Rice paddy fields, as Japanese as you can get and one of the easiest kanji to learn how to write, are unavoidable in this country - driving their narrow, twisting lanes in a clumsy 4-door sedan can get you down, but I seek them out purposely, by bike. My set of mountain wheels is heaven-sent - the perfect way for me to get out of urbanity, without getting too lost. My adopted city, Tosu-shi, is nestled at the foot of a stunning Kyushu mountain range, so at every chance I aim my bike towards the green rolling hills in the distance and off I go...across packed lanes of traffic, past the smells wafting from the nearby McDonald's, Kentucky Fried Chicken, and all those other vicious signs of globalization, past the heavily congested sounds of civilization, and on to the smooth lanes of criss-crossing Japanese rice paddy fields. At the moment the rice is growing fast and strong, and my legs are pumping...
…the wind in my hair, the sweat down my back -thanks to the never-ending humidity, and the sun burning bright in my face. It's all so good, so real. And I`m gaining speed. Taking a left now, then a right. It really doesn't matter if you have the freedom of time. Complete Freedom. That, and thousands upon thousands of dragon flies painting the sky with multicolour in front of me. Orange bodied, black winged, writhing paper-thin bodies, they're everywhere, and I dodge them with increasing skill. Or, rather, they dodge me. Making it past the darkened masses, I take another turn to find myself in face of or faced with a massive stone gate leading into a thicket of green. I park the panting bike at the gate - no need for locking in rural Japan - and head past the twin lion-like stone guards. I walk up the dirt path, cross over a stone bridge, glance down at the orange and white koi looking up expectantly at the trespasser/possible food-giver, and make my way towards the stunning structure up ahead. The shrine is massive, and two bells at the top of it reach towards the earth with twisted rope - made for those praying to the gods to give a little tug and ring. I give it a try. Nothing happens. I try again, pulling harder this time, and a small sound comes out. Good enough. Besides, no one else is around to correct or criticize. I clap my hands twice then turn to leave. I feel peace, solitary peace, not the lonely kind. I'm happy with my discovery, my distinctly Japanese moment with the divine and with nature. That link so easily lost in the turmoil of an urban and westernized life. As I retrace my steps across the bridge and swing my legs over my bike, I turn back to the dragons, to the open rice paddy roads, and to the space between chaos and peace. A time too easily forgotten. Too easily lost.