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)

ignorant is the new wise

WARNING:

This post contains offensive and judgemental opinions on people I don't even know.
It is full of verbal violence, intolerance and negativity about some post-modern crap I've read lately and its author.

If you're a Buddhist, or believe in respect-over-freedom-of-speech, you may not want to read any further.

If you're a 'digital-nomad' moron whose mouth and mind are full of global BS, or if you worship cheap travel for the sake of it and making money through a click-bait shitty blog, while aiming at making the world a better place, reading this post may make you feel miserable (my secret hope), or feel upset (my secret agenda), or feel like punching me in the face (my first guess).

This being said, and for the rest of us: last call for passengers to doucheland, now boarding!

________________________________

Ever wondered what to do while stuck long hours at an airport terminal waiting for a flight? Or stuck between your two neighbours on a flight? How about reading (or writing) an (hopefully) interesting and inspiring blog post? Well, now you mention inspiring pieces of reading - or did I mention that myself? how convenient! -, there was indeed one I came across randomly about a month ago, on a very fancy blog. I soon discovered it was written by a travel supa'star, a wanderlust heavyweight, some sort of #digitalnomad schredder, a Marvel hero with a cool name and a trendy 2.0 backpacker costume: the Connor Mc Gregor* of the travel blogosphere! A living myth! A unicorn in hawaiian shorts!

#MyNewHero: un(re)touched and raw.

If you excuse me for being way too sincere, way too soon - that's the writing equivalent of smuggling one's toothbrush on one's one-night-stand's bathroom shelf before leaving their place the next morning - I'll confess I was simply amazed that one of Facebook's almighty algorithms fished that piece of raw rubbish just for me. This idiotic gem was targeted and selected based on my profile, feed, activity and so on?  I'll have to think about this thoroughly later and make amends: no way I'm getting away with that without practising some self-criticism.

So, what did the algorithm get for me, just for me and for me only? An authentic little treasure of moronic millenial bullshitting. Un-censored. Director's cut! So neatly superficial, so powerfully short-sighted, so disgustingly self-satisfied and so genuinely ignorant, it was close to pure genius. Really moving. A brilliant example of CS's the sky is the limit, wooo!-philosophy (a.k.a. "let's go carping all those diems!") under the pen of a <quotemark> travel writer and journalist </quotemark>, who self-introduces himself as <quotemark> New York Times best-selling author </quotemark> and whose best-selling product was written and intended to make you <quotemark> Travel better. Cheaper. Longer <quotemark>**. Now, that's what I call a good start, mate: travelling as a dick-measuring contest! Classic and classy old-school junk-ology. Implacable rethorics: the cheaper and longer, hence the better. Pay less, get more. "How many miles must a man walk through, sang our unexpected literature Nobel prize in his early years, before you call him a man?" Well, forget about that. Nowadays in Millenniala-land, it'd be something like "How many miles on your airline program, before you get a free flight?"... How did he say, the unexpected Nobel Prize? "the times they are a'changing...". Indeed. Joan Baez, if you're still around, don't cry. It's useless. They're everywhere. Resistance is futile. They won the war already. Deal with it: Ignorant is the new wise.

_________________________________________________________________

"LEARN HOW TO SAVE MONEY ON YOUR NEXT TRIP. Hi! I'm New York Times best selling author ---. If you're overwhelmed by all the travel information on the web, sign up here to get proven step by step tips and tricks that'll save you time, money and have you traveling sooner!"

___________________________________________________________________

Wanna travel like a local in France? Try our rusty shitty Citroën c15!

So, if you've got time and you wanna take a chance to give him a fair trial, you can read his nice piece of travel writing/journalism here. Just cruising through the introduction, you'll learn that "sharing economy" is "the term given to the plethora of websites designed to connect travelers with locals, offer more unique experiences, and make travel more affordable". Wow! Thank you so much #MyNewHero, it took Wikipedia 150 bibliography entries to define, refine and analyze what the sharing economy is (or isn't), what it looks like and what it may become, only scratching the surface of it. So yours is indeed a great synthesis: "a bunch of apps to help you travel cheaper!" And this is just for starters. I so can't wait for the main course, but let's be patient...

