My first impressions of this guy...Alan...are that he is an idiot. His feet are killing him, he's so sun burned (sun burnt?) his hands are swollen. He's dying of thirst in the blazing heat. Empty beer cans along the road are taunting him. Oh yay a farmer stops and hands him a bottle of orange juice.

Seriously? WTF Alan? Are you not carrying water? Or sunblock? How are you dressed? Are you not wearing a hat?

Alan hasn't told us what year it is, what gear he's packed or why he's doing this. The only thing I've learned so far is that he's from London and has lived in Tokyo for several years and speaks Japanese. Hopefully more will be revealed as we go along.

The book was published in 1986, so Alan did this trek before social media I guess, right? Even so, did people in Japan seriously freak out with excitement over "a foreigner" in their midst? The people he meets say they've never seen one before. He's really portraying the people as backwards and uneducated.

Today I tried my best to give this book another chance but compared to Blue Highways it is JUST. SO. BORING.

So then I tried skipping around, just looking for highlights about different places. Couldn't find any. Alan is obsessed with talking about giggling young women rolling around on the floor. Ugh. No. This book is not for me. ( )

> Babelio : https://www.babelio.com/livres/Booth-Les-chemins-de-Sata/10095

> LES CHEMINS DE SATA, d'Alan Booth. — Certes, l’idée n’était déjà pas banale… Partir de la pointe extrême sud du Japon, le Cap Sata, pour aller rejoindre le Cap Soya, point le plus septentrional d’Okkaïdo. Cinq mois de marche en solitaire… mais quelles rencontres ! Juste des pieds, un corps, tout l’être ouvert, à l’écoute d’un monde effervescent de vie, de beauté, de poésie, de brutalité aussi… Grandiose! Jetez-vous sur ce livre qui démythifie le Japon, première puissance technologique mondiale, vous le dévorerez. A moins que ce soit lui qui ne vous dévore et vous donne l’irrésistible envie de tout plaquer, de sauter dans vos baskets, droit en direction du Soleil-Levant. Alan Booth ne nous épargne rien des détails perçus avec acuité par tous ses sens. Son périple est le nôtre, avec lui on dialogue, on hume, on goûte, on regarde, on s’enivre, on chante des ballades, et la pluie nous mouille jusqu’aux os. Il est des auteurs à qui l’on aimerait dire “merci” pour les merveilleuses rencontres qu’ils nous offrent : pêcheurs, grand-mères, hommes d’affaires, femmes-mères, femmes offertes, ermites, ivrognes… cinq mois aussi riches que l’est parfois toute une vie. Le voyage “marché”, dans sa simplicité et sa nudité, le voyage-regard, le voyage-écoute… on est loin du médiatique Paris-Dakar, des raids de survie, du bruit et de la fureur des vainqueurs de tous les impossibles, et pourtant, ce récit est exaltant, comme la vie pleinement savourée.
L’auteur, par la connaissance qu’il a de la langue nippone — il a vécu sept ans à Tokyo — et son art de raconter dans un style incisif, sans fioriture, insolent de vérité, insuffle à ses carnets l’authenticité du vécu. Un livre, non pas à lire, mais à vivre.
Pour ceux qui ont la passion du voyage, leur soif sera étanchée par les titres de la collection Terres d'Aventure des éditions Actes Sud. Les amoureux du désert opteront pour Méharées de l’infatigable et merveilleux Théodore Monod, inlassable chercheur d’une météorite, prétexte à l’assouvissement d’une passion pour la faune, la flore et les hommes des dunes. Pour ceux dont les chemins d’aventure passent par la mer, la traduction d’un livre inédit en français de John Steinbeck, Dans la mer de Cortex, fournira un passionnant support à leurs rêves à travers ce récit d'une expédition à caractère scientifique dans le Golfe de Californie, en 1940. Ed. Actes Sud, coll. Terres d’Aventure. (Claudine DELLA LIBÉRA)
—Nouvelles Clés, (6), Juin/Juillet/Août 1989, (p. 76)

'The Roads to Sata' is a book by the late Alan Booth about his challenge of walking from the northern tip of Japan to Sata in the far south of Kyushu. It is a fascinating read that, although now nearly half a century old, has much to say about Japan and Japanese culture. An absolute must-read for anyone interested in the country. ( )

This was recommended by Will Ferguson, as an inspiration for his trip in "Hokkaido Highway Blues". But it is much worse than Ferguson's story.

By walking instead of hitchhiking, Booth ends up having many fewer interactions with Japanese people. Ferguson has extended conversations with people who pick him up. Booth's interactions are more adversarial, as in 'No, leave me alone, I don't need a ride.'

Unlike Ferguson, Booth has little sense of humor. Booth goes to major tourist sites, which, having been to them all myself, I found less interesting.

Unfortunately, the major theme of the story is how Booth can never be accepted by the Japanese (even though he lives in Tokyo and has a Japanese wife), and can never truly understand Japan. Ferguson brings these issues up, but they aren't central to his story.

Many, or even most, of his interactions seem to have been negative. Most of the most detailed portraits he gives are negative ones: children who treat him like a circus freak, innkeepers who lie to him because they don't want to host a Westerner. This isn't great reading.

Despite all these negatives, I still liked the book! It just pales in comparison to Ferguson's book.

