Miyazaki by Van

Day 1: Van Life Begins What have I done? I'm sitting in a beachside parking lot, stationary for the night. Now I have nothing to do but document the trip thus far and wait until I'm tired enough to go to bed. The temperature is starting to drop, thankfully. I hope it continues. I picked up the van at high noon, close to the hottest part of the day. The experience was not what I expected. The owner was more surfer than he was Japanese—not overly courteous or organized. I'd expected the van to be in pristine condition, but it hadn't been cared for like everything else I've seen in Japan. The makeshift velcro window screens were coming off, their glue worn by heat and time, leaving an easy entrance for mosquitos. Noted - I'll have to find a remedy for this. The doors needed to be slammed shut, apparently gummed up by rust. It took me a few tries to get the side sliding door to fully close. Good news - I probably won't lock myself out! The small built in cabinet was full of random things other renters had left behind. A cup with disposable chopsticks, an almost empty lighter, and a roll of half used aluminum foil were easily recognizable. The rest I could explore later when I got bored. Only one side of the car's speakers worked and the bluetooth connection through a radio device was shaky - but I got it to work.
The essentials were there though: a changing bucket, a water tank, and plenty of room for my boards. The owner sent me a Google Maps pin for one surf spot that would be protected from the oncoming wind. I'd already identified the area as my first stop but thanked him anyways. When I asked about overnight parking, he just said, "It's not like the US. Japan not so strict for sleeping in car. Some beaches have bathroom, some do not." When I asked where I could refill the water tank, his response was even less helpful: "I don't know. Maybe you ask restaurant, or you make friend?" And as for the toll roads, he told me, "Just go slow along the beach. No need toll roads." It was clear this guy wasn't going to give me anything useful. I was on my own.

I hit the road. The van was a weird drive—a school bus-like steering wheel, with the engine whining like it was electric, right under my seat. The AC blasted though, thank God. Even so, the early afternoon sun baked the right side of my face and arm as I drove down the coast toward the only cove protected from the winds. The left side of my body was freezing from the AC while my right side baked. My butt and back were steaming on the seat, drenched in sweat. It was the humidity that was the real problem. The temperature would have been tolerable if the humidity hadn't been over 80%. This could be a rough week. Regardless of my concerns about the weather, I enjoyed the scenic drive down the southern part of the Miyazaki prefecture. Large sections of the road wound around the mountainside, with rocky green walls to the right and a clear view of the Pacific Ocean on the left. I drove slow, constantly looking to my left down at the shoreline. There were a lot potential surf spots—rocky shelves and small beaches, all of which had swell but were being beaten down by strong onshore winds. I could see the potential, but knew this was the trend for the next few days. My only hope for decent surf was to get to a protected inlet further south. I didn't expect to surf today, I just wanted to find a decent place to camp with a bathroom, water, and a cooling breeze. The sight of the wind-blown seas below convinced me surfing was off the menu, but I hoped the wind would keep me cool overnight in the van. About 3 hours in, navigation took me inland, off the coastal highway. Then it led me down a skinny and steep road with pine trees on both sides. Was this another "time saving" route from Google Maps? These were always more stress than they were worth, leading me down tiny paths and often through small Japanese neighborhoods. I wouldn't be able to navigate those types of roads today in my extended van. Luckily this one had two lanes. As I wound down the side of the mountain I had a new concern. The breaks of the old van were weak. I had no need to truly test them until this point, but now on the steep decline I wish I had. I pushed the pedal all the way to the floor to get the van to slow enough to come to a stop at a section where road workers had one of the lanes closed. I held my hand on the e-break and hoped I wouldn't have to make use of it. The road soon leveled out and I relaxed back into my seat. I pulled around a bend and saw my intended destination: a small stretch of dark sand with a seawall protecting the road from the sea. The beach was littered with bamboo driftwood and plastic debris—a laundry basket, a fishing buoy... a single sandal. Where was his long lost twin? A river mouth cut through the far end of the beach and emptied into the ocean next to a giant cement wall protecting a small harbor on the other side. It was just like Oiso, extra fortified against the unpredictable ocean. The waves were clean. The breeze was still stiff, but here it was offshore. And then I saw them: vans lined up along the seawall and surfers in the water. This was the first spot I'd seen surfers in my entire coastal drive. This was the spot! Before I could catch myself, I parked behind another, much newer and nicer van along the side of the road, and started hastily getting ready. My hunger to get back in the water, which I’d suppressed for weeks, breached the surface like foam from a shaken beer can. I went through my mental checklist to make sure I wasn't forgetting something critical like my leash or sunscreen. I double-checked the code to the key lockbox before closing it and hanging it on the rearview mirror. Then I grabbed my fish, found the nearest staircase down to the water, and mind-surfed the waist-to-chest-high waves as I eagerly walked down the beach toward the sea wall. I’d already decided I'd be recording this as a "super fun" session before I even got in the water. I was just happy to be there, and the fact that I managed to milk a few waves all the way from the outside in to the river mouth reaffirmed my rating. The crowd was light by Japanese standards and so was the vibe. It seemed like everyone else had been deprived of waves the last few weeks too, and were easily stoked. There were two other foreigners in the lineup. We talked briefly, but they weren't very chatty. I had a feeling they liked being the only Western faces around and were somewhat annoyed to see another foreigner making their experience a little less authentic. Was I just projecting my own sentiments onto them? Probably. They were cordial, but always happy to let the conversation lose its energy. I was curious to know where they were from and how they had found themselves at this remote break in this remote area of Japan. I didn't find out. After a two-hour session, I left the water refreshed with the sweat from my drive washed away and relieved having already put one fun session under the belt. As the sun went down, the small parking lot near the harbor started to thin out. I moved my van into a spot next to another camper that looked like it was staying the night. My van had a ridiculously loud beeper that chirped while in reverse - the kind a forklift or delivery van has. I felt self-conscious trying to back into the spot. Every beep seemed to announce, "Look at the kook in the rented van!" The stencil of the rental group's logo and website on the side didn't help. I saw one of the foreigners from the lineup laughing as he sat on the back of his car next to a Japanese surfer. “They’re not laughing at me,” I reassured myself, thankfully getting the awkward van into the tiny parking spot just good enough to prevent a third attempt. I sat there for a minute to let everyone get back to their own business before getting out to survey the scene. There was a water fountain and public restrooms. To the right was a patch of grass and beyond that the small harbor with a handful of fishing boats. To my left was the beach. I could sit and watch the waves from the front seat. Score! An hour later, once everyone had left, I felt like I was cramping the camper next to me, whom I assumed would be staying the night. I moved my van to the other side of the parking lot, into the spot closest to the beach, with an even better view - the prime spot! I took my time backing in, making sure I got it just right, and settled in for the night.