There he goes: "While I’ve used the sharing the economy frequently before (I am a big fan), they have never been the primary focus of my entire trip. I usually add a few activities in while I’m being a normal tourist seeing the main attractions." And also, wondering how it was going to work: "Would this be the best way to meet people? How much cheaper is it, really, to use only the sharing economy? Would it be more work? Would I even like using the sharing economy all the time?". Down to the two important ideas: he's a big fan of the sharing economy and he's used it before. It so sounds like "I'm not racist, man. Look: I even have a black friend". And cheaper - is that the point? Apparently, yes. Could the sharing economy be about not wasting resources, not over-consuming and not getting so much new stuff and services when you can share, borrow, co-own or rent... Thought spending less was secondary to trying to act more sustainable, the 3Rs, all this. But it looks like I had it wrong: sharing is all about cheaper deals. Oh, and the best so far: "what if don't like that too much?" As a customer of the sharing economy, what if the act of making the world a better place is not enjoyable enough? First experience: a BlablaCar ride with 2 locals. Buckle up!

_________________________________________________________________

"I was little nervous (...) because I was worried we wouldn’t end up talking much. I was right. After making some initial small talk with her and the other rider, we exhausted their English and my French and they just spoke French to each other. I can’t blame them though. It'S a lOT EASIER TO SPEAK IN YOUR NATIVE TONGUE THAN GRASP FOR WORDS IN A LANGUAGE YOU DON'T KNOW WELL."

___________________________________________________________________

Exactly, my fwiend! If you want to live like a f-ing local in any country, start by learning the f-ing local language. Or - at least - stop assuming every f-ing local has to talk to you in YOUR f-ing language! What kind of a self-centered, narrow-minded, imperialist prick brags about living like a local in any country in the world with an English-only approach? You know what? Go live like a local in NYC. Go get some spicy-tasty-yummy sharing economy with a taxi cab in Manhattan and leave us indigenous people of the Fwance alone! Seriously. "Live like a local bla bla bla". My ass like a local. But look, at least our hero is a fair-player: "I can't blame them though". Oh thank you my lord! Why is that? Come on! Blame 'em a little! Is it by any chance because you don't speak a bloody word of any foreign language yourself? While you self-define your-arrogant-self as the supah travelah-supah stah, Mr. NYTimes Best-selling author?

me doing the sharing economy with a cat: come share our couch! hashtag vanlife!

Then we learn he had another disappointing experience with some other sharing economists from the AirBnB platform. Btw, a platform that is making millions just by charging a (huge) percentage fee on illegal/alegal rentals between peers and peer-profesionals, actively involved in global gentrification and making cities some fake theme parks for tourists, with sky-rocketted rents unaffordable for the working class locals who have to go live in the suburbs and commute long hours everyday. Live like a local, my ass. It's like the Nokia add, but with 2 l's instead of the 2 n's, look at that:

<> AirBnb - Collecting People! <>

Anyway, as he briliantly wraps it up: "in Orléans, my Airbnb hosts were young graphic designers, super accommodating, helpful, and had an excellent tea selection. However, they spoke little English, weren’t so keen to hang out, and mostly left me alone." Oh! The poor little thing! His AirBnB hosts weren't so keen to spend 24/24 with him and they spoke little English. They looked cool, though: they were young graphic designers with an excellent tea selection! How sad he purchased a service from them on AirBnb and not, say, AirCnC, like in CONVERSATION AND COMPANY! Or didn't anybody tell him BnB actually stood for BED AND BREAKFAST? That is to say: place to sleep and morning coffee with pastry! If you wanted friends, you should have tried another approach: the sharing economy does not usually sell any. Neither does the regular, individualistic, capitalist one. You just do not buy friends. Period. Like a local my balls, #MyNewHero: you're learning to live in France like a pathetic spoiled kid, not like a local! Then the thing goes on and on: he meets other AirBnB hosts who are desperate as he is and need some company. They hang out with him and speak his language, so he can finally feel like a local. They even fake having feelings towards him, putting a candle on his croissant for his birthday. As he reckons: they are an older couple (probably suffering an empty nest syndrome and inconsciously looking for some child-like ball of fur). They laugh with him as they swap stories over a bottle of wine! Oh my God! Is there anything local-er than that?

_________________________________________________________________

"I met a local psychologist, a recent college grad touring his own country, a Syrian refugee from Aleppo (which I found to be an enlightening – and very depressing – experience), a fun Dane and a Japanese tourist who wanted to be a farmer. They filled my time with laughter, fun, and insights"

__________________________________________________________________

Another beautiful life lesson from #MyNewHero: apparently, Pokémon Go is part of the sharing economy too! You can hunt and capture interesting people with only 1 (one) trait. And they're like items or cards, to be added to your collection. Purchase them for free on www.couchsurfing.com! Wooooo!

