Roadside strangers

by Jessica Latham (Australia)

Making a local connection Japan

I lifted my sign into the air and squinted into the sky. The moment I did so a nervousness tingled across my skin and my lips curved. I hoped I didn’t look like I was in pain, my smile actually a grimace as I tried to read the road sign that hung above me. There was sweat on my back already, the pack sitting across my shoulders heavy and dragging me to the asphalt below. I had been pacing along this street for twenty minutes now, wondering if I was even standing on the right side of the road. Where am I exactly? This morning I had closed the door on my tiny apartment in Sapporo, northern Japan, with just one bag and a spiral note pad tucked under my arm. On the notepad in Japanese characters the words, “towards Tokyo” were written boldly. But I wasn’t even halfway. And the sun was getting lower. The morning had started well, each of the three people I had ridden with was followed by less than a ten-minute wait until the next ride. My first ride was with an office worker going out of town, my next with a concerned mother who first drove past my figure only to reverse back along the road. The third a family who brought ice cream for both me and their son. But I was still waiting for my fourth. And the road I stood on seemed deserted. Was April meant to be this cold? A car on the opposite side of the road to me pulled up and an elderly man dropped to the ground beside his large Toyota. “Where are you going?” He called across the road to me, waving. Warmth rushed into my body and I crossed the road to him. Once I reached he narrowed his eyes, reading my sign. “I’m going to Hakodate.” I say quickly. It was a harbor town in the South. “I’m not going to Hakodate today.” He said. “Ah,” was all I said, a sinking sensation hitting my stomach. The man hesitated, a silence sitting between us before he spoke up, his voice slow. “There are no hotels here. Do you want to stay at my home?” I took the elderly man in and made my gut decision whether I could trust him or not. When hitchhiking you are putting your life in the hands of strangers who pick you up from the side of the road. There is no time for earning trust before jumping into their passenger seat, all you have is an instinct and a moment to decide if you should take the ride or not. I took the old man’s offer and pulled myself into the passenger seat, wedging my bag between my legs. “You are brave.” The elderly man looked across at me from the driver’s seat. “What do you mean brave?” I ask, looking away from the dark street I had finally escaped. “You aren’t scared of getting into a car with a stranger like me. Even a man. There are bad people here. You need to be careful.” I was silent a moment as he pulled away from the curb, the car headlights erasing the darkness. His words were basically telling me not to trust him, despite him stopping to pick me up. I didn’t think what I was doing was brave. That evening I sat on his tatami flooring and listened to him as he rung up his wife who had been hospitalized for heart surgery. We poured each other wine from the collection he had amassed over thirty years and he told me how when he was my age he and his friends took turns towing themselves behind his car skiing during the winter. He also said how he missed those friends. “I’ll take you to Hakodate tomorrow.” It was about 2AM. “You’re going to Hakodate?” “I’ll go to Hakodate.” The next day he drove me the four hours to the ferry port of Hakodate even though he was never going there. I had arrived at my destination with the kindness of strangers who told me not to trust them. Why are we told not to trust strangers?