Happily celebrating 4 years un(t)raveling!

Four years ago, in November 2013, we started this blog and wrote its About un(t)raveling page, as an intent to explain the reasons why we decided to leave Barcelona behind and hit the road on the TRANSITion!, our (first) home-made camper-van. We were mostly done with working Monday-to-Friday jobs to afford living in a big city, paying high rents, living in a manner that we considered less and less sustainable for us - where "us" means as "individuals", "a couple", "human kind" and even "the planet".

drone view of the "Apero-trapero" giveaway party before leaving!

We used to spend our weekends and holidays outside hiking or climbing and thought it would be nice to do that on weekdays, too. At some point, living in a city was making little or no sense at all (for us). The down-sizing had started a year before, moving into 28 square meters (which is already quite a luxury, let's be honest) and selling/giving away most of our stuff. We also progressively switched to new job options less and less location-dependent, reduced our expenses and general need for money (still a long way to go!), so we would get more free time to do "our" stuff while saving for later whenever possible.

- From that point (November 2013), we've been travelling in our van through Spain, France, Belgium, The Netherlands, Germany and Italy for 15 months. We worked our freelance and distance-jobs from the road (mainly technical translation and project management), wwoofed and helpxed along the way, and visited some friends and family. We wanted to see places and understand how people lived there, in order to - hopefully - get some inspiration. Aaand...

sunny freezy breakfast time before climbing in Mallos de Riglos, Spain.

it was also an excellent excuse to go and climb around! Most of the adventure is documented in this blog, including (read or scroll down the about un(t)raveling section) a comprehensive summary of our living expenses during that time; among other reasons because we got tired to hear: "yeah, living the dream is easy when you're rich", all the time back then, while (it was our decision, of course!) sharing a 5 square-meters living-space on wheels, cooking on a small camping-gaz stove 7 days a week and showering outside with a 1-gallon bucket of warm-ish water during the winter months. So, in the end, no: it's not for rich people as long as you're willing to live a simple life, to work an odd average half-time schedule, to chase free wi-fi and power sockets around, and to resist going to a hostel or café every time you feel cold, wet or your hair is getting unacceptably greasy...

- After 15 months on the road (and a first anniversary), we stopped in the Ariège. It was February 2015 when we found that small and sunny apartment with garden for rent (for 350 euros a month). Our plan was to live there for a year or so – maybe more, maybe less – in order to explore the area and see if it was a place where we'd like to stay longer. We also wanted to see if we could hunt local jobs, make friends and generally find a place we could call home. In a word: building a sustainable and coherent life there. Un(t)raveling places with the TRANSITion! had given us insights and criteria to help us pick an ideal location. So, being both rational and romantic, here's what we found out to make the decision:

1- the Ariège is 1 hour south of Toulouse, in case we need to look for a major scientific or university research pole for work. It's 1,5 hour from most of Futuna's family. In the opposite direction, Barcelona  – with many friends of ours and Wallis' mother – is about 3 hours by car. In case driving is not an option, there's a straight train line linking Toulouse and Barcelona just cruising through the valley and across the Pyrenees, as well as several car-sharing rides every week both South- and Northbound. Quite remote, yet totally connected, isn't it?

the Ariège in spring: "Oh, look! the Pyrenees are white!"

2- the valley is on the North side of the Pyrenees: it receives a lot of rainwater (average 700-1000 mm/year), snow every winter and it's a very green area. Even with the worst predictions for climate change over the next 30 years, there will still be water here! The Mediterranean influence makes the winters milder and the overall amount of sun throughout the year lovely, without raising concerns about the area becoming a desert (unlike most of Languedoc-Roussillon or Spain). The forest coverage is massive: critical resource and moisture magnet.

3- it's a rural area with mostly extensive agriculture and cattle-breeding, with a lot of small, family-run farms: local markets, local food, local currency, resilient communities. While being wild and preserved, the Ariège is moderately touristic: there's plenty of nature to explore hiking or cycling and more climbing in a 40 km radius than we could possibly climb in a lifetime. The sector of “green” (a.k.a “active”) tourism provides opportunities to work (especially speaking foreign languages) and a touristic accommodation business is another long-term option we can consider. Since 2009, about 40% of the province's surface has been declared a Natural Park and is protected as such.

4- last but not least, living is generally cheap and the price of real estate in particular is surprisingly low when compared to other places in France and to Catalunya. Of course, some would reasonably say there's nothing worth high prices, just this big green shithole. But for us, that's pretty much what we're looking for... In the end, if there's a place where we may afford to buy an old ruin and renovate it as our home, it's here and nowhere else!

So, yes: taking into account all the critical factors we had identified, it looked like a highly strategic decision and we really felt like giving it a try! Together with the pleasure to open the windows everyday to see this green, raw and gorgeous place on earth, it was a perfect match!

straight from the garden: 'bull's heart', cherry and 'tiny pear' tomatoes, beetroot, pepper, purple onion and squash.

We did this, and we saw it was good! We first changed the big TRANSITion! camper-van for the 2c15: a tiny, crappy old car, so as to move less and cheaper. We then indulged into a routine of gardening, hiking, climbing, everydaylife-ing and such: Ariège-ing for a year and a half, growing local roots and connections, meeting local initiatives, exploring the villages around in search for an old barn to renovate, discovering local crags and making a nice happy bunch of climbing expat friends. At some point, upon finishing a long-term partnership for remote project management, we felt like doing a reset. We knew we liked it in the Ariège but needed fresh air and healing after tough times (health issues, chronic pain, loss and grieving). We decided to go and un(t)ravel again for a while.

somewhere in Siberia east of Baikal lake, on the mythical Россия train.