What's up with this creepy little man? He keeps sayin' he wants to live like a lo-cow...

"They filled my time with laughter, fun and insights" made me smile, but I almost puked with "which I found to be an enlightening - and very depressing - experience". My balls, like a local. Like a mo-ron, you mean. The rest is not as good as he expected: not so many people are willing to get paid for sharing authentic stuff, apparently. The food sharing economy is disappointing, even though he admits a jazz musician cooked him an awesome burger. Why would you have a cook cooking you something to eat when you can have a jazz musician doing it instead? He also had "a Thai guy and his boyfriend, make some delicious Thai food". I know what you're thinking: a Thai guy cooking Thai food is a bit too easy for the sharing economist learning to live like a local. You would have expected, at least, a Colombian plumber to cook Thai food on a solar stove, right? But read more carefully: the Thai guy and his boyfriend! Now you have the cherry on top: he got his meal cooked by a gay Thai! To our NYTimes best-selling author, that made him special Pokémon-style and worth mentioning. They're not persons, just jackets... But the whole thing keeps getting better: now comes the time to analyze and conclude, to nail the nail (local saying!):

_________________________________________________________________

"I started to have mixed feelings about the sharing economy. First, it’s not convenient. You’re dealing with people, not companies"

___________________________________________________________________

Well yes, exactly! Congrats and thank you for this briliant awakening. You're dealing with people who happen to be humans too. They have lives too. And don't dedicate most of their time to match your needs. Do you dedicate most of yours to match theirs, #MyNewHero? No, you don't, right? In my humble opinion, a good starting point would be that instead of "using the sharing economy", as you repeat again and again, you try and participate or get involved in the sharing economy! Not just "What do I need?", but also "What can I bring?", "What is my goal?", "Why do I want to do it in the first place?" These questions take us naturally to Mr. success' second concern: the argent!

what the hell is the sharing economy useful for if it's not at least 30% cheaper??

"Second, it’s not always cheaper. (...) the listed tours were quite pricy too, often rivaling traditional tour companies.". So, to make it crystal clear:  a service costs merely the same in the sharing economy as it does in the real world? How weird! How curious! Alternative ought to be cheaper, right? Because those dreamers who want to make the world a better place don't need to buy food nor to pay a rent, right? They feed on their colourful dreams and graze the sun, right? Well, apparently, the ones on the other side of sharing are expected to: the ones who sell the sharing. Those who pay to buy the sharing, they need it to be cheap, right? Back to my humble opinion: stop using the sharing. And start sharing. But this is not the point. The sharing economy being as expensive as (or not substantially cheaper than) the regular economy is just a simple problem of perspective: your concern is money, value. Not quality. Or only an incomplete concept of quality. You're missing the point. Very similar to politicians telling us public schools or public hospitals are not profitable enough, or cost too much. Of course they're not profitable. They've never been meant to be profitable in the first place! They're meant to cost public money so as to give a service to society: free education, free health. They're not profitable in money. They are profitable in knowledge, culture, tolerance, peace, well-being, happiness, stuff like that, you know. Maybe the sharing economy works the same? Imagine the mythical beast called "the sharing economy" was never meant to be cheaper economically, but rather to invent, experiment, develop and promote new ways of consuming together. Wasting less, buying less new, not feeding giant companies and corporations, not shipping worldwide. Instead: spending and earning on a smaller scale, shorter circuits of distribution, repairing, sourcing local, exchange, swap...

imagine you looked in the mirror and instead of yourself, you saw the whole picture.

Think about this shared car-ride again: it's not meant to entertain you more, nor to be more comfortable and convenient for you, while also being cheaper for you. Just get your belly-button off the center of the damn equation for a second and imagine this shared car-ride means not using 3 cars, spending 3 times gas, insurance, tyres, tolls. Not producing 3 times carbon dioxide... Now if the 3 of us decide we want to do that, commit to it and manage to find a way so all the needs of the 3 of us are met with 1 single car and 1 single trip, it is going to be globally better: "for the planet", for the human beings, for the message we send to the car industry, the insurance business, the tyres and oil market... It should be cheaper. It may be better for us if we take turns to drive and enjoy some nice conversation and find less cars on the road. Now, the tough truth: this is certainly NOT going to be more convenient for each one of us than simply following each one the schedule and route that best suit one's individual needs! Not more convenient and certainly not faster. Actually, when you decide to do that, you reckon it's going to take longer and to be less comfortable, but you believe it's better (not for you but collectively). Indeed, if you expect a shared car-ride to be faster, cheaper, easier and more fun than any other transport option available on the market, you're a fool, you're going to be disappointed and there's nothing I can do for you. Keep using an app to live like a local and get mixed feelings when the locals don't speak your (foreign) language or don't show you around.

