From Fujisawa to Yokohama

Yokohama was a small fishing village until the end of the feudal Edo period. A significant turning point in Japanese history happened in 1853–54, when Commodore Matthew Perry arrived just south of Yokohama with a fleet of American warships, demanding Japan open several ports for commerce. Yokohama was the first city to be opened for trading.

After a day of riding from Fujisawa and leaving my comfort zone, I am going in the direction of Yokohama. There, I will meet a friend.

I arrive in Yokohama around 5 p.m. I cannot find a safe campsite or place to park the trailer. I realized that finding a place to stay in the cities would be more complex than expected. And I can't risk the gear.

After researching, I get a cheap hostel right at the edge of downtown: half hostel, half apartment complex. I don't know why. It was a strange arrangement, but they let me bring the trailer and bike inside, and the place was clean and cheap.

Finally, that night I can go out with my friend to eat Sushi. Around 8 p.m., she picked me up from the hostel and took me to this tiny sushi place run by the mother as a cashier, the father as a sushi master, and the son as a sushi apprentice and chef.

The place is known among locals for its excellent Sushi and as a hang-out place for some famous people, artists, bohemians, etc. That night I met a movie director, Mister Toru Murakawa, who is 77. He tells me he built a Basho museum. Our conversation went on across the bar for a while. My friend gave me a guide about Yokohama, which she edited, and a map of Japan. After dinner, our name cards were exchanged with Mister Murakawa san, and we said we would meet again.

My friend and I left for a short tour up Yokohama hill. We passed by the foreign cemetery located on the mountain where the immigrants from Europe were discovered during the Edo period. The Chinese immigrants were situated near the ports.

For the following day, I plan to ride my bike to these places before continuing my journey in Tokyo's direction. Yokohama was a small fishing village until the end of the feudal Edo period. A significant turning point in Japanese history happened in 1853–54, when Commodore Matthew Perry arrived just south of Yokohama with a fleet of American warships, demanding Japan open several ports for commerce. Yokohama was the first city to be opened for trading.

After a day of riding from Fujisawa and leaving my comfort zone, I am going in the direction of Yokohama. There, I will meet a friend.

I arrive in Yokohama around 5 p.m. I cannot find a safe campsite or place to park the trailer. I realized that finding a place to stay in the cities would be more complex than expected. And I can't risk the gear.

After researching, I get a cheap hostel right at the edge of downtown: half hostel, half apartment complex. I don't know why. It was a strange arrangement, but they let me bring the trailer and bike inside, and the place was clean and cheap.

Finally, that night I can go out with my friend to eat Sushi. Around 8 p.m., she picked me up from the hostel and took me to this tiny sushi place run by the mother as a cashier, the father as a sushi master, and the son as a sushi apprentice and chef.

The place is known among locals for its excellent Sushi and as a hang-out place for some famous people, artists, bohemians, etc. That night I met a movie director, Mister Toru Murakawa, who is 77. He tells me he built a Basho museum. Our conversation went on across the bar for a while. My friend gave me a guide about Yokohama, which she edited, and a map of Japan. After dinner, our name cards were exchanged with Mister Murakawa san, and we said we would meet again.

My friend and I left for a short tour up Yokohama hill. We passed by the foreign cemetery located on the mountain where the immigrants from Europe were discovered during the Edo period. The Chinese immigrants were situated near the ports.

For the following day, I plan to ride my bike to these places before continuing my journey in Tokyo's direction.

Worship

I keep encountering worship for whatever reason, but this feels more like a reminder of who we are and to learn how to be more appreciative.

She has done many ceremonies and performances too, but one must take pride in all or don’t, don’t, do it at all.

We talked about her life and her performances. The night before, we watched videos of her dancing on stage. She looked amazing. After watching the videos for hours, I felt a bit hypnotized. Lately, slow things are more attractive.

Of course, I can’t understand the story told by this dance or singing.