So, we down-sized again, packed stuff again, left the appartment again and in July 2016 we left on foot and public transportation, with only two (huge) backpacks and the goal to make it to the end of the world, whatever that meant... Long story made short, we bus-ed and train-ed to Berlin, Varsaw and Riga. Then hopped on a third-class hard-seater Transsiberian train in Moscow and eventually got to Vladivostok, 9.400 km further East. Took a ferryboat to South Korea, then another ferryboat to Japan and kept looking for the end of the world over there... until we found it (check it here)! This is a very nice series on this blog, a beautiful adventure and an amazing 6 months of our lives, starting here.

We came back to France early 2017, only to work seasonal jobs here and there, before returning to our beloved Ariège, dedicated fulltime to look for a place to settle and unpack; which we pretty much found, as you can see in this latest section called home(t)raveling, starting on the very last days of June 2017 and taking us full throttle to this fourth anniversary: November 1st, 2017. Four years ago, we left Barcelona searching for something else, somewhere else. Four years and many many kilometres later, here we are! Interestingly not so far away from where it all started... Happy to be living all this together, enjoying, celebrating everyday and celebrating even more some special days like today. Also learning and growing as a team, day after day after day. And we're very happy we can share all that with you - as much as we manage to keep up with the blog...

the keys to home(t)raveling ; our backyard view from the window for a few years now ; first necessity item: the swing.

everyday is a journey and the journey itself is home!

For many more years of un(t)raveling,

Peace, love and warm hugs to you all!

E. & A. (a.k.a. Wallis and Futuna)

Hasta el fin del Sur (8 de 8)

el retorno a Fukuoka...

Hablamos de "retorno" porque 1- ya habíamos pasado, aunque muy de prisa, en el camino de ida y 2- pues porque tiene su importancia. Recién caídos de Kyoto en un autobus de noche, tras asistir al festival del Jidai Matsuri (y antes de empalmar una larga serie de trenes locales para cruzar todo Kuyshu de par en par), ya habíamos hecho una parada téchnica en la estación central de Fukuoka, buscando un locker donde dejar un considerable sobrepeso de nuestras mochilas. Aquí Kyushu, teníamos intención de caminar y acampar más, hacer más senderismo y estar más en autonomía en este sur del sur de Japón, que durante el resto del no-viaje. También habíamos decidido ir a explorar la isla desconocida. Nos hacía falta todo lo necesario para poder acampar, y los menos trastos posibles para poder caminar con las mochilas encima.

las piedras de los jardínes de los templos: un poco de zen en este mundo loco...

La cosa es que no había lockers vigilados en la estación central. Solo de estos de monedas como en las piscinas, con instrucciones muy claras en inglés: duración máxima 72 horas. También decía que se vacíaban automáticamente los cofres al cabo de 72 horas, y que se guardaban los objetos en un almancen durante 2 meses antes de ser "destruidos". También se estipulaba (en inglés todavía) que, por supuesto, si se prentendía recuperar los objetos dentro del plaso definido, se cobraría cada día de custodia en el almacen. Total, ya ven por donde va la cosa: pensamos "eso es Japón, es el país más seguro del mundo, donde la gente es más respetuosa (del palo que se te cae la cartera por la calle y la dejan en el mismo sitio para que la encuentres 2 días después y la pasta sigue dentro, y lo único que han hecho ha sido meterla dentro de un ziplock para que no se te moje!) ; el almacen está custodiado y seguro que lo identifican todo bien". La tarifa para 3 semanas ou 1 mes nos iba bien y, miren, ¿acaso teníamos plan B? Así que deshicimos y rehicimos las mochilas enteras, en el suelo de la estación, a las 7 de la mañana. Dejamos todo lo no-indispensable bien ordenado en bolsas de plástico, todo bien atado juntito con cordones, dentro de un cofre mediano. Y dejamos encima de todo una nota manuscrita, con nuestros 2 nombres completos y que decía en mayúsculas bien formadas y en inglés bien básico:

"QUEREMOS DEJAR ESTO AQUÍ UN MES.

VOLVEREMOS A POR ELLO ANTES DEL 7 DEL PRÓXIMO MES.

PAGAREMOS EL PRECIO ESTABLECIDO.
¡MUCHAS GRACIAS DE ANTEMANO!"

Pusimos yens para las 72 primeras horas y nos piramos a coger nuestro tren. Sabíamos que iría todo bien al menos durante las siguientes 4 semanas... Total, nos repetimos una y otra vez en las primeras horas de viaje en tren: es Japón. Sinceramente, no puedo pensar en otro país en el que hubiera hecho eso. Dejé mochilas semanas en Guesthouses de Tailandia o Malasia, diciendo "volveré y pagaré al volver". Pero siempre había un ser humano con el que se concluía el trato antes de irme.... Bueno, la cosa es que tampoco había un plan B. Y salía ya nuestro tren...

Futuna va de local de toda la vida en una biblioteca de barrio.