> The people spoke with different accents, but the same proportion were gracious and kind and the same proportion treated me like a freak, explaining, if they got the chance, that Japan had had so little contact with foreigners (in modern times for only five generations) and that it was their native inquisitiveness, and not rudeness, that had got the better of them. Walk the length of Japan: what for? To hear a nation with a two-thousand-year history complain of growing pains?

> The men of Iwate state flatly that their sake is better because their rice is better. The men of Akita counter that their sake is better because their water is better. I have studiously avoided taking sides in this dispute because I have found that, by maintaining a noncommittal silence, I have cup after cup of free sake urged upon me in an effort to elicit the judgment I shall never give

> "I know everything about England," crowed one particularly cocky little horror who had elbowed and shoved the polite girl out of the way. "Oh yes? Well, what's the capital?" "Don't know, but I can speak English conversation." "Go on, then." "Yes no yes no yes no yes no." And I had to put up with several minutes of this chant before the kids eventually grew tired of me and went off to strangle cats or something. … I turned round finally and told them it was rude to treat people like circus freaks, but the tallest of them simply repeated my words in the same nonsensical nasal voice while the others fell about laughing

> Worse than this and the ear-wrenching noise was the fact that halfway through the tunnel I ran out of oxygen. It was the filthiest place I could remember being in. The circle of rusty daylight at the end of it looked like the bottom of a stopped-up lavatory bowl, and the closer I got to the air again the more unbreathable it appeared. I emerged finally, choking, spitting, one side of my body covered with soot and slime from the tunnel wall, my mouth as dry as a dung brick, and found I had to sit for nearly a quarter of an hour on the grass verge by the highway to recover my breath, by which time it had begun to rain.

> "You're full?" She nodded, her thumb still in her mouth. We stood and looked at each other with pained expressions on our faces. "Well, in that case I wonder if you'd let me have some matches?" The woman fished into her apron pocket and gave me a box of the ryokan's matches. I walked down the village street to a little yellow public telephone and dialed the number on the matchbox. It wasn't even necessary to disguise my voice. "Hello, do you have any rooms free?" "Yes, how many of you are there? We're..."

> "Be careful." "What of?" Officer Uehara was silent for a long moment, and I was spooning up the last of the curry rice when he said, softly but quite distinctly: "Foxes." "What?" "Be careful of the foxes. Their spirits can bewitch you." I looked up expecting to see a broad grin, but there was not the least trace of humor in his face.

> when I had put on my kimono again and come back into the living room, I found to my astonishment that the couple had phoned my wife, whom I had not seen for more than three months, and who was waiting eight hundred kilometers away in Tokyo to wish me a happy anniversary. … I offered to pay for the meals and the room, and Mrs. Takahashi flew into a mock rage and threatened to box my ears for such a suggestion. We said goodbye on the main street of tiny Nakasu, bowing to each other while neighbors gaped. Mrs. Takahashi plucked a small pink handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed her eyes with it, and stuffed it into her bag, and I left her village the sadder for a kindness that I could not repay because I was not meant to.

> "I'm not a funny foreigner," I said. "I'm an ordinary foreigner." There was a short silence, and the master coughed. "Er... what... er... would you like to drink?" "He heard me!" laughed the customer. "Yes," I said, "you have quite a loud voice." The traditional pantomime followed, in which the customer went through the motions of an elaborate and completely insincere apology, ending with an offer to buy me some beer ( )

The Roads to Sata describes a journey Booth made in the summer and autumn of 1977, walking from Cape Soya in the north of Hokkaido to Cape Sata at the southern extreme of the Japanese archipelago, a distance of some 3000 km, which he covered in the space of about four months. Which probably makes this one of the longest pub-crawls in history - the quantity of alcohol consumed in the course of the journey is quite impressive, even by 1970s standards. You often have to wonder how he managed to get up in the morning and carry on walking...

Boozing apart, this is an interesting and very entertaining account of the bits of Japan you normally don't hear very much about.
Booth is a contemporary of people like Bruce Chatwin and Paul Theroux, and he shares something of their habit of commenting acerbically on the things he doesn't like. But he is far from being an ignorant gaijin who has parachuted in from elsewhere to make fun of the locals - after seven years in the country he understands Japanese history and culture and knows what he's looking at, and he's more than capable of holding an intelligent conversation with the people he meets - even if he is liable to start singing Japanese folksongs at them at the smallest provocation. His irritation at the thoughtless xenophobia he keeps encountering (the people who assume he can't understand Japanese even when they are talking to him in that language; the schoolboys who treat him as a circus freak; the inns that are mysteriously fully-booked when he appears) is always tempered by his assurances that not all Japanese are like that, and that even the ones who are like that can often be won over after a couple of beers...

This probably isn't a very useful guidebook in practical terms, but it does help you get Japanese geography straight in your mind. Obviously, it's all describing how things were forty years ago, much will have changed in the meantime, but some things (like the climate and the stark contrast between rural and city life) probably haven't. Booth's type of walking, mostly over motor roads and covering distances of around 30km a day, isn't something you would necessarily want to reproduce either. On the whole, when you find yourself trudging along over mile after mile of asphalt with cars roaring past you, you start asking yourself why you aren't at least on a bicycle... ( )