I begin to see such a classic act as more of a contemporary performance; it feels that way to me. I could not date this performance. It could be from the past or done just today.

The next day Miss Reiko Amakasa san invites me to visit the temple where she assists. A special ceremony was hosted on this day. So we went on foot, the day was sunny.

After the ceremony, the Buddhist priest gave me an Omamory (amulet) for safety and protection.

We walked back to her house, and I set my GPS direction to Yokohama around noon.

Today has already passed by. Detached, I see other possibilities, other realities. Indeed, mostly personal. When riding the bike, I am constantly thinking of what will be the next piece or working on an actual one.

Every 3 hours, I get famished, but my stomach has shrunk, so it is not so easy to eat, at least for me. I have to open the stomach first with liquids. Usually, I sit outside on the street, watching people pass by while I eat my meals. It’s fascinating to do this. I am not a tourist; I am not a local.

Today, I emailed a friend: “Here, all good. Just having some trouble with the website, guys. I hope it gets this fixed soon.” I am writing all about the days I was riding, but trying to make it easy to read and not overextended.

I add some photos in the middle too.

Once I am done, I can send this to everybody as my first report and upload it to the website. Somehow dull to me. I find it funny that the more I think here, the harder it gets to express how I feel. I feel how more important all is becoming. Many of the daily stuff I go through becomes so typical that I can’t see the differences. But the upside of this is I feel I am making more art and shouldn’t worry so much about other stuff. Just go with the formula in doing the interviews. I will get better at this. I have to do and learn more. The language, well, I don’t know. Maybe I am learning. Perhaps I haven’t learned anything at all yet.

Performance

Shima san and I arrive later in the evening at a cafe with an ocean view. He rode his bike, and I was on mine, with the trailer following us behind. We were going to meet the daughter of the dancer, but the dancer was not there yet.

We met her daughter on the first floor of the restaurant. I can see the beach of Fujisawa and the Enoshima lighthouse up in the hills. The light just turned on and is spinning.

Thirty minutes later, her mother, the dancer, arrives. It is tough not to be able to speak the Japanese language. In a flash, I thought I had moved to the United States from Argentina 17 years ago. Back then, all was more like a game, or it felt like it. I love it there, and I can’t speak one word of English, but somehow it doesn’t feel so hard. Moving from Portland to Seattle was a great adventure. Seattle was its first home in the United States. As we get old, our minds become stiff.

Back to the table. Here she is, a woman. She is a prominent and very successful entrepreneur. Her son runs the business now, but she had been the president and is now the chairperson of a big company and, with a kind smile on her, an artist. This is the first time I can see her face without makeup.

Over the next three nights, I will live in her house and, on the last night, I will interview her with the help of her daughter. Reiko Amakasu and Maki Amakasu are their names.

A visit to Mister Shima San

I can’t wait to see him. Shima san has good stories and advice, plus he speaks English.

From the temple to his house took me about two hours. He already knows much about what I am doing, and I like to spend time with him and his wife—a charming couple.

The ride was easy, and the weather helped. Finally, I arrived at his house, walked up the six steps, and rang the bell. Shima San opened the door. He was expecting me between 9 a.m. and noon. He sounded like he was not so sure if I would make it.

A house full of memories and dated between the 60s and 70s. Imagine that in Japan. His wife has a beautiful small garden behind the house.

This visit was more like a visit to an old friend who I talked to here and there. Not much news to talk about. Instead, I sit and listen to his adventures. After a couple of hours of talking over a plate of curry Shima san’s wife made, Shima asked me if I wanted to take a nap. Probably I look like I am falling asleep on the table. He took me upstairs, and I lay down on the tatami. With a lot of practice sleeping on the floor during my last year and a half in my Miami Beach home, sleeping on the floor on a “tatami” is like sleeping on cotton.

That same day, after my nap, he took me to meet a dear friend of his, a dancer. Shima san’s friend didn’t have to say much to make an impression on me.

