The Japanese Connection

Where do urban fables come from? (Note: I’m calling this an “urban fable” because that’s how these mythical stories are called, even though they may not take place in the city.)

That’s something that’s puzzled me for quite a while. And this one has to do with the Australians and the Japanese.

While I was traveling in Western Australia, the first of the stories popped up. The story goes like this: A Japanese cyclist had called this roadhouse for help because he was so battered and torn from traveling roads without water and getting hurt from rocks sprayed on him by oncoming road trains . Another version had a Japanese cyclist run out of water, and die merely 500 meters from a water source. There is a third similar version of running out of water, still involving a Japanese cyclist. Most important of all, why was I being told this?

I would assume I look Japanese, and these people were giving me warnings about traveling in the desert. But why did it all involve specifically a Japanese person? Personally I take it all as an urban fable (or desert fable, if one prefers) because it all has the same moral point and involves a specific ethnicity. Maybe one incident actually happened somewhere, and suddenly it grew to be an urban fable; only details have morphed as the story grew.

I gather that there is some connection between the Japanese and the Australians, although I still can’t piece together what it is. Japanese tourists make up a sizeable portion of visitors to Uluru. Maybe it’s because there was a movie called “Crying Out Love in the Center of the World” which was a major hit in Japan. The story entailed a man, whose first love died of cancer, and her one unfulfilled wish was to stand on Uluru– the mystical “center of the world.” He was determined to go to Uluru to fulfill her wish in her stead. This movie struck a chord with the young people in Japan; perhaps that’s why they keep coming to Uluru.

But the connection does not seem to be one-sided. There is also an Australian movie called “Japanese Story,” starring Toni Collette, about a Japanese man who dies in the outback when he dives into a waterhole, unaware that outback waterholes are not deep pools. The particular thing that struck me about this story is that a Japanese man dies in the outback. Particularly, why is this movie called “Japanese Story,” and not another non-ethnic specific title? It could have been a Norwegian man who died, but it had to be a Japanese man, and even highlighted by the name of the movie.

While I was near Uluru, a man came up to me. The first thing he said was “Do you speak English?” Then he talked about how dangerous bicycling can be, and proceeded to give me one of the reflective green jackets as a “gift,” to help me stay alive on these roads. Perhaps he was being nice. But somehow I took it as that he thought I was an unaware cyclist.

Another odd incident happened at the Lake Eyre lookout on the Oodnadatta Track where I stopped for the view. It is a tourist stopping point, with signs that said “No Camping.” A man came up to me and said “Where are you camping tonight?” I replied by saying “I don’t know. Somewhere up the road when it gets dark.” With that, he said, “Okay” and then left. No small conversation, no chitchat banter. I can only assume he thought I was another ignorant Japanese who couldn’t read signs.

Maybe there’s some unresolved tension for when the Japanese were at Australia’s very borders during World War 2. After all, the ANZAC (the Australian military) memories are strong in Australia. Who knows.

On Stuart Highway, there is a large memorial dedicated to four people who died in the Cannonball Run race in 1994. Two of those were Japanese. The driver was a Japanese millionaire, who came to race as a hobby, and who crashed because he was unfamiliar with that turn in the road. The memorial includes words in Japanese, to make sure all Japanese who came by understood the nature of the memorial. Of course, no blame is placed in the words, but the actual story is that of an amateur Japanese who was unfamiliar with the terrain he was on.

This, of course, says nothing about the Australian people, for 99% of my encounters have been fun, delightful, and provide good memories. But this was a phenomenon that appeared, I assume, because my skin color, along with my bicycle, allowed the urban fable to emerge.

I really don’t know how to interpret this urban fable. I have no idea what the roots are of the story. It’s simply an interesting phenomenon I observed in my ride. I do understand, though, that urban fables usually have some cultural undertones which made it emerge.

At least, it made for an interesting ride.