A previous expedition to a similar red house hidden in the woods unearthed a fascinating story that linked an aristocratic family to famous politicians, a wealthy English gentlemen and a flourishing pearl business. Readers will no doubt remember the tale of the Royal House – still not fully solved to this day. So it was then with high hopes for curious secrets yet undiscovered that I ventured to this newfound abode deep in the countryside. And as you might have already guessed – I was not to be disappointed!

The Approach

Finding the exact location was tricky. The villa was surrounded by nature, situated in a rural village mostly made up of agricultural land. We half expected to see some farmers out and about in the neighbouring fields as we quietly made our approach, but we were lucky to pass through unnoticed. From a distance the house did indeed look spectacular. My haikyo buddy and caught glimpses of the red roof through the bamboo stalks ripping their way out of the soft earth. We settled on a high vantage point to shoot a few exterior shots before heading closer.

The Red Villa was built in 1922, a mixture of Japanese and Western architecture and had the luxury of two floors, inlcluding a balcony. Several other buildings were sprawled out in the opening of the bamboo grove – mostly wooden shacks of the sort I’ve previously found dozens of obscure chemicals and medicines. These buildings were certainly looking worse for wear however, and nature really wasn’t holding back. Bamboo grew right up through the floors, piercing the ceilings and bursting out towards the sky. So much was the damage and mess of wood that we didn’t spend too much time in the shacks. A couple of old television sets did catch our eye though, and the glint of the warm sun.

But it wasn’t long before we set foot inside. It wasn’t hard either – the gaping holes in the building and perilous slanted walls of some parts of the abode were big warning signs that this place was, quite literally, on its last legs. First to greet us inside the Red Villa was the last remaining occupant. A stunning doll perched atop a small table. In remarkably good condition, too, given how exposed to the elements the room was!

Something else caught my eye in the living room. A collection of family photos. Something that, in a few hour’s time, would become a major theme for this haikyo. Oh! The things we find hidden in dark closets and hidey holes…

From left to right, my best guess thus far is that we have the mother, son, grandmother and the father and son in the small vintage photo at the front. Despite some sleuthing, we weren’t readily able to put names to faces, although two prominent family names did appear frequently in the house. The Matsunobu family and the Sekino family.

On site was a well, engraved with the kanji ‘松’, suggesting that the Matsunobu family lived here and owned the land. Inside the house was also a traditional Japanese safe – empty, of course, with the family characters for Sekino. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to consider that the two families were brought together through marriage and that they lived together under the same roof, as happens even today in Japan.

Titbits Galore

Things got really dusty as we worked our way upstairs. I tried not to think about the materials made to build the house, but piles of roof tiles and broken sections of plaster covered the floor in mounds. It looked as though the structure of the house was made of wood and earth, but I couldn’t help but wonder whether or not asbestos had been used at some point. Both my friend and I paid later, coughing for hours afterwards to get rid of all the dust we’d inhaled. I have a asbestos-grade mask at home exactly for occasions like this, but the majority of ruins are never that dusty, usually with open windows for fresh air to work its way inside. For some reason this location was particularly nasty.

All that was washed away once we turned the corner at the top of the staircase. A balcony looked out onto the bamboo grove around us. On it was a classic chair, slightly green and weathered from the years past. It wasn’t hard to imagine the owner resting here decades ago looking out onto the nearby lake. It must have been a beautiful sight indeed!

Connected to the balcony was a rom filled with chests of drawers and a large bookcase, still laden with ageing titles. Evidently quite a few people had been here before us, as most of the contents were shamefully strewn out all over the floor. There were plenty of interesting little items dotted around however, many of which had that delicious vintage look which I adore.

A small box we discovered was filled with old scrolls. One of them turned out to be what is known as a 改元詔書 – an Imperial decree changing the name of the era. In this case, marking the beginning of the Taisho era of Japanese history (大正) in 1912. The document bears the Imperial seal of Japan and is very similar in style to the one I found in the Royal House. I’m not certain how these documents came to be acquired, as they seem a little too nice to be given out to regular folk. Perhaps those wealthy enough purchased them, or were in positions that enabled them to come by a copy. Anyone fancy translating the old Japanese?

The real draw however, was the second floor bedroom, complete with a rusting queen-sized bedframe, two closets and an ensuite toilet. A neatly framed portrait of a family relation lay on the bed.

The occupant of this room seems to have been one Mrs. S. Matsunobu. A pile of old postcards dating back to 1956 and a vintage fashion magazine dating 1957 give us some idea as to the years the house was in active use. Judging by other older photos in the house, I was tempted to think that this house was abandoned several decades ago, but a modern architecture magazine published in December 1983 shows a vivid picture of the house in great condition, suggesting that it may not have been abandoned until much later.

Mrs. S appears to have worked with clothing, as there were numerous fashion magazines in her closet, as well as patterns for sewing and stitching and some rudimentary tools. It’s not clear if it was her occupation or just a hobby. She was also an avid enthusiast of English, as several handwritten English notes and textbooks stood testament to. The inside of her closet was a grand sight to behold in itself. The walls had been plastered with various vintage pictures or colourful motifs which I found a very curious sight to behold.

But as fascinating as Mrs. S and her closet were, the second closet was to be the take-home surprise of the trip, as of yet completely unexplored and undocumented by fellow haikyo enthusiasts, as well as more than a tiny bit obscene!

The Mysterious Closet

With all the dust and grime within, it was extremely lucky that my explorer instincts took me inside this particularly nasty room at the back of the second floor bedroom. The door only opened just a crack. Inside, a faded black cloth was draped haphazardly across the doorway like a spiderweb. I switched on my headlamp, held my breath and, grimacing, peered inside the tiny room.

More crap. And dust. Not somewhere I want to be really, but something about this room just draws me in…

Covering my mouth and nose with the sleeve of my coat, I slip inside the closet-sized room. It appears to be a studio of some kind. Shelves line the walls to my left and right, piled with the telltale signs of a laboratory – jars filled with curious chunks of red matter, white powders and bottles of rancid liquids. On the floor my old friend, a snake in a jar.

Why is it that I seem to come across such bizarre collections of objects in the ruins I visit?

In front of me, a tiny, square window casts a dim light onto the desk. What was unusual about this window was, apart from its diminutive size, the fact that it had two colour filters set up in such a way as to be slid across when needed. I was immediately suspicious.

What sort of person would need a porthole-sized window and red filter?