___________________________

"ON EST TOUS LE CON DE QUELQU'UN" (AS THE lOCaLS SAy)

___________________________

All this being said, live long and prosper, Nomadic Matt! I'm not angry at you, it's nothing personal. I don't blame you either for totally missing the point. You're a product of your circumstances and for a very short amount of time, you became a symbol of what's wrong with the world: a bright shooting-star of stupidity. As we all are, at some point, from some perspective. I just find it sad you're influencing so many a would-be traveler into believing living (like a local) is a matter of consuming, instead of committing. And success a matter of paying less to get more.

______________________________

* I haven't mentioned yet anywhere on this blog that I am a huge fan of the notorious Conor McGregor. He's my hero. He's just SO amazing. He's my hero. I've seen ALL his fights. He's my hero. - Am I overdoing this? - When I can't sleep at night, I watch him fight on youtube and an average 4 minute treatment is enough for me to fall asleep like a baby! He's an artist and did I mention he's my hero? I'm totally overdoing this.

** the <quotemark> tag doesn't exist, I know. It should, though. Consider it an attempt to produce the visual illusion, or mental image, of my two hands doing the <quotemark> sign as I say this, with my intonation slightly over-doing it. Now: could you see it? Would you say the quotemark tag helped? How would rate its image-generating effect on a scale from 1 to 5 - one being a minimal image-generating effect and 5 being a strong, vivid vision of the fingers of my two hands doing the quotemark gesture in slow-motion?

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...)

Hasta el fin del Sur (6 de 8)

frikismo y flamencos en Nagasaki

Aquí estamos, pues: donde nos dejó el conductor del autocar VIP que nos recogió a primera hora de la mañana y nos llevó los últimos 40km hasta Nagasaki downtown. Recién salidos de las puertas del infierno (Unzen y Obama), estamos sentados frente a la bahía estrecha en la que se estira, entre colinas boscosas, un puerto industrial enorme. Al fondo, muy lejos, se ve un crucero gigantesco. Ridículmente grande. Como se está acercando, intentamos adivinar hasta donde llegará... Un poco más. Un poco más.

La respuesta tarda en llegarnos unos escasos minutos, no sin generar una cierta angustia - visiblemente compartida con el pequeño grupo de locales que se ha ido formando a nuestro alrededor. Están comentando la jugada, y si bien lo hacen sin usar palabras, despliegan un habánico de movimientos de cabeza muy sútiles (sí sí sí, no no no, quizas quizas quizas) y una escala crómatica del típico "hooooooo!" que tanto juego da a la hora de atribuirle un significado. En fin, que por lo general, eso del crucero no les parece bien. Pero ya está aquí, nos tapa el sol, nos pita con su trompa en todo el jeto y si no nos revienta el muelle de las inmaculadas boyas, es porque no le da la gana. Se conforma con echar una marea de turistas chinos que se diluye rápida entre taxis, autocares VIP y callejones, como si siguieran una refinada maniobra para tomar la ciudad. No son aún las 09:00 cuando nos ponemos de pie y, levantando una ola de "hooooooo!" de respeto y aprobación, cargamos nuestras enormes mochilas en nuestros respectivos hombros y salimos a paso de tortugas borrachas, locos por conocer los secretos de tu dormitorio cada rincón de Nagasaki.

bienvenid@s a Dejima: estampados vintage, efecto miniatura y ambiente colonial...

Primera parada: la minúscula isla artificial de Dejima. Frikipedia les dará toda la información que deseen sobre este singular lugar - ¿singulugar? Construida en el puerto de Nagasaki y conectada a la ciudad y a la tierra firme por un único puente fortificado, fue el único lugar en todo Japón donde los comerciantes Portugueses primero, Holandeses luego - los únicos forasteros tolerados por el Imperio - podían desembarcar y residir para hacer negocio. Hasta 1853 y durante dos siglos, la comunidad holandesa de Dejima fue el único contacto entre Japón y el resto del mundo.

indigoteando con amor y con becari@s de Bellas Artes from Utrecht.

