Today is Marine Day, but nobody let me know. The purpose of this publicholiday is to thank the ocean for all the fish. Stock markets are closed, so are some shops. The weather is nice and everyone has taken a day off and a trip to thebeach.nI spend two hours of my Marine Day celebrations cyclingbetweenclosed post offices. I wonder why they are all closed? After finding the fourth post office to be open, I conclude my business and leave with great dissatisfaction. These three police officers on one-speed bicycles soon cheer me up as they chase after a fugitive:nnnnnMy legs are starting to hurt after days of excessive exercise. I havean eight-kilometre route that I cycle every morning and every evening. I have been doing it for fourdays now. I haveit down to about forty minutes. Good by my standards, considering one-speed and masses of pedestrians that slow me down.nI head to Hakata on foot. Outside Hakata Station, a stage has been erected and god knows what is going on. People on stage finish up singing, We are the Bridge. The theme song for the Asian Pacific Childrens Convention; a non-profit organisation thatconnects dreams around the world.I recognise the song, but I am not sure how or where from.nnI head to a place called Canal City. This place is huge.234,460 meters squaredof shops, restaurants, a theatre, a Taito Station video game arcade, a cinema, two hotels, and an indoor canal running through the middle. The nickname for Canal City is, the city within the city, and it certainly lives up to its name.nThere is also a water jet show. The water sprays up into the air from the fountain below. There is a mat of synthetic grass where children can get absolutely soaked as they dodge the water as it falls toward them. A woman stands with a huge water pistol,shooting the children; agrin on her face.nIf you look closely, in the window beyond the water, a bride and groom are getting married.nnBack at the hostel, the managerasks me if I ever eat. I was asked this question yesterday by another member of staff. It turns out none of the staff here has ever seen me eating. I try to explain to them that ten years working nights have reduced me to just eating one meal a day. They dont understand.nI head to the Nakagawa River. On the way, I stop and talk to Alan, the busker. He is taking a break, sipping on his Royal Milk Tea. He is from England. Made homeless eight years ago. He sang with a banjo until he made enough money to buy a one-way ticket to Australia. For the last eight years, he has spent six months at a time in various countries. The money he makes busking every day covers the costs of his accommodation and meals.nAs I walk across the river, my calf musclesare hurting. Idecide to have my first Japanese massage. The type isShiatsu, a finger pressure massage. I choose to have 50minutes full body, with emphasis on my neck, back, legs andAchilles. After which, I have a ten-minute head and eye massage. The massage is performed fully clothed and is amazing. It costs me4,470.nI dont have any photographs from the massage, as I didnt have my camera with me. Instead, lazily, heres a photographI took of televisions earlier today:nnI leave the massage feeling great, but the darkness has fallen on Fukuoka, and I dont know where I am. I buy a bottle of green tea and walk for a while in the vague direction of Hakata Station, before giving up and asking a young Japanese man which direction it is.nHe says to me, I am going to Hakata, come with me. I follow him until Japan turns into a Monty Python sketch. Come along, come along, he tells me, over here. I follow him for ten minutes, at each intersection he checks to see that I am still following him. This way, come on, he says,nearly there now. We do indeed arrive at Hakata Station. I thank him and we go our separate ways.nI have had nofood today, just water and green tea, and it is 9 pm. Thirty hours without food, but I dont feel hungry. Iforce down a Family Mart dinner before heading out to do my laundry.nAs I open the dryer door, a voice inside greets me with, Irasshaimase! I sit in the Coin Laundry reading, every now and again glancing up to watch my clothes spinning. I only write about my laundry because Ienjoyed the orange sign above the dryer. Help! shouts the shirt, about to be gobbled up. After the dry cycle is finished, the machine cleverly switches to Cool Down Mode. Five minutes later my laundry is at room temperature, fascinating.The dryer door thanks me as it opens, Arigatou gozaimasu.nnBack at the hostel, I speak to an Italian girl. She left Italy with no money or job and used whatever money she had to flyto South Korea. She quickly found a job and has made a new life for herself. I tell her about Alan, the busker; his story has some comparisons. She tells me that she knows Alan, about four months ago she met him in Seoul. An Englishman with a banjo, right! She exclaims.nA lot of people I have met in this hostel are here from South Korea on a visa run. Visa expires, they fly to Japan, stay for one day, fly back out. This earns them another three-month tourist visa. As a tourist,it is legal to trade work in hostels for free accommodation, as long as no money exchanges hands. This makes it possible to continue travelling forever, and some of these people have been.nA guy from Canada has a big carrier bag full ofjet-black volcanic ash. A souvenir fromKagoshima, he proudly tells me. It weighs a tonne.nRead the next part of my Journey in Japan, where I visit Ainoshima cat island byclicking here.