It wasn’t long before I had my answer. Studying the chemicals on the shelf, I picked out some English words: ‘Eastman Kodak’. Hmm. ‘The Stanley Dry Plate’.

A photographer?!

Indeed, the room in which I stood was a personal darkroom! Other clues such as specialised lightbulbs, photographic plates and wooden holders littered the floor. On one shelf, a strange bottle filled with amber-coloured chunks of a hardened substance that looked like a resin of some kind. It turns out, after reading the Japanese label right-to-left, that this substance is known as ‘gum arabic’, made from the sap of the acacia tree. Historically it was used in gum bichromate photography, mixed with other chemicals and a pigment to create a coloured photographic emulsion. The gum permanently bound the pigments to the paper.

Another historical item of interest, the Eastman Kodak Stanley Dry Plate box, gives us more dates to work with. The dry plates were produced by the Stanley Brothers who established their company in 1888 and sold it to George Eastman (Kodak) in 1904. I scanned around. Lo and behold, carefully stacked along the top shelf of the darkroom were piles of small, rectangular dry plate boxes marked ‘写真’ – photographs…

Just what sort of images would they contain!?

I could barely contain my excitement as I called out to my buddy about the find. My friend, a film fanatic, was obviously pleased about the discovery of boxes of glass negatives! Together we carefully opened them after years of storage. Separated by thin white pieces of paper, each glass panel contained the ghost of a picture. Held up to the light pouring in through the windows, we were able to make out various scenes from the Taisho and Showa eras of Japanese history. Some plates showed pictures of the Red Villa itself, including what looked to be construction pictures of the very same building. As the house was reportedly built in 1922, that dates some of the pictures to be nearly 100 years old!

Below is a favourite of mine – a group of men, perhaps a construction crew who worked on the house.

Another showed the Red Villa in its heyday. In one picture you can just see the nose of the pet dog poking out from behind a door.

One Man’s Collection

You might have thought the discovery of pictures dating back decades would be enough of a surprise in itself. But then why would I title this article as the ‘Pink Secrets’ of the Red Villa..?

Yes, the real shocker came when my explorer buddy opened up one of the larger dusty boxes of dry plates.

“Oh My God! Mike, you’re never going to believe this. Get over here now!!”

Taken aback by my friend’s outburst, I wandered over to peer at the glass plate he was holding up to the window. Something was strange.

Is that…flesh? And… No… It couldn’t be, could it?

It was. Even in its negative form with the colours inverted, I could still clearly make out the curvy shape of one beautiful Japanese woman.

Pre-war porn!

It didn’t stop there, either. The photos got racier and racier as we picked our way through the box, each taking us back more than the last until we were grinning gleefully like a couple of schoolboys.

It isn’t unusual to find adult material in haikyo, particularly love hotels. But it’s not everyday you stumble across Eastman Kodak dry plates picturing vintage adult photography! Of course, I’m not going to deny you the pleasure of viewing them, but first, let me whisk you back home, inside the digital darkroom to my second big revelation.

Into the Darkroom

After the trip and in preparation for writing this article, I uploaded all my photos into Adobe Lightroom and proceeded to go about my usual business of processing them. In today’s digital age of photography it’s quick and easy to view the photographs and to experiment with them in a non-destructive manner. Tweaking colours, adjusting contrast, cropping and selective highlighting are just some of the techniques I use to really bring out the best in an image.

Scanning through this shoot however was quite an unusual experience. I’d never come across dry plates before and knew nothing about them, except that I could make out a photographic negative image when held up to the light. The images contained within the glass were inverted of course – black was white and white, black. While reading up on the history of dry plates and contact printing, I stumbled upon a blog post that detailed one gentleman’s attempt to develop some old dry plates he’d found resting in a barn. One of the methods he’d used was to scan the image in and invert the colours in Adobe Lightroom.

Of course! I’d been aware that the dry plate images I had captured were a form of archaic negative, but I didn’t really think much would be gained from flipping them digitally. I just assumed I’d need to print them in order to see the real picture. But after seeing this person’s success, I decided to give it a try.

I went straight for the gold. One of the raciest photographs I’d found in the Red Villa – a picture of a man and woman in copulation. It was difficult to make much out from the negative and the damage to the plate itself. They were almost nothing more than silhouettes, in fact!

But I began adjusting the sliders for the linear curve. My image went completely black for a moment and then, as if by magic, while I dragged the white slider upwards, a rich, detailed photograph manifested itself in front of my eyes.

“Wow!” I gasped out-loud, quite taking myself by surprise in the silence of my apartment.

“Two foreigners!”

They were to be the first of several captured in the amateur pornographic photography.

I hurriedly experimented using the same technique on the other photos. One by one, real life images appeared, transforming what were originally erotic silhouettes into printable images.

Several of the images were of the same Japanese woman, judging by the facial shape and identical kimono.

Close-up.

Some others seemed to be a selection of foreigners in rather revealing poses.

But the vasy majority of the pictures were of 春画 – Japanese ‘Spring Prints’, a euphemism for woodblock prints depicting erotic scenes. There were so many of these that I chose just one to show here.

A few things crossed my mind when thinking about all these dry plate images. Firstly, who was the photographer? Evidently a member of the family. Several of the photos showed the same young man in a profile view, very reminiscent of a self portrait. I suspect that this young man could have been the photographer in the family, but since he appears in many photos, that may well be incorrect. After all, the photographer himself is one of the least photographed people!

Above left, the photographer? Above right, the lady who posed nude in the pictures? Could she be the wife of the young man? We see what look to be the two of them together in a family photo below.

Another thought was that most of the pornographic images appear to be photographs of photographs themselves. Look carefully and you can see pins holding the original photo into a board of some kind. It may well be then that our photographer was not an amateur pornographer, but just a man who wanted to make some copies of existing images for his own entertainment, particularly the Japanese erotic woodblock prints.

I took another look through the photographs.

It seems unlikely though, I thought. This woman appears in several pictures wearing the same kimono and in slightly varying positions. If our photographer had taken pictures of other photographs, surely he would have not wasted time shooting the same photograph? The photos of the Japanese lady in particular have an amateur homely quality to them, and the subtle change in her position between a couple of the photos suggests they were taken in sequence. It seems more plausible that our young man, himself was actual the photographer, at least for a few of the adult images. He may have only been using the dry plates to preserve existing photos he had taken and printed before but to which he had since lost the negatives.

Above: A printed family photograph, which shows the mother figure in the front, the father figure in the back and what I guess to be the photographer (far right) and his wife (possible girl posing in the photos).

