All language subtitles for James May Our Man in Japan S01E06en

Hello, viewers.

You join us at a very exhausting
time on the Shimanami Kaido.

It's a bicycle route that joins
the main island of Honshu

with the first of the big
southern islands, Shikoku.

It's lovely.

I'm on an excellent adventure

forensically examining Japan
from tip to toe.

From the frozen

northern wilderness...

Yes, we are completely naked.

Through the pulsating heart
of Tokyo...

Yes. Sumimasen.

And its nether regions...

- Do you like your penis?
- I'm quite fond of it.

Down to the warm underbelly
of Honshu.

I am Ultraman!

And now on the final leg
of my journey,

I'm joined once again
by my faithful guide Yujiro.

As I make my way...

through Japan's
subtropical southern islands.

- Was that you farting, Yujiro?
- I'm so sorry.

- These noodles
will taste terrible.

We begin with a 70-kilometer

bike ride over the largest
series of suspension bridges

in the... you know.

Apparently,
we still have the budget left

for cool helicopter shots,
but no money for a bloody car.

To my left, somewhere, Yujiro.

- Yes!
- To my right, Manhon-chan,

- our cycling guide.
- Yeah.

How many times
have you done this route?

- Are you bored with it yet?
- Uh...

This visually stunning

but physically knackering
opening scene will end here

on Shikoku, three hours
of furious pedaling later.

It's the smallest
of Japan's main landmasses,

and it's
an extraordinary region,

surrounded by hundreds
of tiny islands,

and it's a surprisingly
isolated one.

These islands
are extremely pretty,

but unfortunately,

the population of them
is dying out,

because it's aging,
and literally dying,

and the younger people
are moving away

to places like Tokyo and Osaka.

And as a result of that,
if you fancy it,

you can buy a house around here
very cheaply.

I mean, really,
a few thousand pounds.

My legs already feel
like overcooked noodles,

and they're about to get worse.

The first bridge looms.

- Oh, that's enormous.
- Yeah!

Right. I'm going to stay
on the right,

because I'm scared of heights.

Oh, God.

This bridge is quite windy

and very high... over 500 feet...

So if you don't like that,
and I don't like it very much,

just don't look... aah!
Like that. Oh!

- I have a fly in my eye.
- Oh, this is scary!

- What?
- Take a peek!

Yeah, I've looked.

It's very scary.

Zen cycling: breathe in.

Breathe out.

- There's the border!
- What?

We are entering
Ehime Prefecture.

- Say, "Konnichiwa."
- Now!

After peddling for several
hours in 32-degree heat,

we finally arrive on Shikoku,
shamefully late.

Shikoku is famous
for many things

aside from its depopulation...

A special breed of dog,
extensive citrus groves,

and we've been told
there's a group of dignitaries

who represent the local culture
waiting to meet us.

Sumimasen.

Jeans are bad choice of trouser
for this.

Though any concerns

that I'm underdressed
for the occasion...

quickly disappear.

- Great.
- Yes.

You want to know their names?

- No, but yes.
- Okay.

Kabuchan, the, uh,
horseshoe crab.

- Really? Konbanwa, Kabuchan.
- Yes.

He looks like
a chocolate marshmallow

with a pubic infection.
Anyway...

Arun the dog representing the...

- Dog?
- Yes, a dog.

Representing,
you know, Japanese,

uh, like, lemon citrus fruits.

- Oh, I see.
- Famous one, yeah.

Konbanwa, Arun the dog,
possibly a lemon.

Konbanwa.

Shima-Bo!
It's a mikan, Japanese oranges.

Shima-Bo. Konbanwa, Shima-Bo.

- Yes.
- Meanwhile, the bar is shut.

- Yes.
- Your Beetle is gone. No beer.

Number is 70,
60, 70 kilometers on a bicycle,

and I thought that at least
at the end, I'll have a beer.

- Yes.
- But I got a giant cuddly toy...

-Oh...
- that's supposed
to be a lemon,

but actually looks
like a dog with jaundice.

We call them Yuru-kyara...
Loose characters.

You know?

Do you really do this stuff,
or are you just putting this on

- because this is a travel show
about Japan?
- No, no, no, no!

We...

- It's normal in Japan. Yeah.
- Yeah, normal in Japan.