Day 2: Waking Up In A Van

I feel dull. Like a cloudy day without rain—everything is fine, but I'm far from 100%. The first night in the van was rough. This might be a long week. I don't know if I'm cut out for van life. My fears about sleeping in the van were true. Everything seemed to be off by just enough to prevent me from being comfortable. The bed was almost exactly as long as I am tall. When I laid on my stomach - my preferred sleeping position - my feet hung halfway off, leaving that big bone in the center of the top of my foot right on the wooden ledge that marked the end of the bed frame. The padding itself was just thin enough to cut off circulation; every limb would fall asleep within 10-15 minutes, no matter what position I was in. I had bought a travel-sized pillow that came compressed in a vacuum-sealed bag, but it didn't decompress nearly as much as I had expected. It was about half as thin as I needed to not crink my neck. To top it all off, the street light that kept the small beachside parking lot lit, left the van with a constant dusk-level of lighting. Not ideal... The biggest factor, however, was the heat. It was just warm and humid enough to keep whatever part of my body that was against the mat, wet and sticky with sweat. I knew going in van life would require some adjustments. I was aware that I'd gone soft and my reset was going to be uncomfortable. There was no way around it. Now it's here. Time to own it. Even though I had braced for my reset, the way it was delivered made it worse. Standing outside the van I assumed the breeze made it cool enough to sleep, but it was significantly dampened by the screens. The airflow inside the van was less than half of what it was outside. With the screens removed, air flowed through the van consistently, keeping me cool. With the screens down, however, only the stronger gusts would come through, leaving me in a warm-cool-warm-cool cycle. After an hour of rotating to let one side of my wet body dry while the other grew damp, I gave up on the screens and let the air run free through the van. I hoped the wind was too strong for mosquitoes to navigate. It was. I knew this strategy wouldn't hold up all week, but at least I'd get a few hours of sleep and wouldn't be a zombie the next day. I'd be able to think and implement some remedies for the following night. It took me at least half an hour to wind down after I had cooled down. I couldn't stop my brain. In the front of my mind, I was consumed with worry: would I be a useless, sleep-deprived zombie all week? What if my reset took all week? Would I really be the guy who broke down and rented a hotel room because I couldn't hack it in a van? Had I gotten that spoiled? What would my friends say? I had worry on top of worry. Then I worried about why I was worrying so much. Can't I just chill out and go to sleep? My running mind is the problem, not the heat! Then, as I finally started to doze off, the rain started. I had known it was a threat, but didn't know how the van would handle it. The rain blew right into the van, somehow from all angles. I jolted awake, scrambling to close the sliding windows. I jumped to the middle of the van and slammed the side door shut, barely mustering enough strength to get it to latch. I rolled across the bed to the back and pulled the hatch shut. As the rain intensified, I felt that cozy satisfaction of being protected against the elements. The pitter-patter on the windows and panels had a nice rhythm from the inside. Maybe this could lull me to sleep... But it was only a matter of minutes before the temperature rose. Without the windows open, the car turned into a stuffy little hot box. I waited the rain out before opening the windows again. This would be the cycle for tonight, I thought. My mind revved up again, my worries were back to the races, and I gave up, "If I can't sleep tonight, I might as well figure out how I'm going to make some adjustments to be able to sleep tomorrow." As I waited on the rain to stop, I fixed what I could. I folded up a fleece from my duffel bag and put it under my pillow. The height was now good enough to at least reduce the threat of neck crinkage. I broke out an inflatable backpacking mat that apparently came complimentary with the van, and placed it at an angle on top of the sleeping platform. The multi-layers were softer, and now my feet could reach over onto the wooden shelf that was opposite the sliding door, allowing me to fully stretch out without hanging my feet over the frame. I pointed my face directly into the back corner, where a slice of darkness existed under the shadow of the van's frame. Then, I had a mental breakthrough. I had come to terms with losing a night of sleep. My revelation: I had no responsibilities the following day and a bed in the back of my van. I could do nothing, sleep whenever I felt tired, and there was no one to judge me for it. This was perhaps the biggest relief above all my remedies. I dozed in and out of a light sleep, with the window closest to my head cracked enough for me to taste some fresh air without letting water in. An indeterminable amount of time later, I looked at my phone as I sat up to go pee: 3:00 am. I couldn't imagine why I had to piss—I had to be dehydrated from the amount of sweat I was losing—but I got up and walked over to the bathrooms. It had stopped raining. Halfway to the bathroom, at the other edge of the parking lot, I froze and stood there in my boxers. Something in my periphery was unusual. I was out of the grasp of the street light, but there was still a glimmer from above. It was the sky. I looked up in awe—I had one of those breathtaking moments of nature, like seeing an expansive view at the peak of a mountain or a blue whale breach from the side of the boat. How are there so many stars? Is that the Milky Way? I remembered how amazing the night sky was when it wasn't dulled by city lights. I'd seen it before, but it was a rare enough occasion for me, to still be novel. It hadn't crossed my mind that I should look for them here. Since the clouds had dispersed, the temperature had dropped. Returning to the van, I opened the windows again and was finally able to doze off for a couple of hours before the early-bird surfers started pulling into the lot around 5:30 am. Day 3 - Am I Over The Hump? This might just be a really fun week... Yesterday I had two fun surf sessions at Toi Beach. It's nice to get a few back-to-back sessions in at the same spot and learn some of the nuances of the wave. I checked Nagata Point twice, but the waves were inconsistent and sectiony. Even with the small crowd, it was over capacity. Toi Beach, on the other hand, was consistent and the crowds were mellow. Somehow, I even had a solo session in the afternoon—I guess everyone else was at Nagata.

