Although further east than Vladivostok, Japan is 2 hours behind Russia, so even in autumn the sun rises at 5.30am . This allowed us to get an early get away and to start exploring the mystical land of the rising sun. Our first reaction was complete shock. I really didn't expect such a busy environment. You may recall that Japan just couldn't arrive soon enough for us, so when the Mikhail Sholokhov docked in the tiny 'port' of Fushiki we waited in anticipation to disembark. However since Fushiki was a relatively new port, created primarily to cater for the hugely lucrative one-way second-hand car trade between Japan and Russia, there was no immigration building on land so a temporary office was set up in the lounge bar. I wondered what weird customs form I would have to fill in for this new country. I discovered that the Japanese were paranoid about fish products - how many jars of caviar and tins of fish were we bringing in? Not wishing to have our Mongolian sprotes (small sardines) nor Russian tuna fish confiscated if they inspected our luggage I declared our stash worth the pricely sum of 1 USD. We needed all the food supplies we could muster if the cost of living in Japan was to be believed.
Formalities over and done with, including our first FREE visa of the trip, Simon asked about getting the carnet de passage stamped. This is a temporary importation document for the bike. This was to be the first occasion that we were to encounter Japan's job creation scheme. Why have a process that needs only one person when you can invent many intermediate steps and employ more people? Before our carnet could be stamped it had to be authenticated by the Japanese Auto Federation in an office 30km away. With an impounded bike, our new found Japanese biking friend from the boat, Yoshitaka, came to the rescue by driving Simon to the office. This gesture was a prime example of how the Japanese would go out of their way to help you. At already 4pm Yoshitaka had the unenviable prospect of driving back to Tokyo 8 hours away, then going to work the next morning, yet he still volunteered to get involved with OUR problem. JAF issued us with the necessary paperwork and then failed miserably to provide us with any form of useful service you might expect from an auto federation, like give us the name/telephone number of any biking insurance company. "Sorry sir, we are a non-profitmaking organisation and therefore are not allowed to give any recommendations. You should look for a broker on the street or in a telephone directory." "But we can't read your language!" Again Yoshitaka came up trumps and rang his company to arrange and pay for our insurance. With all the work he had done for us, you can imagine our worry when we found out later he had been involved in an accident, broken his ankle and was laid up in hospital for over a month. We immediately thought that it happened on his delayed trip back to the capital, but 'luckily' this was not the case.

While the boys were organising documents I was waiting on the ship, watching capitalism gripping the Russians. The ship was to stay in port for 2 days during which time the biznizmen and women would buy up as much second-hand technology as possible to flog back home. Hi-fi system after TV after video machines were being literally crammed into the tiny cabins. Port-side, trucks drew up, opened up their containers to create a make-shift car boot sale of skiing equipment, prams and tyres.

By the time all the documentation was in order we were effectively forced to stay another night on the ship which still felt like Russian terrority.

Although further east than Vladivostok, Japan is 2 hours behind Russia, so even in autumn the sun rises at 5.30am . This allowed us to get an early get away and to start exploring the mystical land of the rising sun. Our first reaction was complete shock. I really didn't expect such a busy environment. Conurbations merged into one after another for miles on end. Any spare land no matter how small was turned into a paddy field, this time of year they were harvesting the rice sheaths, leaving them to dry over bamboo poles, then treshing them to remove the husk from the straw. Advertising boards, signposts, neon lights littered the sides of the roads which being extremely narrow made you feel claustrophobic. Amongst all this mayhem Simon had to locate the traffic lights. No mean feat. That said, the road systems and signage were remarkable such that you were constantly reminded of what road you were on and how far junctions were ahead of you.

As we passed through towns and villages we were aware of very pleasant floral smells wafting about. It seemed quite uniform and with no obvious source. With what we learnt about Japanese technology during our subsequent 2 months I really wouldn't be surprised if the smell wasn't piped in.

Once we got off the main roads favoured by cars and fast bikes we did manage to hit quite amazingly narrow country lanes with frightening hair-pin bends climbing you up and down the mountains. If it weren't for the spotlessly clean convex mirrors on every bend we would have come a cropper a few times.

All in all, the whole driving experience could only be described an assault on your senses.

