And Time.. .

From East to West,
I now pursued the Sun on Iron Road.
Away from land of Mongol men, and the great Khan's roaming hoard
Plains of dessert land and ever rolling hills.
The land of Russia now lay ahead and Siberia n'between.
To the fair lake of Baikal deep and blue.
The riding hotel of the trans Siberia was once more my home for some four days.
As the kilometers sped under wheel and rail and the enormous land passed before our window the train became ever more empty as passengers descended at the most remote stations somewhere in Siberia, where time often seems to have stood still, or even gone backwards since Soviet times.



Yes, this was the furthest reach of the Modern day USSR. The new Tsarian empire of Putin. And the land of the shiny world cup of football this summer.
Days upon days of the graceful white stemmed birches and spruce green floated by in a dreamlike wave of lush open land, such a contrast after the water deprived outer rims of the Gobi where the great heards dwell.

Patience...

Ever tropical temperatures reign inside the train, tended by some very stern Mongolian stewardess ladies, and one only gets a few period to air a day when a stop is made at a station.
I first shared my cabin with some Russians, but soon I was all alone, to meditate and reflect upon the vast land out there, and my present Euro bound state.
Unto the streets of great Moscow I was ejected, our massive locomotive finally coming to a halt at the end of the track after some 8000 kilometers since Ulan Baator.
After another train and bus, from St. Petersburg, that has so much resemblance to Amsterdam, although be it it's Baroque counterpart, I got to the safety of Helsinki.
The bus was already a clear preparation for all the comforts that were awaiting on the return to Europe. Full WiFi and cosy seats, full video displays, phone charging, air-con, the whole shabam!
Yes, I am a citizen of this empire, and it feels almost regular.



Landing in Helsinki, I went to the house of my friend Aini, and spend the night in her lovely, cosy, boutique, vintage wooden finish house in a kind of gardeny area of the city.
As she wasn't there, herself away on a trip, so did I after those long days of sitting still on the train, crave for some movement, and so went on a small hike in the nearby Nuuksio national park.
There I much enjoyed the wonderful wild and rough Finnish country side of the ground down granite outcroppings, smoothed by endless years of glacial violence, interspersed by deep dark lakes and ponds of the softest mildly warm water and silence and ducks.
For two nights I camped among the heater and picked the most delicious blueberries as much as I could devour and more.
No moose I saw, although at one point I was almost be sure one had wandered from my dreams onto the wooded opposite lake shore.
It had been almost three years since Aini and I last met, and so returning to the city after all that country silence was also a joy.

We had three action filled days cycling round in the rain and sunshine, the air was still fresh up there, even though the weather was relative sunny. We were hanging out with Aini, iina, Aino, ia, Anni and Anna. Went to a big flea market in a park, braved the full force of the sunshine at a trance at 21.00 in the evening, made it to both a birthday and a housewarming party, and as this was Finland, had two good saunas including 'wichtas' or birch twig spankers to improve blood circulation in the skin.
We made a beautiful walk to a place called sheep island. We did not we see any sheep, but instead, were given wide views of the bays of Helsinki and the clouded skies, that later rained down upon us and sent us jogging along a wooden foot path snaking it's way through the reeds that stretched between the island and the real shore.
It was all so beautiful and Scandinavian, and everything so well organized.

A bunch of time was spent just enjoying being in such a homely home, cooking some nice food and regaining health after the austerities of train life.

I than took a last ship across the Baltic waters to Tallinn on perhaps the largest ferryboat I have ever sailed upon. It was just colossal. What a chunk of floating metal!
Already aboard I started hitchhiking, and yes, I found a ride.
I found a ride with two friendly Estonian guys working in Finland, who took me about half way through this small country.
And from there it continued. Still that same day I came to the city of Riga, capitol city of Latvia and beautiful to behold.
Yes, once this was a Hanze city and prosperous, with a picturesque old core and a bunch of lovely very sharp spired churches of bulb upon bulb and copper clad balustrades rising up and up to the clean sky.
A harbor on the Baltic sea this was, on a wide river. And there on it's bank, sat many of it's beautiful buildings, neglected in all those Soviet years, where only the future seemed to matter, and the past was only more of a nuisance.
But now reviving, and feeling quite lively, yet the crushing poverty I clearly felt.
There's seemingly very little agriculture, or any kind of industry to be seen as one drives through these regions. Depopulation in Lithuania alone was about a quarter in the last ten years. A million people just left, searching for their luck elsewhere in Europe once the borders opened. All the young people just disappearing, what a tragic situation that must be, for those that are left behind.
In the morning I packed my tent that I'd pitched somewhere in a park, and than continued, hitching a ride south, leaving the midnight sun behind, the strange Finnish nights, where darkness never really falls, going south and crossing the border into great Poland. Driving with some really cool sunglassed guys in fast cars.
 
The landscape is almost entirely flat in the Baltics and there is not so much that I feel I can describe. There are fields, there are forests, but hardly anyone visibly there that is working them. As one crosses into Poland the situation is much different, and activity is apparent everywhere. I found a beautiful old wooden Polish hay barn that night to sleep in. How comfy was that? Laying on the old hay, seeing the sun go down through the slits in the faded wood. Golden orange blades of sunlight set my instant bed ablaze, and made dust spark up as it lazily floated through the periphery of my vision.
The sweet odor of summers flowers in the air from around the barn.

As there is basically now highway anywhere between Tallinn and Warsaw of an name, it seemed to take forever to get through these countries. Just one lane roads is all they have, and you are constantly stuck between ribbons of big trucks.
People were so friendly though, once they picked me up. The sugar-free chocolate salesman, an accountant, a team leader at a tobacco firm with an unintentional baby on the way, a guy working on electric power plant machinery adjustment, the construction worker on his way to a date, the rock band tour assistant, a background singer for a famous Polish Band.
It may sound like a random bunch of people, but they all have their story.
So interesting. This hitchhiking, is a course in Humanity.

For an hour or two, you get to sit down with some complete stranger and have a very intimate conversation with them in a space that only you and them share.
That has the safety of knowing that you will probably never see each other again after that moment. There is so much to learn about anybody's life.
And how useful it is to reflect the thoughts about your own life upon someone else? To clarify them, to give them shape.

Nothing that has form, will give you happiness

My aim was for Germany that day, and against expectations, as I got to the real highway things started moving fast. Actual big gas stations appeared, always the home sweet homes of hitchhikers, just like in the rest of western Europe. And before I knew it, we had crossed that Oder river and rolled into the Bundes Republik of Deuchland.

I descended into Germany and with the loving kindness of many short rides through many small uber German towns with large old fackwerk farmsteads, soon arrived at the tiny hamlet of Kacklits, where my old dear friend Vita has a home. Embalmed in a chorus of crickets and swallows we greeted once more.
From Israel to the German Altmark, our friendship has now lasted 10 years, and we both evolved so much, and are so much happier for it. Not that we were not happy before, but now we feel more fulfilled and sure, about life, even at this tender age.