Last night I moved the van to a new location - a pullout off the one-lane highway that goes over a small mountain and leads to the other side of the peninsula where Nagata is. I parked under some trees which helped keep the rain from getting into the van, while still allowing me to catch a light breeze. These must be the practical challenges of van life. I wonder what type of challenges my friends back home are facing... I didn't sleep great, but I had enough rest to feel human again. I'm seeing the world differently. I still have many of the same problems—Where do I surf? How do I stay cool? Where should I park tonight?—but with a clearer mind, I'm more confident I can solve them, or at least live in peace alongside them. This morning I was able to make decisions without the paralyzing concern for regret. I remembered I was alone and free, with no one to answer to. I was the only one to give myself any flak. I realized I could leave the coast during a swell just because I wanted to, and no one would argue with me. I could drive around in the van and look at rice patties all day, and no one would judge me for it. The freedom was as refreshing as a duck dive in cool water on a hot day. Newly liberated and considering how much a good night's sleep meant to me, I thought about heading high into the mountains for the afternoon and sleeping up there for the night. Last night it was a tad bit cooler at 200 meters of elevation. How well would I sleep if I got up to 800 meters? I wasn't convinced it was the right call, but I had a lot of good excuses to do it anyways. With the Saturday crowds and winds forcing all the surfers into the same few protected spots, it would likely be busy. There was also a morning high tide swamping all the breaks. And while the surf had been fun the last few days it was far from epic. I probably wouldn't miss much. Talking myself out of the fear of missing out on good waves, I scouted a potential hike up the side of a volcano. Kirishima National Park, as seen on the map, was a mountainous area in Southern Miyazaki. It was hard to tell what I'd really be seeing once there, but it looked remote and wild. Satellite view showed no major cities within about an hour's drive. Terrain view showed a decent elevation gain and clear craters at the top of the volcanos. The indicators looked good enough for a Saturday adventure. Before heading out, I checked the breaks near Nagato just be sure... the tide was indeed too high and there were surfers buzzing around the parking lots making the same checks. I headed off to the mountains in the old van feeling confident in my decision and hoping there wouldn't be any roads too steep for the Wave Hunter to climb up or stop itself on the way down as we ventured out of its native habitat. I saw no cars on the windy road up and there were only three in the giant parking lot when I arrived. They likely belonged to the employees working at the visitor center. It was obvious why everything was empty: strong winds and a consistent drizzle. The forecast for the next few hours was inconclusive. There could be a pocket of sun in the next hour or two... but it didn't look that way on the ground. I'd driven two hours to get there and didn't want to sit in the van all day. So before I could convince myself otherwise, I changed into shorts and a shirt, threw on my running shoes, put the car key in the lockbox, and started speed-walking to the trailhead carrying nothing but the inspiration I had recently attained from Jason, the savage. About a month earlier in Sumatra I befriended Jason, an alpine climber from New Zealand with a zest for adventure and a high tolerance for risk. He's one of those people I hear about in books or on TV specials but until this point hadn't met in real life. They have some burning fire inside that drives them to take massive risks and complete super-human feats that most people would find absolutely miserable... like running 110km through the mountains of Northern India with no support team or climbing remote peaks in Patagonia that require a 4 day trek just to get to the base of the mountain. The few weeks I spent with Jason as my neighbor in Sumatra helped adjust my perspective on my own fitness and adventure-seeking. Our workouts, where I was red-lining just to maintain a semblance of self-respect alongside Jason, and our massive Indonesian volcano hike in the summer heat, gave me a much-needed mental check. I was suddenly aware of how weak and soft I had become. I thought I was in good shape from surfing the strong waves of Indo, but in comparison to Jason, I was living up to only a fraction of my potential. He had higher energy, was more driven, and seemed to have a masochistic enjoyment of pushing through the pain of pull-ups, push-ups, and crunches... all in the tropical heat. A resounding question kept coming back to me long after we split ways: What was I missing out on by staying too well within the bounds of my comfort zone? It was now time to test it. I hit the trail and battled through the wind and rain, making it all the way up and back without seeing a single other person. Back at the van, stoked on my perseverance, I sent Jason a voice memo. Here it is: Letter To Jason Yo Jason, how's it going? Are you in Kyrgyzstan... or