Tras una primera noche muy folklórica en un Manga kissa (ver anterior capítulo) cerca de la estación, volvimos al locker a buscar a quién pagarle para recuperar nuestras cosas. No tuvimos que buscar mucho: nos esperaban allí, y nos reconocieron rápido! Y nos veas tu si nos echaron la madre de todas las broncas! Que qué inconscientes eramos! Que qué eso no se podía hacer! Que cómo se nos ocurría poner a la gente en situaciones así! Que se pensaban que eran cosas de terroristas! Que con lo que pasó anoche, chicos! (eso no lo entenderíamos hasta días más tarde, claro*)... Pero lo peor de todo, no se lo pierdan, es que la historia hubiera colado más o menos. Solo que dijimos que volveríamos para el día 7 del siguiente mes. Y nos presentamos, qué sé yo... el 9 quizas! Bueno, nos arrastramos por los suelos, pegándonos latigazos con las tiras de las mochilas. Imploramos y pedimos perdón. Invocamos a Kannon (Avalokiteshvara, el bodhisattva de la compasión). Juramos que no lo haríamos más, nunca jamas: ni en esta vida, ni en las siguientes. Nos pidieron los pasaportes para apuntar nuestros nombres y averiguar que coincidían con los de la nota que dejamos. Total si eramos terroristas o teníamos malas intenciones, ¿para qué íbamos a volver? Y si íbamos a volver, ¿porqué íbamos a dar falsas identidades? Se nos ofreció finalmente abonar el importe previsto - cosa que hicimos con gusto porque ya estaban colocando en pilas perfectas sobre el mostrador, todas nuestras bolsas de plástico bien atadas con los mismos cordones que las dejamos bien atadas un mes (y 2 días) antes. Después, nos instalamos cómodamente en un rincón del almacen y empezamos a reorganizar todo dentro de nuestras mochilas (como habíamos hecho a la ida, pero al revés) mientras nos miraban pensando ¡vaya desastre de gentuza estos gaijins! Debo confesar que nos moríamos de vergüenza por dentro... y por fuera también, del palo ¡Tierra, tráganos!

en alguna periferie de Fukuoka, el Futuna y el Shimon-chan, más filósofos que nunca, contemplan la posibilidad de esta isla, o algo así...

Antes de marchar, les volvimos a dar las gracias con caras de extrema desolación. Y nos dijeron lo siguiente: "- Por favor, nos dijeron, no se lo contéis a nadie! Nadie tiene que saber que habéis podido hacer esto. Sino vendrán muchos y lo harán. Y eso no puede ser! Así que les rogamos, por favor, no habléis de esto con nadie!" Contarlo, creo que lo podemos contar, pero como un ejemplo de lo que NO hay que hacer en Japón con lo respestuosa que es la gente: ¡abusar! Entonces, os rogamos a tod@s que NO lo hagáis jamas! O por lo menos, no en la estación central de Fukuoka! Id a probar elsewhere... Ahora bien: muy mucho arrepentidos, respetaremos un momento de silencio:

piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii________________________________

Ya podemos seguir con este no-viaje por el sur del sur. A los pocos días de llegar, nos encontramos con nuestro amigo Shimon-chan, que nos invitó a quedarnos en casa de su abuela y nos llevó a visitar Fukuoka y los alrededores. Con él probamos los más destacados puestos de ramen de la ciudad, el mítico capuccino ramen, hecho en un caldo de cerdo casero tan grasiente y espeso que su textura recuerda la del café con leche! Preparan este caldo hirviendo grasa y huesos de cerdo durante horas y horas en una olla gigante. Cuando entras en la calle del restaurante, girando en el extremo de la manzana, te asalta un olor a grasa de cerdo que casi te tira al suelo. Es brutal. Para facilitar un poco la digestión de esta barbaridad de caldo, se le añade ajo fresco, exprimido al momento por el consumidor. Una vez en la vida, es una experiencia única. Dos veces o más, tiene que envene-matarte, fijo.

premier ramen bar ; deuxième ramen bar ; troisième ramen bar: rencontre avec le capuccino ramen au porc et à l'ail ; et gaaaame oooover!

Pero no se piensen que todo fueron atracones de ramen e indigestiones! Hubo cultura y turismo civilizados, decentes - espirituales incluso. El Shimon-chan nos llevó de templos y museos, incluso con su abuela. Paseamos por algún que otro parque de la ciudad, y hasta probamos un té verde absolutamente divino en la tetería de un templo Shinto invadido por familias que celebraban el Shichi-go-san (七五三, literalmente 7-5-3, "Siete-cinco-tres"). Se trata de una ceremonía que tiene lugar cuando cumplen 3 y 7 años las niñas, y cuando cumplen 5 años los niños. Está asociada con la entrada "oficial" de los niñ@s como miembros de la sociedad (antes de esta edad, no se espera de ellos que tengan un rol social, por una costumbre heredada - nos cuentan - de épocas con altas tasas de mortalidad infantil en el país). Eso significa también una salida un poco abrupta del paraíso y de la burbuja protegida en la que viven hasta este momento. Me imagino a la mañana siguiente ya, tras haber sido reina/rey por un día, como se doblan y guardan cuidadosamente los hermosos trajes que se encargaron para la ocasión, y como empieza una larga vida de rendimiento, de presión, de exigencias y de estrés... ¡Vaya resacón, nene! Bueno. Tradicionalmente solía ocurrir el día 15 de noviembre, pero se celebra hoy en día durante todo el mes de noviembre y fue ási como tuvimos la suerte de presenciarla. Además de las escenas típicas de esta celebración, también capturamos de reojo y con cámara, casi sin querer ni apenas darnos cuenta, un drama tierno y silencioso entre un niño, unas carpas koi (鯉) y una niña:

aquí tenéis el pequeño drama en forma de fotopoema en cuatro actos y sin palabras, ya le iréis añadiendo voces si os inspira o apetece...