Right than night there was a village feast of some 50 folks to be attended and we went and gorged on all the choice vegetarian delicacies that were on offer and let the whole roast pig to the others to sample. What a day to arrive!
Kids playing jump-rope on the grass and teaching them finger tricks. Now this far south, soon the darkness fell with determination.
Both now working in the field of healing, Vita and I than spent a day sharing skills and experiences in her sun laden grassy yard, where all plants had now turned to straw gold after two months of not a drop of rain.

And that was the end of it. 
From there, only slightly more west I had to travel to arrive once more in that familiar city on the Amstel, and complete my circumnavigation of the northern Pole.
As Hitchhiking often is, you know not why at times no ride seems to be right, until you get that really good one that bring you all the way where you wanted to go and you know, that all that initial struggle was only because your perfect ride was just not ready yet to pick you up, so had to practice some Patience....
Than the lands flattened even more, big cows appeared, and recognition of culture was once again 100%
These were my homelands, and I could now appreciate them with new eyes.
Seeing their value without criticism.
That often seems like one of the biggest boons to travel.
To time and again learn to love your home,
and be One.

How can I keep forgetting that everything in this Human life 

is perfectly organized.

This Human condition, everything is set perfectly, 

everything is arranged, in perfect order.

This Human condition to forget our source, 

to forget how we are everything, 

part of the earth, part of the Universe. 

How we are, the Universe, how we are the Earth. 

How there are no mistakes, there are no forgotten moments. 

Everything is as it must be. 

What we need to do is remember, 

be aware, be thankful for all these chances, all these lessons, 

all these opportunities to grow and strengthen our 

understanding of what is, and how it carries us.

End of the 4th journey, part II

---

Next : Steppe

Than came the strange and darkened land of China. I hopped on a small plane ride across the water from the city of Seoul to Tianjin, the harbour of China's Beijing.
Because I did not feel inclined to go through the hassle of getting a Chinese visa, I took my chances and went in without one. It was a gamble, but one I felt I was ready to take.
Well, they didn't like that much at the airport, but after hassling them a bit and producing a not so genuine, but credible enough onward ticket, they let me board my plane.
Thus I got to the continent again (south Korea still feeling somewhat like an island, being separated by North Korea from Asia, although it's not really ofcourse.) and entered that strange country of the new red emperor Xi Jinping.
Mandarin? Man I love that language! It's so funky, so strange and groovy and sliding all over the place.
But china was dark. Great empty arrival halls with most doors locked. Such little enthusiastic official workers everywhere, scanning your bags every time you are going in or out of any public building.
The lighting in many placed had been dimmed. Was it to save on power expenses, or because it was broken, or because nobody cared?
That was one of the saddest things there to me, That nobody seemed like they really cared about their lives, about what they were doing.
And there were fences everywhere, just long and high barriers feeling like cattle grids, to keep control of the masses.
So much feeling of desperately trying to keep control of all things. So authoritharian, fashist, agressive. I could just feel the opression every time I had to pass some kind of official checkpoint, how those with power are actively pushing those below them down.
I had been to China before, back in 2010, but do not remember it this way.

   The trains were fast, that took me from the coast inland, across the great Yellow River Delta, ever further north and west into the heart of the Gobi dessert. All day and night I traveled, and the next day too, succesfully crossing the Mongolian border without any problems.
I made a cry of happyness as they stamped me out of China. There had been some pretty tense moments, but I once again managed to jump all the 4 hoops.
   1. Get on the plane in Seoul Incheon Airport, 2. Get let into China by their Immigration, 3. Get stamped out of China in the Gobi, 4. Make my way into Mongolia.
   All the travel in between that was childsplay, it was all the paper stuff that worried me most.
How crazy is that No? Easy to travel 2000 Kilometers across oceans, mountains, jungles and desserts, but to make your way past a bunch of humans with a handfull of cellulose fibers in your hand is the challange? What a world!

I was happy to get out of that police state in disrepair, although I had been looking foreward to get there. Mongilia, is a very different story ofcourse. In the broder town, Zamin Uud, One can just feel the carelessness blowing through the streets. Cracked concrete and dusty roads, I was in the 'third world' once.
The night train sped through the desolate expanse of the Gobi. What emptyness here. One could most likely fit all arable land of Japan in a single hour of train ride in this place, and the ride was 14 hours long. There wan no water ofcourse, although it contraversly rained in the night. And so only few small Yurts (after this called Ger) could occasionally be spoted in the far distance, in this vast arid ocoasn of land. Hardly any real hills there were, but just so much space, dry empty space, and our train that wounds itself across it, untill we came acros the first trees next day, that anounced our proximity to the capital. In less than an hour later we pulled into Ulanbaator Station, and I was unloaded into that ger fringed city on the border of the dessert and the mountains.
8 Years it had been, and now it was time again to spend some time with my Father and his Family, in their cute little wooden house near the center of town.

Gandan Temple

Thus I settled in that Mongol tow. With my father and his wife Bolora, who, with so much devotion cooks up different dead bodies from the animals brought down from the country side. This country of just over 3 million people, but over 90 million head of stock. Almost an obligation it feels, with the present overgrazing to consume their flesh. Yet it feels strange to me. Not quite right. And being in contact with Buddhism once again I am coming back to my former vegetarian state and Vegan beliefs. This crazy city where my father's wooden house stands stranded like a pirate ship on a hill in a concrete sea, engulfing it on all sides. On the top of the island that we are grounded on stands the commanding temple of Gandan. Housing an enormous standing Buddha statue of some four stories high. The whole building a cavernous space of tempered light, old wood and internal balconies encircling around the place where the big golden lotus embalmed feet give rise to the colossal treelike trunks of legs going up toward the ceiling. Nearby stands another temple where chanting takes place on a daily basis. That too has a cavernous feel to it, but lower. The ceiling packed with so many different adornments, banners, flags, parasols, shawls and Tantric Buddhist Paraphernalia of every color. All around the walls there are hundreds or thousands of small clothed Buddha statues, and cabinets filled with those marvelous shamanistic Tsampa dough sculptures that the monks make on special occasions. Offerings are made, and there is deep overtone chanting, blowing of horns and seemingly abrupt clashing of cymbals by the younger monks who are so beautiful. 

Joking and playing behind their backs during ceremony. Receiving offerings from lay people and sipping their bowls of milk tea. Such and intricate and colorful place that is.

Father and son city gardening time.

Several times we ventured out to the great Narantuul market, which is like a hive or maze where you can wander fol hours between all those items for horse riding or gar life or anything else you can think of other than vegetables. Those are of course a mere decoration in this country where meat, is akin to food.

We entousiastically got gardening, eventhough the changing weather up here in central asia frosted most of our precious seedlings one night, with a 26 degree temperature drop from one day to the next from 33 to 7 next day. What an extreme place this truley is!
But by now we've got some pretty healthy looking tomato plants though, and sunflowers, radishes, red flowering beans, nasturtiums and a courgette plants the size of serving bowls growing from the rather haphazerd soil of my father's garden. Why one would try to grow anything is a pure mystery to the majority of the locals here, but is gives us a great sense of joy.