whatever? Did you already summit? Let me know how it's going. I just went full send on a little hike here, and it reminded me of our volcano hike, so I thought I'd check in and see how you're doing. I've rented a van here in Japan—this is day three, I think—and I'm just cruising around. I got some decent surf the last couple of days, and with a couple of typhoons forming off the coast, more waves are on the way. But I figured I'd get away from the weekend crowd today and head out into the mountains for a hike. I knew there was a decent chance of rain, but I decided to come out anyway, thinking there might be a window of sun. Once I pulled into the parking lot and saw it was completely empty, windy, and rainy, I knew I wasn't going to get a nice window. But then I thought, "Hmm, what would Jason do?" I threw on my running shoes, shorts, and a shirt, and went for it. It was a pretty sweet hike, actually, despite the terrible weather. It was only about 6km and I tried to run some of it. The Japanese tend to just take their trails straight up. No switchbacks. They just go straight from the bottom to the top. The trail goes up to the mouth of a crater and along the ridge of it, then continues up to the peak of a neighboring mountain. I couldn't see any of it on the way up. It was basically clouds right in my face the whole way and once I hit the rim it started raining heavily. Have you done many hikes up volcanic mountains? The ground was entirely black and red volcanic rock. There was no soil, just big volcanic boulders that looked like they'd been formed by lava and smaller chunks that had broken off. I've seen black volcanic rock, but never this mixture of black and red. That part was cool but felt a little eerie given the gray backdrop and with no one around. The volcano rim was pretty sketchy. On my left, there was a steep drop that I can only assume went all the way down the side of the mountain. On my right, the same steepness dropped into the mouth of the crater. The path wasn't that wide, and if you fell, you could easily roll and slide for a while without being able to stop yourself. Normally, heights aren't an issue for me, but the wind was super strong. It was coming up from the mountainside, slamming me, and dropping down into the crater. It was like the volcano wanted to eat me. It was trippy... rain was coming up from below and then up over the ridge and pelting me in the face... then getting sucked into the crater. Some of the gusts made me lose my footing, so I ran this part crouched down and kept looking for boulders I could grab onto incase I got pushed over the edge. The Japanese are usually pretty good about shutting things down to the public when it isn't safe, but they had the trail open, so I figured it wasn't too hazardous. Then again, they probably figured there wasn't anyone dumb enough to try a hike in this weather. I had a moment on the rim where I was thinking, "Maybe the smart thing to do right now is to turn around." At one point during this stretch a massive gust came over the ridge. I crouched down next to a giant, lone boulder that I imagine had been blown out of the volcano in its last eruption. I was like, "Okay, is this too dangerous to go forward? What if I get hurt?" But then I was just like, "All right, no, screw it. I'm going for it. Let's just do it. Stop thinking about it." I remembered not being able to complete the last hike we did, which I just realized was also up the side of a volcanic mountain! That trail was also pretty much just straight up, too, huh? Anyways, I made it past the crater's ridge and charged on again to get to the peak of the second one. There was nothing to see— just rain and wind in every direction. At that point, I was completely soaked. Water was coming out of my shoes and I had already wrung out my shirt a couple of times. On the way back down when I was traversing the ridge again, the clouds lightened up a little and I could see down into the massive volcanic crater. It was wild... A huge pit with a big white patch at the bottom. At first I thought it was snow, but it must have been sulfur. If I had slid down it would have been a serious situation. There I was on the edge of a volcano with no one around, getting a glimpse into the heart of mother nature. It's probably a fraction of what you experience on you're mountain climbs.... I dig it. That was probably the highlight of my van trip thus far. Anyways, dude... what I really wanted to reach out for was to say thank you. You gave me a nice little reset. I was getting pretty soft there for a while, but those couple of runs and yard workouts we had where I was just trying to keep up with you, and that massive day of adventure hiking, kind of reset my mind. I used to get pretty core with it on my hikes in Alaska, but that was a long time ago. Our sessions reminded me of how rewarding it can be to seize the day and dig into adventure a little more. Carpe deez nutz! If I hadn't had your motivation, I might have gotten up here... hemmed and hawed about whether to go... and maybe would have bitched out on the hike. I know you're out there doing way gnarlier stuff. Keep it up! Hopefully we can find a time and place to link up again. Maybe catch a couple of waves and get tubed. Cheers bud!

