. Clothes. All carried by us. It wouldn’t be a challenge otherwise would it!

The Charity

All money raised through the challenge will go to support BOS (Borneo Orangutan Survival Foundation) Japan's projects in Borneo.

The Challenge

2008-12-19T18:32:00.000-08:00

1 year. 2 stilts. 3000kms.

On July 1, 2009, Miki and I will begin our challenge to walk from the most northerly point to the most southerly point of mainland Japan.... on two very shaky and, at the moment, temperamental stilts! Walking determinedly, probably quite slowly, almost definitely without any grace at all a maximum distance of 15kms a day, we will take approximately 8 months to complete what is going to be the most unforgettable challenge of our lives.

While fundraising for charity may not be as well known in Japan as it is in other countries, our goal is to raise $100 000 (yes, more money than we will ever see fill the pages of our bank book) for the Borneo Orangutan Survival organization (BOS), a group dedicated to protecting the future of the Sumatran and Bornean orangutans. In the face of what we know will be a long and difficult year ahead, we have gained strength in our resolve through our contact with Michelle at BOS UK, Rich at BOS US and our main supporter next year, Miyazaki-san at BOS Japan.

With the support of BOS, all money raised through the Pongo Hogo Hogo Challenge will be used to purchase forest land in the aim of protecting orangutan habitat from palm oil developments.

One of the most important aspects of next year's challenge is ensuring that 100% of the money received goes directly to the project that we are doing this for. As such, all of the costs associated with any transportation to the start line and from the finish line, our day to day living expenses, and any payments required for promoting next year's challenge will be covered by us, through our own savings that we have been putting away for the past two years for this purpose. That way you know that every cent of your donation, is going directly to secure forest in Borneo. We are going to need every penny to do it.