Within 2 hours of my arrival in Okazaki I had my own bike. This is not unusual. Everyone here has and being a necessity, it doesn't take long. Last year I had my own car. I remember my wonder at its toy size. But that comes nowhere near the joy I experience when I ride my bike. They say the best things in life are free. I really believe this when I'm on my bike. Well at least when I'm going down hill . Luckily for me, my morning ride to Yamasa is a down hill one. Living in Residence U, I whizz past the cemetery and past the swampy pond with no effort at all. Then up on to the main road. Its tree-lined green, green, green. My only worry when I'm on this stretch is to watch out for the frequent bumps in the road which have caused things to go flying out of my basket. It takes me five minutes to get to school (I've done it in three at night time), and less then ten to get home. It used to take fifteen.
Riding was an epiphany at the start. How come I never rode a bike at home? I live in a lively inner city beach suburb where there are bike and blader tracks. Ideal. Wearing a helmet is compulsory and riding on the footpath is way uncool and sure to be greeted with hostility by the pedestrians. Anyway, it wasn't long after that I had another enlightenment. Namely, the reason I had never ridden before was that in any other country I would have already died a hundred deaths.
Which makes me think of my friend Abhay. He had an encounter with a car that sent him flying - just in front of the institute. He's now in the hospital enjoying the attention of the lovely nurses. He's been there nearly 2 weeks. Far from his family in India. I miss him. We would sit together in class. Anyway, this is a story with a moral. I've side-tracked, so I'd better spell it out as it's an important one. Whatever you do, don't come to Japan without extensive health insurance.
With a bike you can go anywhere anytime. Almost. I haven't mastered riding with an umbrella yet. Having come close to crashing with another bike rider who, to my total incredulity, was holding the umbrella infront him so that he couldn't see a thing, I don't think I'll bother. Although this was my first and only close call, this was by no means the first time I realized suicide pilots are not a thing of the past in Japan. Infact, it was one of the first things I noticed when I started driving in Japan. It's positively scary the way bikes will come out onto the road from absolutely nowhere, the riders with no apparent care in the world. I've often thought there's something heartwarming in the fact that these riders have an innate, albeit unconscious trust in the (unfortunate) drivers of the cars.
Just the other day I set off happily, on a mission, armed with digital camera, ready to take photos for this home page. Past the leafy trees that line the hill on the way to New York Papa. As greenery has a positive effect on my psyche I was feeling a marvellous sense of oneness with my bike. It wasn't long before this sense of oneness was put to the test. In the form of a puncture. I can't say it came without a warning. Enough to make me hope I'd soon come across a gas station. Luckily I did but by that stage I was walking the bike. The young man confirmed the fact, apologized for not being able to help and pointed me in the direction of a nearby jitenshasan.
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I went first to photograph the shops. I was asked not to at Muji, and was so excited at being granted permission at Uniqlo that it wasn't until I'd left the store that I realized I had bought a pair of shoes I hadn't tried on yet. Too big. Too bad. No time today. That didn't prevent me from stopping to take some hopeless shots. Of grapes, in a tiny vineyard that took me by completely by surprise and lifted my spirits.
I find the bike place with no problems. The piles of used bikes on the footpath do the job better than any shop sign. There are signs of work in progress but no signs of life. I congratulate myself on being able to read the note on the window and dial the number. Eventually a little old man arrives. Better to fix rather than replace the tube. In the meantime one of his contemporaries arrives and I'm asked to wait.
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It is so hot I can feel the beads of perspiration trickling down the inside of my t-shirt; I'm far from home and am already cutting it fine needing to be at Michiyo's house all too soon. I can't keep still, checking the different spots of ground where I can lay my feet for shade and the semblance of air. Finally, I'm ushered to a stool inside the shop that is a veritable junk yard. I'm relieved I'm not stepping over any of those girlie calendars that make me feel a little sick every time I go to the mechanic. It isn't long before we're on swell terms and I've asked him if I can take a photo. (I'm starting to take this project seriously, and liking it.) No worries, as though this sort of thing happens to him everyday. We have an interesting conversation, and bless him, he must be the first person I've met here who hasn't enquired about my age and marital status. This man impresses me. I'm sorry he hasn't had enough money to visit his friend who worked at the Japanese embassy in Rome. He replaces the spring that had come off my bike stand sarbisu (for free), I pay my 1200 Yen and set off home. I continue up the road, this is not the way I came. I see lush green in the distance and look to see the face of the young gas station attendant driving his car past me. I turn around, notice he's about to stop but yell thanks and that all is ok. I'm about to discover the calm of Tatsumigaoka Park. I feel happy again.
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| Tatsumigaoka Park |