Wandering Fukuoka
On my second full day in Fukuoka I sat with my laptop editing photos in the cozy cafe in the downstairs of Mei Hotel, the boutique spot I'd picked. Editing can be enjoyable, adjusting light, trimming edges, making choices. But it's also another place perfectionism can leak in. I see the gap between what I'm creating and what some of my friends (professionals)can do, and the delta between the two is where I can get stuck. I think part of traveling solo is to play with that space, and see if I can soften around it.
Shut the laptop! It's time to move! Lots of Fukuoka to see. It was once again, hot-as-balls™ and I needed some breeze on my face, so I rented a small red electric-assist bike and set google to take me toward the parks, a place I know brings me joy.
The Cyclist
On my way out of the city, waiting for a light to turn. I saw another man on a bicycle, short and handsome, dawning a dapper cap. The kind of person who carries play in his posture. I asked, sumimasen, shashin o totte mo ii desu ka? (excuse me, may I take your photo?). He laughed and replied, watashi mo?! (of me?!). Yes, of you I gestured. He laughed but obliged
I raised the camera, trying to bring him into focus, racing against the light about to switch, why isn't this working, nothing's happening! Too dark, wrong settings? We both leaned in. That’s when he pointed and laughed with me a little. The lens cap was still on. We both cracked up, fumbling with a mix of English and Japanese. I apologized and thanked him. The shot was lost, but the connection was better.
Any city by bicycle is a better city
The coastline path from park to park unfolded like a gift. The path slipped between neighborhoods, commercial blocks, and then opened into little pops of rice fields between houses, and then sudden open views of the sea. In some places it was polished; fresh pavement, benches, families walking together. In others it was deserted; rough and unkempt, just me, a weedy sidewalk and a bit of welcome breeze. I could see islands across the water, and boats passing between them. On the edges of Fukuoka it starts to feel like parts of Malibu; ramshackle, and easygoing. There’s freedom in a bike: fast enough to cover real ground, slow enough to stay connected the world you’re passing through. It's by far my favorite way to see a new city.
By the time I looped back toward the city I felt like Gumby, bow legged and green. Tired and soaked through, I’d seen more of Fukuoka in one afternoon than I could have managed in three days on foot. Turns out I did 35km on that small-wheel goofy-ass little bike. Not bad dude.
Japan keeps reforming for me, shifting from stacks of fantasy into something alive and real that breaks what I thought I knew and shows me something different underneath. Even my limited Japanese adds character to this trip that others didn't have. Being here alone as well, having to rely on myself for my whits and to keep my own company. The more I wander, the more Japan becomes itself, less abstraction and more of a textured present place and people.
These photos and others I'm collecting in an always updating album here.