Enoshima

I arrive in Enoshima. Wow, that was fast; I am lightning-fast. No, Gabriel, it is called adrenaline.

It was a sunny day with no wind or clouds, no showdowns in the diagonal, and the sun above me, and I was sweating like a pig. The only shade right is below the cars. It was noon, the sun was up, and the humidity had cleared up.

I set my GPS direction to the beach, Enoshima. Somehow I always end up on some beach. If you go far enough in any land, that’s as far you can go. No brainer there.

When I arrive at the beach, I carry the bike downstairs and follow it with the trailer. The campsite was chosen, so I began to set up my tent. I built the tent, and then a couple of friends who came to the departure arrived to check on me.

Finally, I took my shoes off, and the sand passed between my toes. What a relief!

The first night at the beach was not so good. After three years of preparing for this project, I was tired, and finally, here I am. I need to sleep 24 hours non-stop.

Of course, that is not going to happen. (Recommendation: Don’t camp on a beach near populated areas. You will not sleep.) I was worried about the gear all night.

I napped through the night voices. After one or maybe 2 hours of sleep, I decided to get out of the tent before sunrise, pack, and make a coffee.

September 6, 2014. Around 6:30 am, a man, who I call “Enoshima man,” comes down the stairs to the beach for his early walk. The ocean is still far out. He looks like he is coming out of a book about Key West or Miami Beach in the golden time. Enoshima man was carrying himself so proudly and elegantly; I can almost imagine him in black and white.

Immediately, I took the Mamiya 645 camera with 120-speed film, which was present from a friend who passed away, and ran after Enoshima. I asked for a photo of him. I shot some, but I had no idea if I captured him until a month later when I had a chance to have the film developed. I wish I knew more about this man.

A month passed by

Between conceptual and informative, the project starts to take shape daily. When I started writing for this project and received feedback from sharing my concepts with others, I found out I could not separate the process of making art and my intention of making this an informative project. Conceptually separating the art from the factual documentation was very difficult. I thought, “Was it necessary to try to separate?”

This project is a way of studying communication to achieve adaptation and evolution or the other way around, opening a dialogue for other people and me to explore. There is no final word on which technique I must use to get a message across. It is more about your interpretation of all kinds of information and what you make of it.

I want to make clear that this report is the first of a series of reports I will be preparing during my time in Japan making the BridgeMeJapan project. This project is a social and informative study about the gap between generations in Japan. It is also for me to have a chance to use my body for performance, a happening, embracing the daily street exposure, and as an art studio. It is the making of conceptual work, photographs, and other art documentation to help me analyze and explore this culture.

I recommend for those reading this report place themselves as Gabriel Delponte (GD) and at the same time as the viewer or reader. I pose questions to myself and to you, the reader, or ask you to do something specific as you read this report. Through these actions, I invite you to interact with me in this project, understanding this interaction will never be the same for each person.

This project was evolving every day as I cycled freely around Japan, looking for subjects to interview and opportunities to make art. There is daily change and a feeling of being all over the place.

Conceptualizing:

GD: Build from the grey zone. Restless minds are the only survivors. The immensity expands continuously. The time to let it all go arrives, and with tears, I see the clear route vanishing and am faced with multiple choices.

I hear voices. I can almost touch these voices. Some are soft, some are rough, and some are building a foundation.

 What do you miss down there?

GD: Basically, I am saying I am bouncing like a ball on a tennis court.

See…. today was a rough day.

A Hindu man (Rao, 65, I think he was) told me on the plane to Japan, “Gabriel, Japan is a good place, stay longer. Integrity here is important. Watch over that. Losing money is ok. But get things done if you say so or die trying.”

GD: This is very romantic. I like that.

To the readers: -What song are you listening to right now? Turn the music on.

I stood still on the first day and at the last minute before all started from Fujisawa.

Fujisawa is Miami Beach’s sister city. An extraordinary place I will never forget.

Many people came to the departure. It was a happy day. It was very, very friendly, and I didn’t feel alone. Yes! I collect tokens of good memories and companions for the many days coming.