Feeling like I had earned it, I found an onsen about 15 minutes drive down the side of the mountain and pulled in. It was a modest place that was well past its prime, but served its purpose for me. I hadn't showered since I started my van stay and I was a little chilled from being pelted by all the wind and rain. The water in the small outdoor hot spring had a green tint and light smell of sulfur, but it was piping hot. After reheating, I rubbed Yunohana all over my body and sat on a wooden stump to let it dry. Yunohana is a fine sediment found at the bottom of hot springs that has a similar consistency to clay. It's apparently rich in minerals that come from the geothermal waters of the onsen and is believed to have healing properties. This mud-stuff is carefully collected, impurities are removed, and then it's used as a full body mask, spread over the skin. I couldn't tell what impact it had on me, if any, but it was a unique experience to rub my naked body with this sulfer-smelling mud and sit on a log while I let it dry... then spend about 20 minutes trying to scrub the caked goo off my body. My next line of business was to find dinner. Ramen, I thought, would be perfect. Warm, fatty, and high in carbs - that would surely help knock me out. I'd exercised, hit the onsen, now a big bowl of ramen would top it off. I'd have to get back to my parking place for the night quickly after that... I'd be too tired to drive far. I went back to my righthand man: Google Maps. There wasn't much around, only one place within reasonable driving distance that was open. It was almost 8pm already and the only thing in this area were a few hotels catering to Japanese hot spring tourists, one convini, and a couple small restaurants. I pulled into one of the 3 parking spaces in front of a small wooden building where my navigation guided me. It looked like no one was there. Was it already closed for the night? I double checked Google as I sat in the driver seat. I was in the right place and the listing said it was open until 9... The sign outside clearly said ramen. I had learned to recognize the Japanese characters for ramen by this point in the trip. I got out and poked my head through the half-open door. It was lit. There was a lady inside watching TV on a set that looked like it was from the early 90's and a row of 6 stools lined up along a small wooden counter. Seeing me peer in, the old lady stood up, greeted me, and waved me in. Using the few phrases I knew in Japanese I tried to communicate that I was looking for ramen. She said she didn't have something, I couldn't fully understand, but still welcomed me in. Did she not have ramen today? I figured she was going to cook me something and at this point I was fully committed. I couldn't turn around and leave now. Where else would I go anyways? I accepted my fate and sat down at the bar. She worked behind the counter heating up something in a pan and using ladles to scoop out various liquids from a few massive metal pots that were about as round and tall as she was wide. I waited patiently to see what I'd be served. A few minutes later she reached over the counter with a bowl of ramen and a side of choshu - the pork belly meat that tops the ramen. This key ingredient is typically slow cooked, sliced, and laid on top of the ramen. She had cooked mine in a pan. Ahhh, this must be what she had said she didn't have. She was visibly worried that I wasn't going to get the proper ramen she normally serves. Her concern for quality however, was trumped by the thought of me not getting any dinner at all. I reassured her it was delicious, "Oishi des!" From behind the counter she talked to me like a concerned mother. Where was I from? How long was I in Japan? Was I sleeping in the bigu caru? When I couldn't understand what she said in Japanese, she'd try again filling in as much as possible with English. I did the same in my responses, often just speaking big chunks of my sentences in English with a Japanese accent, and it worked well enough. The ramen was indeed very good and I slurped it down noisily to indicate my pleasure with it - as is tradition. She told me where I could park overnight, recommending a visitor center not far down the road. I had two options for convinis - a Lawson this way (1 min), a 7-11 that way (3 min). Even in the countryside a convini was always just a stone's throw away. "Natto, do you like natto?" she asked. The question suprised me. Was she referring to the fermented soy bean dish? Natto is renowned for its distinctive pungent aroma, strong flavor, and a sticky, stringy texture that develops due to the fermentation process. It's often enjoyed as a breakfast food, typically served over rice. This weird Japanese superfood is either loved or hated. I'd been introduced to it by my friend Takeo and once I got past the odd smell, fell in love with it. "Natto? Yes, I do - Hai, ski natto des" It actually wasn't too odd of a question. I found that Japanese people liked to see a foreigner's reaction to this strange dish, but she wasn't looking for a reaction. As I ate my ramen she moved around the kitchen preparing a breakfast to go for me. She made ball of rice, taking a scoop from her rice cooker and shaping it with her hands, then wrapping it in cellophane. She pulled a small white square styrofoam container from the freezer - this was the unmistakable container of natto. From somewhere else in her fully stacked refrigerator she pulled out and proudly presented 4 small cherry tomatoes, locally grown I guessed, not understand anything she said as she placed them into a bag to join the rice and natto. Finally, a kiwi. I smiled, feeling spoiled as she added it to the goody bag. Wrapping a chunk of ice from her freezer in an old grocery bag, she completed the package, seemingly content to know my day would be off to a good start tomorrow. Assuming I was her last customer for the night, I wanted to let her finish her day. I paid, thanking her profusely as I rubbed my stomach to show I was full and then held up my goody bag while bowing to show I was grateful for her generosity. Before getting out the door, she grabbed an assortment of individually wrapped mystery-treats and added them to the bag. What were these bonus items? I inspected the contents later once I was settled at the rest station for the night: a rice cracker a cheese flavored rice cracker 4 small strawberry wafers a mango something and a strawberry something I could't quite identify They were all delicious in a sort of odd Japanese way, with flavors and textures I wouldn't expect to go well together, but did. By 9pm it was already cool enough inside the van for me to doze off comfortably. My assumption about the temperature was correct. I felt good about my decision to leave the surf, settled in, and slept through the night without disruption. Day 4 - Lazy Forecasting It was windy and raining on and off when I woke up. The running shoes I had left out overnight to dry were still soaked. As happy as I was about conquering the hike the previous day, running it back in the rain didn't sound very appealing. So I drove back toward the coast to continue with the surf trip. I took my time getting back, driving leisurely and stopping frequently to admire the Japanese countryside. In previous trips to Japan I had mostly stuck to the densely populated cities and surrounding suburbs. The peacefully quiet and spacious countryside was refreshing. I made a strategic stop at a coffee shop and ordered an espresso over soft-serve vanilla ice cream. Why not? I had stopped at this cafe on my way out to the mountains and knew it had an exceptionally nice bathroom. In addition to being clean and having a modern Japanese toilet seat with a built-in bidet, each toilet was totally enclosed. There were no spaces at the top or gaps along the bottom exposing me to other men doing their business. I had my own private little capsule. It wasn't busy, so I knew I wouldn't have to wait for access or be rushed once inside. My favorite part, though, was the music. They played old-school R&B pop at a comforting volume. Someone had really thought through the user experience here! With the help of the espresso I finished my daily deed before I could hear the rest of "Say My Name" by Destiny's Child.
By the time I got back to the coast, the sun was cresting and the tide was bottoming out. It was sunny and warm, so I hung out my wet clothes to dry and laid in the van with the back open. I stared out the back onto a nearby rice field as surfers pulled in, checked the nearby breaks, then pulled away. The mini boulder reef break near Nagata had some waves but it didn't look very enticing. I took the queue from other surfers and decided to wait for the tide to rise a bit.