Antes de decirnos adios, Shimon-chan (que recibía la visita de una amiga antes de volver con ella a Australia), también nos invitó a ir a visitar y saludar a su abuelo, cuyas cenizas estaban en un pequeño templo del barrio. Lugar precioso, con una terraza de madera abierta a un jardín de estos cuya cuidadosa estética desprendre una serenidad, una paz y un sentido del equilibrio tan perfectos y naturales... que te pueden acabar angustiando de tanta perfección ordenada con tanto natural que parece que no lo ha hecho nadie... El arquetipo de esta perfección en la no-forma, en este intervenir con arte hasta que parezca que no hubo intervención otra que la mano de la naturaleza, se encuentra seguramente en el parque que rodea el Kinkaku-ji, el pavellón de oro, en Kyoto. Tan equilibrado que marea. La paradoja rebota y en tu cu... No obstante, está este principio en cada uno de estos jardínes, hasta del más pequeño y humilde templo de provincia. Ahora: fue un placer y todo un privilegio descubrir Fukuoka contigo, Shimon-chan. Muchísimas gracias otra vez, y ya sabes que tienes casa donde sea que nos quieras ir a visitar en el futuro!

ceremonia del té for dummy ; muchos años de dedicación para conseguir la ilusión de la no-intervención ; y un selfie de despedida.

Ya nos quedaba menos para emprender el camino de vuelta: con una última semana antes de agotar nuestros visados y con nuestras ganas de pasar unos días tranquilos por Kyoto antes de dejar el Japón atrás. Habíamos estado por Kyoto ya, cada uno de nosotros, en viajes anteriores, pero siendo una ciudad hermosa y romántica, la queríamos patear y (re)descubrir juntos, cogidos de la mano... Salimos, pues, de Fukuoka de noche: con otro autobus más, solo que en sentido contrario esta vez. Y no sin haber pasado a saludar y brindar con el hermano de Atsushi-san, con Nao y con el resto de sus colegas de trabajo. Les habíamos conocido a tod@s en el finde del cumpleaños del abuelo, Oto-san, unas cinco semanas antes, durante nuestra maravillosa estancia en Kumihama...

¡Tooooooma ya el selfie de despedida y en el último trago nos vamos (al autobus)!

- Continuará -

(y si suena a amenaza,
será que lo es...)

until the end of the South (4 of 8)

unZen and the art of natural hot spring-ing!

This episode deserves to be a special one. Not only because we just landed on the Nagaski prefecture, entering from Kumamoto straight to the heart of Unzen's moutains covered in dark, dense forest. And not only because Unzen is famous all over Japan for its Hell* and the tradition of Onsen - the very word probably coming from the village's name. It is also because this episode is the 150th of our blog!!

welcome to "Unzen hell": a chaos of sand, rock and smokey puddles of green and grey, with the exact smell of a rotten egg's fart...

Yes, 150 posts in almost exactly 3 years, that means a post every 7,5 days - roughly one per week, a mean we are very very very proud of! We recently celebrated our 3rd anniversary on an unknown island, now comes our 150th post: it's been a pleasure to share this everyday journey with you all so, well, thanks a lot for following us and un(t)raveling with us! And hopefully, there'll be many many more stories to be told in these columns... For now, let's un(t)ravel Unzen together:

puddles of boiling clay with dozens of "Don't step" signs and "Don't trespass" boards

We came by bus and got there at night, not really knowing where and how to find a decent place to sleep. As we tend to do in such situations, we decided to walk off the village, get far enough in "the woods" to get lost and pitch our tent there for the first night (and look for any better option for the next days). We were lucky enough that there were "woods" to be found everywhere around, right beyond the last house in any direction. And as for us, anytime over 10 minutes into the wilderness is a decent, fair definition of "far enough" at night. Especially in this hell of a place, which might very well have been full of deadly traps, deadly dragons, deadly tar sands, deadly gas leaks and other kinds of deadly things, hidden under every stone and behind every tree. After walking a few minutes along a steep trail in a dense and dark forest, we found an abandoned car park, partially covered with weeds and with a tent at one corner. We picked the corner in the other diagonal and set for dinner and sleep. It was already late then, but we woke up early anyway, packed and hiked back to the village for a hot drink and some fresh food. We were lucky to be in the South of the country, as the autumn was slowly turning into winter and the temperatures were dropping down fast. Looking for the sun during the day, enjoying the luxury of hot clouds and boiling soil, trying the local hot spring boiled eggs with that unique sulfur taste, drinking a lot of coffee with milk and tea: everything was fine as long as it warmed the body just a little bit more and a little bit longer! But there was more:

urged by the locals to take a "classic" souvenir pic: "You here, good. You smile."

the real deal, here in Unzen, were the natural hot spring baths, aka onsen. If this village gave its name to the very concept of having natural hot spring baths, they had to know a lot about that! Well, at least and with no doubt, the area's defect settings included an intense geothermal activity, with natural hot water coming from deep underground, spitting and squirting around about everywhere... Would have be difficult for them to justify that they actually did nothing more with it than hard-boiling eggs and dead-boiling christians. Sorry, I admit this is not funny and promise to stop making jokes about that. It actually happened between 1627 and 1632, and you can find some boards explaining about this tragedy and a small stone memorial to the Christians' martyrdom somewhere in the middle of the "Hell" mainsite, just about one hundred meters from the main hotels. The increasing influence of the Portuguese christians, converting Japanese people in Kyushu while allegedly trading goods, progressively raised concerns until the Shogun decided to ban the religion and to forbid all Westerners to come and trade in the country. During over 2 centuries, the only contact between Japan and 'the rest of the world' were the Dutch traders, as they accepted, upon landing on Japanese soil, to step on a cross and reject the christian faith. Ah, the Dutch pragmatism in action! They were consequently allowed to settle on a tiny artificial island built in Nagasaki's harbour and that's another story we'll tell you about later on... ;)

But as for today, let's talk about unZen and the art of natural hot spring-ing:

smile to the old man, pay 100 yens, go to the "men" (or "women") section, take your clothes off, pick a locker and... just enjoy the heat!

