Post pilgrimage

Christmas Day

Woke early. Got up and used my precious little plastic pot of marmite on toast. Cup of tea with milk. Bliss.

Felt tired again and returned to bed. But couldn’t sleep.

How are you going to go from 30k steps a day to 5k when you are back? Sienna asked.

More like 500 steps a day. I snort.  I don’t know. Train for a marathon?

The one-eyed Austrian annoyed me in the dorm. Blasting German news.

I tried to write but was distracted and went back downstairs

The Austrian followed blasting noise. I returned upstairs.

I lost connection and went out. The street was sunny and unsettling. I passed the British pub, stuck my head in, but it smelled bad and was closed.

Japanese restaurants were open. But I’m so tired of Japanese food.

And also I find it hard to enter. Shops and restaurants are somehow forbidding in Japan. You never know if they are open. They look dark and shut.

And I can’t read the signs.

Not knowing what to do I walked to the station to buy my train ticket for Shodoshima.

I had a small vegetable focaccia and a coffee in La Vie de France bakery where the shop girl shouted ‘check out’ at me. Is this a new fresh hell in Japan? I have to check in and out of a coffee shop?

I wrote this substack.

Then headed over to the large shopping centre which looked like an office block not a shop. No windows on the outside- just slits in the architecture. It’s not welcoming.

The only nice stuff in the shops was foreign. And what’s the point of that?

The nice children’s clothes were Portuguese not Japanese.

A nice beret I picked up was English. Put it down again.

The clothes are so… pragmatic. A million variations on the puffer jacket. Dreary colours. Old lady clothes.

Provincial.

I think: I’m better dressed than anyone here.

I find a food store that sells foreign foods. I buy a tiny bottle of red wine, a packet of butter as the olive oil was terribly expensive, a box of passata, a small packet of pasta. In another shop I buy an onion and some cucumber pickles.

Back at the hostel, I cook for the first time in 7 weeks. Slicing the onions finely, frying them in butter, finding some freeze-dried oregano. Mincing several cloves of garlic with salt. Adding the tomatoes and reducing the sauce. later I boil water and salt and pasta. I toss the cooked pasta into the sauce and pour myself a glass of red.

Alberto the Spanish hostel worker enters. You are cooking now?

It’s 3pm.

In the UK, Christmas is on the 25th and we eat a late lunch.

I can tell the smell is causing his mouth to water. What European can resist the smell of frying onions and garlic?

Others start to enter. The Japanese/Australian mother/son team. She is lovely. Her mother is in a nursing home in Tokushima. She now stays at the hostel for her visits because the house has been sold.

She offers me a dried persimmon which is delicious.

In Japan, people who have had good jobs, have good pensions and good nursing homes. The rest are on a waiting list for a state run nursing home.

They don’t have to sell their homes to pay for their care as we do.

A young Taiwanese guy ‘Joe’ ( Asians often have a western name that is easier to pronounce) sits and asks what I’m cooking. Do you want some? Yes please.

I know about you from Hazel.

Ah my henro sister!

A Japanese man joins in. he’s an ex footballer, lived in Manchester, met Alex Ferguson and John Barnes. Trained with them.

He played with a team in the UK. He’s cycling the Henro 20 temples at a time whenever he gets a few days off. He heads off to the British pub. When he returns he is disappointed because the Guinness was not on tap- it was in tins.

We go out with Alberto to the river nearby. It isn’t as cold as yesterday when he danced for 2 hours with a boat load of Japanese santas.

The boat, all lit up, moves into view. The music is vaguely Christmassy, vaguely ravey, they are all in red suits and hats and are dancing. When they land they bring huge sacks of presents for waiting children.

We joining the dancing.

This is what I needed- a laugh. Just some actual fun.

Yesterday, Alberto remarks, I’d see the same kids at every stop. They were doing their own little Christmas pilgrimage for presents. We laugh.

Back at the hostel,  A very young Japanese guy with a large backpack with a cardboard notice on it comes in. What’s that placard say? I ask.

It says ‘I’m 18 and I’m hitchhiking around Japan’. I’ve done 23 prefectures.

The kid ‘Allen’ sits and shows us his large sketch pads with thick black felt marker kanji.

There are different hitchhiking messages- the direction he wants to go but also : where are you going today? Can you take me? I want an adventure.

He has another sketch pad. This is where people write their dreams.

So you are a dream catcher? I ask.

We all write our dreams. The footballer asks me to give him a western name. He says his Japanese name which sounds like it starts with a d. So I christen him ‘Darren’ which makes the Australians laugh.

A Korean joins us: his wish is to make lots of money and leave Korea.

He’s quite rude.

England! He barks. What is it famous for?

Er the royal family? Blank look.

The Beatles? Very old he frowns. One direction!

Oh I think they are rubbish I say.

That’s because you old.

Shakespeare? I try.

Then- the english language. That’s our greatest gift to the world.

Ha! Say water. He crows.

I say it. He laughs. Your accent!

Food in England very bad. He says. And then shows a picture of stargazey pie.

This is sweet?

No not sweet, a savoury. A pie.

I then explain that I went viral in china because of my stargazey pie.