I was confused yet again by the Japanese swell. Just two days earlier this break had been only knee high while the point, only 300 meters down the rocky beach, was shoulder high. Now the point was virtually flat and shoulder-high sets were coming through at the beach. It must be that the swell direction changed quickly, as the typhoon off the coast made its way through the ocean. I didn't try too hard to make sense of it. Instead I just waited around to see what the other surfers would do. Sure enough, as the tide started to rise, the reef break by the beach got better. A few surfers pulled into the dirt lot, checked it, and started suiting up. I followed behind them, but not too close to draw any attention. From a lookout point on a small bridge over the stream that flowed into the ocean, I watched the surfers to see how they navigated the entry. Predictably they followed the stream out to the lineup. I went back to the van, grabbed the fish, and paddled out.
Not long into the session I recognized a Japanese grom, about 13 years old, who paddled out. His dad stood on the bridge filming. I'd met them at Toi two days earlier. They had a super van - the kind I had dreamed about renting before I was brought back down to reality by my budget. It was the same size as mine, but looked brand new and was fully decked-out. They no-doubt had AC and were sleeping like babies in that badass rig. I was jealous of their setup, but figured it was good for me to try the rudimentary van experience as my first van life test run. If I could enjoy myself in this rent-a-beater then maybe I'd entertain the dream of building my own, much better surf van in the future. I didn't envy their travels though. They had brought the van all the way down from Tokyo via toll road and ferry, which probably took them more than a day and round trip likely cost more than what I paid for my entire weekly rental. So this is what it takes to chase swells in Japan huh??? I slept in the parking lot of an onsen that night, assuming it was fair game since the father-son super van and another camper I'd seen at Toi were both posted up there. No one objected and I slept relatively poorly, as I had expected.
Day 5 - New Grounds With the swell shifting again and the winds finally backing off, it was time to relocate. After a quick morning session at Toi Beach to hedge my bets against getting skunked for the day, I headed north along the coast toward the other end of the prefecture. This time, I checked Google's route first to make sure I was on main roads. Today was a dedicated travel day. I drove for hours, scouted new places to camp, surveyed a few stretches of beach to see if there might be some hidden gems there (I didn't find any), and took a nap on my yoga mat next to the van. I eventually found a parking lot on Google Maps labeled "surfing beach". It was a classic Japanese surfer's setup. The big parking lot had free parking, clean bathrooms, storage lockers, and even showers that provided five minutes of hot water for 200 yen or cold for 100 yen. Best of all, I saw several vans and a few campers that looked like they were spending the night. This was my spot. I spent the evening in the water for a messy but still fun surf session. The winds were still blowing but finally backed off at sunset. I hoped the breeze wouldn't die down too much overnight, as it was critical for keeping the temperatures in the van down and the mosquitos out of the air.