Good memories make the waiting time shorter. I know it. I can almost give you the days I will be alone on the route. Can you guess how many? Say a number!

Think of this for a moment:  If you have a clear idea in your mind about something, what is the point of making it? Virtual reality is objective, I believe.

But thinking about the curiosity and support of others makes sense to me. A new challenge is seen through others’ minds. Use whatever works for you to feel inspired.

Anyway, back to the departure day. I want to look at each person who came to say “gambate,” a way to communicate in Japanese “courage, you can do it,” and say thanks. The road I had never met before is in front of me and is waiting. I ask myself, “Can I make this happen?” I try. I look at my bike and then my trailer. Love it. Looks so cool. My heart beats quietly. I can’t hear it, but my head is about to explode. I felt spaced out, and no sound and voice were registering in my ears. I hope the gear persists and I learn fast enough to deliver on a promise.

DAY TWO: Night at the Temple–the two ends of a person make the middle shine.

I was looking for a place already. I can’t stay one more night on the beach, and it is so hard to camp in a city.

Four months earlier, someone I met at a dinner party in the City of Fujisawa told me about his bicycle touring. Immediately, I start recording in my head. I knew this person’s experience would be helpful. As the conversation develops (Shima San 76), he mentioned that he stayed in a temple during bike tours when he was around 20.

GD: temples, oh, yes, I love these places.

Shima San -76- a man who has been around and always carries a slight smile. Solid voice and happy memories. He worked and lived many years abroad. Shima San held his wife by the hand outside their house.

That same day, a friend I contacted a temple in Fujisawa.

With all types of signals and a translator, I could finally explain what I was doing there and ask to stay one night. Somehow, 30 minutes later, I got a yes.

So that evening, the rules of the Temple were explained to me. I found them not so hard and maybe a bit normal. A Trainee monk was assigned to me because he spoke some English. I call him Mister “N.”

To the reader-Make a drawing of a house plan.

The Temple and my room are beautiful. Wood all over, impeccable line design many, many years ago.

Already in the room. Ok, I have time now to figure out where to go the next day and where to eat, but also, I am thinking about how I can do interviews and collect letters for the Hikyaku letter project.

Making my art and some conceptual pieces from the road is fine, but I will have to use all my senses and find ways to communicate. The busiest places can become the quiet ones.

I must ask a question. Gabriel asks, “Mister “N,” may I ask you a question?” “Yes,” Mister “N” replied. 

GD: “Is it hard to be a full-time Buddhist priest student and live in a temple?”

N: “yes, it is hard.”

GD: “Do you have a family?”

N: “I do. Wife and kids.”

Mister “N” told me about his wife, some troubles, and how this life in the Temple is mixed with his other life.

GD: “How is she doing these days, your wife?”

N: “She was sick but now is ok and recovering. I spend time with her during a hard time, and now she is with her family.”

GD: “How do you feel about this?”

N: “Umm, not so sure. Maybe this is an escape.”

Of course, this last answer left my head spinning.

After the brief talk with Mister “ N,” I told him about the letter collection and asked if he would like to write the first one. Mister “N” said, “Yes, I would like to do that.”

And here is where the Hikyaku letter project began, inside the Temple in Fujisawa.

 All the students I met in the Temple (the “Yugyoji” is what this Temple is called) came from other temples to learn and practice the services to later return to their own. Some come from families whose parents run temples in different parts of the country.

They have a very organized and busy schedule in the Temple. Waking up at 4:30 and doing the first ceremony of the day at 5 am was the number one rule, which I had to assist as part of the deal for sleeping there.

Mister “N” came at 4:50 am to get me and take me to the ceremony. He explained to me my job. I was in charge of the incense, which was to be lit at a specific moment during the ceremony, right after the sound of a big wood bell called “wood fish.”

