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?