You like it?

Not really. I made it for a historic meal. An 18th century meal.

England food bad- this is famous. Known.

I shot back- well Koreans eat dogs. I mean is that true? That’s the reputation.

Our food didn’t used to have a good reputation but actually our food is very good now.

He nods, finally getting it. Ah yes. Maybe 1% of Koreans eat dog.

Yes and maybe 1% of english food is bad.

Darren’s wish is to live to 120 years old. Well you are halfway there I say. He’s 57.

Allen the kid has a sponsor for his trip. This kid is clued up- gen z.

What do your parents think?

His parents are artists- trick artists. He shows me a photo of them posing next to a shark. They look fun. I’m not sure what a trick artist is.

So basically he’s on a gap year. Which I don’t think is common in Japan.

A couple of Americans come in- one is teaching English in Japan. His friend was born in Taiwan and speaks Chinese. They are doing temples 11 to 12- a one day pilgrimage.

A couple of Japanese youngsters sit down and eat cake slices with a number 3 candle on. It’s our third anniversary- we met on Christmas Day.

Is this Japanese Christmas cake?

Yes.

It’s a sponge cake with cream, strawberries and a sprig of holly.

Cynically I was thinking it’s nice to meet on an important date but that means if you break up, you then associate that important holiday with that person forever. It can be painful.

The Americans play guitar. Everyone gathers around. Actually this has been a good Christmas. People of different nationalities all getting together, laughing, talking, joking.

This is Christmas. In a Japanese hostel, in a dorm. It’s not expensive. It isn’t luxury. It is communal. Oh I needed company.

I go to bed happy and tired.

Dec 26th

Boxing Day Is not about punching- the sport boxing. I have to explain this to several Japanese.

On 26th December I get the train back to Takamatsu. Then a ferry to the island of Shodoshima. I’m heading to the Sen guesthouse.

I booked via booking.com but no message from them so I hope they are open.

I will hire a bike and do some cycling.

I want to visit 3 things:

• Japanese olive oil

• Somen noodles

• The soy sauce factory.

The Japanese footballer told me about a famous novel and film that was set here: 24 eyes. About 12 pupils during the Second World War.

After hauling my suitcase up 100 steep steps to Sen guesthouse, I have another disaster: Sen guesthouse wasn’t booked by me.

Somehow another one was.

I hitch a lift to it.

I want to spread the word about how awful it was- Hoshinosora guesthouse- which isn’t a guesthouse at all but a private house with a spare room.

It costs twice as much as a normal dorm, and the same as many proper hotels on the island but with zero facilities. She’s squeezing as many people as she can into a small space and profiteering.

I would have to share a 5 square metre room with 2 Japanese strangers - futons on the floor hip to hip. Like some kind of pyjama party. A not very nice domestic bathroom.

It’s run by a Moroccan Japanese couple.

The husband is there.

Why is it so expensive?

I don’t know, I’m not the boss.

Who is the boss?

My wife.

There is a sliding door to another part of the room. This is closed he says.

I leave my bag. I go to the soy sauce factory which I can’t concentrate on because I’m feeling angrier by the minute.

I do try the soy sauce Icecream which is better than expected- like salted caramel perhaps?

I don’t want to stay there. I don’t mind a dorm but this feels- intrusive and greedy.

I drop into the large imposing Bay Resort hotel.

How much is a room?

11000 yen.

I explain my situation . I need to collect my baggage.

The hotel manager drives me to the awful guesthouse and I pick up my bag. I tell the Moroccan I don’t feel comfortable here.

I complain to booking.com - they don’t care. They are not on the side of customers it seems- only the owners. refunds are up to the owners.

They’ve taken my money. All of it over 13000 yen, even though I didn’t even spend a minute there and the ‘boss’ already made plenty of money from that room.

The bay resort hotel has a choice of yukutas, belts (obis), and over kimonos in the lobby.

Upstairs is an onsen.

I don’t for dinner which is expensive- 6000 yen - because I know I won’t be able to eat most of it. I opt for breakfast.

The young man at reception points to a girl working at the hotel. Do you know her?

My first thought is, I don’t know anybody in Japan.

I look closer.

She met you in Kito in Shikoku. Suddenly I remember- she was a yuzu picker in Kito. We had lunch together - me and all the pickers.

I’m surprised and delighted. I do know people in Japan.

That night I go to the lobby shop and buy olive popcorn ( too sweet, not nice), olive curry, olive sweets, a bag of crisps and a tin of highball.

I eat the crisps and drink some of the highball which I don’t like - it’s a whisky based cocktail.

All night the wind whistles. There are apologetic notices all over the hotel about this. It’s to be expected next to the sea.

The next morning I woke too late for breakfast.

I want to continue being fit so I decide to hire a bike. I want to see somen noodles but the drying outside only happens in the summer. Many things are closed but I think I will cycle around and have a look.

I get on the bike and immediately topple over, having another dizzy spell aided by a strong gust of wind.

I put out my arm to stop me crashing and hear a snap. This moment replays in my head -I think I’ve broken my arm. I lay there feeling nauseous and embarrassed. The hotel girl is next to me.