Alright: the village is literally full of hotels, which come in a wide range of prices and a wider variety of styles. Basically, there are diversely expensive hotels, available in both Japanese-style and Western-style. That's it. Deal with it. With our maximum allocated 'exceptionnal' budget of 40 euros per night for the 2 of us and our supa-strict "get this price or camp" policy, all were waaay too expensive anyway and camping was the option. As we learnt, each hotel had its onsen, which was open to non-residents but again, out of our budget. It may sound like cheap, but (i) at this point of our adventure, we've spent two and a half months in Japan already and we're not even broke yet, and (ii) the cheapest option, both on the Transsiberian and around here, happened to be the most fun (how could we know?)

desert public onsen with a 1 euro fee: luxury is INDEED a very relative concept!

As far as we could find, there were two public onsens in Unzen, plus one at about a 15 minute walk outside the village, but pretty close to the spot we found to camp on the second day. All three costed 100¥ per person** for a single but non time-limited access. Our strategy was to get a nice long session in the late morning, that would keep us warm most of the afternoon and allow a cold lunch of onigiris and fruit. We then had to stay around town until it was dark, get another nice, long session of onsen in the evening, then hike to our secret campsite, have a quick noodle soup dinner and get inside the sleeping bags while our bodies were still hot from the spring water. And it actually worked wonders! An hour spent immerged in water at about 40 or 42 ºC raises your body temperature quite a bit over regular and the feeling lasts a good couple of hours - which was more than enough to hike a short 10 minutes through the woods to a lovely little pond nearby: a perfect invitation to a quiet living in harmony with nature, there was un petit je ne sais quoi de Walden to it. Passed the tiny country hotel with the mandatory beach and pedal boats on the shore - fortunately closed for the winter season, we just walked another 5 minutes in the woods to an abandoned/closed campsite whose facilities were locked and all water turned off, but with little wooden decks raised a foot above the floor and individual firepits and tables. We discovered the place on our second day in Unzen and decided to (very respectfully) use and abuse of one raised wooden deck and its firepit, for both comfort, safety and so as not to leave any trace after ourselves. We picked one spot that got the first morning sun, protected from the night wind by a couple of large firs during our 3 days around Unzen, we packed every morning but hid our stuff under a nearby tree - to hang around town with nothing but a light daypack containing our towels, a laptop for some public library internet surfing and some supplies. Just superb!

a Japanese interpretation of the Walden pond + a #13 with ideal orientation and no negative connotations = a perfect spot to camp!

We spent 3 lovely and very quiet days in Unzen, invented a smart and comfy routine to resist the increasing cold and finally decided we needed to get back down to the seaside to gain a few degrees. On the sunny morning of the fourth day, we put our bags on our backs and took the narrow little road heading West and down, thumbs up just in case and happy to discover what life had in mind for us... After about an hour walking along the road, a rusty and dusty Toyota pulled and took us onboard, driving us for a short while and dropping us to the seafront boulevard of another 'Mouth of hell', a lovely little coastal town famous for its hot springs (again) and proud of having the longest footspa in the world. How cool and worldly is that? Surprisingly enough, this little coastal town you probably never heard off (and will never again hear off) was called... Obama. Yes, Obama. Like the very fresh, latest ex-POTUS.

'Mouth of hell' like in: "everywhere around, there's vapor and this sulfurous fart smell"...

This is gonna be the next episode and our post #151!

take care and love to all,

W. & F.

___________________________

* about Unzen's "Hell": where (mostly Portuguese but not only) christians used to be boiled alive in natural hot springs back then - a tradition that was long abandoned. The chrisitans were replaced by eggs, which not only is socially and morally more acceptable, but also represents a substantial source of income for the local, as the thousands of tourists pay for them and eat them with great pleasure...

** about the yen's rate: during the 3 months we spent in Japan, the yen was ridiculously high and strong. It oscilated between 105 and 120 yens for 1 euro, which made it even tougher for Westerners to travel the country on a tight budget. Nevertheless, 1 euro for a steamin' hot bath tub and pool, free tea, shower and sauna isn't something you can really conceive when you come from Europe! Luxury is a relative, cultural concept...

the tale of the unknown island* (3 of 3)

the island's dense, lush, green transitionnal primary rainforest.

If you've missed both episode 1 and episode 2, first of all you may not qualify as a regular reader of this blog - which is not a big deal: you can still have a look at them before reading this third and last episode. Consider subscribing, too (scroll down the right column until you find the subscription box), to get every new release by email. Now, in just a few words: we're hiking through this beautiful and remote little island in the South of Japan. It's amazingly beautiful and so far, we've been lucky with the weather. But nothing lasts forever...

Night 2 - sleeping tight (bis):

"We cooked in silence and had a quick dinner, seeing how the party of three was in fact a very young mountain guide taking care of his couple of clients: taking all kind of stuff from his backpack, he was cooking a romantic and gorgeous sukiyaki for them, while showing them some videos of the Unknown Island on his tablet: 5* service! After over 10 hours of a demanding hike, about 2000 meters of cumulated elevation gain hauling heavy backpacks and witnessing the most strikingly beautiful and intense wilderness in our entire lives, we could say we were drained, worn out, exhausted AND deserved to rest a little bit.
That was Day 2 and at about 9pm, we were sleeping!"