Very normal, yeah.

Anyway, Manhon, can I say, uh,

domo arigato gozaimasu

for organizing this
wonderful surprise.

Domo arigato gozaimasu.

It's my pleasure!

I'll go and have a word with...

What's his name? The orange one?

- Shima-Bo!
- Shima-Bo!

- Yeah.
- Oh, actually...

Where's his ear?

So, Shima-Bo?
Shima-Bo, do you speak English?

Yeah.

Do you know
where there's any beer?

I don't
know, mate. I'm just a mascot.

That's Rich from production.

Well, one of the mascots
got tired of waiting

and had to go 'cause it took
so long to do the journey.

This is supposed to be
a reasonably highbrow inquiry

into Japanese culture
and society.

But I'm gonna have
to say "Sumimasen"

to the viewers this time,
rather than to Japan.

Anyway,
if you can put that aside,

I have to say, these islands...
I mean, look at this light now.

This is every earthly paradise

that humankind has ever
dreamt of, all in one place.

Fab, isn't it?

But there's no beer.

There's no beer.

Okay.

Um, thank you
for your indulgence, viewers.

Goodbye.

Eventually, I get hold of a car

for the breezy three-hour drive
to my hotel,

where I can finally get
a much-deserved beer in.

But impromptu
furry conventions aside,

Shikoku is starting to feel
like a hidden gem,

and a chance
for me to experience

rural Japanese life...
as a local.

Konbanwa gozaimasu.

If you're going
to come and stay in Japan

and you get the chance,
check in to a Japanese hotel,

rather than
an international one,

and ask for a Japanese-style
room such as this one,

because it's
a delightful experience.

It begins with the floor,
which is tatami mat.

Take your shoes off...

You will sleep on a futon.

Moving over here
to the migi of the room,

you will see the built-in
wardrobe, sliding beautifully.

I've already hung my shirt up
and put my jeans in there.

And then you will have
the low table

with the special Japanese
school chair with no legs.

Very typical.

And on the table,

you have this rather wonderful
lacquered tea ceremony set.

Look at that.

Complete with the small plate

and the refreshing hand wipe.

Not a biscuit. Don't eat it.

Is it a refreshing...?

No, it's a biscuit.

Bollocks!

How are we gonna
get around that?

By hastily cutting to this.

Geez!

Unfortunately,
that was the best thing

that happened in that scene,
so let's just go here.

Ohayo gozaimasu.

You join me in very, very noisy
modern Takamatsu,

complete with
its own digital cuckoo.

And this is a martial arts
center, where I'm going

to do some archery...
Kyudo archery.

It develops your character,
as a form of meditation

through action, a concept
borrowed from Zen Buddhism.

How these people
ever found the time

to develop the hybrid family
saloon car is beyond me,

to be honest.

Anyway, let's find out.

Like most things in Japan,

Kyudo archery is shrouded
in ceremony and ritual.

So, before I'm allowed anywhere
near a bow and arrow,

I have to learn the basics.

And you don't get any more basic

than being shown how to walk.

To help put me at ease, my
every move is silently judged

by a panel
of stony-faced Kyudo experts.

Ichi. Ni. San.

And then...

It's quite difficult.

Have I got to keep
my feet on the floor?

Mm-hmm. Uh-huh. There.

Mm-hmm. Mm. There.

Bow to the flag of Japan.

And then it's
ichi, ni, san, out.

No.

- Good? No.
- No.

It's a bit more complicated
than it looks,

because there are three steps,

turn right, stop, turn left,

three steps,
then some more steps.

And then stop in the middle,
and then you go over here.

And your feet must never leave
the floor,

and you get to here, you must
bow at the flag of Japan,

but not too much,
and then it must be three steps

between here,
and leaving beyond the line.

But not three and then one,

and not two
and then one beyond the line.

And actually firing the arrow
at the target is just

a sort of small inconvenience
in the middle of all this.

After the catwalk
comes the actual shooty bit.

As a baka gaijin,
I've asked them

to keep it
as simple as possible.

First stage... footing.

The second... forming the torso.

The third stage...
Readying the bow.

The fourth stage...
Raising the bow.

The fifth stage... drawing apart.

Sixth stage... full draw.

And the seventh stage... release.