Our first destination was Kyoto where we planned to meet up with Simon's brother Pad who would spend 3 weeks travelling with us. The journey took us through an area known as the Japanese Alps. At last into 'open' countryside. None of the freedom that I associate with countryside though. The hillsides were steep and if you looked closely you could spot the lattice work of concrete. Everything was reinforced! The rivers were very disheartening. Even in the most remote parts engineers had come in and concreted the river channel and embankments in an effort to control the flow - it is said that only 3 of Japan's 30,000 rivers and streams remain undammed.

Finding places to rough camp was a nightmare. Japan had none of the woods or swathes of unused land that we had become used to across Asia. Crops were planted everywhere and woods were only on the steep mountain sides impossible to reach. And plentiful dirt tracks didn’t exist either. It was a bit of a shock to the system to have to spend almost an hour each day finding a suitable site. Apparently we could have camped in public parks or in the middle of roundabouts just because the Japanese are too polite to ask you to leave. But we didn't want to take advantage of this quirk of their nature. There was no real network of organised campsites in Japan either, I suppose the Japanese are just far too fond of their luxuries.

A marvellous natural phenomenon of the Japanese islands is the number of hot springs that occur. Over the centuries these have been harnassed into onsen - mineral baths. A blessing for tired and frozen bikers, we wanted to experience these as soon as possible and had been recommended one in the Alps. Breaking our rule of riding in the dark, mainly because the Japanese are such courteous drivers and because we didn't have much choice when the sun set at 5.30pm (we'd been used to 8pm sunsets in Russia) we approached Hirayu after dusk much in need of a wash.

Ever since visiting Mongolia I was aware of cultural etiquette. According to the Lonely Planet, Japan was to be no exception. I never realised there could so many do's and dont's of taking a wash. Our first challenge was the ticket machine. Japan's service industries are built on such machines. A myriad of buttons stared us in the face with no obvious rhyme nor reason. I took a punt on the 400 yen ticket and then handed it over to the receptionist. Trustworthy as ever she just accepted it without questioning. Challenge number two was entering the correct changing room, our kanji was not good enough yet to distinguish 'men' from 'women'. We guessed that the blue curtain would probably be Simon's and mine was the red. In fact that was the only occasion that international colour coding seemed to work in Japan. Previously we had nearly filled up the tank with diesel by pointing to the green noozle at the petrol station expecting to receive unleaded. At the same time we asked for 'super' and she picked up the black noozle. Simon insisted on green then thought he had better smell it. To his surprise and annoyance it was diesel. We would never rely on colours again especially when emergency vehicles flashed red lights and the street cleaners signalled their presence with blue ones - the complete opposite to home.

Virtually all onsen are sex segregated. It is regarded as a great social event to go and bathe communally with those of the same gender. As you enter the onsen you pick up a small stool and washing bowl. It is social death if you accidentally steal someone else's. Squatting down on the stool you wash yourself thoroughly with a shower unit. Anything goes in terms of washing and shaving. Once you are completely rinsed only then are allowed to enter the baths. These would be of varying temperatures, sometimes with electric currents running through them, but always hot enough to turn your skin bright red. They would also have different mineral and gas contents which react with any jewelry you're wearing. I know this. My silver bracelet and necklace are only just recovering from the tarnishing. This particular onsen had outside pools steaming away under a starlit sky. Quite bizarre to be wandering around stark naked at the beginning of October and not feeling cold. My only disappointment was that we couldn't share the experience together. Several generations of the same family were happily spending an evening there, but we were on our tod on opposite sides of a bamboo wall.

On leaving the onsen I asked Simon if he had met any yakuza in the baths. Yakuza is Japan's form of mafia or tryiads. It is hard to identify them on the street unless you have a penchant for staring a people's hands. Apparently those that have strayed from the doctrine are punished by having their little finger amputated at the first joint. However in the onsen it can be quite obvious since they are the only strata of society to sport tatoos, often depicting cherry blossoms which are meant to signify the "brief but cheerful life of an ardent criminal". The big bosses also have groupees attending to their every need whilst washing.

We never quite got to understand the law-abiding Japanese citizen's opinion of these gangsters. They seemed to be remarkedly tolerated despite their involvement in crime due to the fact that they are also seen as "custodians of honour and chivalry".