Y durante los años de la invasión de Holanda por Napoleón, Dejima fue el único lugar del mundo donde ondeaba la bandera holandesa. Dicho eso, la diminuta isla es hoy un museo muy bonito y perfectamente restaurado, con un ambiente de kitsch colonial absolutamente irresistible. Woodworking porn, como diría nuestro querido U. y también muchos proyectos de colaboración cultural entre los dos países. Para Wallis, esta profunda y estrecha conexión nipo-flamenca, este entendimiento mútuo entre pragmatismo protestante y pragmatismo shintoista, fue una revelación. Como pisar el eslabón perdido, recogerlo y constatar que encaja en tu pulsera. Bueno, ¿yo qué sé? Tomamos un caffe latte bastante bueno con free wifi y compramos postales. También nos colamos en una expo-conferencia sobre aizome (tinción con índigo), arte milenario y secreto millonero que los Japoneses compartían con los Holandeses, hasta que los Alemanes de la BASF sintetizaron y produjeron industrialmente la indigotina, desmontándole de paso el chiringuito. Cosas de la vida, tu...

Segunda parada: el famosísimo spectacle bridge (puente de los anteojos), ante el cual es indispensable sacarse una foto, obligatorio parar a darse un beso y muy recomendado casarse si te cae cerca o te pilla en una buena ventana... Futuna se enfadó mucho porque le parecía una p--a m----a y "no me jodas tío, cualquier puente de dos arcadas (que son muchos) con agua debajo (que es lo normal) dibuja gafas y no te pateas 40 minutos de barrios residenciales de los años 50-60 para verlo! Pero el spectacle bridge tiene dos grandes méritos: el primero es que este patear 40 minutos por barrios residenciales feos de los años 50-60 te da la oportunidad de encontrarte con mil frikismos cotidianos de la ciudad. Y eso mola cantidad. Bomberos ¡haciendo carrera de mangueras! Casas ¡con churros al estilo Gaudí! y hasta ¡templos griegos de la iglesia de la cientología! Ole ole! Uala neng, Nagasaki está on fire hoy.

Nagasaki resumida en una imágen icónica y tres imágenes frikiepcionales: el cutre puente anteojos ; el auténtico churro de Gaudí ;
a ver ¿quien tiene la manguera más larga? y el templo griego de la iglesia de la cientología (siglos atrás, hivieron a cristianos por menos...)

El segundo es que este patear 40 minutos por barrios residenciales feos de los años 50-60 te recuerda sútilmente cómo la ciudad fue arrasada por la barbarie norteamericana o tal vez por sus ganas morbosas de jugar con la bomba. Estas casitas horteras con fachadas grises y silenciosas, te recuerdan que la Historia, la escriben los ganadores, los que tienen el Bien en su bando. Igual que en Vietnam o en media América latina, vivieron aquí el genocidio liberador del Bien y del Progreso. Lo recibieron de la misma mano liberadora (que nunca rindió cuentas y sigue impune hasta la fecha) que les liberó después con Coca-Cola, Ketchup y diabetes. Para recordar eso, también hay en Nagasaki como en Hiroshima un memorial de la bomba. Un lugar cuya visita sí es obligatoria y no, no es anodina.

Tercera parada: el acogedor aunque pequeñísimo piso de una Couchsurfer (norteamericana justamente), que aceptó alojarnos un par de días. Muy joven, entusiasta y muy simpática, es profe de inglés y millenial con todas las letras.

O'nigiris caseros: arroz, alga nori, furikake, un poco de arte y... mucho cariño.