Almost a month passed where I lived with this interesting for

eign family and we were working a lot. Upstairs on the second floor of the house is the sowing workshop where my father creates amazing impermanent structures of fabric and wood that inspire people and give them the possibility to experience something extraordinary, if only for a short moment. 

I got to know his Mongolian workers who diligently sow it all together, or carve the beams, and so got to have a glimpse into their way of life and interests.

Froit bought me a sweet second hand Swiss bicycle even before I arrived in Ulaanbator. Now I race around town dodging between the ubiquitous Prius's that make up about a quarter of the cars around here, risking my neck on a minute to minute basis. But it generates so much exhilaration, and such a surprise you are to the many commuters that are caught off-guard by your presence. 

Car free Day Bike Demo

Just 2 days after I arrived there was a car free Sunday, that later on merged into a full on bike demo. So Froit and I dressed up and decked out a bike trailer with a big Bluetooth woofer, flags and colorful things, and we joined the cycling crowds and people wandering across the wide asphalt expense of Ulaanbator's main street that is usually congested with motor traffic at any time of the day. We languidly circled and circled around the center of town alternately blasting underground German techno music or some interesting 70ties pop. And we seriously surprised some policemen that had the eagerness to arrest us gushing from their eyes if only they could find an excuse, but they found none, no matter how eccentric we appeared, because this was bike day, and so we went free. That was a great day of fun!

Than after 3 weeks of mostly city life I headed for the country side. Took a bus across the great wasteland, the nothingness of Mongolia between here and the next true mountains. Six hours across a landscape that has hardly any features to describe it. Now desert of most people and animals it once reared, it lays there quenched for rain, it's countenance a repetitive undulation of brownish and faint green shades, with barely any peak or river, and no tree to be seen for hundreds of kilometers. At last we came to the other side and the mountain now rose up ahead of us. I jumped out in Kharakorim and was picked up by a friend of the family who owned a ger camp, as there are so many in Mongolia. A row of these white felted dwellings on the far edge of town, where the streets blend into the steppe. 

Staying only a night under this roof so familiar to me, next morning I headed further into the hills along a wide valley, like all valleys are on Mongolia, through which a river picked it's way. Or should I say the river made it's way, and so this valley came into being? Or is it a symbiosis, River and Valley, nut one? 

In any case, I got a ride some 50 km. upstream, and was dropped on the other bank by a friendly guy with a very fast Landcruizer, making 90 km an hour even across this potholed dirt road and five of us stuffed into the back seat. Near a nomadic family camp we parted, and I started walking up a smaller vale, brown grass crunching underfeet. Animal bones scattered wherever one may go, small pieces of faded wood or shreds of clothing are most of what one encounters while on foot in this land. Empty hills made way for forests as I walked up and down and than up again. Embalmed by the sudden greenness, between which long grass grew, long and rich. I got to the Monastery of Tovkon Xiid.

Originally started by Zanabazar  who lived in the 16th century, and is one of the cultural founding fathers of the modern mongol nation. It sits atop a crown of stone lifted high above the canopy of he surrounding forest, and thus had a commanding view over the endless distance....

As the air is so dry here, one can see, so far. It is hard to perceive, what is real, and what is fantasy.

A group of friendly monks of whom some spoke some English welcomed me in their small abode, this refuge of the world that in the winter is completely closed off from the outside world fore more than 6 months. There were 5 or 6 small but charming wooden temple buildings huddled against the rocks. Two small flats embraced by mountain of which one featured two wells of the delicious and much besought orange water, so rare. What a Mystery, that on top of this boulder-like feature, there is such aqueous plenitude.

I lingered through the afternoon, climbing to the various turrets and knobs some thickly clad in prayer flags an other forms of sacredness, to the top of the tiny man high Naga temple, altar for the natural spirits of the surrounding lands, laden with gifts of barley, rice and tiny bills.

As the monks were constructing a new balustrade on one of the buildings (ever saw a monk wielding a chainsaw, an angle grinder, mixing cement? well now I have, and so) I gave them a hand carrying bags of sand and cement up the narrow stairway climbing the rock from the meadow down below.

Everything there had such a charm, just quite simple, but built with love. And they invited me for dinner and shared their simple vegetarian Mongolian fare with me of noodles and wild mushrooms.

I meditated and felt blissful in that beautiful place. Camping close to the foot of the rock next morning I descended through the luscious forest on a wonderful trail, narrow and crocked and full of surprises. Than coming to lager and larger pastures where a herd of semi wild horsed roamed in the cool dawn air, so free and unhindered. So natural. 

Their brown shapes against the backdrop of nature. So proud the trees stood there, their branches high aloft, in this good place, where the grass grew tall.

Further I wandered along a dusty road. When the valley opened up more into a wide flat of grass as short as a golf course's, trampled and manicured, by so many sheep and goat's teeth, who than again turn their bodies into grass when they poo or die, that proof what everywhere. 

I was now in a place where many roads run parallel, but I usually chose none, just wandering my own way, taking a mountain on the horizon for guidance, and walking straight at it sometimes for hours, unhindered by anything. No tree or house, car or property boundaries there. Just open space. 

Tsagaan Valley Fortress

As I was on a quest for water, after a few hours walking through this single valley I came upon a hamlet, mostly abandoned. But, on a slope nearby, as if pondering the emptiness, stood a house, and I could just about make out the Cyrillic word Delguur, which I knew to mean shop.

And they had water for me, and were so estranged to see a foreigner here, alone and on foot, in this country of horse riders.
Next, I came to a hotspring, on an island in the main river. Red was the bottom of the creek, by works of thermophilic bacteria or algae I suppose. This spring, little developed, was just deep enough to squat in, and dipping my bowl I scooped myself with the warm delicacy. As I took off my clothes the heavens rumbled and the clouds chose to bless this parched land with its liquid blessing in the form of large and copious raindrops. And so I sat in a hotspring, while it rained, and blessed my life.