Day 3 - getting soaked:

We woke up at 6, only to find the weather was finally back to local average: it was raining nekos and inus**. Worse than that, a thick fog had invaded the forest around the hut and erased everything else. We spent some more time in the sleeping bags, seeing how the other people (the locals) were progressively waking-up and packing. At 7:30, we had broken the fast and were ready to start, all covered in rainproof tarps, rainproof plastic bags and rainproof so on... Everything outside was soaked: every little plant, every bush, every stone. The relative humidity was sure enough over 100% and the feeling was that of being inside a COLD turkish bath! We started to walk, chanting the "Be water, my friend" mantra and enjoying the merry joyfulness of the nice and colourful landscape surrounding us. Look at that:

"enjoying the merry joyfulness of the nice and colourful landscape surrounding us" - fancy shooting a haunted wood terror movie?

The plan for this second day of hiking was to climb the Unknown Island's main summit, Mount M--- (just below 2000 meters asl), at about 2 and a half to 3 hours from the old T--- Hut, the one we'd reach in about 40 minutes (we had slept at the new one) and where we planned to re-break the fast with a warm drink and cookies! The first reason to summitting Mt. M--- was because we like main summits. The second was because we wanted to see the views (ha ha ha!) and embrace the whole island from there. After all, ain't that what any decent shipwrecked does on their desert island? And finally, it was because most of the main trails going to and coming from most points around the coast met there. Getting to Mt. M--- was therefore the best way to keep all options at hand so as to decide at the very last moment (depending on, say, the weather) which part of the island we'd go down to. We had, however, a favourite option: the West coast or N--- trail, taking us to Mt. N---, the second highest peak, then to a second free mountain hut in about only 3 more hours.

chasing a ghost through the scariest and most intriguing haunted woods ever...

This trail also allowed us to walk all the way down to N---, the village whose beautiful beach we discovered a bit late on our tour by car on the first day. That meant we wouldn't rely on any shuttle nor taxi in order to get back to civilization, which was good for us, too. The map nonetheless contained warnings about the N--- trail being in poor conditions, un(t)raveled and "for skilled, experienced hikers only". Yeah! We shivered in anticipation: Adventure! Danger! Thrill!

Desperately trying not to lose Wallis, who might have caused a heart attack to any unadverted hiker, I/Futuna walked at the tail of the party: it was like chasing a ghost in a haunted wood. What a cool and uncommon scenario for a terror movie, right? The usual chaser, chased! The average haunter, hunted! There was not much to be seen around, but the dark orange bark of this endemic tree whose name we forgot. Very very bizarre tree, with sensual body-like shapes and a warm touch! It's even famous for this: for having a warm bark like it has fever - in the morning, fever all through the night... Any tree enthusiast who would like to illustrate us is more than welcome: you can see one, although not particularly representative, on the right side of the picture above. We stopped at the old T--- Hut and prepared some hot beverage there, on the covered terrace. From there, we spotted a beautiful (although limpy - poor little thing) white-tailed shika deer at a distance. We also spotted 'our friend', who didn't care to hide she was bothered to see us and pissed to learn we wanted to go up Mt. M---, just like she did. So she didn't stop and we took all our time before starting again, wondering why she apparently felt so annoyed by our presence. Human beings...

forgive our camera's digital zoom: focus on the (limpy) white-tailed shika deer!

We walked a long while until we got out of the forest and on a long rounded edge going steadily up to some sort of saddle and crossroads at the foot of the summit. The rain was falling cold and thin now, and the colonies of Rhododendrons we had to hike through were so heavily loaded with water that it flew and fell from our overalls to our trousers and straight inside our hiking boots. With the "Be water, my friend" mantra on our lips, we thought we'd stop and rest a bit at some big boulders we saw from a distance. But upon arrival there, we met 'her' again, having some snacks under the biggest boulder. Again, her face caused us to keep walking passed her, passed the boulders, passed our break and all the way up to Mt. M---. We left the backpacks under a tarp at the saddle and crossroads, so as to hike up light and fast, saw the (null) view and came back down. Before she showed up, we checked our map and picked our number one, favourite option: the N--- trail. It was a long but almost flat hour until the foot of the second highest summit, Mt. N---, where we hid the backpacks again for a second light and fast ascent. Same weather, same rain, same fog, same wooden post with kanjis and height a.s.l. At that point, we were so drenched that looking for shelter or stopping to change clothes didn't make any sense. We kept walking through this ocean of Rhododendrons, sometimes higher than ourselves. The trail was difficult, with many roots and high steps, often half a meter high or more. It was so severely eroded by the heavy rains that it regularly was virtually a trench among the bushes, so narrow our backpacks would get stuck. Every now and then, the fog would open a tiny window, allowing us to see, far away down to the West, the mouth of the river, the fishermen village and the white sandy beach we'd eventually (hopefully?) reach the next day... Still a long, wet way to go!

West side story: welcome to the beautiful land of Rhododendron, trench-y trail and moist ; Futuna playing Blue in green...

