Travelling without moving

There is the image that persists these days of China as a country of bicycles. Twenty years ago this was still true; today, perhaps not so much. With rising industrialisation and growing affluence, the car has become much more popular. As a consequence, on some days it can be a bit of a mystery as to whether Beijing, a city which gains 100,000 new cars each year, is surrounded by hills (as an atlas might suggest) or not.

If you want an example of a Bicycle Country, look to Japan.

One of the first things I saw upon stepping off the shinkansen in Yamagata was a vast row of bicycles parked on the street. I thought these were perhaps some kind of public transport initiative, but they actually belonged to people conducting a variety of business in nearby shops. Later I encountered huge underground garages devoted entirely to two-tiered racks filled with bicycles. On the footpath one must constantly be aware of the bicycle traffic whizzing past (cycling on actual roads is a an adventurous form of suicide - more on this later).

These bikes range from state-of-the-art mountain stompers to Raleigh 20s, touching modern urban machines and 50s-style old lady bikes on the way. The urban things, the ones you see on websites surrounded by excitingly modern slogans, look at first glance just like a Raleigh 20; a closer inspection reveals full suspension, light construction and an ability to fold away. That's not to say that the Raleigh 20 loses out. There are plenty of chopped-up, modified examples of this ancient road crusader, outfitted with suspension and other shiny gadgets to bring them up to speed.

It's easy to see why many people turn to bicycles and massively-grouted public transport for their getting-around needs: driving in Japan is more fraught with peril than badly-prepared fugu. To start with, street lighting is minimal. The traffic lights are all out of sync; nasty snarl-ups are not uncommon. Throw in additional hazards like cyclists manoeuvring nearby in black clothes with no lights. Then consider actual driver behaviour.

People will think nothing of abruptly stopping mid-lane to attempt to turn right across two lanes of oncoming traffic. Indicator use is purely optional. Accelerating after the light goes green seems to be considered rude; however, accelerating through a red light is accepted practise. Woe betide any cyclist who braves these clogged arteries: there is actually no room allocated for them (in fact, the wide and well-marked cycle lanes of NZ are alien to everyone here). Cars drive on the left-hand side; this fundamental point of familiarity is at least present. While here, however, a car remains something behind the wheel of which I never intend to get.

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It's a little unsettling how some people can remind you so strongly of others. So just to let you know: Chrissie, Belinda, Bronwen, there are Japanese people here who look just like you (Bronwen, she also wore the same clothes and glasses as you...it was very eerie). Also encountered: doubles of Kim Jong-Il and Don Brash (!). And one of my students looked so much like Chris Cornell I was expecting an impromptu rendition of Jesus Christ Pose. Maybe it was best for everyone that this did not happen.

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Perhaps the best time I have had here was not the yakitori restaurant, a little mom & pop place soaked in atmosphere where they cook the food in front of you on a little fire; nor the karaoke amid a vast feast in a Korean restaurant in Kokobuncho, the entertainment district; but walking to the ward office to collect my gai-jin card (a little piece of plastic that prevents the police from arresting me and beating me up).

Something to understand about Japanese streets: they become very very small once you depart the main roads. So in a few paces from a busy road you can be in a peaceful little suburb, all stone walls, gardens and ramshackle houses. Also, and I don't know if this is because of the earthquake risk, there are no underground cables. Everything seems to be suspended above the street on poles. If you look up at the sky your view will be criss-crossed by many black lines.

This is what I did, staring at the sun through the dark lenses of my goggles, and at the power lines and jet contrails crossing in front of it, the massive TV masts on the nearby hill visible through a gap in the buildings, the train clattering across the huge raised concrete pylons of the rail line, rotor+ in my ears. The first time I went that way I waved to an old Japanese man repairing his fishing net outside his house; I was a little disappointed I didn't see him this time. I felt very comfortable in those streets; perhaps it was a reflection of home, scaled against the Japanese pace of life. One day I'll go back and wander randomly some more.