How can I ever forget that everything is exactly as it should be, that its all arranged and perfect, even if I don't see it that way. This first dark band of clouds passed over, and I resumed my march. More waves of grayness were already on the horizon though, but I minded them not. Never before have I been so unconcerned with advancing thunderclouds, knowing that at this air humidity level, i'm already drying as the rain is falling on me, and seeing the sun behind the clouds there is the assurance that I will be totally dried up in no time. So I let the sweet blessing come down upon my crackled skin and heal my inner wounds of living in a country where I often feel that rain is punitive.
Across the great openness I walked towards what looked like a small mountain filled with caves, but getting closer, it turned into a large ancient fortress of rectangular design that must once have had impressive adobe walls and turrets, perhaps back in the Chingis days. It sat right in the middle of the large fertile Tsagaan valley, a home to millions of small grasshoppers that were constantly on the run for my advancing feet. Walking on from that old fortress, now nearly forgotten, after a few more hours I passed one single ger, but seven people living therein. One battered Porter pickup van, one, motorcycle, one solar panel, one satellite dish and two herds, one of sheep and goats, and one of Yak. That was their livelihood, and we greeted in my passing. That night I slept on a pass between two valleys, in my little red and white tent. All night I could hear the stamping of something heavy around my tent. Sometimes fearing the wolf or bear that also dwell in these lands, in the morning I came to realize by the whinnying that it concerned a bunch of wild horses that had been prancing the scene. And sure enough, as I emerged from my dome two motorcycles and one horse rider were herding this group of pony's and one gray spotted hinny down into the valley, whence I must now also go. Descending before breakfast, through the empty green valley. Dark trees on either side, and an occasional eagle overhead. To a massive junction in valleys I came, perhaps 15 kilometer across, with in the center, wow, is that an oasis?!! Trees down in the valley, that is exceptional. Of course I had to go and see, and it turned out to be a yummy area of juicy vegetation straddling a refreshing quick flowing river that beckoned me so to bath that I could but acquit.
Ice cold!! that it was, only allowing for seconds of submersion. But an improved human I emerged.
Crossing all this sudden explosion of life in the soft river land, reminding me much of my home lands, there was a sharp edge, and than I was once more trodding the dry stubble and coarse gravel of Mongolia, onward to my destiny.
Up, down, up and down, it was hot and it was beautiful, gorgeous in its emptiness, its barren nature, and its serenity. Coming past yet another blue kata (prayer shawl) adorned ovoo at a pass, I than descended for the last time with tall pines that mildly aromatized the air with their mysterious scent on either side until I emerged unto the flat bottom of the valley.

Now my goal was not far off. I had a date to meet up with the other members of my Mongolian family at this Tsenkher hotspring place, and been walking fast the last few hours in the knowing that they were on the road and not far off.
I got there soon enough, but the difficulty of their road was underestimated. So I had ample time for the next three hours to stretch, admire the cows and the clouds, and await their coming.

When they did arrive we quickly made camp with their bus and cars and one of Froit's red bell tents, and slept with a full belly.
Than it was hotspring time. What can I say, family times. My stepsister Ochko's 4 years old daughter Margat was also there, and she got to have her first swimming experience. Needless to say that was a lot of fun. She is generally adorable, and we had a great time even though the rain returned that afternoon, and now for good. How lucky we felt that we had a nice heated ger to ourselves in  a ger camp for this night, where we slept in real beds with sheets.
Of course the rain had made chocolate mousse of all the connecting dirt roads so getting out of that place, we knew beforehand, was gonna be a challenge. Even though some Mongolian drivers had assured us that the road was "Perfect", our city accustomed Benz bus and Prius car got stuck pretty bad a few times, oh yeah and that was after the whole bus didn't even want to move from it's spot in the first place. All in all it was an adventure, but one well concluded, and so we warmly welcomed the warm welcome of a friend about half way home who let us stay in some of their gers near some sand dunes. Camels they had too, and strange beasts they are. So alien their grunting, their funny shapeless noses, particularly when they run and let flop! How beautiful the furry young, already with huge bulging eyes, and some perky bumps of their own.

Playing in the sand when the wind died down, drinking airakh (fermented horse milk) in the early morning. Seeing the flocks of sheep divided by the herders in the pink dawn light. Talking to the spotted eagle held captive on a branch nearby, who gifted me some of his feathers. Teaching Margat the child to write a two wheeled bicycle, and than piling in the bus once more for the final ride towards home. From the nothingness back into that one and only city in the country of nomads. Back to the safety of our land worthy vessel, of the house, on Gandan hill.
This is my story, of the days in Mongolia. And connected also in kind to how this last journey of two years got started.
Two years ago, also around my birthday I set of once more for the open road. That deep desire to experience more, to live the nomadic life in the great round world, and to be externally free.
to Boom I went, and from there ever further west. Like now west I go, and Boom again gravitates me. Yet such a changed being I feel. So much more experience, so many memories, images, things I learned. So many new friends and places where I've augmented my heart.
Let's see where the journey leads next. Let it be a surprise, again every day.
That is what I pray, for me, and for You.
 

For more Imagery of this etappe of the journey you may be guided to 

https://photos.app.goo.gl/Yd9GPxZ4si3G3NLH6

Volcanic

 VOLCANIC

   Kyoto than, for the track of the trail.
I found somewhat different from what I had Imagined. The old capital of this nation, appeared to me a modern city nonetheless. Perhaps, it was the rain that came down steadily throughout that grey day, as I wandered the many streets under the shelter of a small transparent umbrella.
Umbrellas which seem to be disposable items here in Japan piling up here and there, left by their owners, forgotten.
   I walked to the golden palace of the Shoguns of yore.
Great the gardens, though now wet and drooping. Great also the palace was, and it's gates. Yet no furniture there wherein, not even a single item, only large empty halls, with golden sliding doors. Painted with stunning images of pine trees and birds, mountains so intricate and beautiful. So simple, yet so perfect. So completely different from what the European royalty were into, with their pompous, self inflating, pretentious Baroque style of architecture. No, I did not go into all the small bars and boutique little restaurants that one may find in the back alleys of Kyoto, that might have added to my experience.
   I did stray into the long market of food and spices and various crafts that stretched for maybe a kilometer through the heart of the old city. That was certainly a highlight. How many different kinds of ware were displayed there I cannot tell. So many things unknown or even imagined by me or any western person for that matter I fathom. So many condiments and fermented foods and goods. So many a rare dish prepared in many an odd way. The variety of the food of these people is so great. What a treasure!
   I feel so impoverished by our hotchpotch of the European amalgamate of pasta and potatoes.
People ask me, 'what do you eat?' Potatoes? Cheese? Hmmm....

The new Woodshed

   Than again the hitchhiking road I took and rode west. Oh good old West. I crossed the Honchu Island to Tottori Prefecture, where another great volcano awaited me. This one named Diasen, or great mountain. At the foot of which I stayed, for a fortnight with the beautiful family of people though not by birth. They live in a wonderful house. Fashioned of large ceder beams only varnished. A huge cavernous space within this wooden frame. Some three stories high within the ceiling. We sat by the fire at night, our legs warmly tucked under the kotetsu, a low and blanketed heated table so common around here and cooked together. Or went out to the Thambo, or rice paddies to work the deep black volcanic soil. Moving the little rice seedling out into the open air,csowing veggies of various kinds. I constructed a woodshed there, with great joy. How much pleasure that gave me to have a project, to design and execute, with success. Creation can give such joy.



   One day, I went out to that big mountain. Well, to one of it's minor peaks really. A mere hill actually. And how strange, on the way there, in the shade of a large house I passed, snow still lingered.
   Snow?... Really?!!... It's May!
I guess this is a ski resort in the winter. But snow? What a wonderful material!
Scooping up a handful of it, it's icy sensation trickling down my hand in the sunshine. Walking through the thousand colored forest, so vibrant.
When I came to the summit, I could not behold the view. It was just too incredible.
So far as one could see, there was myriad mountains in all directions, stretching through the haze.
I do not recall ever seeing such a sight!
It was......spectacular, and incomprehensible. Unless it was perhaps the state of my mind, elated as it was, in that moment.
What a beautiful place. Sitting in the shade of a crooked tree to gather my spirit, gather my thoughts, give direction.