The eighth stage...
Remaining straight,

or remaining body.

That's all. Thank you.

You say that's all.
That's quite a lot.

Here comes your bow.

Domo arigato.

Okay, so,

three steps, turn right,
feet don't leave the floor.

First stage... feet placement;
second stage... form torso;

third stage... raise bow;
fifth to eighth stages...

Draw apart, full draw release
and remain in body pose.

The Zen relaxation is palpable.

This could be
my last chance to show

that I can truly absorb
the skills, cultures

and traditions of Japan.

A symbol of all that
I've learned to this point.

Breathe, and...

Out of ten?

Right. Japan update,
subject: hunger.

I'm starving.
And I know what that means.

It means
I'm going to have something

that we haven't
really talked about yet

even though they've appeared
on one of my T-shirts.

Noodles.

Now, there are
three basic types.

There is ramen noodle,

which is the type you eat
in roadside cafés.

They are made
with wheat flour and egg.

Then there are soba noodles.

They're made with buckwheat.

They're the ones
you eat cold in sauce,

often for breakfast.

And there's a third type.

These are the thick white ones

made with nothing more
than wheat flour and salt,

and they are the ones
for which Shikoku is famous.

And they're in here.

Spoiler alert.

Konbanwa.

Gozaimasu.

The Udon House is a kind
of hostel-stroke-restaurant

that offers visitors
a fully interactive

noodle experience
with a host, Senna,

who may just rival Yujiro
for enthusiasm.

Are you ready?

- Yes.
- Yeah!

Okay, let's make it.

First, we're gonna make
a big hole.

Flour with a hole
in the middle, right.

And then make your hands
like this.

And then mix! Mix, mix, mix.

Like you're gonna be,
uh, mixing.

- Quick, quick, quick.
- Quick, quick, quick!

-Quick, quick.
Just mixing, yeah.
-Quick!

Do we have to bow at it first?

-You normally do.
Bow, bow, bow. Okay.
-Yes.

Udon dough is so firm
that it's traditionally kneaded

with your feet.

Step off from the dough,
rest and done.

Though it sounds like
the only thing Yujiro

is kneading
is a new pair of trousers.

Oh, sorry.

Was that you farting, Yujiro?

Sorry, sir. Sorry, sir.

- You do that every bloody time.
- Sorry.

I am so sorry.
You know, this is...

I was a little nervous today.

-I am a little nervous.
Yeah, sorry.
-Do the end.

Sorry, yes. I-I'm terrible.

I didn't mean it.

I'm sorry, sir.

- These noodles
will taste terrible.

Oh! Is that
the chopping machine?

Yes.

I thought you'd do it
with a knife.

Is this very, very sharp?

Ooh!

Wow. Wow.

That's proper Japanese sharp.

- Finish!
- One more.

- Oh, I just got to the end
of the noodle.
- Okay!

Yay!

After our childish antics,
it came as no surprise

that our hosts decided

the grown-ups
should do the cooking.

Ah, domo arigato gozaimasu.

Although we were allowed to sit
at the big table,

and here,
slurping is encouraged.

Perfect!

And please think of a haiku

while I finish this off, okay?

- Okay.
- About udon, please, okay?

You don't have much time.

A bowl of noodles

tied up in Japan's history.

Nothing can stop them.

Udon haiku done,

we head deep into the heart
of Shikoku

and the beautiful
yet mysterious Iya Valley,

home to misty gorges,

1,000-year-old vine bridges

and the tiny village of Nagoro.

- Oh, my gosh.
- Is this it?

Might be.

- Wow.
- Oh, I actually thought

that was a real person,
but that's not.

Look at them all.

Nagoro has become famous
throughout Japan

as the village
of the scarecrows.

- So, since we arrived here...
- Yeah.

We haven't actually seen
any human activity.

All across the country,
the population

of these rural villages
is plummeting

as old people die

and young people are lured
to the big cities.

So, some of these houses
must be abandoned.

Absolutely. I mean, it is said

that over eight million houses
are vacant in Japan.

- Really?
- Yeah.

That one looks just like Dan,
the sound recordist.

- I am Dan.
- Ooh.

- What do you think this place is?
- I think it's a school.

- Yeah?
- That looks...

That's sort of school stuff,
isn't it?