So there we have it. A mysterious red villa hidden in the woods concealing numerous historical items and the surprise of vintage erotica sealed into dry plates. Certainly not the sort of exploration that happens every time I head out! It was a truly special find and interesting quest digging into parts of the past!

Here’s one last bonus picture.

Vintage Japanese currency known as ‘mon‘ that were wrapped up in a tissue in the house. On some of the coins, the words Kan’ei Tsūhō (寛永通宝) are imprinted, which began in 1626 with the Shogun Tokugawa Iemitsu creating a new Chinese-style bronze coinage. Kan’ei Tsūhō means ‘the coin of the Kan’ei era’ and variations of this currency were used in Japan until 1870. My guess is that they were handed down from an elderly relative.

Well then, that really is all for now! Until next time, fellow adventurer!

For more urban exploration and haikyo adventures, click here!

As I wrote in The Jimonjitou Days, and discovered through one astute reader’s comment, this feeling is known as ‘Saudade‘. A Portuguese term that can be very loosely translated as ‘nostalgia’ or ‘natsukashii’ (懐かしい) in Japanese. But as with many foreign words, the totality of its meaning is unfortunately lost in translation.

The Dicionário Houaiss da língua portuguesa describes Saudade as follows:

A somewhat melancholic feeling of incompleteness. It is related to thinking back on situations of privation due to the absence of someone or something, to move away from a place or thing, or to the absence of a set of particular and desirable experiences and pleasures once lived.

Or, perhaps as A. F. G. Bell puts it in the 1912 book ‘In Portugal’:

The famous saudade of the Portuguese is a vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something other than the present, a turning towards the past or towards the future; not an active discontent or poignant sadness but an indolent dreaming wistfulness.

You might wonder what the difference between ‘nostalgia’ and ‘saudade’ is. Nostalgia is made up of two Greek words: ‘nóstos’, meaning ‘homecoming’ and ‘álgos’, meaning ‘pain’ or ‘ache’. Linguistically then, nostalgia describes a pain and longing for one’s home or origins. Modern usage however usually sees the word used in a positive context – ‘feeling nostalgic’ when recollecting good old friends or places. The main difference between the two words, it seems, is that saudade is accompanied with a hope or latent desire that the thing most longed for can be obtained once again, whether it be a lost lover, a return to one’s hometown or simply reuniting with old friends. Nostalgia generally seems to just refer to a (usually positive) recollection of the past. Saudade is a huge, overpowering feeling of longing for the past.

Saudade can be triggered by a variety of different things in my experience. This time watching a thoughtful coming-of-age movie. Last time the result of a random steamy dream one night made up of my past memories. The early hours of the morning when the mind is most relaxed. It’s very possible to trigger it willingly too. Just start digging through boxes of old photos or reading past journal entries. It won’t be long before you stumble upon something that simultaneously brings you this sense of nostalgic pleasure and wistfulness at being unable to experience that special something again.

The feeling can be sometimes cathartic. Indeed, it happens so infrequently for me as to justify time spent appreciating the feeling. But do exercise caution. I don’t recommend trying to trigger it without some time put aside. As I noted previously, this state of mind is intensely intoxicating. Too much of it can render a person temporarily paralysed – completely absorbed in the past and unable to appreciate the present. As with most anything intoxicating, it’s frustratingly difficult to free oneself from the immediate pleasure found in pandering to past memories, despite the rational mind knowing that no good can come of it.

I was asked how I break this state of mind when it catches me off-guard. Generally I just let it encompass me and indulge in a bit of recollection and soul-searching for a while. Perhaps I’ll drop an old friend an email or write a journal entry (ahem). The feeling usually fades away naturally, or has its hold broken by a distraction such as work or sleep. If you’re having trouble, I’d recommend a change of scenery or environment. Putting yourself in a situation that requires you to deal with something, such as interacting with people, or performing a task which requires mental concentration.

What are your experiences of Saudade? What triggers it and how do you deal with it?

**********

As an aside and a little tribute to my old Livejournal blogging days I’ve decided to include a song with this post. It was referred to in the aforementioned film and seems quite befitting right now.

Pearly-Dewdrops’ Drops, by the Cocteau Twins.

I’m online now and waiting for your message, so drop by and say hello. And if you really like me, get in touch with Tofugu. I hear they’re in negotiations with a reputable printer and will be shipping my soft, rayon fabric dakimakura out within the week. Cheerio for now then!

Click here to chat with me!

Sometimes in the void between Japanese overtime and Monday mornings, I like to chat to myself. Below is a record of one such session. You can learn a few curious details about the haikyo expedition that I did with the Tofugu team during their recent trip to Japan!

I highly recommend you talk to me yourself first though – it’s much more fun that way! There are also plenty of other fun-loving sexy dakimakura to chat to, including the scrumptious Koichiffany.