Returning to our campsite, we discovered it was literally littered with bikers. At weekends the dust covers were lifted to reveal shiney chrome beasts. We had never seen so many clean machines, it really did put ours to shame. The owners drive for miles in convoys in order to cruise the lanes and show off their latest purchase. The overall impression was that bikes would never be more than 2 years old. Simon will write a separate note about the range of bikes we saw (and sometimes laughed at).

We visited our first castle, Matsumoto, a 400 year old wooden tiered castle. Somewhat susceptible to fire you might think, luckily it was built at the beginning of a long peaceful era. Like many water features, the moat surrounding the castle was teaming with huge colourful carp. Carp are the luckiest creatures in Japan since they seem to be the ONLY fish that the locals don't eat.

The night before approaching Kyoto we spent our wettest night ever in the tent. With the waterproofing wearing out we just about survived the rains that came with the back-end of the Tokyo's worst typhoon in years. We woke in the morning sharing our tent with a happily singing bright green frog who turned out to be a right poseur in front of the camera.

We entered Kyoto extremely excited at the prospect of meeting up with Pad who had in fact been the last family member we had seen when he escorted us down to the ferry at Harwich some 6 months ago. This was to be Pad's last fling before he joined the Police Force on his return to England. I've no idea how he managed it after a 12 hour flight, but Pad then hired a car and drove for a further 10 hours having to circumnavigate the metropolis of Tokyo. The only way to do this route is by using the prohibitively expensive maze of expressways, a task made even more difficult by the fact that they are known by names and not numbers.

Pad arrived in an amazing state of awareness despite his lack of sleep and the cat and mouse game of finding him. "I'm at the Family Mart on the corner" he told us on the phone, which we soon discovered was tantermount to saying "I'm standing outside the pub" in England. Simon cruised the streets and somehow found him. It was like a kid's Christmas after the initial greetings. "Can we open our presents now?" Pad had brought with him Red Cross parcels from home - decent toiletries, reading books, spare parts for the bike, baking powder, gravy browning, guide books for the rest of the journey and best of all for me photos of my gorgeous neice Alice who was just taking her first steps.

One of Pad's Fave Treats - A Creamy Colon

Kyoto is a city of 2,000 temples and shrines which attracts 40 million visitors a year. We took in the top 3 or 4 since it was very easy to get 'templed-out'. We found out that Japanese tourists are the same wherever you are in the world. "Cameras at the ready" is definitely their war-cry. We watched groups of school kids stampede at Kinkaku-ji (the Golden Shrine), all vying for the best photo spot - those with digital cameras at the front and half a dozen more embarrassed individuals hiding at the back with their disposable units.

It was at this same temple that we experienced our tourist tea ceremony. We had only the vaguest of notions what it was all about, we knew though that the tea ceremony was something mentioned a great deal in Japanese literature. For some horrendous price we received a bowl of bright green powdered frothy cold tea and a small rice paper 'sweet' with 2 miso peas inside which tasted like concentrated vegetable stock cubes. Mmm, there must be more to this ceremony that meets the eye - cos there certainly aint no proper English tea in it! I decided to read about it some more. Our guidebook told us the "tea ceremony was used by meditating Buddhist monks to promote alertness ... and the highly stylised etiquette and mental discipline involved was once an essential part of Samurai training" I'm still not convinced.

Food in Japan was a major problem due to Simon's dislike of fish, seafood and any of its derivatives, unless it's haddock, covered in thick batter and tastes of beef dripping. I, on the other hand, was in seventh heaven being in a country where 95% of its food comes from the sea and is rarely cooked. And finally for Pad, as long as the serving was BIG he would eat anything. So whilst Pad and I tucked into takoyaki - fried octopus balls and sushi trains (Pad won 12 plates to my 6) Simon sat there withering away and becoming more disfunctional. He couldn't even face the ramen noodles which were always cooked in a fish based broth. Luckily Mos Burger was there to save the day, 10 times tastier than the golden arches, Elvis wouldn't have stood a chance.

And so the pounds piled back on; which was a good job as Simon had lost 14 kilos since leaving England.