Mount Daisen

   Than I descended and I kept finding there rocks which weren't rocks, of many colors and structures, so intriguing. This was limestone I figured out but not of the regular kind. This was a form of compacted volcanic ash. Light, but strong at the same time. With such cool shapes! It boggled my mind. I had to pick them up, all the time, and feel them, and look a them and draw with them as one could, on the road.
Mandalas formed, through my hands in flames of passion.
Creation, doing itself.

   Oh life! You are so intricate.

What a wonderful world we do live in.

   From Tottori, than, I left those good friends. They were coming and going. Such is the place. Wwoofers, volunteers, a crowd of Israeli girls, strangely. They had become fast friends really quickly. But it was time to go, and so ever west I continued to Kyushu, the next island. Rapidly hitchhiking into the rain. How lucky that my last ride of the day was a very hospitable woman and her two children, who took me in for the night, into their large house, and fed me sushi from one of those sushi conveyor belt restaurant, where you just pick up plates of sushi and sashimi to your liking, and stack the plates and you pay according to the plates that are on your table. So kind, she payed everything, even though she wasn't rich.
And it was delicious of course.
And she gave me breakfast, and it rained all night, but I was safe,
I was safe inside a very homely home, what a gift....
What a Gift....

She even gave me a lunchbox! Such care. 
   On than, to Beppu, in one ride, through the rain, through the beautiful island with it's many green mountains.
It is hard sometimes because I do not speak Japanese, and I feel ashamed of it many a time.
I feel like I'm not doing justice to these people who are showing me such kindness. I would like to share more of my life with them, because it is something that is rewarding to them. As an island people, they are exceptionally curios about the outside world, our customs, our lives.

   So I came to Beppu. Beppu, next to a large shield volcano, is perhaps one of the most Geo-active areas in the world. There are literately thousands of mineral springs, hotsprings and places where steam emerges from the ground. It's a very crazy place! And this being Japan, the Japanese have built a city right over that place. Imagine building a city like right in the middle of Yellowstone park? That's basically what this is. There are so many Onsen, of which to one I went, enjoying the opalesque blue waters, in the rain.



   Is this rain thing getting boring yet? Well, it wasn't over. In any case, that night I stayed in a Ryokan, or Japanese traditional inn. And what a beautiful structure. So homely!
Many Rooms along different corridors. I got lost in that place several times.
Stairs up, down, left, make a turn, another room there, Oh there's a door, take off your shoes, put your shoes on. Sliding doors, double sliding doors, hinging sliding doors, and steam rises up from in between all the houses in that town.
 In the middle of this Ryokan there was a HUGE kettle, all moss and sediment covered in many colors of red and green and yellow and gray, caked in thick layers of minerals, alive,...alive....
A steam kitchen, a row of wooden boxes there were, through which steam from the deep earth flowed. And you could cook there, whatever you wished by placing your food in the lidded box.
The whole kitchen was filled with vapor. Drip, dropping droplets of water everywhere.

The steam Kitchen

I remember, as a child, I used to read this book, about a city that harnessed the power of a dragon.
They made an agreement with the dragon to feed it's fire into a large funnel, to power the lighting of the town.
This is exactly what that place felt like. Harnessing the might of the earth to heat your food, your house, your life.

 Next day, the clouds ever assembled in the sky, I hopped on a train and made it to the town of Aso. Aso in one of the greatest calderas on this globe. A collapsed volcano of great magnitude. A high rim all around us, an impressive cliff of perhaps several hundred meters high. Fertile lands all around, that were at some time a lakes bottom before it was drained. Kind of like the valley of Katmandu. But in this one, in the center of it all, still smoulders mount Aso. A complex massive of various cones, craters, and erupted debris, of hundreds of thousands of years of geological hyperactivity.
So once the rain had stopped, I made an ascent, through the bright green pastures, where cows and large strong horses now graze. That resembles Mongolia so much already. Reflections of the future?
Perhaps....
Lets hope so...

   Coming to the pass, a flat space between various peaks of various ages. This place is clearly a process, still happening. One crater nearby still excreted a thick white plume of sulfuric white smoke, that the wind blew our way, all the lands around it were desolate and gray by it's toxic exhume. Crossroads of travelers it was up there. And one could see far and wide, around the crater, to all sides. I met a man up there who had been walking the world for at least ten years. Walking his way all the way from Libia to right here, Japan. What a hero, to me, as a vagabond.
But is that what I want? I'm telling myself it is not. But what do I know, of fate, of faith?
He says, "I just have walk and see more things, of the world".
Yeah, I feel that too, yet I also feel this great urge in me to manifest, to invest myself in a place, in something. How do I combine those two? That is what I am searching.

Okay.
   So down, down from that mountain winding, winding, in the sunshine, now. Winding down through open roads, and forests, birdsong embalming me. Water everywhere, warm and fresh. As the sun approached the horizon, to an abandoned village I came. I did not plan to stop, for actually my aim was to get to a nearby Onsen or hot spring. Yet when I entered one of the houses that stood there now bereft of it's inhabitants, so much comfort I found. In this small, two room, two story building, With it's slightly mushy tatami mats, I put down my bag and swept the floor. I took out clean and cosy blankets from the wardrobes built into the walls. I made myself a feast on a actual table, with dishes of real china, and even a real Japanese teapot.
What a luxury.
To sleep softly and not have to fear the cold. To be dry and protected by walls. That abandoned house was a special place. And it's Kami, or it's spirit, felt like a good one.
   I guess it had been abandoned because of the earthquake that shook this place some two years back. Destroyed many roads and buildings alike, collapsed bridges, and vast swaths of the mountain side came tumbling down leaving large red scars that can be seen to this day, clearly, everywhere. That mountain is obviously still in motion. It's shape or form not fixed, but evolving, eroding, becoming, feeding the world.

   Now, I am in Fukuoka. Last of my destinations on the Japanese Dragon isles. Camped once again, in a bamboo grove, right on the edge of the city. Sun is shining on my tent, and this afternoon, I am to take a ferry boat across the narrow sea to Busan, in south Korea.
With the grace of the universe, from the Aso caldera. the hitchhiking road sped me here so smoothly.
And every time, you get in a car. The Japanese people have to give you something to eat or drink. And perhaps the most random but delicious item I ever got on a ride yesterday
was a great, juicey tomato. 

   Thank you Japan. You are so different,
you have amazed me so many times with your peculiarity,
your sincerity, your beauty.
Thank you for all your experiences. Arigato

You know that 
Any time that 
you are not bubbling over 
with ecstatic joy, 
you are holding yourself back.

ETUDE

   As our very ferry boat left the cay side, the entire land based crew, of our ferry company that stayed behind, neatly clad in white and black suits, some ten or fifteen people perhaps, waived us an official goodbye. Not that they knew any of us, but that was what was custom, so that's what was done, in Japan.
   Our vessel, a hydrofoil aptly named Beetle, that for the next three hours crept across the narrow Bussan Chanel on it's high legs, to that city of the same name. City and splendid harbor, of steep hillsides, and a million light spread all around the bay. Arched by a magnificent suspension bridge that lit up in different colors as the night advanced. I was taken by surprise by this incredible great difference between the cultures of Japan and this South Korea. A land never visited by me before, and number 70 on the list in this life.