The last remaining children
left the village in 2012,

but the school
is far from empty.

Whoa, there's
a whole class in here.

Oh, my gosh.

That's really terrifying.

- Are you scared?
- Not scared. I'm disturbed.

Ah, these are people
in formal Japanese dress.

Yes. Kimono, yukata.

Hi. Konnichiwa.

Oh, konnichiwa.

- Konnichiwa.
- Konnichiwa.

- Gozaimasu.
- James-san, this is

- the super artist who created
all the kakashi.
- Oh!

- Ayano-san.
- Ah, konnichiwa. Gozaimasu.

Fantastic work.

Local artist Ayano Tsukimi
began creating

these handmade scarecrows,
known as kakashi,

to replace the residents
who have either died

or left.

Are you the only living person
in the village now?

Oh, only 27?

All people
who used to live here?

Oh, that's me!

Oh, actually, it is me.
I've even got

the same shirt on.

Does that mean I'm dead?

This kakashi, James kakashi,

will be alive 24-7

in this school gym.

With-with James's friends.

- You know, you have lots
of friends here now.

- I don't...
- I don't know how I feel

about that, 'cause wherever I am
in the world,

I'll know
that I'm actually in a gym

in a tiny little village
in Japan

doing a dance
at what seems to be a wedding.

As I prepare
to leave my kakashi behind

in Nagoro,
perhaps along with my soul,

I realize it's unlikely
this village

will ever be repopulated
with humans again.

Maybe soon, the only people
walking these streets

will be curious gaijin like me.

It's a sobering thought

best summed up by something
somebody else wrote.

I found a haiku by Masaoka,

1867 to 1902.

"A sunny spring day,

"people are doing nothing

in the small village."

After our melancholy visit
to Nagoro,

I was determined
to leave Shikoku on a high.

This whole area
is absolutely stunning.

It's mountainous islands
draped with green.

Beautiful blue water.
It's actually quite hard

to appreciate it
from ground level,

so what I thought we'd do...

Admittedly, it is a bit
of a #FirstWorldSolution...

Is hire southern Japan's
only floatplane

and have a look at it from that.

- I'm getting nervous already.
- What about?

I've never been
on these, uh, little planes.

This is like a minivan.

It's so small, you know?

My airplane's
only got two seats,

- like that one and that one.
- That's all?

- Yeah.
- Ooh.

- And you've never crashed?
- Yes, I have.

- You have crashed?
- Yes.

Here we go.

There you are.

Look at this.

I mean,
we're at about 800, 900 feet

above sea level.

The view is perfect.

How many islands are there
in Japan?

- 6,852?
- Yes, officially.

Wow.

Incredibly, Japan has

29,751 kilometers of coastline,

give or take.

That's more than Australia.

But, in typical
Japanese fashion,

they don't make a fuss about it.

- Do you know
what's really strange?
Yes?

This is one of the nicest places
I've ever been.

It's very, very beautiful,
but it's not rammed.

If this was Italy or Greece,
it would be swarming

with cafés
and tourists and bars,

and people would be

on the beach,
boating, everything.

But not here.
Everybody's very...

reserved about it.

We, uh, seem to, uh,
resent sunshine.

Yeah, you do.
You don't sit outside.

I think it's ironic.

We are labeled
as the Land of the Rising Sun.

- Exactly.
- And we hate the sun.

All this empty,
unspoiled coastline

is beautiful yet baffling.

I mean, apart from
the 124 different species

of sharks
that inhabit these waters

and the odd giant jellyfish
and the occasional tsunami,

I can't understand
why the Japanese

aren't making more
of their beaches.

- Here we go.
Whoa,
whoa, whoa, whoa!

- Oh! Oh, whoa, whoa!
- Oh, oh, oh!

Whoa!

That was very nice.

Well, that's lunch, everybody.

So, after the relative calm
of Shikoku,

I arrive on the rugged,
mountainous island of Kyushu

with a certain degree
of trepidation,

as this place is well-known

for its abundance
of volcanic activity.

So, how do you like
the Kyushu road?

- It's lovely.
- Is it one of those bits

of Japan that could blow up
at any second?

Um, yes.

Kyushu is not only
my final island,

but today marks my final day
with Yujiro.