Ha venido aquí a liberar el pueblo enseñando el ingurishu de Shakespeare John Wayne a los ejecutivos alienados por el yuque de su cultura multi-milenaria. Es Couchsurfer un poco como nosotros: hasta el moño de la típica actitud relaja' CS y del típico CSer apalancao. De hecho, no nos queda muy claro porque insiste en ir a buscarnos a pie a media hora de su casa en lugar de darnos indicaciones, y lo entendemos cuando en la caminata juntos, nos acompaña hasta un supermercado "por si necesitamos comprarnos la comida", pasamos delante de una laundro-mat "por si necesitamos poner una lavadora" y hasta nos señala una frutería y otro colmado justo al lado de casa "por si nos falta algo más adelante". Nosotros ya lo llevamos todo dentro de estas mochilas ridículas que cargamos, y no se cree que no vamos a ser unos apalancaos más. Al irnos por la mañana del tercer día, cuando ya ha salido a currar, le dejamos en la nevera un batch de o'nigiris recién hechos por nosotros con amor y con el molde que nos compramos en un todo a 100 y que quedaba por inaugurar. Se emocionará tanto al encontrarlos a la noche que nos mandará mensajitos casi llorando, diciéndonos de volver cuando queremos, que "my kaza tu kaza" y hasta nos los mencionará en su super referencia CS... El ser humano no está totalmente perdido. Fin (aunque continuará pronto en Fukuoka).

ya está bien para hoy
seguro que teneís cosas que hacer
así que ¡a trabajar! ¡vagos!
besos y abrazos,
W. y F.

until the end of the South (5 of 8)

Dharma bumming to Nagasaki

the Obama Grand Palace Hotel, another one we didn't stay at...

previously on un(t)raveling:
After spending a few lovely days right in the mouth of hell in Unzen - by a pond high in the mountains, deep in the woods - we decided it was time to go and spend some time... right in the mouth of hell, but down by the sea. And early enough one morning, we hiked and hitch-hiked our way to the nice little town of Obama-on-the-beach. Famous in all Japan – or so do the locals proudly say – for having the name (and a bunch of statues) of a very fresly ex- POTUS, and the longest foot spa in the world! 114 meters, or something like that.

Now, why do so many places on earth need to have the ---est something in the world? Often thanks to a very bizarre or far-fetched calculation (the longest cave in the world if you sum up all the secondary galeries; the biggest reclined non-painted wooden Buddha in the world, and so on...) Do you actually make money out of it? Does it work? How much and how well? Anyway, there we were and it was very enjoyable. Un(t)raveling some seemingly random, un-trendy locations is a statement and a fantastic way to re-learn to receive, get surprised and be amazed every minute... Look at that if you have a doubt:

welcome to "Obama hell": a very neat little town by the sea and: the longest footspa in the region of the galaxy!

The place indeed had many a hot spring, ponds and tubs boiling everywhere, clouds of sulfuric vapour on top of every house and a characteristic smell on the streets. It was very cool and the first thing we noticed while walking around town was the – actually – surprisingly long foot spa. While Futuna was taking a picture not too far away, a middle-aged man found the courage to engage conversation with footspa-ing Wallis. With her backpack and shoes off, she was enjoying at the same time and in a blissful synesthesia: the sea in front of her, the hot water on her feet and the lovely mid-morning sun across her back and shoulder. He tried a very moderate and classic introduction, the Japanese equivalent of "yo, what's up bi---?" but with a tourist-tailored fashion: “Wheru aru you furomu? Is itu youru firsu timu in Japan?", followed by a no less classic: "Really? How do you like itu so faru?” and more stuff like that.

sulfurous steamed-cooked food: an Obama special to have on the street, any hour of the day: get a basket, pick a slot and get ready!

The smart move came right after that - wait for itu: “Isu very cute you turavelling together with youru fatheru”*, looking and waving at me from there... By the time Wallis answered I was the husband, he had already bought some hot spring boiled eggs for everyone and was trying to hide his disappointment. “Husubandu? Ooooooooooh!" (So gurossu! Disugusutingu gaijins!” he must have thought then...) Ha ha! The eggs were just delicious and after this well-deserved rest and snack, we thanked him a lot, took our bags and left. While we had some clothes washed at a laundromat, we walked around town, then ate some onigiri, packed everything clean and dry and left Obama northbound, headed to Nagasaki, hiking and trying our luck on road 57 with our thumbs up.

214 km to Nagasaki on highway 57 and a big, heavy backpack with legs...