Chat Log Begins.
Session connected. GakuranMANLYman is waiting on you!
You: Hey Manly Man.
GakuranMANLYman: Hey.
You: What’s up?
GakuranMANLYman: Sorry for the disheveled look. Just got back from a Haikyo.
You: Really? Find anything manly in there?
GakuranMANLYman: Oof, is this gakuran a bit dirty? Let me take it off a bit.
You: Woah now, we’ve only just met on the interwebz
GakuranMANLYman: Huh, so you like that?
You: Sorta…
GakuranMANLYman: What about if I unbutton this gakuran nice and slowly for you?
You: Just. Like. That.
GakuranMANLYman: Okay, too much, too much. Let’s slow down.
You: Aww..
GakuranMANLYman: Tell me about you. What’s your name?
You: I’m the actual Gakuranman!
GakuranMANLYman: Ok. My name is Michael Gakuran.
You: Bollocks it is.
GakuranMANLYman: That’s why I wear this gakuran everywhere I go.
You: Can’t argue with proof like that then eh?
GakuranMANLYman: When I’m not pretending to go to school I like to go to Haikyos, which are just abandoned buildings and such. There’s a lot of them in Japan.
You: So i hear…
GakuranMANLYman: I think my favorite was gunkanjima. I went to the top of a building, tore my shirt off, and had tea time.
You: I recall it a little differently, but…
GakuranMANLYman: Yes, I am British.
You: With a stiff upper lip, I take it?
GakuranMANLYman: Anyways, what do you like to do?
You: I’m actually into bioluminescent sea creatures found in the deepest oceans!
GakuranMANLYman: That’s cool. I like that too. I also like snowball fighting, though some people think I fight dirty.
You: Dirty is the only way to fight
GakuranMANLYman: Do you know why? Because I am a dirty boy.
You: How dirty?
GakuranMANLYman: Right, sorry, we’re taking this slow.
You: Such a tease!
GakuranMANLYman: Where do you think we’ll be going with this relationship?
You: Not the schizophrenic direction, I certainly hope…
GakuranMANLYman: Is that so?
You: I don’t know – you tell me!
GakuranMANLYman: I want to take things a little further than that, though.
You: As if having this conversation with myself wasn’t far enough…
GakuranMANLYman: Like, a lot further, to be honest.
You: Bloody hell
GakuranMANLYman: Just take how far you want to go and multiply it by infinity.
You: That’s pretty far, even by philosophical standards.
GakuranMANLYman: Sorry, you’re just so hot. Super hot.
You: Oh, I know, I know.
GakuranMANLYman: Like, so hot I want to take a snowball and put it under your shirt. That’s how hot you are right now.
You: Did that to Koichi once. Gave him goosebumps.
GakuranMANLYman: Too far again?
You: I think he thought it was too far, yes
GakuranMANLYman: Sorry, I’ll try to calm down. Tell me a little bit about your favorite haikyo?
You: Well Gunkanjima was a blast, but I like the little wooden medical shacks a lot too
GakuranMANLYman: Uh, lame.
You: You?
GakuranMANLYman: Chips or crisps?
You: Crisps, you philistine!
GakuranMANLYman: You’re making me feel quite knackered.
You: Fancy a bite of fish and chips then?
GakuranMANLYman: I can tell this isn’t going to go anywhere, so I’m going to end things here. If you want to know more, just go to my website, Gakuran.com. Lots more hot pics of me there.
You: I certainly will! Thanks!
GakuranMANLYman: You just can’t handle all this lavender and rayon.
You: I wish I knew what the hell rayon was…
GakuranMANLYman: Oh no. The queen help us.
You: Watch out now, before she smites you!
GakuranMANLYman: I just set off an alarm.
You: Ah, memories… I’m sure Koichi has nightmares about it. Behind mayonnaise of course.
GakuranMANLYman: I gotta run before the security gets here.
You: Up the stairs, through the tatami room and out through the second floor emergency exit, right?
GakuranMANLYman: Chip chip cheerio, mate!
You: Toodle-pip!
GakuranMANLYman: Away Message: Alarm just went off, gotta run, literally!
You: Run, Manly-Man, Run!

P.S. Sorry if this April Fools was just a little too late (I believe it’s still the 1st in some parts of the world)! I couldn’t pass up such a great opportunity to share the awesome work of the guys and girls at Tofugu. I had no idea before it came out. Amazing stuff!

So as this working week closed, I sat down to relax and watch the Life of Pi with my girlfriend. It was Friday night after all – just one of two nights a week I get the chance to stay up late and do whatever I want without worrying about the morning alarm afterwards. I distinctly remember reading the book of the same name at some point. It was a great story, and the film did it justice. Not long after finishing the film however, I somehow stumbled upon this post, which brought me in a full circle back to the same problem I was dealing with last week.

Just how should I go about organising my life so I can do all the things I really want to do when there’s so little time in which to do it?

Image from Richard P. Gibbs

Plunged into a familiar pit of self-doubt, I had a long discussion with my girlfriend about future directions and goals, while still managing to keep things realistic for us both. We’ve recently moved in together, but I long to get out and travel more for extended periods of time. Perhaps it’s just an itch that needs scratching, or perhaps it’s something deeper linked to my very core and way of living. I haven’t yet come to a conclusion on that point, but I do know that I was left with a very nasty sensation in the pit of my stomach after reading that article.

Travel while you’re young. You’ll regret it if you don’t when later you’re an adult with the burden of responsibilities.

Let’s not pretend otherwise here – renting a house, getting a full-time job and moving in together aren’t the sort of actions that easily mesh together with an adventurous soul like mine, ever longing to break with the ordinary and go places in abandon. But perhaps there is a solution. A little ray of light at the end of our discussion. I feel surprisingly lighter after having the conversation. Optimistic. I know from experience that these sensations are fleeting, so I’ve learnt to latch onto them in the moment and go with it as much as possible.

I need to write something.

So here I am. Again.

Somehow, things seem just a little more focussed than before. I have a clearer vision of things I know I want to do. As the old metaphor goes – the clouds have parted, at least for just a moment.

I need to travel more. To experience more of the world and grow as a person. I want to write about these experiences and tell them as stories. My brand of non-fiction fiction. My website is one obvious output for that, but certainly not the only one, or perhaps the best. When thinking of solutions, always reject the initial and obvious. Think deeper. What about other mediums for storytelling? Photography. Video. Audio.

Obvious.

Deeper, now.

Books, television, radio, art. Words, conversation. Seminars, events. Tours?

Still too obvious.

Something original. Something more.

The idea itself isn’t what’s important now. What’s important is that I feel like I’ve taken a step inside myself towards my next goal. I’ve defined it a little more. It may not be what I ultimately end up doing. It may just be a whim egged on by a late night conversation, some coffee and New Zealand hokey-pokey ice-cream.

But to achieve that goal of travelling more and experiencing more. It’s easily said, but rather harder to do in practice. I need time and money. What to do then? I need to be in charge of my own schedule and have more control over my income streams. Only with the flexibility to pause work and take a break when I feel like it will I begin to experience the freedom I crave. Monday to Friday just isn’t working for me right now.

Travelling more will demand a minimum financial investment. I need a buffer of savings to help me get from place-to-place, although ideas such as couchsurfing and working as I travel are of course possibilities – perhaps necessities. I need to be able to offer services which I can do on the road. This is definitely do-able even with my current skillset. Japanese-English translation, interpretation and teaching, web design and front-end development as well as SEO optimisation and internet marketing. What I need is an expanded network – contacts to get the work flowing in as a freelancer. Enough so that I have the flexibility to pause life and take a break without too much worry. Also, contract work on the side is a very real possibility now that I don’t have to worry about Japanese visa issues for a while. Thank goodness for the 5-year sticker in my passport! All that job-hunting for a full-time employee position last year paid off, thanks to my specific New Year’s Resolution.

Suddenly, it all seems quite possible if I plan things accordingly. As with any such venture, there’s a fair degree of risk. Freelancing isn’t foolproof. But I know, I know I have to do this. Freeing up my time is essential if I’m to pursue my current goals. Procuring a network and multiple income streams are the first step in doing that. Starting a company will happen somewhere along the way naturally, and with a lighter soul, I hope to find more comfort in settling down other areas of my life, such as starting a family.