And he's promised me
a unique lunch

in the equally unique town
of Beppu,

built on the largest
concentration of hot springs

in Japan.

So, James-san.

Welcome to the world
of Jigoku Mushi.

- Jigoku Mushi.
- Yeah.

The power of hell.

Steam of hell.

For years, locals have been
steaming their food

with the 83,000 liters
of piping hot spring water

that gush out every minute.

Well, I think, actually, we
should have vibrant vegetables.

- What do you think?
- Yes.

So, on the machine over there,
we've got to look

for a man going through
a plate glass window,

a venetian blind,

"L" and a "J,"

a funny man chatting up
a female robot

and a pile of park benches.

So, there it is.
There's the plate glass window,

the robot woman
and the pile of benches,

and it's the right price,
and it says "vegetables,"

so I reckon that's it.

This cooking method
is said to bring out

the natural flavors of the food.

There's just one downside.

- Here we go.
- It does smell terrible.

Yes.

Like sulfur.

Start the timer.

Hai.

- The timer.
- Lid on?

No, no? Okay. Yes, please.

Right, if you can still see us,
20 minutes we have to wait,

then we come back and we get
the vegetables out of hell.

- Yes, absolutely.
- Right, let's go and sit down.

So, while our vegetables
are steamed by the breath

of Old Nick himself,

there's just enough time
to extinguish

the flames
of another burning question

regarding Japanese culture.

Everybody who visits Japan
from the West

is terrified of chopstick
etiquette and how to use them.

But what nobody tells you is...

the type of chopstick
is even more important.

We have identified...
By which I mean the crew...

Three basic types.

These are beginners' chopsticks.

These are the ones you get
in ramen noodle bars.

They're square in section,
they're quite rough,

and a bit splintery.

These are
semiprofessional chopsticks,

and they're tapered, but if you
look very carefully at the end,

you will see that they
are still square in section,

which helps
holding on to things.

And then, finally,

you have
fully professional chopsticks.

They are lacquered.
They're very shiny and slippery.

They are perfectly circular
in section.

We're going to have
a competition...

Me versus Yujiro.

Here is a bowl
of freshly shelled...

Podded, whatever the word is...

Edamame beans,
still slippery and shiny.

You have to eat
three edamame beans,

one with each type
of chopsticks,

and the first person to do that
is the winner.

So, we're gonna have
a chopsticks war?

Chopstick-off. Yes.

- Wait.
- Somebody say "go."

Three, two, one,

go!

Basic chopstick.

- Yeah!
- Very good.

As he won
the chopstick challenge,

I've allowed Yujiro the honor

of retrieving our food.

So, here you are.

From the world of hell.

A load of vegetables.

Yes!

Quite nice-looking
vegetables, I must say.

- I'm gonna have a sprout.
- Yes.

How is it.

Very sprouty.

But...

terribly overcooked.

That is... that is sprouts that
you serve to very old people

that have no teeth left.

But if soft, sulfur-smelling
vegetables aren't for you,

don't worry.

Because in Beppu,

the geothermal possibilities
are endless.

So, James-san, welcome
to the...,

the famous Japanese sand bath.

We're gonna bury you.

- So I just lie in the sand?
- Yes.

That is hot.

Yes! Yes!

- So, lie down...
- Yes. Yes.

And then they... Ow!

And then they put sand on...

- and put my head on here, yes?
- Yes.

Hai. They're gonna pour...

lots of sand
on top of your body.

Oh, here it comes. Oh.

She's making me nervous
with that...

Oh, that's very hot.

Apparently, this is a must

for those suffering
constipation,

chronic hemorrhoids, or anyone
interested in recreating

the iconic scene from
Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence.

Is there a safe word
if you decide

you don't like
being buried alive?

- You mean like "help"?
- Yeah.

Tasukete.

- What does that mean?
- That means, "Oh, help me."

Don't put any more
on my plums, please.

Whilst we're immobile,

a moment of honne.

I just wanted to say, uh,

it's been a pleasure
being shown around Japan by you

and learning some new words
and being buried alive,

so I'd like to say:

Domo arigato gozaimashita.

It's been a big honor

guiding you around
the Land of the Rising Sun.

Thank you, uh, Mr. James,

- and please come back again.
- I will.

