If you’ve come to Hungary as a traveler or as an expatriate, you could probably chalk up some of your impetus to “wanting to see the world.” Meeting the local peoples, sampling local cuisine – these are the things that we revel in. The jet-set hops from place to place by plane, students take the slow route by train, poets hop freights or hitchhike, and those on a mission might ride in a plastic car.

Keiichi Iwasaki, however, is doing something else entirely. He’s going around the world – by bicycle. Currently 6 years and more than 30,000km into an estimated 10-year trek, this air conditioning repairman left his native Gunma-ken, Japanin 2001 with 160 yen (USD 1.25 / HUF 235) in his pocket and a vague notion to yes, see the world. Since then he’s traveled through more than 25 countries and reached unimaginable highs and lows.

Logical first question starts something like: “What kind of crazy…” He laughs, knowing this one was coming. With an easy smile and a glint in his eye he recounts how “life” in Japan wasn’t exactly inspiring. “Most people are just working and sleeping. If they ever do travel, they go by plane, which is fast and easy, but you can’t see anything. I want to meet people, see the land, and help spread peace.”

Starting off hitching, Keiichi soon realized that he was still waiting around, asking for a ride. Independence became paramount, and a bicycle offered both the freedom he wanted and the low cost that was necessary. And “low-cost” is no understatement – his rickety one-speed mamachari, a Japanese slang term for “granny bike” covered with customized luggage racks, looks like it’s held together with no more than love and a whole lot of packing tape. But this mimics his entire approach to the adventure, which, with some very notable exceptions, has been funded by the charity of others and the money he earns busking. His skill? Magic tricks.

“There are cyclist networks, and hospitality clubs, so I couch-surf,” he explains, while making an old receipt turn into a bank note. “Money is important, but it’s not all” -one red plush toy becomes five in my closed fist- “If you don’t have any, you just work” -a set of chopsticks emerges from his nose- “I never eat at restaurants, and mostly cook for myself on the road” -a folded handkerchief comes alive as a mouse- “If you’re hungry, you can eat anything.”

What about equipment? Keiichi says he carries a small stove but no tent or camping gear, using just a tarp and taking shelter wherever he can find it. Bizarrely, he carries a laptop computer and a camera. “It’s heavy, but so useful,” he explains. He prefers his donated bike, which he has learned to repair himself, to something more efficient, to prove that anything is possible, even on about 2 euros a day.

That attitude fueled his most significant achievement so far. After riding throughout southeast Asia and Nepal, he decided to go from sea level to the top of the world, with no money and no gas. Locking away savings he would need for equipment later on, he started at the southern tip of India, then rode the height of the subcontinent, earning enough through his tricks to make it to Mount Everest base camp. There he joined a 17-person international expedition and spent 10 months training to become one of just three people from the expedition to summit on May 31, 2005. Once the mission was completed, he rowed his way 1,300 km in a boat on the Ganges River, and biked back to Calcutta.

On the road Keiichi has faced many challenges apart from the physical enormity of traveling so far with so little. He’s been robbed multiple times, bitten by dogs, battled loneliness and beset by constant cultural differences and communication problems. By coincidence, he met a childhood friend traveling in Nepal. Convinced it was fate, the two decided to get married. While Keiichi’s parents were supportive (and have been through the entirety of the trip), hers, alas, were not. He has not heard from her since she returned to Japan.

Despite the challenges, he remains firmly positive, even after six years on the road, communicating with friends and family by e-mail and Skype and posting photos and updates on his website. “If I wanted to, I could just get on a plane and be home in a few hours,” he says. “Every day is interesting, and I’ve never wanted to quit. The world is not so big – I’m not on the moon.” As people go, he explains, differences are not so great. “Human emotions are the same everywhere – only culture and language are different. So I’m not afraid.”

There is a long road ahead for Keiichi Iwasaki. After riding through Europe, he’ll cross into Morocco and bike to South Africa. There his dream is another ultimate undertaking: to row across the Atlantic Ocean, a three-month voyage to rival the years he’s already spent at nature’s whims. This he acknowledges, like the Everest climb, will have to be sponsored. Once in the Americas, his final destination will be Alaska, but as of now the route remains undecided.

What would a post-circumnavigation future look like for such a limitless adventurer? Keiichi plans to begin writing a book while still on the road, and thinks he’ll probably undertake other far-flung challenges, such as seeing the north and south poles and climbing the tallest peak on each continent. For now he’s happy to be living a life that few could even dream of. Asked if he missed anything, he responded in the negative. Smiling, he corrected himself: “Wait, there’s one thing – sushi.”

To learn more about Keiichi Iwasaki’s Around the World Adventure, go to his website (Japanese only): www.geocities.jp/keinoryokouki or see his photo galleries: http://photo.svobodno.com

A sample:

“The civilised countries should invade all the oil-owning places in the Middle East and run them properly. We won’t take the money ourselves, but we’ll manage it so the money isn’t going to terrorists.”

via BoingBoing

“Bomb ‘em into stoned gays.”

What’s next, a rainbow-colored arms race?

So Andi, of E’s Kellner Scholarship brethren, works for a Hungarian film production company called Pioneer. They landed a deal with giant Japanese advertising conglomerate Dentsu to shoot a commercial for a shoe called the Midori HiGRIP. Being their first experience with a Japanese firm, they tried to play it safe by hiring a “professional” interpreter from an agency here in Budapest. Andi contacted me as well as a backup, and that was the source of the previous disappointment. Luck changed places, however, as the Hungarian director of the shoot took a dislike to the original interpreter, and pretty soon she got the boot, and I got the shoehorn.