I’ll close with a favourite poem of mine (of which I know admittedly very few). It seems appropriate given my current situation.

The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

I’m curious. To those reading – how have you secured streams of income such that you’re able to pursue your goals independent of the social norm of a Monday-Friday working week?

Why can’t I be like them? I wonder. What I couldn’t do if I had those skills and experience!

And then shortly after the highs gained from the buzz of interaction have lessened, I sink back down to overwhelming reality to ponder my own existence. I feel the same as I did 7 years ago, right on the verge of entering university. The same ideals and lofty aspirations. The same drive to do something great and live life to the fullest. And yet here I am, 7 years later, with a degree and several years work experience, a semi-successful website and a collection of amazing explorations and experiences under my belt. But my direction is still unclear. I turn 27 soon, but I still feel as lost as I did when choosing my A-Levels which, incidentally, were Maths, Physics, Design Technology (Product Design), Philosophy of Religion and General Studies, with a side-order of GCSE Japanese.

“Because I want to keep my options open.” I said.

Everything seemed so much simpler in primary school. I love animals, so it was obvious that I was to become a veterinarian!

The world is full of such diverse and beautiful things. From one day to the next, my attention flits capriciously between topics and genres, fields and across borders. I want to do this. To pursue that. To conquer those. But I lack the skills or the means and my tendency to empathise with people too much means my attention moves quickly from one thing to the next. But most of all – most painfully and acutely of all – I lack the time.

Oh Time. That abstract concept I tackled in dusty philosophy libraries at university. I’m no closer to mastering it or really understanding it now than I was then, but at least I say say I am able to think about it. Really think about it. Time in a philosophy classroom and time in the real world almost seem to be different entities entirely. In the classroom, a swollen behemoth of a topic, everlasting and infinite. On Sunday night, a mere wisp of a presence simply leaving us wondering where the weekend went. Finite.

So yes, time. I want to do all these things but am forever reminded of my own transience and limited nature. How could I possibly do everything? I couldn’t, surely. To do everything would seemingly necessitate forever to do it. Or could everything be done in a finite amount of time? I digress, and theory does not help us here. Let’s take a look at a real-world example. Just one of the many skills I admire in people and wish I had.

Programming. Oh how I admire engineers and coders who can execute an abstract plan and build a very real product or service. Programming is very much a skill that is within my means of acquiring. I already have the building blocks – a logical mind and attention to detail, as well as the ability to step back and see the whole picture. But the nitty-gritty skills, understanding of technologies and different languages – those elude me. I’ve long used HTML and CSS to build websites, even dipping my hands into PHP from time to time, but to be able to sit down and type a series of characters such that they connect and operate together to do something, well, that’s not in my skill-set yet. I’ve talked to programmers about picking up these skills. I’m looking at several years before I could competently create something using PHP, Javascript or Ruby. That’s not even thinking about stuff like Java and C+. Several years… Like most of us, I don’t have the means to give up my job and focus exclusively on education, so everything has to be done on the side.

So why don’t just do it? you may rightly wonder. Because becoming a programmer and acquiring those skills is not the only thing on my list. Learning the guitar and piano are other goals. Writing a book, shooting a documentary, travelling and exploring abandoned buildings. To start and build a business, understand stocks and investments. To explore the deepest depths of the oceans. That’s all without mentioning other more domestic goals such as getting married and having a family someday, as well as simply just enjoying time spent with family and friends. By devoting my free time to studying programming, I become unable to pursue other goals. Should I give up those other goals? Relegate them to the late years of my life? How should I prioritise all these different impulses inspired by the people I meet and interact with? In turn, how do they prioritise such an enormous amount of things to do with such little time? How do they make these important decisions that ultimately mould them into the individuals they are. That’s perhaps the biggest challenge facing me right now, and I feel a little like Lewis Carroll’s White Rabbit.

“Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!”

As this is a journal entry, I shan’t include something as formal as a structured argument or conclusion. That’s what a journal is for! A splash of thoughts relayed from pen to paper, or in this age, from keys that go click-clack to a hard glass surface in front of me. But what a joy! To be able to share with potentially millions of people at the click of a button. Not that I’m so vain to think that such an entry would be read by such a magnitude of people!

And so time goes on. While the number of possible directions I could take in my life keep increasing, the time to do so keeps decreasing. I must find a way of focussing my efforts and defining my truest and most fundamental goals to pursue. I fear that if I do not make the right choices, I shall run out of time and come to regret my decisions.

Should anyone be reading, let me ask you to ponder this: With so many potential avenues open to you, what methods have you used to eliminate and organise them so that you can focus on the things that matter the most to you?

That tell-tale adventurer’s grin slid across my face as I beamed across at my friend from the driver’s seat of our rental car.

“That’s it man! The chimney. The concrete. The large windows. Thank god we found it so early! I was expecting we’d be driving around for hours looking for it.”

“I guess your map was right after all, huh? All that lost sleep for nothing. Still, we made it!” he replied.

“Sure did. Now, let’s park up somewhere inconspicuous and get inside before the locals wake up”.

A Lesson in Persistence

Finding the location had been a rather stressful series of events. I first came across it on another haikyo blog some 3 months earlier and although some preliminary research helped lay out the groundwork for further investigation, I let it sleep on my computer over the winter holidays. I had a few clues – Mr. H was a politician, born 1861 and passing away in 1930. He rose to power in government through the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement, representing his local area in the government for the first time in 1894. The house itself though was not built until 1928 – just two years prior to our wealthy politician’s death. It was likely then that he never really lived there for any extended period of time, but the house was in the same neighbourhood in which he grew up, so I suspect it was a familiar and peaceful area for him to reside in his old age.

But despite these clues and much Google-foo, I just couldn’t happen upon a solid hit for the name. One would think that, given the specific details and information available, that finding such a prominent individual would take a matter of minutes. It did, eventually of course. After fellow haikyo enthusiast Lee from Tokyo Times wrote about the location, I knew I had to get out there myself as soon as possible before it succumbs to inevitable vandalism. After many frustrating hours trying different combinations of keywords, I reached out to a Japanese friend of mine who, being something of a history-buff, proceeded to lock-down our target’s name with a few taps of the keyboard. A single space made all the difference, but the search term he rendered brought up a very likely candidate.