That said there were a few good finds for two of us:-

Shokudo - a more traditional fast food joint which advertised its menu by displaying psychodelic lifelike plastic models of food in the window. To order you just pointed. At least you could get a decent bread crumbed pork chop topped with gravy

Okonomiyaki - a mixture between a pizza and a pancake which you cook yourself on hot plate. Simon was so taken by this that it will appear in his Overlander's Cookbook.

Nabemono - meat and vegetables stewing in a delicious broth cooked in front of you over a flame. A particular high calorie version of this is favoured by sumo wrestlers. After retirement many of these giants open up nabe restaurants.

Sukiyaki - similar to nabe, a huge casserole of soya sauce, sake wine, chunks of tofu, many types of mushroom, all bubbling away. Into this you place slender strips of beef, cook as long as you wish then dip into raw egg. By far my favourite meal in Japan, I could have gorged myself all night courtesy of Emiko and Katsumi.

Whenever possible I tried to fit in the other Japanese delicacies such as unagi eel (nothing to write home about) and the potentially deadly fugu globefish/pufferfish (pretty tasty).

There were some dishes that not even I could face, that being chopped up live octopus that wriggles and adheres to the roof of your mouth and finally the ubiquitous raw cod sperm! Any takers?

From Kyoto we did a couple of day trips. The first was a train ride to Nara, Japan's first real capital. It is the home to 8 world heritage sites, one of which is the Todai-ji. Part of the temple complex is still the largest wooden building in world built in1709 at only two thirds the size of the original which had burnt down. Inside is housed the most enormous sitting Buddha, an awesome site at 16m, constructed from 437 tonnes of bronze and 130kg of gold. To be able to appreciate the size of it there is a wooden pillar to the side with a hole carved through it the same diameter as one of Buddha's nostrils. Not quite the eye of a needle, but tradition has it if you can squeeze your body through it you will gain eternal enlightenment. Needless to say that I am on the road to Nirvana but Simon and Pad are still thinking about it.

A couple of days later the boys took themselves off on a long car ride to Hiroshima to visit the museum and war memorial. They also took a ride on the world's longest bridge, spanning between 2 of the main islands - unfortunately this was a navigational mistake which cost them 40 USD in tolls.

Meanwhile I spent the day strolling around the back streets of Kyoto in search of geisha. This side of Japanese culture is rapidly disappearing. It does sound a rather archaic profession - as the Lonely Planet describes it in the glossary "a cultured woman - not a prostitute". I did come across several 'geishas-for-a-day'. These were probably teenage girls dressed and made up as geishas who were taken to various locations in the old city to have their photo taken. I think it may have been a kind of coming-of-age present. At dusk though I did spot a real one, shuffling across the road on wooden clogs, wearing an elaborate kimono and her face painted perfectly white. Very evocative.

After Kyoto we headed south to the hill-top village of Koyasan, famous for its Buddhist temple complexes and the fact that, at a price, you can sleep in them. The one described in the guidebook as having a bar was unfortunately full, but our second choice was no disappointment. It was modelled on a ryokan which is a traditional Japanese inn, but in fact it reminded me of the shogun palace we had just visited in Kyoto. The monk showed us to our rooms - large, simple, yet classically Japanese with tatami reed flooring and huge sliding rice paper windows looking out onto a typical Japanese style garden. We were given a few minutes to change into a yukata, a cotton kimono with obi belt - XL required for the men. A mini tea ceremony was performed as we were informed of the order of the day. Since time was running out we could have a quick bath before the evening meal was served in our room at 5.30pm. We were then offered a 6.15am wake-up call for the 6.30am standard religious service followed by the fire ceremony. This was all obligatory. Only then could we have breakfast. We had been warned of the audience participation aspect of the stay but it still came as a bit of a shock, especially as we were paying over 50 GBP a head for the priviledge! That said, it was a great all round experience. Dinner was laid out on our bedroom floor, a veggie culinary delight which introduced Pad to the powers of wasabi horse radish paste. We washed it all down with warmed sake and cold beer. At the end of the meal the monks returned to clear away the dishes and make up our futon bedding.

Early the next morning we blearily shuffled our way along the corridors to a temple where we sat cross-legged for 20 minutes listening to gonging and singing by a head monk and his assistant. At the end all the guests were invited to go and pay their respects to the Buddha at the back of the altar. We were then hustled along to a second temple to watch a raging fire being built from kindling wood, oils and prayer sticks. Only gaijin (literally 'outsiders' but used to mean foreigners) were present at this ceremony.