Okay, now let's have
a little sleep

and think about...

the wonders of Japan.

Goodbye, Yujiro.

It's what he would have wanted:

buried in the sand.

Or should I say,
"buried in Japan"?

That would be better.

- I think he's fine,
I think he's fine.
- Yeah.

Although I was sad
to see Yujiro go,

I was glad to see
the back of sweaty plums

and over-steamed veg.

I don't want to sound mardy
about this,

but I've sort of had enough of
dressing up in strange costumes

and funny footwear...
I'd really like

to go and do something
that I understand,

like, I don't know...

work a shift
in a motorcycle factory.

Well, as luck would have it,
the largest Honda factory

in Japan
is right here in Kyushu.

However, super efficient
Japanese manufacturers

are notoriously anxious
about foreign TV crews

coming in and slowing down
production by throwing

gaijin-shaped spanners
into the works.

So, when we arrived,
we were told

there were strict conditions
to our filming.

First, we mustn't
contaminate anything.

I'm being de-dusted.

And, for reasons
we didn't quite understand,

I had to wear a white
crash helmet at all times.

Dust-free.

However, I was prepared
to put up with a lot

to work on the assembly line.
The only problem was,

we were told that filming me
working on the assembly line

was completely
out of the question.

So we filmed
something else instead.

This exercise routine is common
in many Japanese factories.

Feels quite nice, actually.

But it doesn't really justify
me spending half a day here.

Ah, that's the end
of break time.

After some pleading
from the director,

the team eventually agreed
to let me complete the assembly

of one bike...
Under their strict supervision.

No, that's the wrong way around.
Yes, yeah, yeah.

Uh... that way.

No, that way. Yeah.

Ah-da-da-da-da-da.

I don't think it's going to work
from that side, is it?

Torque.

I've left the spanner on there
like a gaijin.

Ah, we've done it
the wrong side.

If... you buy a Honda CB1100

and you're just going
to wring it out to 12,000 RPM

and you're suffused with doubt,
don't worry,

because this one
isn't going to be sold to you

or, indeed, anybody.

You're safe.

This will probably go in the bin
after I've gone.

After overstaying our welcome,

the Honda team were only
too happy to loan us a bike

so we could film
some drone shots...

presumably as it got the whole
lot of us out of their factory.

Still, we got a nice transition
into our next scene.

I've got an itchy nose.

I always get an itchy nose
in a crash helmet.

Throughout my journey,

I've touched upon the subject
of Shintoism

but never truly understood it.

So I've come to the sacred
and holy site

of Takachiho Gorge

to meet my spiritual guide,
Shiho,

who's promised me a who's who
crash course in Shinto gods.

These two, Izanami and Izanagi.

And then they made
many children.

This is, uh,
one of the very important ones.

Ama Terasu...

I soon realized Shintoism
isn't as straightforward

as these pretty pictures
suggest.

Actually, this Ninigi...

he's the one came to Takachiho.

Then the cloud got clear,

and he was able to see,

- and he landed safely.
- Right.

By the end of my course,

I've learned that
Izanagi and Izanami

gave birth to some islands,

ginger gods are naughty,

the sun god hid in a cave,
making the world dark,

so other gods did a sex dance
to get her out,

another god gave rice
to everyone,

and I can't for the life of me
remember what Ninigi,

Hoderi, Amaterasu
or Iwanagahime did

or why they're gods.

Do all Japanese people
understand this quite well?

Do you all learn this in school?

Because it's actually
quite complicated.

- And this is only
a very small bit, isn't it?
- Well...

not exactly,
but the people in Takachiho,

they know a lot of this.

I'll tell you what,
for the British tourists...

do it as a tea towel.

We decided to sum up

my newly acquired knowledge
of Shintoism

with a monologue from me
by a mystic waterfall.

A well-known Shinto legend
is said to have originated

at this tranquil,
beautiful spot.

There's some people behind us.

- Yes.
- Ahead of us, I mean.

- Behind me.
- Yes, clumsy.

Rowing boat traffic jams
were probably not a feature

of ancient Shinto legends.

Hello, viewers.

You join us at a, uh, very...

awkward moment.

Luckily, our tough Aussie
cameraman was used to filming

in difficult terrain
without ever complaining.