The first day was pretty simple but started off with a challenge. Andi had sent me a list of film terms that might be used on the set, and I had conscientiously made Japanese translations of things I didn’t know such as “background” and “post production” and such. A few things came out to be easy, such as “tracking shot” – pronounced “torakingu shotto”, but others I was sure I would forget, so I wanted to print out the list. Not having a printer at home, we took it to E’s company, but their computers don’t have Japanese fonts installed, so all we got was gibberish (on a related note, those of you who may have checked out the Nakayoshi website that I have nearly finalized may see the same gibberish – needless to say it makes as much sense as the original Japanese would) and I went to the shoot in a foul mood. All was well, however, as there wasn’t much to do that day. I was introduced to the Japanese Creative Director, Producer and Manager and the Hungarian director, producers and set designers and we set to task of going over the set making sure all was kosher.

It was soon clear to me the different types of people I would have to deal with. The Creative Director was old, with a comb over and wore John Lennon glasses, a scarf, and women’s knit gloves. He was the big boss. Next was the money man – the producer, who was mid-30s-ish, wore all black, and spoke nearly perfect English. He had this look in his eye like “I fired 3000 employees before lunch and I feel great.”. The Manager was basically an OL whose primary responsibility seemed to be getting the men tea and agreeing with everything they said. She also spoke excellent English. Keenly aware of this superfluous position, and also that overzealousness on the part of the previous translator had lead to her demise, I knew I would be walking a fine line. The Hungarians for their part were easy to read – mostly 30s-ish professionals who were friendly and understanding. No problem there.

A brief summary of the commercial’s storyline: Product, a “worker’s shoe” is on display in “workman’s store”. Spotting a pair of shiny red high heels in a shop across the way, he instantly falls in love and starts moving around anxiously (the animatronics for this were surprisingly complex, with a whole series of air valves poked through the display and the soles to give the shoe muscles and tendons). Suddenly the heels are snatched by a customer, and the product shoes spring into action, darting out the door with a salesman on his tail. The ground outside is wet, the point of the ad is to showcase the “grip” on the product, so the shop keep takes a big dive. Product shoe busts into the boutique, the heels jump off the register and they make a getaway past several other slip-n-sliding pedestrians, and end up getting “toe-to-toe” by the Danube for sunset. No, you ain’t never seen shoes get this kawaii.

Next day (and night) is the shoot. Everything is in reverse order. Trouble starts at the river, where we attempt to shoot the shoes getting cosy. First problem is the budget – we’re over and in Japan, we don’t get overtime pay. But we aren’t in Japan. Next, the shot isn’t right – Creative Director (I’ll refer to him now as Tsuruho) wants more shoe, less Budapest landmark. Hungarian director and camera man want art. The lights on the bridge start coming on in 10 minutes. I’m in there between them all. Finally, it comes together. One down, forty one to go. We load up and set out for the other shoot location.

The next 20 hours are still a bit of a blur. My time is spent mostly standing around watching take after take after take of each shot. Sometimes all goes well – mostly when the shot is of anything other than the shoes themselves, and Tsuruho barely watches the monitors, making no comment save “yes, good”. Other times he’s jumping around, running from monitor to set to camera man to director with me and the other Japanese on his tail, shouting and frantically gesturing about some tiny detail that’s destroying the sanctity of the shot. I manage to get it across, in a relatively polite way (“This terrible piece of crap is so annoying” = “I think it would be better to change this, if possible.”), most of the time. In between the calm and the storm I’m on constant alert in case he wanders around looking for things to change on the set. We switch colored helmets, shirts and gloves (all props in the store) around like musical chairs. We de-robe some mannequins, add shoes to their friends, and amputate others. Somehow there is a pink fox pelt accessory that EVERYONE likes. Did I mention it’s below freezing?

Things get better as the night wears on. The other Japanese get tired and passive (the Art Director, Aritoshi, arrived that morning. He looks a little like Bruce Lee, wears hipster glasses and speaks with an elitist Tokyo accent), although Tsuruho is still sharp as a tack, remembering the prop setups in shots taken hours ago with surprising clarity. Sometimes people talk to me, most of the time they don’t. By dawn pretty much everyone knows why I am in Hungary (E), why I speak Japanese (College), and why I am a vegetarian (The Meatrix). By dawn it’s also snowing.

The Hungarian crew is thick-skinned and tireless, but I could tell Tsuruho’s constant revision and criticism was wearing them down. By 9am, after seventeen hours of work, they have completely ceased any kind of discussion and just focus on getting the thing done. The climactic moment comes at around 11, when we set up to shoot the most important shot – of the work shoe’s banging on the window of the boutique, signaling his undying love for red heels. Did I forget to mention that these shoes are ugly as all hell? They look like your mom’s white walking sneakers, generic-looking and devoid of logos or any kind of distinguishing marks. Great for 50-something obasans cruising in packs in the park looking for young men to seduce. The script and the Hungarian director call for the shot to be done through the door of the boutique – Tsuruho condemns it. “This is the highest point of emotional connection for Japanese people,” he explains. “The shoes are crying, begging for her love with wild abandon” or something like that. “The shot must be through the window, and I don’t care if it’s not continuous! They must be banging randomly, independently. Remember, they are alive.” We do it both ways, in about 20 takes. Tsuruho smiles. “Subarashii.” Talk about a shoe fetish.

By noon it’s a wrap. On reflection it occurs to me that the target audience of this “generic worker drone get’s hot chick” storyline might be quite interested in Midori HiGRIP. But I guess that’s why Dentsu is the best. This is the first time I’ve worked 21 straight hours and the first time I’ve been paid this well per hour (about $30). The food was also really good, and it was probably the sole testament to this thing going down with a minimum of spilt blood. I’m thinking about a career change.