Jason replied to my voice memo. He was enjoying himself in the mountains and was stoked to hear about my experiences in Japan. He sent me a link to a podcast, "Dude, check this out." It was an interview on "The Connect," a true-crime podcast. The host is a former drug smuggler who shares his insider's perspective on the world of drugs, crime, prison, and the politics surrounding the War on Drugs. His guests are primarily gang members, drug smugglers, and law enforcement with unique insights into the criminal underworld. "What the hell is this?" I thought to myself, wondering if Jason was one of those weird obsessives who loved true crime, but I soon realized why he had shared it. On this episode, the host interviewed Ryan, a surfer from California in his 50's. Back in the day Ryan had an operation smuggling cocaine from California to Australia via commercial flights. Him and his Australian partner had a full-fledged system - strapping kilos of blow to their carrier's bodies, sneaking it into Australia, and selling it for a 200x markup. The dude was making millions of dollars, partying like a rock star, and taking surf trips around the world for years before he got pinched. Ryan ended up serving four years in an Australian prison. The real kicker? Ryan was my neighbor during my stay in Sumatra. In all of our time shooting the breeze between surf sessions and over meals together, I never suspected he harbored such radical stories! As I laid in my own sweat in the back of the van, waiting for the night to progress and the temperature to drop, I wondered if I could ever have the balls to pull off such an operation. What would it be like if I could make a few million dollars off a couple quick drug smuggles? Could I quit while I was ahead and ride off into the sunset before getting caught? Maybe then I could buy a tricked out van like the grom's father... Day 6 - Okuragahama I'm feeling proud of myself for timing this just right. Looking back thus far I've nailed it! I hit the protected areas in the south when the winds were bad, then moved to the open stretches of beach in the north just as the winds died down and swell from the new typhoon was arriving. I had a few good sessions today and hopefully have worn myself out enough to sleep through tonight's heat. The Japanese Metoerological website showed the offshore typhoon, Surfline was predicting a bump, and Blackie even messaged me to let me know - all signs pointing toward good surf for the next few days. I'm posted up at Okuragahama, a long stretch of broad, dark-sand beach in northern Miyazaki. A headland on the south side extends out, protecting the coast with another big Japanese-style jetty. Multiple river mouths empty into the ocean here, bringing in and moving around sand. These features have created three distinct surf zones: Section 1: The Protected Zone - Closest to the jetty, the waves are smaller and sheltered from the main swell. Longboarders surf here and I learned the hard way... it's the best place to paddle out. Section 2: The Main Event - This is where the shortboarders congregate. The swell concentrates here into a two-to-three peak stretch of beach. A little refraction from the point and jetty combine with the normal swell to form larger peaks. The sandbanks might be better here too, creating some bowl sections that can offer three or four turns on a lucky wave. Section 3: The Empty Stretch - Past section 2, the beach stretches for several kilometers and is completely empty. The energy of the typhoon swell is still there, but without the concentrating effect, the waves are fatter, rarely offering a steep face for more than half a second. I spent most of my time today on the edge, between Section 2 and 3. The crowd was mellow and the competition for waves was low. I guess the "wave scarcity" mindset hasn't infected the surfers here yet. The Evening Session From the shore, it didn't look like much—just what you'd expect from a beach break receiving a swell of six feet at 12 seconds. There was low energy but big waves, with some overhead faces and a lot of consistency. It was non-stop waves. I had nothing else to do and wanted to get in the water to cool down, so I headed toward the border line between Section 2 and 3, waited for a lull, and paddled out. The energy was higher than I surmised from the beach. I don't know if it was building as I got in or if my judgment was off—probably both. Getting back out to the lineup after catching a wave was felt like a monumental task, especially if I caught a wave at the beginning of a flurry. I'm familiar with sets, but these Japanese typhoon flurries are new to me. These were three- to five-minute segments where the energy of the ocean ramped up, like someone had turned the dial to 11. It was wave after wave—duck dive, two paddles, duck dive, two paddles, duck dive... on and on. A few waves during these flurries would break all the way out on the third bank, with the first and second banks getting pounded and washed out in whitewater that stretched all the way to sand. I had more than one paddle out where I considered turning around and going in. But I didn't want to go back in until the sun went down; it was too hot on land and there was nothing for me to do back at the van. This beating, at least for now, was better than the alternative. It seemed like each time I was fully gassed and just about to give up, the sea would relent as if it knew it had beaten me. A break in the flurry would make the horizon visible again and knowing this was my only chance, I'd push myself to keep paddling, hustling to make it under the next few waves. Most of the time, there'd be a two- to three-minute break between flurries, but it was unpredictable. Sometimes they were back-to-back. Other times the lulls felt like they lasted for ten minutes. My inability to guess what was coming next made it impossible to strategize. After the third time I got caught on the inside during a flurry, I tried to choose my waves more carefully. I made sure I caught my breath before going again and tried not to catch a wave at the beginning of a flurry if I could help it. If a wave wasn't lining up, I kicked out and raced back to the outside before getting punked on the inside. There were peaks everywhere offering a clean takeoff, but they were deceptive. Some died into nothing, others had walls that stayed open for a turn or two. Every now and then, one would line up just right, with a clean face reaching from the third bank all the way to the inside. Those were the ones I wanted and seeing these rare bangers kept me paddling back out when my arms felt heavy and I was breathing hard. I caught my first banger about 30 minutes in. It was as fun as I had imagined when I mind-surfed its cousins during my previous paddle outs. At the end of the wave, standing in waist-high water, I looked back out to sea in a mixed state of stoke. It was apparent that Japan could deliver, but in a much different format than I was used to, and this was certainly more work than I had hoped for. Should I stop while I'm ahead and call it? No way—I had to get another one. I managed to get three more bangers, amongst several others that didn't line up quite so nicely. It was a classic case of all-or-nothing surfing. Catching the biggest set waves from the third bank provided the best ride and - most of the time - kept me out of trouble because they came toward the end of a flurry.