Thence onwards to Hamamatsu, home to Yamaha and Honda. But first we wanted to try out our own DIY onsen. We'd heard of a particular river where there were pockets of gas escaping and heating the water. All you had to do was form a pool of water in the river by building up the rocks around you. Luckily when we arrived someone had already done the work for us. All we had to do was strip off into our bathing cozzies and relax. The water was a little dirty with orange algae, but the temperature was perfect. With the river being by the roadside we caused quite a stir as traffic stopped to gawp at the tourists.

In Hamamatsu we had arranged to stay with Emiko and Katsumi, friends of Aussie Annette who we had met in Kazakhstan. The extent of hospitality of these two was quite embarassing since we were really just friends of friends. However we spent a wonderfully relaxing evening accompanied by scrumptous foods and limitless supplies of Japanese spirits, one of them I think was shiochu, a distilled 30% proof grain liquor that some time ago used to be used as a disinfectant.

A quick swim in the Pacific the next morning then the impossible happened. Katsumi had managed to wangle, at very short notice, a tour of the Honda factory. We were scheduled only the standard 30 minutes, but Simon and Pad were so fascinated by watching the bikes being assembled from start to finish that we took much longer. Our guide was amazed at the interest they showed in the tiny details, they were just like school boys. I think you could say the visit was appreciated.

Leaving a little later than expected we headed for Mt Fuji. It was already dark when we got there but could just about make out its perfect form silhouetted in the blackness as we set up our tents by a lake. Simon and I had planned for a lay in as Pad got up early to strike camp and make his ascent on the mountain. But as usual in Japan, no matter in how remote an area you are, there is always a morning 'wake-up' melody blasting out from invisible loud speakers at 6.00am (the evening equivalent 'go-home' tune played in shops is "Auld Lang Syne"). So we also got up and spent the day visiting the 5 lakes that surround Fuji. At 7.00am already the banks were littered with fishermen and boats dragging waterskiers. During the day we watched the clouds descend upon the summit and wondered how Pad was doing. Personally I doubted that he could do it with the lack of equipment he had, but lo and behold he turned up in the pitch dark, exhausted, but one of only 12 people who had reached the summit that day.

And then the dreaded day arrived. One we could put off no longer. The drive into Tokyo. We had heard too many horror stories and warnings of not to attempt it at the weekend. As if preparing for battle I meticulously planned the route to the tiniest of details. One of the best investments we had made was to buy a highly detailed road atlas. A minor problem was that it was printed in kanji and only the larger towns had translations into Roman script. But we got used to this inconvenience and the atlas became our best friend. The plan was that I would ride with Pad in the car and Simon would follow on the bike - maddeningly expressways don't allow two-up motorbikes, which ruled Simon and I out travelling together but also saved us a great deal of dosh and allowed us to see Japan rather than the concrete walls that line the expresways. For this journey we could all legally use the expressways and I could navigate. With much fear and trepidation we set off on a Sunday to drive into the metropolis of over 8 million people. Only one minor mistake which I recovered with the use of a trusty compass. As we approached our guest house I felt justly proud until we turned the corner to be confronted with an orderly queue of homeless people waiting for the soup kitchen to open. What area had I booked ourselves into?

I was initially dubious at the thought of staying in an area reminiscent of Kings Cross in London, but we were soon to find out that even the homeless in Japan, mainly middle-aged men, would be as well-behaved and courteous as any other citizen. I have to say that I found the plight of these men in such a rich country even more pitiful than perhaps those in a third world country. These guys never hassled you nor made any noise. They neatly prepared their bedding on the pavements and tried to keep themselves as presentable as possible. Of course they were normally permanently pissed on the One-Cup Sake they bought from the street corner vending machines, but who could blame them. Their only annoying habit was urinating in the street, but apparently this is acceptable in Japanese culture, whereas blowing your nose in public is a definite 'no-no'. This confused me slightly when you couldn't leave a subway station or cross a busy street without someone shoving a free packet of tissues into your hands - advertising space for that much needed Ewan McGregor endorsed product.