Early afternoon, a miracle happened: at about the exact same moment, we reached the forest and the rain stopped. As far as we were concerned, that made no difference, since the trees were loaded with water and the slighest touch of a branch triggered a cold shower for the two of us! But reaching the forest meant the Sh--- hut had to be close. We almost missed it at a stupid crossroads with unclear signs, but our intiution worked wonders and shortly after 2pm, we found it. The hut itself was nothing like the fancy designer creation of the previous night, but rather an ugly stone cabin, abandoned and close to falling in ruins. Its greatest quality was a small clearing oriented South, bathed with sunlight at that moment of the day, with two old posts where to tie our rope and hang everything we had. After a minimal but most welcome "shower", we put on dry warm clothes and spent the next 4 hours in a shy sun, sucking calories up, gathering the scattered pieces of the hut's door and fixing it so as to put it back up before it got dark...

the not-so-cool Sh- hut: a humid and rusty stone cabin with no style whatsoever.

By dusk, our stuff was dry-ish (enough so we'd put it back on the next day), the door was kinda fixed, we had cleaned the upper bunk and settled our camp on it. We were sipping an aperitive warm tea when something shook the door with determination. You wouldn't believe who opened it, entered and looked at us with surprise, then hatred: 'our friend'! So let's make this crystal-clear: (i) we swear we had no idea she planned to take this trail, (ii) we promise neither we nor she actually mentioned it, (iii) we guarantee we had no intention to ruin her hike whatsoever and (iv) we claim not to understand why it was such a pain in the a-- for her that we were around. Wallis' theory is that maybe she considered this whole thing to be a locals' treat (like some "locals' only" swell) and she was pissed that two spoiled gaijins got to try it.


Night 3 - getting tense:

Anyway, upon settling at the extreme opposite of the small room, she grated us with another hatred look which meant "you took the cleanest bunk". Well, we just spent one hour cleaning it, sweet heart. And, now you mention it: you're welcome for the fixed door and the trash all picked up! Indeed, maybe she was stressed for some other reason, we didn't know why she was there hiking alone in the first place and there was no room to invite her to "open up and talk about it"! So we all cooked and ate dinner silently, each one their own noodle soup on their respective stove. Then she wrote stuff in her scrapbook with her flashlight until quite late, while we got to bed and fell asleep very very soon.

haunted woods with a dense presence: not exactly friendly wih thick fog ; some nice and pituresque ivy ; back to the scary haunted woods!

Day 4 - getting down and back:

Again, we woke up at about 6am. 'Our friend' was packing and it looked as though she hoped she'd leave before we even opened eyes. We let her do so, had breakfast and got ready sin prisa pero sin pausa. Oh, the pleasure to put cold, dirty, wet clothes from the previous day back on! The goal was to go down to sea level as fast as possible and to enjoy a lazy sunny time on the beach before getting on the last evening bus back to the port, camp somewhere around there and get on the ferry the next day. So, down we went, in the chilly fog and under a thin, penetrating rain.

the gigantic stone tibial plate and tree tendons of a giant monster/spirit. Scary!

The forest was beautiful and plain scary at the same time - so much that stopping, be it to put clothes on or take them off, was not really an option: the woods we walked through were haunted (see the pictures if you have any doubt: can you imagine the size of the giant monster/spirit whose stone joint and tree tendons can be seen here?) and inhabited by two kinds of hostile creatures which made stops unthinkable and dreadful. First of all, with the lower altitude, the red-ass monkeys were back, moving fast around us in the ferns. We coud hear the males screaming each time we paused, even for just a few seconds. "Keep moving! Don't stop! You don't belong here!" and so on... Then, there were the leeches. Hundreds of tiny, hardly visible leeches on the ground. The only way to avoid them was to walk fast. If you stood motionless, even stomping at a steady pace, they managed to get on your boots. And from there on your legs. You knew they were there. They got back down inside the boots and up inside the trousers' legs. They even bit and sucked blood through the socks! But if you stopped to tear one off, by the time you were done, ten had climbed up to feed on your blood. The only way to deal with them was to hike fast and pretend to ignore the ones already attached. Aaaaaugh! Disgusting! Gross! You felt the first bite, then knew they were but couldn't do anything about it. And you kept thinking about them - obsessively!

slippery steps on smooth rocks: does it not look like a skull?

We couldn't say exactly how long the way down back to civilization lasted. Maybe about 5 hours. It was tiring, for sure. And definitely scary. Did we mention this place where we had to cross on a smooth, rounded and steep rock overlooking a small creek and waterfall? The typical five steps you'd take without even thinking about it if the weather were sunny, the rock dry and your backpack weren't that heavy. But actually, with the rain making it all slippery and your backpack heavy like crazy, every step was an agony. Do you know that feeling? Well, look at the clear warning Nature put there and you'll understand how fear became a mindset. Slip we did not, though. We kept moving and as we got lower and closer to the sea, we moticed the weather was getting better-ish. We started to dream of a beach of white sand under the sun, of washing our bodies in the sea, of cleaning those leeches bites with salt and sun, of eating greasy fries with ketchup and a regular Coke... Wow, wow, wow! Easy, there!

