Japan was coming to an end. We’d been walking inland on the main island of Honshu for weeks, humping over the forested alps, breathing dust and pollen, and now suddenly we were back in the flats, where we began noticing hints of the sea: rusty metal, roadside stacks of shipping containers, boats drydocked in weedy village lots. Soon I would be leaving Asia—Africa, Eurasia, all of it—after 12 years of walking. Soon a massive cargo vessel would carry me across the Pacific to a continent once called “new.” Soon I would be pivoting from east to south. How did it feel, standing there at an anonymous street corner in an industrial suburb of Yokohama? At the end of 27,000 kilometers of trail? I can’t really say. I can’t even tell you that my boots actually touched the ground. I was just waiting for the light to turn green.
With Soichiro Koriyama, Arima Ichimari, Hisako (Toby) Iizuka, Ana Jegnaradze, Marita Tevzadze, and John Stanmeyer.