Eventually they grab a wheelchair and wheel me to the lobby. I can’t open my eyes or speak.

Do you want to go to the hospital? she’s whispers.

Yes. This time yes.

Trip over.

Feeling unlucky.

In the hospital they ask me if I have insurance I say yes.

They take me to get an xray immediately.

None of that nhs waiting.

It’s confirmed, my arm is broken.

The doctor speaks some English.

He manipulates and straightens out my broken bone. This is very painful.

Then takes me for another xray:

I have straightened it well.

He looks pleased.

This is a temporary cast. You will need to get another one when you are back home.

This hospital doesn’t accept cards, you must pay cash. I give them all the cash I have left - 42,000 yen.

I go back to my hotel room with a fist of pain killers. I stay in bed all day. I haven’t really eaten for 36 hours.

Tomorrow scary travel on own with broken arm and luggage. I spent a 1000 yen calling the emergency line at virgin insurance. It’s a call centre. He sends me an email with a non digital form to fill in (I dont have a printer, I’m not in a fit state to manage this) and listing dozens of forms I must provide to get help. I can’t. I just can’t. I photograph what I have and email it. I don’t hear back for 3 days.

In the night I had an idea. I’d get my suitcase sent to Osaka by courier. This worked and only cost 1,125 yen

28th dec:

Finally had the breakfast. They had an onigiri bar where a chef expertly rolled balls of rice with the insert you chose

And a soy sauce bar and a selection of shodasjima olive oils.

I took the hotel shuttle to the port then the ferry. At takamatsu i fucked up- getting a train which required 4 changes and cost more rather than a direct bus.

I make so many mistakes on my phone.

The hostel charges 500 yen for every half hour before check in. Jesus. I’ll wait outside. Again.

Bye bye Shikoku. I know every soddng inch of you.

Man on train helped me open my water bottle.

Man in Starbucks helped me zip up my bag.

Now at capsule hotel. Lots of shopping and restaurants around here.

It’s early but I’m hungry went to the only pizza place open at 5pm

Casho! Pay now!

Bad Pizza and a glass of red wine.

The capsule hotel was anonymous and unfriendly. Nobody was in all night. I just saw their white slippers outside their capsules as the sign they’d come back in.

The air conditioning is hot and dry. This is what the UK government wants for us- those air pumps. It’s not a nice heat.

I guess all the girls were out dining, clubbing or whatever. I’m the only western here I think.

The mattress is thin and uncomfortable. It was hard to sleep with my arm. I tossed one way then the other. Really hard to find a position.

In the morning, having not washed since the accident- it’s now the 3rd day- I hunted in all the cupboards and eventually found some trash bags.

I attached one to my arm and had a shower. That’s better.

Nobody looked at me or asked me what happened or talked to me.

The female floor is double the amount of the men’s.

29th dec

I went out to the nearby shopping and street good area. It’s dystopian.

Eventually I went to Starbucks where I feel v asleep for 2 hours. I’m not up to this in realised,

Kept falling asleep. Felt very fragile I realised. Too many crowds that could bump my arm.

Not interested in shopping because I can’t carry it.

Bought food to cook at the hostel which made me feel happier even though it is hard to cook one handed. Cooking heals me.

No one can get in touch with my airline China eastern airways. Virgin insurance not responding at all.

I’m on my own.

30th dec

Today I’m still in the hostel at 1:30pm. I feel like I can’t be bothered to see Osaka. That there is nothing new to see, no good food to eat, just brand names and tourists both Japanese and foreign. All wearing the same clothes, doing the same thing. Pretending to have fun.

Everything is new but shabby.

Japanese people have been fascinated by pictures of my Edwardian house. It’s very old they say. Only about 120 years old, not old for the UK.

I don’t understand why they think it’s old. Japanese culture is older than ours. Is it because of earthquakes and tsunami? The reason their houses were made of matchsticks rather than bricks?

Is it because they’ve adopted the American habit of tearing things down? Americans don’t repair and renovate- they just demolish and rebuild.

I see a white girl cleaning the dorm. I’ve seen this a bit recently- foreigners doing the dirty work. Indians in 7/11, white girls being cleaners.

Where are you from?

Poland.

She takes a picture of the cubicle she has just cleaned.

You have to take a picture?

Yes.

For the bosses.

How long have you been here?

Just over 1 year- since September 2023

Was it easy to get a work visa?

Yes. I was a student then I worked.

Why Japan?

It was my dream. She smiled.

Do you speak Japanese?

Yes. She nodded happily.

I prefer to English. I don’t like English.

Have a nice day in Japan.

I feel dizzy and sick a lot of the time. Unbalanced. All that effort towards fitness undone in a second.

I don’t know what to do.

Tomorrow home?

How do I get to the airport? A taxi is over £100.

How do I negotiate the 12 hour stopover in Shanghai overnight? I had planned on visiting Shanghai but now I don’t think I’m fit enough.

China eastern airways do not respond to twitter or any email or phone.

Will they accept me on the plane without a fit to fly certificate?

What will I eat? They don’t have any meat free food ( on the way over).

What a shit show.