“That must be him! I can’t believe you found it so easily. I was searching with those exact keywords, but nothing..!”

“Ahh – it was just a matter of putting in the words precisely. Information about people this dated is few and far between on the internet, but if you know how to look…” he explained.

After I had a fix on the name, another search brought up a single hit, amazingly with an address in the precise city I knew the house to be in. It was my lucky day, or so I thought, until another friend advised me that the location was incorrect. It was 11pm the night before leaving and I had already booked the rental car. I couldn’t believe it! What now? Nothing to do but resume the search. It was a futile, fool’s attempt though. Once 2am rolled around, I begrudgingly gave up and went to catch a couple of hour’s sleep before departing.

My company for the day was none too impressed when he heard that we may not even find the location I’d promised we’d visit, but we were here sitting in the car now and had a full day’s light waiting for us. Who knows – we may just be able to ask a local once we’re in the rough area, right?

After a long drive out of Tokyo, we set the navigation system to head to the only place I thought sensible – a large 5-metre tall stone rock erected in 1916 that was deeply related to by Mr. H, resting in a city park near to where he was born. The stone monument itself was in commemoration of a victory by the local people over the Japanese government in regards to ownership of an area of woodland. Originally the woodland had been jointly owned, but become national properly of the government following the Meiji Restoration. With the help of Mr. H., this small, country town then filed a lawsuit against the government and emerged with a historically significant victory – examples of which are few and far between.

Perhaps we may find a clue as to the whereabouts of his house here? I thought.

Indeed, the stone monument proved to be a sound bet, because not 2 minutes after driving past it and looking for a place to park, did I spot the crumbling remains of a concrete chimney poking out of a flourish of trees.

“There! There! Hell yes, we did it! And we almost no lost time at all!”

It was a minor miracle that day for us as it saved a good few hours of frustrating hunting around the city. Persistence paid off, and it made it all the more worthwhile once we stepped found inside the spacious grounds of Mr. H’s estate.

A Trip Into The Past

Mr H. was born into a wealthy farming family during the last years of the Edo period. From a young age he studied Chinese literature and in 1880 he entered a French language school opened by Nakae Choumin (1847-1901) known as the ‘Rousseau of the Orient’ for his research and translation work on the French philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau. After pursuing French studies and graduating, Mr. H penned several works while working as a professor at the school, including editing a French-Japanese dictionary.

After a brief stint as a Professor of French, Mr. H returned to Tokyo to pursue translation and journalism. He wrote for the Oriental Free Press (later re-emerging as the ‘Free Press’), a liberal newspaper that challenged the corruption in the Meiji government, edited by the same Nakae Choumin that had opened the French school. Nakae continued to be an important political influence on Mr. H in developing the democratic ideals that would eventually lead him to join the Freedom and People’s Rights Movement and gain a seat in the House of Representatives in 1894 continuing until 1915. The Freedom and People’s Rights Movement was a democratic social movement credited with pushing the Meiji government to establish Japan’s first constitution in 1889.

So it was then that we took our first steps inside the goliath concrete building that had belonged to our wealthy politician. It was quite striking in contrast to the vivid blue skies enveloping the landscape around us. Inside the abode and away from the howling winter wind, we paused to look around.

Everything seemed to be covered in a fine layer of dust and grime. A house certainly left undisturbed for many years. Large wooden boxes were stacked up neatly in almost every room, albeit completely empty – something of a rarity in Japanese haikyo. Quite often I’ve found buildings to either be completely stripped of all furniture, or completely packed with personal belongings, but seldom piles of boxes and grand old cupboards without so much as book or two.

Such was the shock of the transition from colourful daylight to bare, grey-and-brown interiors that I felt it appropriate to process these pictures in black and white. Every now and then, as we’d wander around the spacious corridors, we’d see a set of grand windows that shone brilliantly. The window frames carefully designed and placed into the staircase were perhaps one of the best, stretching a few metres from top to bottom across three whole floors.

Heading upstairs, I became aware of my own insignificance and small stature in comparison to the roof towering above me. With the staircase winding upwards on one side, and the huge windows on the other, I couldn’t help but be reminded of my time on Gunkanjima staring up amongst the skyscrapers. The square patch of light was created by the bright sunlight screaming in through the rooftop balcony door. Allegedly at one point there was a swimming pool on the roof, but I find that a little hard to believe.

In an upstairs room, I found more carefully stacked boxes and a beautiful scroll with some calligraphy painted on. It was strange. Clearly the last owners or occupants of this house took the time to remove all valuables and personal possessions (except the pots and pans in the kitchen), but here was a scroll lying atop a wooden dresser. It looked as though it was originally mounted on the back wall, but had fallen down in age over the past years.

Other highlights wandering around the house included some curious graffiti written on a wall. It looked to be work done at the hands of a child, as there were also lines and scribbles on the wall ostensibly to measure height during growth spurts. I wonder who the lady is..?

And of course, the grand portrait of a certain Mr. H. It was still sitting on top of the fireplace in the main sitting room. But wait – the name on this portrait does not exactly match our Mr. H… The surname is the same, so perhaps it is a relation? I stare at the mysterious figure for a few moments, inspecting the texture in the picture and grit left on the portrait through years of neglect.

Suddenly though, I am pulled from the blacks and whites of the past back into the light. Although Mr. H’s portrait was old and discoloured, the room in which it lay was flooded in sunlight.

A Luxury Abode

I look around in amazement. The house really was built in a sublime location. The early morning sun bounced of the large windows in all directions, lighting up the darkest corners of the sitting room and giving new life to the ageing furniture. The lavish chairs carefully stationed in front of the fireplace glowed golden.

By the window, a solitary chair looking out onto the estate. Interestingly enough, the abandoned area also includes a defunct post office.

To the right of the central area was a large bookcase, which again looked lonely in its emptiness. Upon closer inspection however, it revealed a secret. Clasped together and laying on its side was a thin photo frame. As with doors, I couldn’t resist the urge to try and open it.

What lieth beyond its metal clasp..? I wonder, in anticipation.

With a small click, the photo frame opened to reveal its content. An old man and lady, presumably relatives of the family watched me back as I peered inside. Upon closer inspection, it looks as though the man is the same as the one in the portrait. The father and mother of Mr. H, then..?

Little details are everywhere in this room. Reaching for my macro lens, I snap a close-up of the rustic handle on the chest of drawers next to the portrait.

Not just that, either. Next to the bookcase is a small table. On top of it, a set of false teeth sit grinning back at me. Of all the things to leave behind in an empty house!