   The sentiment was completely different. Streets and buildings were not buy far as well maintained, and there was a much more casual, loose feeling in the air.
As I strolled into the first streets. Many Russians were there, I had no Idea. Do they come down from Vladivostok? To party here? Maybe...
I could buy real brown bread, and read things in Cyrillic if I felt myself so inclined.
Koreans seem to be much more expressive that their Nihony neighbors. Open, wide faces and large round spectacles I remember, and suddenly all kinds of large European and American cars the likes one only sparsely encounters on the other side. What a difference! Amazing.
I crawled up one of the steep hillsides until I found a quite spot in the long grass in a park, with a view over the bay, and the waters there beyond.
   A peaceful night followed, and likewise the morning issued a beautiful day. I made breakfast on a park bench, as I observed a group of perhaps thirty woman, energetically exercising on a square under some trees to stompy Korean pop music. And every single one of them had a 'Permanentje' in their hair. This was definitely not Japan.
I than returned to the busy town, and made a faint attempt at hitchhiking in a few different places, but quickly found that things were much different here, and hitchhiking is not a part of this culture. It reminded me of hitchhiking in the Iberian peninsula. Where many give you looks of great surprise. Where you can read off their faces that they are wondering what the heck you are doing there.
   'Why don't you take the bus, or train, or drive?'
They do not understand.
   And as they did not understand, they also did not give me a ride. So I ended up taking the train, all the way straight to the capital of Seoul. Soul city, how beautiful is that?
And that was a wise choice, as it did not take long before the rain thickened, and lashed against the darkening windows. And it was a long way, through this beautiful country, of green hills and wide valleys, where agriculture bloomed. It is really beautiful there.
And Seoul, was a different thing.

Seoul, rolling into this city on the train. 
I feel like entering a pinball machine, from the balls perspective. 
It's so complex. So many lights, so many lines. 
So many structures towering up above us. 
Columns of concrete, shrouded in mists, 
their crests, now hidden from sight.


  I found a home in a locals apartment through the internet, and felt myself safe from exterior wetness.
I tasted some of their food. It's spicy, like chilly spicy! And very diverse. It certainly does not feel as healthy as Japanese food, but is is definitely delicious aswell. There are slightly more chubby people in Korea, and also slightly more slightly unhealthy looking people, correlating perhaps to the food. But the food, is really good! Yet of a much rawer kind.
They will serve a soup with large chunks of bone an unmanageble pieces of carnage floating in it. Something unimaginable in civilized Japan,
where everything must be able to be air lifted by some deftly maneuvered chopsticks

   So for the next two days I explored that wondrous city, that I came to like very rapidly. The Koreans so much more open, they cheer and talk in the streets, and they know how to express their emotions, and it can be felt. They love to party. Perhaps it was the area I was staying in but to me the joy of life could be clearly felt in that city.
I was lucky enough run into the magnificent Lotus Lantern festival, that was being held in a central street of the city, near one of the ancient palaces of yore.
   It celebrated the birthday of the Buddha.

Pungmul Dance performance

And all days thousands op people crowded into this wide avenue where lots of stalls were put up of many Buddhist or cultural organizations, and there was music. and displays of dancing, and martial arts. Stuff I had never even knew existed, unlike anything I had ever seen before.
   There was band of drummers, with large hourglass shaped drums that made a magnificent folkloric displays. They had a kind of whips attached to little hats strapped around their heads and below their chins, and they swirled these whips around rhythmically, while drumming and dancing in circular paterns, in the most spectacular oriental, I would say Asian like costumes, of bright colors and ribbons and middle eastern style pants. It was so beautiful! And had so much joy in it.
   I had no idea about this country.
They play their drums from two sides at the same time. Quickly moving their sticks from one side to the other. Everything was so colorful. And than in the night, countless lanterns, were paraded around the city center. Large ones in the shape of elephants, tigers and dragons. Heart shapes, cute blue owl lanterns, large groups of men and women, children parading, everybody so ecstatic, so gorgeously dressed. and these bands, that remind me of samba bands by rhythm, but with a totally different feeling to them, so exotic. Wow!

You can vieuw this link for an example of this Pungmul Dancing
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIo67z1tE5M

   All this revolved around the great Jogyesha Temple. A place that moved me very, very deeply.
As I advance on it for the first time, not knowing. The perfect circle within which three more circles caught my eye. On that building that has been there since the dawn of the last millennia.
these three balls doubtlessly representing the triple gems of the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha.



   The spirit of Enlightenment, the teaching of how to attain Enlightenment, and those united in the quest for that Enlightenment.
I took off my shoes, and advanced. Looked in though one of the great windows, where the shutters were folded back, and nothing now separated me from those three enormous Buddhas, golden Buddhas, serenely looking down upon those gathered there in front of them. A sacred crowd, some studying scripture, some prostrating, yet others sitting in silence, eyes closed or beholding these three magnificent ones with revered eyes.
The floor so old and fashioned of large blocks of curved wood. There one could take a pillow, and so did I, and placed myself along the wall, and sat, in pure bliss.
In the presence of these statues of great inspiration. They were absolutely perfect.
I do not recall ever being so impressed, so taken, by reverence. There was nothing else I needed to do, nowhere else I needed to go.
This was it. This was the place. This is where I had been going. This was where I had always been going, and this is all that I need. I dissolved, in the moment, in presence.

Jogyesha

In my own presence, in their presence. In the presence of this place, this timeless place, where everything is good.

   Three Great golden Buddha statues. One accepting, it's mudra or hand gesture suggesting that all that comes in is good and has come from the earth, and is one with that.
 One holding up it's right palm, and in the left, carrying a golden apple, the fruit of effort.
 The third statue, just holding up it's right palm again, and its left hand in it's lap. Everything is perfect, everything is as it has to be, everything is good and it may rest.
And thank you.

   Thus I interpreted their postures. That is how they spoke to me, and it was so beautiful.
I did not want to leave that place. I made a promise to return.
Once, after an endless moment, I got up to go to the bathroom. I am happy that I went outside.
As, for the next hour or so, I was startled  by all these people.
I just wandered up some street, and many princesses, damsels, lords and princes I passed by.

   Large hooped dresses stitched with pearls and fashioned from satin and silk, all be it fake.
Men wearing long overcoats, also richly decorated, high hats.
This is a kind of medieval, dress up, cosplay fashion thing going on here that I had no idea about, and it hit me by complete surprise. And I had to smile.
This whole area of the city is geared to that kind of lifestyle, which I'm guessing might be called Etude, or....I don't know.