And at some point, finally, we got to a dirtroad we walked down during 10 last and endless minutes to the N--- trailhead. That was it: a car park, a picnic area and some toilets with fresh water. Then 3 more kilometers on a narrow concrete road among rice fields to the fishermen village and the beach! We stopped at the trailhead, invaded a picnic table, put some water to heat on the Trangia and, first thing after that, compulsively took all our clothes off to chase the leeches! We sure enough looked like two possessed souls suffering acute ergotism (aka St. Anthony's fire), throwing our clothes away while jumping on one leg, grabbing a foot and screaming "Yiiiiiiiikes!"... I swear I tried to control myself long enough to take a picture of 'em leeches on me leg, but seeing them and not removing them right away was too much. Especially after spending hours thinking of them, seeing them with my eyes: their small, rounded, slimy bodies squirming all inflated with blood as they fed on me was too much to handle! I removed a good dozen, Wallis more or less half that. The worst, after throwing one to the ground a couple of meters away, was to see it crawling its way back towards us like nothing would stop it. Aaaaaugh! Only after killing them all could we calm down and grab the camera, take a picture, then enjoy a miso soup. Sorry for the loss of documentary value of this blog entry: we. just. couldn't. Even repeating: "Come on Futuna, leeches don't carry nor transmit diseases. They are, indeed, super clean and healthy creatures, as well as a very reliable and sensitive bio-indicator of preserved, unpolluted environments" and all sort of likewise objective facts about them. Again: we. just. couldn't. Anything you want but leeches.

the famous transitionnal ferns: big enough, uh? Futuna's foot after removing the leeches ; making cool, tiny friends at N---'s beach.

We got to the fishermen village and straight to the beach, we scattered our belongings on the sand in the sun, hoping they'd get magically clean dry. Meanwhile, we spent a long while washing our bodies in the ocean. We then waited for the evening public bus back to M--- and headed straight to the only 24h coin laundry to throw most of our stuff in a giant washing-machine. We kept only the less dirty to cover ourselves - in an embarrassing fashion. Again, you wouldn't believe who showed up at the laundry at about 9pm, while we were looking at our clothes in the dryer: 'our friend'! Oh, Ford! You should have seen that look on her face. It was worth a million yens! Ha ha ha! What did we do that was sooo wrong and pissed her off sooo much? We, poor ignorant gaijins shall never understand... But we laughed real hard when she left the place without saying goodbye!

courtesy of Google, a physical map of the Unknown Island with our bewanderings.

Night 4 - getting ready to leave:

The rest of our adventure on the Unknown Island went fast and smooth: we walked through a cold and rainy night down to an open campgroung by the port. The place was abandoned or closed or forgotten, but still neat, desert and hidden enough for us to pitch the tent and spend a last night there. After all the laundry and drying, walking to the campground, setting our camp, cooking and having dinner, we got to bed quite late for a short night, with the continuous sound of the rain on the fabric of the tent: we woke up just before the sun did - which allowed us to witness a beautiful dawn on the ocean and to see our ferry boat slowly growing on the horizon, waiting to take us away. So...


Day 5 - getting back to the world:

After 4 whole days on, around and across the Unknown Island, we were sad to leave but felt genuinely fortunate and grateful. The place treated us with its unrivaled beauty, unaltered nature and unspoiled landscapes. We spent those days mostly in silence and by ourselves, except for some rare (and weird) human contacts. We were quite lucky with the weather, especially if you consider our average meteorologic luck over the past 3 years un(t)raveling! Both the sunny, scenic drive around on the first day and the challenging, wet, intense 3 days hiking were amazing and rewarding, while almost unreal at the same time. From the ferry's upper deck, our whole stay on this tiny island started to seem like a dream: long and vivid but a dream anyway. We soon wondered if it had happened at all and felt grateful that the bleedy, itchy leeches' bites lasted a few days, as they were our only tangible piece of evidence.

beautiful sunrise from our abandoned, closed and forgotten campground by the sea ;the old rusty-funky-pinky ferry boat coming back for us!

Standing at the back of the ferry, we watched the port of M--- getting smaller and smaller, then the whole coast and steep mountains all covered by this deep and dense forest, progressively shrinking before us. We soon recognized the main summits emerging in the background from the green, then eventually saw nothing but a dark dot all covered in fog, floating inbetween the ocean and the blue, cloudless sky. Even long after the island had disappeared, you could still guess it was there because of this small, compact crown of clouds above it. The power of trees to attract and retain humidity is indeed spectacular! When there was nothing left on the horizon, we moved to the front of the ship and remained silent for a few hours - with a lot to digest and assimilate. So, that's pretty much the end of our own 'tale of the unknown island', reflecting over and over again on the cruel paradox of tourism, be it respectful and with a leave-no-trace philosophy: going to beautiful natural places when they're spoiled and ruined by tourism sucks (see Olkhon island on the Baikal lake, for instance). How sad and shameful. But going to natural places when they're absolutely untouched and preserved ALSO sucks, because you might be opening the way for tourism to spoil and ruin them! That's true both at the other end of the world and in your own backyard (oh, the sad decay of this amazing natural secret thermal spring and tub in the French Cerdagne, after some smart guy posted its coordinates online).

looking back on the gorgeous Unkown Island ; a group of young, enthusiastic fellows giving it a warm farewell!

With time to think about it, we came to the conclusion that the threat we represented and her - legitimate? - worries for the Unknown Island, could be (at least part of) the reason why 'our friend' got increasingly hostile with us.
In the end, we come back to this same conclusion again and again, year after year and un-travel after un-travel: it looks like you CAN'T possibly have a positive impact. Not even a neutral one. And that may become our main reason to stay at home, to plant trees and to grow vegetables instead of traveling around with consequences we dont' always want nor can control. Anyway, we're still on the road for a few weeks and really want to make the best of them!
So, we'll be back soon, un(t)raveling around with the same ethics and enthusiasm.
Stay tuned, take care, enjoy and see you soon!

The end.

___________________________



* Any resemblance to a short story written in Potuguese by Jose Saramago was on purpose and is an invitation to (re)discover this lovely little new classic!


** About the nekos and inus: just in case you need some, here's a very graphic - even though strictly musical - explana-translation.