As I walked back toward the parking lot, I smiled at my luck. The evening session had really turned on and delivered. Then I looked back at the ocean for a reference point—what did this Japanese beach break look like when it was working? I stood there for a second, a little stunned. It looked the same as when I paddled out: a mess of whitewater and peaks. Day 7 - Tsunami Scare The swell had grown more overnight. The ocean was one constant flurry. Even zone 1 looked hectic. I woke up stiff from the paddling and beatings I'd taken the previous evening. I wasn't motivated enough to battle it out and most locals seemed to share my sentiment. The parking lot was empty except a few cars parked in the corner closest to zone 1. A handful of surfers had ventured out near the jetty - the truly dedicated, I thought to myself. I went to Family Mart for breakfast. I heard the sirens for the first time as I was eating in the van. The attendant sweeping the front walkway didn't flinch, so I figured it wasn't something critical. Then my phone chirped. It was a public service announcement. The message translated read:

Emergency Alert (now) Miyazaki Prefecture Tsunami Advisory Reiwa 7 (2025) July 30, 8:37 AM Weather Announcement A tsunami advisory has been issued for the "Miyazaki" tsunami forecast region. Please move away from the coast. Strong currents are expected to continue, so do not approach the coast. (Miyazaki Prefecture)

As announcements in Japanese blared over the public speakers, other customers pulled into the parking lot, bought their goods, and pulled away, as if everything was normal. I guessed it couldn't be too serious if people weren't running for the hills and I assumed I at least had time to research it before heading to higher ground. I looked up the details and found the source was a massive earthquake on the Eastern coast of Russia. While other areas in the Pacific were at high risk, Miyazaki was expected to only receive a 50cm wave and it wouldn't be for several hours. Assuming the beaches would be closed, I decided to head into the mountains. Yes! This was a great excuse to cool off for a night.
But before making the drive I stopped at a cafe perched on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The warnings I had looked up provided a time estimate for the tsunami's arrival: 12:37pm. I grabbed seat by the window and waited for the show. Nothing happened. If the tiny tsunami had hit our shores it was hidden amongst the increased swell from the offshore typhoon. I saw no big wave, no surges, and no weird currents. I got into the van which had been baking in the sun, started sweating immediately as expected, and headed up into the mountains seeking some relief from the heat.

Day 8 - The Last Hoorah It's my last day with the van. If I had woken up at sea level I'd probably be happier to be giving this thing back, but today I woke up in an empty parking lot overlooking Takachiho Valley.

It seems like with the right setup and knowledge of where to go, van life can be really good, particularly in Japan. After a week in the Wave Hunter I've learned this much. I'm also satisfied with my reset. Going back to a budget hotel with strong AC will feel like The Ritz for at least a few days until I normalize. But I still have the day to get in another hike and maybe a final surf session before returning the van.

I pulled my fleece out from under my pillow, put it on, and opened up the sliding side door of the van. I'll only have to crank this rusty door a few more times! After watching the sunrise I set out toward the trailhead. I wanted a challenge and one last adventure before returning the van... and I'd get what I was looking for.

This will be the subject of next week's note, as I find myself underprepared, deep in the Japanese countryside.