Another curious item I find tucked away, which looks strangely reminiscent of a banknote. The vintage Japanese military illustrations draw my eye, and I can’t help but wonder what it is. It turns out that it’s a wartime savings bond from June 1942 for the value of 30 yen, issued by the government in an appeal to patriotism to help finance military operations. Citizens would purchase the bonds and essentially loan the wartime government their own money. In exchange the bond would accumulate interest which, theoretically, the citizen would be able to claim after the war effort was over. According to this site, as a collector’s item this bond would be worth about 1,000 yen ($10) today if in good condition, although the value of the bond itself would have been much more. To give some idea of the value, a starting salary for a teacher in 1930 would have been about 50 yen per month. My initial confusion over what this bond was initially came down to the fact that the horizontal characters are written right to left, as opposed to left to right like modern Japanese. Cheers to the people commenting for clarification!

The house seems much more colourful now that I’ve seen a few human faces again. I’m noticing little trinkets all over the place. Of course, the bright sunlight streaming through the windows really livens the place up too, although it’s still frighteningly cold! Upstairs on the second floor is a grand ballroom of a sort, complete with 5 large windows stretched across one wall, facing another wall with equally an equally large glass facade. The sunlight pouring into this room in unreal.

Rather than shadows stretching across the floor we had sunbeams, all against a backdrop of clear blue skies. Although you wouldn’t guess it from the pictures, the wind was howling with a force the entire time we were exploring the building, rattling the windows in frames and bending even the sturdiest of trees.

But, as magnificent as the House of Mr. H is, time as always keeps us pushing on. We come back downstairs and make our last few shots of some of the smaller more interesting items before nipping around the first floor rooms one last time to make sure we didn’t miss anything. It was already past noon and we’d been there nearly four hours already! Other locations awaited, and with the short winter days we were eager to make sure we had enough daylight left to properly see them.

So it was that we bid the grand dwelling farewell. It’s difficult to tell exactly how dear the place was to Mr H., as he spent the better part of his later years living in Kamakura since 1906. Indeed, his grave is in the Tsurumi district of the same prefecture. But what we do know is that, compared to most other haikyo, this place had a definite uniqueness to it. From the massive concrete structure and chimney, the old Japanese-style storage house (kura), accompanying hut and spacious gardens.

Yes, this haikyo had that special quality along with a definite, traceable back-story and rich history that few abandoned locations possess. The Royal House would be one such other location, but such treasures are few and far between.

A definite treat in all aspects of the explore.

(Special thanks to Peter Durfee for laboriously picking through the article and notifying me of many slight factual errors which have (hopefully) now all been corrected. He claims to just do this sort of research for a living, which explains why he’s so good at it, but I like to think he’s a closet haikyo enthusiast really :p. A lesson well learnt in not trying to write articles at 3am!)

Carpe diem. Seize the day, boys. Make your lives extraordinary.

-John Keating, Dead Poet’s Society

Carpe Diem. An aphorism used everywhere these days. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never really been inspired by it before now. But after seeing watched Dead Poet’s Society, I truly felt what the words were saying for the first time. Yes, the irony that its use in a film script has been more inspirational than hearing the original poem is not lost on me, but the result is the same, so it’s all good, right?

Another poem quoted in the film was also very profound:

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today,

To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,

The higher he’s a-getting;

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer heòs to setting.

That age is best, which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime,

You may for ever tarry.

- Robert Herrick

Remember that life is fleeting and live it to the fullest. I suppose we all forget to do this in the hustle and bustle of everyday life. In fact, I do wonder if it would at all be possible to have the idea constantly at the forefront of our minds. Wouldn’t it tire us out to be constantly trying to live everyday as best we possibly can? Should we feel guilty for sleeping in on a saturday morning? Or spending an evening surfing the internet? Surely downtime is important too?

Perhaps the answer is to consider things in the longer term. We may not be able to exert ourselves completely and utterly every single day, but I’m sure we can put our efforts towards a goal we are passionate about. Perhaps that it what is meant by Carpe Diem – seizing the ‘day’ that refers to our precious yet tremendously short lifespan.

(Note: I originally posted this article on michaelgakuran.com, but I will be re-vamping that site shortly to serve as a portfolio and business site. If you have any requests, wish to hire me or simply have something to say, seize the day and get in touch :).)

The cold winter air whooshed its way through the gaps in the boarding platform and deep inside my loose-fitting clothes as I disembarked my plane in Chitose. While mainland Japan might still have had the pleasure of a few remaining autumn reds and yellows, Hokkaido was already comfortably into its winter boots. Not that I had thought to bring any myself, mind you. It’s just Hokkaido in November, right..? I thought.

But by the time I had reached central Sapporo, I could already feel the ice on the air. Florian was cozied up in his room at the Toyoko Inn awaiting my arrival. Our scheduling meant that he’d arrived Thursday morning, having taken a day off work, and me – I’d rushed out at 6pm to catch my flight from Haneda. After a quick check-in and reunion, we both hit the sack ready for the first of our 4-day expedition.

This is explore #1 of Haikyo Adventures in Snow Country, baby! See the post for the full list.

Snow Country

After grabbing the rental car from a nearby Mazda branch, we diligently programmed the car-navigation system and set off to our first location for the day – Horonai coal mine (幌内炭坑) and the accompanying substation (変電所). Florian had done a lot of the work collecting potential locations, and brought along a stack of printouts showing our destinations. He’d also included a sizeable number of backups – you never quite know what you will find when you arrive at haikyo. Sometimes the places will be guarded or inaccessible. Other times perhaps badly damaged or too dangerous to enter. Sometimes they don’t even exist anymore! But Florian had assured me Horonai was still around, and being a bit of a fanatic about abandoned mines, he was eager to get out there and take in the greying concrete structures. Me – I was just excited at the thought of haikyo in the snow!

On the way to the mine, we chatted about urbex and haikyo, recounting our trip to Okinawa in the summer, regaling each other with tales of friends and follies, and also possible future expeditions. Having somebody else in the car to exchange banter with makes for a much more pleasant driving experience, I found. Before getting my Japanese driver’s licence the previous spring, I’d always thought the driver must get pretty tired, but surprisingly I found this not to be the case. Before we knew it, the asphalt had turned to ice and we’d hit the end of the road. Before us lay the beginning of a snowed-in track that concealed the majestic red brick substation.