   So many cool little vintage shops, the milk bar, that 50ties dig with a sky-blue caravan on it's rooftop, in one place people were eating right off the main street in what looked much like a garage, on tacky camping furniture, while next door there was like a shop that was completely pink on the inside, and they're selling pearl necklaces and silver shoes and brooches. So much fun.
A book cafe, that was kind of half garden, half library, half squat, half vintage shop and half lunch place. That place is Rad! We don't have anything like that in Holland that I know of, as boutique as that, I was really pleasantly surprised to find that here in the middle of Asia.
And all this right near the old palace, with it's many tiered pagodas, and it's grand avenues, and the fastest internet in the world.
And the Buddha....

Kami Kodo

For more pics...

https://photos.app.goo.gl/qso2If38RXnFE3Qk1

Kumano Kodo

And, when I got to Ise, that Sacred city where Ise Jingu is, the most sacred of Shinto shrines in Japan, I was recieved by a lovely couple, friends of friends, who took me into their cosy Kawaii (cute) little home

and fed me amazing food. One night we made 'Poffertjes' in their jappanese style poffertjes pan, which they actually use to make octopus balls or something like that, but looks close enough. They took me around, and we practiced Tai Chi together and than, after two days in their home, she Drove me, more that two hours away, so kind!

Like it was nothing. But that it's also part of this country. Which I feel, in a way has taken on some parts of American culture, in being pretty car based, and that sometimes makes me a littlebit sad.

What they also are is extremely generous. In almost all rides I hitch, I will be given snacks and tea, even to the point where they stopped, bought me a drink at a vendomat, and continued, when they weren't even buying anything themselves. And after leaving a car and heading to a bathroom, the man finding me in there minutes later to hand me some heartshaped rice cookies. It's so amazing!

So yes, she dropped me two hours away, in the city of Owase, next to that enormous camphor tree, maybe a thousand years old, maybe 800. So these shrines of Shintoism, especially that one in Ise, Genku. It reminded me so much of some wild Scandinavian architecture. With massive crossbeams all dark wood carved in delicious forms. Big logs of poles protruding over the roofs, that were meticulisly thatched in curves by some true artist. wow! And than later I discovered that it's not even thatch but little strips of bark, like millions of them, packed together! These jappanese people are so crazy! So much effort! And you know? These shrines, they move them. If they have a chance, every twenty years! They move them like fifty meters away because they feel that new things are better or something like that, to renew the energy. And this religion is really interesting. It's very closely connected to nature, And I like that. There are a lot of things in it that I can agree with, like the belief that spirit is anywhere in Nature. And the fact that Buddhism and Shintoism didn't fight eachother. They just Merged, neiter of them condemned the other. They just accepted eachother as traditions and co-exicted and blended in many cases.

So yeah. Massive roof beams with golden emblems of the tri-form yin yang at it's tips. And, there is no depiction of a deity neither. Either there is a white curtain behind which there is emptyness, or there is a miror, reflecting one back onto oneself.

I mean, how genius is that?!

It's about you, it's about your life, it's about what you do. You are God, and yet you are but a reflexion. It's about How you live that makes life Devine. It's great, I think.

Than from that impressive tree being at the shrine in Owase, I than started walking, through the many small villages and hamlets often surounded by a girdle of abandoned rice paddies now overgrown by forests tall and vital, covering all in a deep emerald light and muffleling most outside intrusions of sound. Orange tree richly laden with treir colourful fuits now, but no one left around able bodied enough to reap their fruits. These japanese oranges are actually quite like our grapefruits, and their grapefruits are kind of orange like. I would say they have exchanged about 25% of their qualities, to blend into a delicious new expirience, to me.

These fisherman's towns, where the silt is on the shore and the unused nets lay piled up high now, being overgrown by flowering vines, Old crones and bent backed men scuttle around in the remains of this once prospering country side.

There used to be whale hunting here, and some crumbling lookouts still exist that give a wide vieuw of the rocky coast and is's diverse beaches. The trail would keep winding along hilltops and than again duck down to a secluded cove, the silent gray stones of the path ever faithfully leading the way. So magical at times, I would come upon another small mossy shrine or holy image, and no matter how old, money or flowers would be left there, the signs of some fellow pelgrim passing here before me.

And in the weirdest places, one encounters drink vending mashines. Often more than one huddled together. Selling a variety of cold coffee and bottled teas in village where there isn't even a shop, but there's a vending machine. Thank God for the civilization.

As Gandi apearently put it; 'Western civilization, it would be a good idea!'

Another really interesting phenomenon which I've been observing in Japan is the plastified meal displays. In the windows of many restaurants you will see examples of all the plates they serve, real life size, but completely made is some kind of edible looking plastic, it's actually quite nice.

And so now I'm almost packed again. ready to set forth once more, on this path, and explore this facinating country of Nihon. Nihon, not Japan. Nihon is what they call it.

And than there were the rocks. The wolf rocks that I passed one day on a small peninsula jutting out into the wild blue. The most epic sadstone formations I have ever seen! Carved at continuously by the ocean from below, rising up from it's dephts this stone monolith mountain giant. With so many jagged edges, water filled caverns and places where the foaming waves are heaving, smashing together, furiously throwing themselves in a white liquid frenzy onto the smalls of the land, where it gatheres in panic seeking a desperate way up, towards the gray blue ruptured heavens, from where I beheld it all, oh sheer aw! Every wave more water than my back could move in maybe two whole days, so mighty! And they had carved many flights of narrow stairs and water canals all along the cliff so that one may circumvent it, chased ever by the nearby daughters of Poseidon.

What a powerfull place that was, what a natural spectacle!

The weirdest shapes that old stone has taken on. The likes of I have never seen and do not dare attempt describe before you. But it's a miracle, that much I will release.

Sooo. Im sitting on a mountain top, in Japan.

And it's sunrise. It's Sunrise here in Japan, and maybe somwhere else the sun is about to set.

Here, in Japan, on the edge of the world, I can hear the river rushing down in the valley below.

In my country, in Holland, that might be a highway. But here, It's just the river.

There is very little up here to hear. I can hear a few birds, some insects zooming, but otherwise it's quite. Actually, down in the valley I could just hear a far off motercycle, maybe, a thousand meters below.

That's actually not true. Let us be impeccable with our word. Let us speak truth. I always want to speak truth, not exaggerate anything. So, I'm sitting on a moutain top. There's very little up here to hear, a few birds, insects zooming, and a motorcycle far off, maybe...700 meters below.

Ahh yes, This Ise-Ji, Kumano Kodo pilgramage trail that i'm Hiking is becoming more magical every day.

Not necessarily that the trail becomes more epic, but it gains gravity or weight the further and the longer I walk.

And of course, there is extacy and joy. And there are moments of frustration. But it's important to keep realizing that it's all part of the path.

And when I do, Remember, there is deep peace.