Why the down-and-outs were there in the first place was a slight mystery. We never quite got to understand the economy in Japan. It was meant to have been going through a horrendous recession for what seems like donkeys years, yet all we ever saw in the shops was retail therapy at its epogee. People just didn't stop buying. Unemployment was considered extremely high at 5.5% in a society where jobs were normally expected to be kept for a life time. I remember someone explaining to me when made redundant some men just couldn't handle it, they literally didn't know what to do. An English teacher recounted how he explained to his adult pupils that they were going to do a role play. When he noticed one of them not participating he told him to use his imagination. The response was "But I have no imagination". I am not saying that all Japanese are like this, but it did seem to me symptomatic of a nation where individuality is not the norm. Fashion crazes were so evident. All women sported designer label handbags, notably Louis Vuitton who had stores opening up left, right and centre to take millions of yen off the insatiable public. Everybody sported the latest mobile phone around their necks, all with cutesy dangling lucky charm trinkets. The most popular brand was the J-Phone, capable of taking photos as well. It was advertised using Beckham's ugly mug - his face was absolutely everywhere.

Our hotel claimed in the Lonely Planet to be the cheapest in Tokyo. This may have been so at 40 USD a night, but is was also the smallest. Solitary confinement in Dartmoor prison would have been more spacey, but what else could you expect in one of the world's most expensive cities? Nonetheless we made it our home for about 5 weeks in total and met a wide variety of travellers and more permanent residents. For some, we discovered it was their 'retirement home' of more than 10 years - a room measuring no more than 2m by 4m.

One of the most bizarre mornings we spent in Tokyo was the 'fish and theatre' extravaganza - two subjects not normally associated with putting Simon in a good mood. At some ungodly hour we got up to visit the Tsujiki fish market. This was a huge covered area teaming with both live and dead crustacians and fish. We watched tuna weighing up to 200 kg being carefully filleted with 2m samuri swords or band saws. Live fish were killed in front of our eyes - their spines were severed with a cleaver and then a metal wire was rammed down their spinal cord so that they died straight. Most of the fish were caught in local waters (well I'm sure the whale meat was), but at a premium we could have also bought fresh Scottish salmon.

We recorded the sights using one of our new toys. Well you can't visit the most technologically advanced country in the world without being impressed by the gadgets. So we are now carrying our 4th camera with us, a Sony 3.2 mega pixels digital Cyber-shot, along with a Palm pilot PDA and collapsible keyboard on which I am writing you this newsletter.

After the fish market we headed for the Kabuki theatre. I persuaded Simon and Pad that we should try to endure just one act of Japan's most famous plays. A whole Kabuki play can last all day. This particular one, even though shortened, started at 9 in the morning and went on till the mid evening! The average audience cannot sit through all of this and so is allowed to buy tickets for individual acts. The play recounted the historical events leading up to the famous mass ritual suicide of 47 samurai warriors. Their bodies are now buried in a Tokyo cemetry. I read the synopsis and decided the most 'exciting' act would be that of the forced suicide (hara-kiri) of their master for having drawn his sword in the shogun's palace. For 90 minutes we watched very little movement on stage, except Michael Jackson moon-walking, ventriloquist actors and pantomime-like calls from the audience. Simon was engrossed. I fell asleep, but not before I read up about the history of Kabuki. For this type of theatre you have to have been born into specific acting families. It's no good if you're a woman since all parts are played by men. The top exponents of this form of acting have the title "living national treasure" which perhaps is like a knighthood. I learnt that at numerous specific points in the middle of speeches, the audience is allowed to express their appreciation by shouting out the actors name. I must admit I was sorely tempted to scream out "Kawasaki" and see if anyone noticed. By the time the curtain fell I was truely ready to leave, the McCarthys on the otherhand were 'queuing for season tickets'.

Like any other city, town or village, Tokyo had its fair share of pachinko halls and Love Hotels. The former is a gambling craze that has lasted for years. It's a type of vertical pinball on which the Japanese spend billions each year. I had thought that slot machine arcades in England were gaudy but pachinko took the biscuit. The noise of bucket loads of ball bearings racing through 4 storey high buildings (all backed up with thrash metal over the sound system) was deafening and the apparent addiction to it frightening. I am glad to say that I didn't bother wasting any money on the industry that the yazuka launders its money through.