The doors are closed, and I am the only one there. On my knees, it is ok, not so painful, and strangely I felt normal in all of this. I am the only strange one in there among the priests this morning. It’s a fresh morning, and I hear the priest and student walking over the wood floor and tatami floors, getting ready to begin the prayers and chants of the morning.

The ceremony starts, chant fills the room, and the singing resonates against the wooded room. Bells and wood sticks are knocking. Tik tik tik tik, making the tempo. Around me, a beautiful space appeared when my eyes closed and expanded with the sound of the chants. My body feels lighter.

 Twenty minutes later, Tok, Tok, Tok Tok. Oh, here is the knocking of the wood fish. This is my time.

 Gassho is called the action of putting your hands together. Up off my knees, Gassho. I walk to the incense box, Gassho. On my knees, Gassho. I place incense on top of the burning charcoal, Gassho. Up from my knees, Gassho. I walk back to my designated area and kneel, Gassho.

The incense smell and the smoke filled the room rapidly like a long dragon flying, and the chants sped up. Namu Abi Namu, Buddha lives in the west, I hear.

The ceremony ends, and it is time for me to return to my room. I had no clue what was next, but for sure, it was to find a place and start moving.

After breakfast, mister “N” came to see me. I was asked many times what I would do and what my plans were. My plan? How do I explain this? It is too complicated. So I decided to ask for one more night and get more time today to document this place. I want to stay here longer.

Mister “N” later that morning came to my room.

N: “Gabriel, they say you can’t stay.”

GD: “Ok, no problem.”

Immediately I began to pack with no second thoughts.

At this point, I said to Mister “N,” “I need some time to pack and seek out my next destination.”

As I was packing, my mind was already out there. Survival process. “Do not let it affect you; move on, thinking about the next stop.”

About 30 minutes later, Mister “N” returned and said, “Don’t go yet. You can stay one more day.”

I knew someone had made a call. Someone I appreciated from before. From this point, the entire situation there changed. I was received in the joint temple activities and allowed to hang with the students, seeing the two ends of each.

To the reader: Burn incense, look out the window.

The corridors of the Temple are full of peace, disrupted by the squeaking noise of a wood floor after each step, and I am walking there by myself.

What I found interesting is that having so much time to write and think, I feel empty and relaxed, but I could not get my mind to focus on taking notes. It was more about feeling the point of sharing a reason if no one asks. I started feeling it was not much of an issue for anything. ( Um, am I exaggerating?)

Today, I will leave the Temple after the ceremony and breakfast. I asked to record the morning ceremony, and I got a “yes,” so I am bringing the sound recorder and microphones.

Time can make all better. Everybody at the temple office this morning came to say goodbye. All the students and priests went, “Bansai, Bansai, Bansai, Bansai.” The moment was too special to take a photo. It’s better in my memory. Thank you.

And the start of a new journey begins this day.

Note: If you ever visit Fujisawa, look for this Temple.

Note: Finding myself as my art medium, I decided to make my happening and leave the enclosed life of the studio. I had it. The church is outside, yes, on the streets and preaching in the digital realm, the most successful religion today. I have always been fascinated by the human condition. A human connection must be prized as well.

November 2014 Report

The BridgeMeJapan Project began over three years ago in Miami. The trailer design (Semi) began a week after the tsunami hit Fukushima in March 2011. At that time, only a week passed after the giant waves hit the coast when my brother called me from Argentina around 4 a.m., asking me if I had heard from my friends in Japan.

After two years of research and one year of writing and putting ideas together to understand the logistics needed to make this project happen, I finally arrived in Japan to start my journey. Working in Osaka and being helped by so many friends took another six months to finish my trailer and finalize my plans. At last, in September, I got on my bicycle and began the journey to Japan.

On my last day in Miami, before getting on the plane to Japan, I had many meetings and encountered friends I wanted to see before leaving home. That morning in a discussion about the BridgeMeJapan project, my companion said to me over a cup of tea, “It is good to read about people’s tales I can’t find in a book.” The words “people’s tales” I hear stay in my head.