I've been walking for a week now. I remember when I started, on the ise-Ji trail, along the coast of the Kii peninsula. Starting in Owase, ascending and descending, ancient looking paths of mossy stone boulders. Coming through quite bays and wide inlets of clear rivers. Everything covered in the forest. Sometimes walking through deserted graveyards tucked away on abandoned terraces once build to grow a hard begotten rice crop. Shards of ceramics everywhere. Hinting to a past of lots of tea drinking, and Sake drinking for that matter. Any time one passes an abandoned tea house, of which there are many, most what one sees are lots of large empty Sake bottles laying around, of old faint blue glass now getting lost in the leaves between the trees. All these trees, of Japanese ceder, that have been planted after the second world war to provide wood for houses that were meant to be built, for those left without. So steep these mountains, So steep! More often than not, it seems that the slopes are at more than a 45 degree angle.

Yet the trail is relatively gentle. It's pretty relentless in parts, especially now that I've started penetrating into the peninsula, leaving the coast behind.

Long acsents of 800, a thousand meters and than decending again. But it feels like this trail wants to respect your body. This is after all and ancient route. Having been used for at least a thousand years, possibly longer, by traders, merchants, pilgrims and country folk alike I suppose. I've been camping, here an there.

I remember one night, it rained. And I camped under the shelter, sharing the space with two funny jappanese guys from Kyoto. One on a flashy dirt bike, the other on a sweet sixties style Piaggio scooter, making a motorbiking trip across the peninsula. Not across actually, just for two days. And a Dutch woman, going the other way, than I was. We were sharing food, sharing stories, being safe from the rain was a Godsent.

Than next day, after crossing another mountain or two, I came to a hotspring. And I mean HOT Spring. Really Hot! So hot that, with a provided pump one could pump some of the cold river water into the basin. A simple place, but adequate. Large river boulders cemented into a squerish pool. Next to that deliciously cold river, and so clear. That is all that I need of a hotspring. That and just to be left to my own devices.

So I soaked and soaked until I could say that I'd really had enough of hotsprings for a little bit, which is rare for me. And than I slept right there, just next to the steeming water, in the open.Than, next day, passing through the town of Kumano Hongu, where a huge Shinto gate, but I mean HUGE! Watched over the site of where the temples used to stand. Now moved to a nearby hill, as the original had been swept away by a flood some hundred years ago. But that gate was just HUGE! And black, with a golden emblem, of a three legged crow upon its summit. Three legged crow. Hummm, So funny....

Than again walking all day, coming to yet another hotspring. This one, more developed so to say, for human comforts. It did not attract me that much. So I just slept nearby, under another shelter, with a pitviper possibly lurking somwhere in the bushes. I did not see the pitviper than, but I did the next day, right along to the trail.

It was green, mottled green and long and shy looking. It did not in any way look evil, like it had been depicted in the picture on that shelter last night, or even angry. Just afraid. And so docile, yet, very poisones, and very beautiful. What a magical creature. What a magical Creature, with no legs, so agile, so perfect at what it does, yet no legs. Just a mouth and a body, and a tail to be fair.

Sighhh.....

What a beautiful trail. The night before last I camped by a river. A big river. but not finding the best of spots I camped literately on the edge of some eroding cliff-like thing, with one corner of my tent literately sticking over the edge of the cliff. Like actually! That was pretty crazy, and it was sloped, but it was fine. And it was dark at night. And I washed. I like to camp where there is water so that I can have a bath after a days walk.

And they build these amazing suspention bridges here that are like a spiders creation, hardly visible. Made of myriad cables, but so whimsical. And when your are walking across them, it's almost like your walking on water. They're all wavey. I'm not sure that they feel very safe. But they're definitely very special. Spawned I would say. Spawned.

So now, I'm on a mountain top. It's called Obako Dake. I Think Dake means summit. The mountain around me are mostly brown. But some evergreen green, some patches of dark green, where ceders where planted. It's nice to be in this open forest  for a bit. I think it's a lot of Oak on this mountain than I'm on. Oak and some other trees that I don't know, but than have not yet thrown out their leaves. I think their about to.

But, the other day, when I came across a pass. the most beautiful sight I saw.

As the mountain in front of me where clad in this stunning Jappanese artwork. In this  display of light amber yellow gray, and silverish green so frail, so fluffy and so articulate. Like a Jappaese Kymono. There were whites and pink and reddish shades. There are these trees here that are kind of like Mango trees that have green leaves that shade to this really rich peachy pink when they just emerge. And all this together gives this forest such an amazing hue. So stunning! Bob Ross would have loved it!

And even though this winter seems to be the drier part of the year for Japan, or for this region, there is water in so many places. Such good water. And so this last night i've been sharing a mountain hut here on the pass at 1240 odd meters with four jappanese folks, and it wasn't cold. It was warm actually. Especially outside. And the vieuws were stunning. Ha! Ofourse.....

And so now, I'm sitting on a mountain top, in Japan.

On the edge of the world.

And I feel that, it is time for me,

to go Home.

But whatever place this self proclaimed nomad might call such a place is still halfway across the planet.

A nomad only keeps those possessions that are of the greatest value, and does away with the rest. To a Taker, gathering more and often larger possessions becomes a aim of it's own and may lead to greater status. A nomad takes what he needs from nature, and leaves all else.

So now this vagabond decended from that high, quite place and was guided by the steps of god to the lower valley. All day She held him by his hand like the open child he was, of her, of his own expirience.

Along a crescent of this miraculous universe than he walked, the war of the stars filling him with inspiration to live a life of God (I just meant to write 'good', but that 3 lettered word apeared and yes, that is how it is)

In the late afternoon than that boy of so many lives, decended on foot for a last time into that hill encircled temple city of Khoyasan.

Pelgrims town of a hundred temples. Many seekers of all walks mingle here to expirience the serenity that continues to dwell here after a thousand years sacred lives, devoted to the uncovering of the inner truth, the purity, the real.

Putting up my little spacious red and white tent named Rosalie between a congregation of old grave markers and a few buddhas, the darkness soon enveloped me, and left me with only my innocent fears, and the night sounds.

Next morning I broke camp early, and hid my feeble belongings in the bracken, than headed over to the graveyard valley of Kobo Dashi's entry into perpetual meditation.

A monk in the 8th century. His life inspired thousands to take up the robes and start this remote settlement in this mountainous region.

Over 200.000 graves of all sizes stand there under the enormous ceder trees, so high and protective. For 2 kilometers the paths stretch into the woods along a stream, and no feeling of sadness is there. Just peace to be felt, between all those ancient mossy stones, stacked 5 leveled memories of bodies long merged back into the soil they always were. Breathing walking soil, a thinking microcosm of bodies and entities.

Forces promote movement, whereas objects prefer stability.

What a beautiful place that is. So much forgetfulness, together with an attempt at rememberance, and deep respect. Only time lives on while man and woman's names fade like shadows in the morning light of the world. This place, feels like a monument, to time itself.

At the end of the path, the clear voices of a woman's coir were to be heard, praying while rhythmically sounding a collection of silver bells, it was bestilling.

Than there whas the hall of a 1000 lanterns, many more than a 1000 in fact covered the entire ceiling, and a deep smell of sacredness and incence penetraded deep within my being.

Here, between the tall green woods and the fleet feet of the running fresh river water under the bridge I leave you. While a service is being given for the unnameble. With the sound of falling money in my ears.

And a Heart, full of life.