Love Hotels are a prime example of the strange attitude that Japanese have towards sex. They are highly visible themed hotels with "flamboyant facades, rococo architecture, turrets and battlements" Rates per room (you must find your own guest elsewhere) are determined by the time of day such that you are either 'resting or staying'. Each hotel has a curtained parking area so cars cannot be seen from the road. Photos of the available themed rooms are displayed in the foyer.

There are apparently very loose laws protecting adolescents which allows young girls to legally enter the sex industry. This was clearly evident by the availability of pornographic material, even on street corner vending machines. This included the strange phenomenon of manga cartoon strips,or rather 5cm thick tomes, published weekly. The school-girl image was extremely popular and uniforms (short chequered skirts) were worn provocatively 7 days a week.

After 3 weeks we packed Pad off to the airport with 47kg of luggage mostly consisting of our souvenirs, old guidebooks and a disfunctional 17 year old petrol stove that Simon couldn't bear to throw away. Pad's limit was 20kg but the excuse that "he was a big man and needed big clothes" persuaded the airline not to charge any excess baggage.

As pretty as it gets - for BACK-OFF magazine

The party over with, our task now was to start organising shipping the bike to south-east Asia and to meet up with the BMW biking community that Simon had been in contact with for some time. First we arranged to visit the main BMW Japan showroom and see if we could take a packaging crate off their hands. During the meeting we were naturally asked if we had any problems with the bike. The chief mechanic listened to our London taxi rattle and winced. We were not being a good advertisement to BMW. When told that we should budget for 2000 USD and one month to fix it WE winced and explained we would have to take the risk and wait until we got home to fix it ourselves. From there started a whole ball rolling that would leave both parties satisfied. It was 'suggested' that if we did some publicity for BMW then maybe they could 'help us'. Sounded good enough to us. A couple of interviews got lined up for "BMW Bikes" and "Back-Off" magazines - the results of which should have been published in January 2003 editions. We were also invited to attend the Gaston Rahier Rally in Nagano. Gaston was a three-time winner of the Paris-Dakar rally during the 1980s riding a GS. We really wanted to participate but felt that the one night's food and accommodation charge of 500 USD couldn't be justified. A little bit of wangling behind our backs resulted in an offer to invite us along free of charge if we could make a small presentation about our trip in return. Slightly embarrrassed at the generosity we accepted and put some notes together.

So off we travelled again to the Japanese Alps, to the home of the 1998 Winter Olympic Games. At the beginning of November the snow fell early and we shivered in our tent before we made the 7am rendez-vous. Some 60 bikes turned up, mostly GS models. The bad weather unfortunately cut short the day's run, but at least it meant that we were in good shape for the presentation. We were last on the agenda for the evening following a scrumptuous nosh, boy do I love sashimi. The audience was somewhat exhusted by the day's events, but we hope was appreciative of our talk which was expertly interpreted into Japanese. At the end of the evening a BMW Japan representative said "we'll see what we can do for you". A few days later our bike was in the workshop, just for one week, being fixed for a very reasonable price!. The trouble with the bike turned out to be a worn out cam-chain and tensioners, and the oil burning (1 litre every 600km) was caused by the scored piston rings (remember the puddle we swam through in Kyrgyzstan).

GS Club Japan and GS Club UK get friendly

A week later we crated up the bike at the port and left it with Nippon Express for the pricely sum of 240 USD and no paperwork nor receipt in our hands. We just hoped that we would be able to lay claim to it in Bangkok.

Off to sunnier climes

On our final night in Tokyo we entertained our guesthouse friends and the owner's family to a homemade English feast. We spent the day preparing a menu of chicken and mushroom pie, steak and onion steamed pudding, sausage toad-in-the-hole, and roast potatoes, followed by apple pie and an apple and mixed fruit crumble. We really had no idea how this would go down with the mixed nationality crowd. Unsure at first they all tucked in with chopsticks (even the icecream). Not a crumb was to be left.

This we felt was a fitting end to our 8 weeks in this most strangest of countries. We left rather shell-shocked but glad we had added Japan to our agenda.
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STOP PRESS: TURKMENBASHI UPDATE. We were rather saddened to learn that during our stay in Japan there was an extremely unsuccessful assassination attempt on the mad man's life. So bodged, not even he realised that someone was trying to kill him!