And then we encountered

Japan's Olympic
synchronized rowing team.

Let's just get away
from this bloke going backwards.

Don't worry,
there isn't gonna be a crash.

Wow, we are very close
to the waterfall.

Okay.

I'm going back
and starting again.

Just a little bit.

Waterfall up and by coming up.

Here we come.

Despite the whole scene
descending

into an aquatic game of dodgems,

I was determined to maneuver
myself into a position

to deliver my peaceful
and learned monologue.

Well, he's in the way now.
Hang on.

Hang on, Nick.

Massive crash.

Eventually, we realized
that whichever deity

is the Shinto god
of online streamed travelogues

had decreed
that this scene was over.

Sumimasen.

So, although I'm now
a bit clearer on Shintoism,

I still don't understand
how a nation made up

of 6,852 islands,

give or take,
seems to be populated

by people who don't know
how to use a boat.

Historically, the Americans
have been very, very worried

about the Japanese Navy
rearming,

but if the activities
on this boating lake

are anything to go by,
we can relax.

Still, the scenery was nice,
and there were ducks.

- Did you bring any duck food?
- No, I didn't.

Hello, ducky.

They've got all the ducks.

That was a mess.

But the gods willed it.

The end of the journey
was fast approaching,

and there were still
a few remaining Japanese arts

that I hadn't tried.

That's at least five "James is
walking in Japan" shots

to get me into this place.

Miles up the hill.

Japanese porcelain
has been highly sought after

since Dutch sailors
first brought it back home

over 300 years ago.

15th-generation
master craftsman Mr. Chin

personally oversees production
at his Kagoshima workshop.

The vases here take years
of know-how to create.

Mine took me
less than 30 minutes.

Amateurs.

If you were to put this
in your shop,

glazed and fired,

how much would it sell for?

After that reaction,
we cut this scene short.

So we went off to film
some more walking shots,

this time including
a critical door shut.

Okay.

- How was that?
- That was good.

And I had a crack
at some floral artistry.

In flower arranging terms,

this is freestyle modern jazz.

So, it's... We're...
It's coming to us

in the artistry of the moment.

What do you think?

Well, I thought it was
pretty good, but the crew said

it was all a bit
"horti" and "cultural."

So they persuaded me
to have a go

at something altogether
more entertaining instead.

This wasn't my idea,

but it was awarded, by UNESCO,

the status of Intangible
Cultural Heritage art form.

And it is... you've almost
certainly guessed by now...

Bunraku puppetry.

And I've no idea
what happens next,

except that I'm gonna have
my arm inside a samurai.

Bunraku puppetry involves

black-clad performers operating

different sections
of a half-sized doll

as it acts out
a chanted narrative,

often on serious themes
involving social obligation

and human emotions.

The plan was for me
to do something really easy,

like operate the left toe
of a minor character

while looking all solemn
and serious

and then wax lyrical
about the importance

of preserving
Japanese ancient tradition.

However, that memo
got lost in translation.

So, when I arrived, the theater
company were expecting me

to perform something
I'd written myself.

Cue some very hasty writing.

I ought to explain that
I've written a very, very short,

mercifully simple play.

Not play. It's a...
it's a soliloquy, really,

about my journey across Japan,

which we are going to act out
in the traditional way.

But not only have I
been promoted from bit player

to author; I also discover
I'm now the chief puppeteer.

Where am I, hidari?

- No. You...
- Oh, I'm the head?

H-Head and right hand,
uh, right hand.

Head. Oh, I'm the head
and the migi.

Oh, this is gonna be
just ridiculous.

In case you're thinking
this wasn't a very good idea,

I'd like to remind you
it wasn't mine.

That's the mouth. Yes?

- Mm. Eye.
- No, that's the eyebrows.

Hi.

That's the mouth.

- No?
- Eyes close.

I've lost the control
over his face.

We will have the hang of this
in no time at all.

Eyebrows up.

- Down.
- Down.

- Ha-ha.
- This is going to be terrible.

Ha-ha-ha-ha.

Astonishingly,
close to 100 people

have turned up
to see the premiere

of my hastily written
Bunraku opus.

We'll count them again
at the end.

These are my fingers.
That's the head.

That makes it tip and turn.