But we weren’t alone out here. Rather impressively, an older Japanese fellow emerged from the snow, a frisky dog pattering by his side. Usually this wouldn’t have even made me look twice, except for the item our friend clasped in his hand. Nothing other than a rifle! Japan has exceedingly strict gun laws, and regular citizens can only own two types of weapons – a shotgun or a rifle. Both require that the holder keep an updated licence and undergo various strict tests to make sure that they are competent in using the gun. As such, the sight of a gun-toting granddad was quite the surprise. Suddenly we really were in Hokkaido’s backcountry. Dogs. Deer. Bears. All were potential encounters. Perhaps we may even find the remains of a fresh kill? I gave him a friendly nod as he drove off to warm up back at home, giving us the opportunity to gather our kit and set off down the snowy road.

Fortunately for us, a set of wide tyre tracks had been left imprinted in the snow, allowing us to walk the kilometre down the road to the substation without trudging through such deep snow. Even with this advantage however, it wasn’t long before my trouser legs were damp and Florian was regretting wearing jeans. Neither of us had brought wellingtons with us. Not that we would have had much luck finding a size to fit our absurdly large foreign feet in Japan anyway, mind.

Red and White

Breathing in the fresh, crisp air, I was energised! Eager to trudge around and get wet for a few photographs. Pointing downwards to a few concrete buildings, I tried to persuade Florian to head over to them. But as much as I tried he kept pushing us on to the end of the track. A good thing too, in retrospect. The snow was deep and without a lot of care and patience, it would be rather difficult to make our way safely down to the relics.

Most of the buildings associated with the mine had long since been demolished due to safety concerns, but a few choice structures remained, dotting the snowy landscape and poking their grey skulls out of embankments. The crowing jewel of all of them however, is the remaining transformer substation. A grand red-bricked building that stood in delightful contrast to the shimmering frosty white around us. It appeared to still be used for tourism and properly maintained for its heritage, although I doubted it saw many visitors at this time of year. Locked up with a sizeable padlock it was almost a futile endeavour, but a small opening allowed me to scramble inside, rust covered and grimy, to snatch some photos.

Hokkaido’s Oldest Mine

Although unbeknownst to both Florian and I at the time, Horonai Mine is actually Hokkaido’s oldest large-scale mine, and the accompanying government-managed railway is Hokkaido’s first railroad, built to transport the coal extracted as well as passengers.

The mine, opened in 1879, was something of a pioneer for Japan’s mining industry and remains one of the most important in its history. Interestingly, the Meiji government commissioned several foreign nationals over the course of the mine’s opening to design the railroad transport system. American engineer J.U. Crawford eventually oversaw the construction project and although the railroad failed to be profitable, was an important part of Japan’s steps to industrialisation. The mine was finally closed in 1989, over 100 years later.

While Florian was outside shooting the nearby Horonai Shrine, located on top of a hill in the pouring snow, I slapped my hands together and watched my breath produce clouds of white. Even inside the old transformer substation, the chilly winter air surrounded me. The building was in much better shape than I had imagined, however. A heaven for old machinery and heavy, metal apparatus.

Signs off life were everywhere, from pin boards covered with photos and recent posters advertising memorial events, to a row of wellington boots, ancient mining helmets and a huge lump of Horonai coal. Various other interesting instruments were carefully placed on a bench near a modern heater, and a model of some of the mine’s facilities rested on a large table dominating the centre of the first floor.

I busied myself with taking pictures and then headed up the concrete steps to the second floor of the substation, where the large metal carcass that once controlled the electricity lay resting in peace. I’m always stuck for how to photograph machines with lots of buttons. Do I go in for a closeup? Shoot it wide to show the giant in its entirety and contrast it with the cool white of the windows? There are so many little details that I wish I could simultaneously show for an object.

A small shrine decorated the back wall of the second floor. Beside it was this painting of a horse. Knowing we had a full day’s exploration ahead of us, I didn’t try to make too much of it, but evidently it holds some historical value, being preserved next to the shrine like that.

A makeshift office looked out onto the huge vertical windows etched with signs of the cold outside. Over on the far wall was a set of storage units, filled with dozens and dozens of old documents about the mine’s history and transactions. Below is documentation detailing an inspection of the mine’s facilities dated 1954.

Snow Blindness?

Back outside, Florian and I shot some more of the surrounding scenery, including the shrine. I enjoyed re-enacting wizarding duels with an extraordinarily long icicle I snapped off a freezing ledge just in front of the main torii gate. Just because.

Part of what makes this hobby fun and what continues to hold my interest so much definitely has to do with the Peter Pan syndrome. Off exploring the wilderness, sneaking around old buildings, clambouring through deserted tunnels and the like are all things we longed to do as boys. Perhaps for one reason or another we were denied this opportunity, or we just never completely had our fill of it, but now as adults we have the freedom, knowledge and means to pursue these latent desires. We never really grew up at all. Quite simply, its just those these pure, unadulterated childhood feelings of playtime bubbling so effervescently back to the surface that are responsible. It’s no surprise that while exploring, we often feel the urge to goof around and have fun.

And so it was that on the way back to the car, still brimming with excitement from the perfect tranquility of snowy Hokkaido and crusty ruins, that I decided to plop myself down and do a snow angel. Little did I know that this angel would be the start of several minor disasters throughout the trip, fortunately none of which ended too seriously.

Ignoring Florian’s sage warning about hidden rocks and spiky things, I threw myself backwards onto the fresh snow. Splat. A bed of soft whiteness surrounded me and I gleefully swung my arms up and down. Removing my glasses for the photo, I instructed Florian to hurriedly get a few shots of me before we left. After all, the last thing I wanted was to be wet through for the remainder of the day. Florian took the pictures and handed me the camera. Something was amiss however. As I stood up and looked around, I realised that everything was blurry.

Glasses! Florian! — Don’t step a step, I think I may have dro –

*Crunch*

A horrible realisation that I had done exactly what I feared took hold. I picked up my broken spectacles and sighed. The lens hadn’t broken, but part of the metal holding it in place was bent and the wire snapped. There was no way I could wear them for the trip. As the only designated driver, this posed a big problem. Fortunately however, I had a few pairs of contact lenses, just in case. We would be able to continue our haikyo trip for now, but I didn’t have enough lenses to last all 4 days. At some point we were going to have to find a glasses store…

Until then however, we had two more stunning locations to visit. Onwards!

Stay tuned for the next instalment, fellow adventurer!

(Bonus; Read Florian’s account of ten exploration here, with more history!)