Our plan was to reach Nagasaki in 2-3 days, depending on the rides we'd get and with supplies to camp anywhere along the road. We were starting to see Kyushu was much more a relaxed area than the Kansai and main island: nobody seemed to look at us too much, nobody seemed to care to much about us hitch-hiking, camping out there or just wandering around. People would talk to us more easily and wouldn't stare at us like we were crazy when hearing we just wanted to explore rural Japan by foot and with a tent, in the purest Dharma bums' style! The road 57 was scenic and touristic, following the dramatic coast along the  Tachibana bay: (many cars passing by + many people curious to see some hitch-hiking gaijins) x a laid-back atmosphere = many lifts in a single day! The most remarkable one was probably the singer and lead musician of a folk-rock-fusion band. Originally from Okinawa, he played the Sanshin (三線, littéralement « trois cordes ») and was on his way to a gig in Isahaya. The lift wasn't long, although he offered to take us to the show the same night. We doubted, considered the invitation, lured by the good ol' yes attitude, but finally declined because it was a bit too much out of our route. We thought we'd be able to hear the Ni-ni's on youtube, soundcloud or somewhere else over the wwweb - but so far, we ain't been able to.

the big, heavy backpack with legs 100+ kms later: still wandering along highway 57.

So PLEASE: if anybody reading this blog knows this Okinawa band playing around Kyushu, do send us some link to their music or, at least, say hello from us to the über-kind and über-kool Sanshin player! At some point early evening, we stopped hitch-hiking and started to walk in search of a decent and quiet place to disappear, cook dinner spend the night... It took us quite a while to get off the urbanized world and into what we called carrot-land: a relatively small (from a satellite's perspective) but homogenously fluffy and monochromatically green area, that looked endless from our eyes' height... Daucus carota fields forever! It was a great, beautiful moment, the light was warm, the sea was blue, the air was soft (our backpacks were heavy, our bodies, sweaty, our clothes, sticky...). Like a dream, but coming at a price: after about an hour and a half and a couple of failed attempts to set camp in two crappy places, we made it to a little terrace overlooking the sea and the sea of carrots. There was a small gazebo with a wooden deck, which seemed to be just waiting for us. Nobody around. No sign of human activity anywhere near. We cooked dinner with the sunset over the hills. The deck was warm under the mattresses, a soft breeze was moving the weeds in front of us. We slept a gorgeous night and woke up before dawn to pack and walk back down to the road: by 06:30, we were hitch-hiking.

green is the colour of a carrot field ; blue is the colour of a backpack cover ; gold is the colour of a sunset over Nagasaki ; and black is the...

Many cars passed us without stopping during the first hour. We needed a coffee and felt a bit lazy to walk any of the 40 km left to Nagasaki. Also, the road was narrow, the verge not so comfortable and the many trees made it kind of dark. Not really a good place to walk and hitch-hike by dawn! We eventually stopped at a parking area, left our backpacks by some piles of wood neatly stacked and started to wave our thumbs with as much enthousiasm as we possibly could, only putting 'em down when a big truck or bus approached. And suddenly, after maybe 15 minutes there, a voice shouted at us: "Why notu thumbu foru me? Basu not good enough?". One of those big "luxury" coaches had stopped past us and the driver, smiling and laughing, was wondering why we wouldn't wave our thumbs at him. He was driving to his service but was 'empty' at that moment.

in case of emergency, read the name on the buoy!

He offered to give us a luxury lift to the port of Nagasaki, right where we wanted to get. Gave us some fresh water and conversation. Pretty sure he would have offered coffee, had he had any... Incredibly nice and friendly, not even concerned we might dirty his coach with our hiking boots and suspiciously hippie outfits. About one hour later, we were there (see the picture, read the buoy!) with our favourite Lawson's breakfast: sitting on the dock of the bay (ha ha ha! you didn't really expect it to be that straightforward, did you?). We both very much wanted to come to Nagasaki and were really happy that morning, looking at a massive cruise-liner approaching, almost unrealistically big, making its way to the city center, until the point we really believed the dock wasn't stopping her... Among the very many Chinese cruisers who got down to land, a big group would soon meet "our" driver, get on "our" luxury coach and go visit some stuff somewhere. As for us, the day was very young and had already treated us with more than we usually expect for any set of 24 consecutive hours: we stayed there for a while, looking at the mist over the hills, feeling the breeze and the early sun, recognizing in this mountainous coastal little town another San Fransisco and another Vladivostok, gathering strenght and loading energy to go explore it... But this, and the rest, is gonna have to wait a little bit...

That's all folks!
See you soon
xx,

W. & F.

_____________________________

* Wallis' father! Seriously... apparently, this was a tragic and very embarrassing misunderstanding, that was, once again, caused by my crazy and very inappropriate grey beard . If you willingly turn yourself into a silverback samana/monk/bum, how can you expect people to treat you like a healthy young man?