And one of those is the mouth
and one of them is the eyebrows

and one of them
swivels the eyes,

but I can't quite remember
which order they're in.

So, um, anyway, let's find out.

I'll say in advance,

because this is an insult
to the Japanese

and cultural misappropriation,

sumimasen, as usual.

Thank you.

Unsurprisingly, my performance
was met with stunned silence.

The ornate curtain, however,

was a huge hit.

Was it terrible?

Right, but it wasn't
a complete disaster.

So I've contributed
to the preservation

of important
Japanese traditions.

Thank you very much
for your time.

So, after an 11-week odyssey

beginning in northern Hokkaido,

crossing the islands
of Honshu and Shikoku,

I now make my way
to the southern tip of Kyushu

for what will be my final scene.

Japan update, subject: the end.

I have covered a total of

7,223 kilometers in this car.

I have just eight to go.

And I wondered if,
at this point,

you would like to see
a little montage

of all the things
we've been up to.

No?

Oh, you do?

Okay, here it is.

Shall we go?

I got off to a shaky start...

Hai.

James, be careful, be careful!

Okay? It's my fault, yes.

I feel like a pervert.

But soon made a lasting
impression on the locals.

Are you mad?

I've gone toe-to-toe
with Japanese technology...

Maki just shot me
in the robo plums.

Crikey.

If this actually makes it
into the program...

I'll know
we were really desperate.

Commented
on some curious customs...

And this used to be a cat?

With upmost respect, of course.

Why is his penis out
to one side?

Impressed some masters
of haiku with my poetry...

Can I send that to you?

And then you can give me
an honest critique

and send it back.

Oh, sure.

We never heard back.

And I've learned
the most valuable word

in my Japanese vocabulary.

- Sumimasen.
- Sumimasen.

-Sumimasen.
-Sumimasen.
-Sumimasen.

- Sumimasen.
- Sumimasen.

♪ Sumimasen. ♪

Sumimasen.

And there are a few other things
that we've done

that haven't made it
into the main body of the film,

such as this.

We began here,
in Sake-Sake-Sake...

What's it called?

In Japan, you can, of course,
buy sweets from a corner shop.

Some of them are excellent.

I particularly like Meltykiss
and Collon bar.

But here's a shop that's been
making sweets for 210 years

to the traditional
wagashi method, out of beans.

I wonder how they do that.
Let's find out.

Yes!

Oh, and there was this.

Were you riding horse
number eight in race number six?

Oh, yeah,
I'd forgotten about this.

This is James May-san
beer-u kudasai.

Could you send beer to Osaka?

- Yes.
- Okay. Perfect.

He shipped it to the hotel
we were in yesterday.

Our own beer pursues us
across Japan

to the old imperial court
of Osaka.

I didn't bring a bottle opener.

What?!

And so,
just as my journey began,

on a beach
in Japan's icy north...

it now ends on a beach
in the balmy south,

at Kagoshima.

Earlier in this journey,
I vowed that,

at its end, I would sum up
my entire experience in Japan

in a single haiku.

Now, just to recap, the haiku

is an ancient Japanese
poetry form

that relies on brevity
and imagery,

and it consists
of just 17 syllables

in three lines
of five, seven and five.

"The peasant hoes on.

"The stranger who asked the way

Is long out of sight."

But here we arrive at a problem,

because the great haiku masters
of olden times,

Basho and Issa,
they were generally talking

about quite small things,

like a frog sitting on a leaf

or some cherry blossom

or a bamboo hat
or a hoeing peasant.

It's not really a very good form
for describing a whole country.

But, unfortunately,
I'm bound by honor

to fulfill my vow.

So, here goes.

A shrine bell sounding.

Shinkansen and shamisen.

A petal falling.

But then I thought to myself,
"Hey, Bim," I thought,

"That's pretentious crap."
And indeed it is.

And if you put "haiku"
into the Internet,

you will get so many of them out

that if you printed them all,
you could make

a solid papier-mâché Mount Fuji.

So I had a bit of a walk
on the beach,

and I had another think.

And this is my final effort.

Japan, your meaning

May be in Matsushima

Or a pickled plum.

See ya.

I don't... I don't know
how I feel about that,

'cause wherever I am
in the world, I'll know

that I'm actually in
a tiny little village in Japan.