Happy Times in Hakata: The Story of Allen

After we swam through the streets of Fushimi, Kyoto and somehow managed to make our shinkansen (there's just something inherently cool and exotic about saying the "shinkansen" instead of "making our train"), my parents and I were on our way south to Hakata, more commonly known as Fukuoka.

Hakata's a pretty happening town, what little we saw of it. We arrived in the early evening with enough time to roll into our business hotel (think Motel 6, only more floors) looking nice and haggard before stepping out into the streets again. My parents' philosophy of travel is to enjoy any time you spend in any given area because you don't know what you'll find: you'll almost never not regret it.

So with the philosophy snug in our adventurous little hearts, we started off in the general direction of fun and adventure. Mom had read in one of the myriad travel books they brought about a "canal city" full of street vendors, market venues and an active riverside nightlife.

Well, we found the canal no problem and some interesting looking shops and restaurants, but it was too early for anything resembling a nightlife. Still, the backstreets of any foreign country hold interesting nuggets and we photographed a fair few shrines, characters, interesting foliage and whatnot before tracking down a ramen shop.

Another Senn family travel tip: eat local! Not like the organic farmer's market produce the young and sustainability-minded frequent in America. Eat the local cuisine! Nothing tastes as good as the real thing, be it your hometown's sushi, your Thursday night Chinese food, or banana flavored anything that isn't a freaking banana. You gotta go legit sometimes. And the local fare in Hakata happens to be ramen.

Ramen, in it's almighty, affordable, culinary majesty is a bowl of noodle shaped possibilities. Every region and most cities have taken the ramen bowl and made it their own with local meats or vegetables. In Hakata, they give you pureed peppers (red or green), a hard boiled egg, pork slices so tender they melt and taste like butter and a special broth. Pair that with a nice Kirin beer and you've got an evening well spent.

After dinner, Mom was a bit tuckered, but Dad and I were going strong. He wanted to ramble and maybe check out the station again since we'd blitzed through it to just get the whole travel experience behind us already.


Japanese major train stations are like cities. Not mini cities, you can get seriously lost in some of these...which wouldn't be such a bad thing because most of them come complete with a hotel attached via staircase or over pass. There are dozens of stores for jewelry, clothes, kids, toys, home amenities, outdoor adventures, etc. And the restaurants, o! the restaurants! 5 star restaurants, standing room only ramen bars, bento stores, cozy cafes, and the mandatory Starbucks and McDonald's.

Dad and I wandered like dazed moths to the glittering lights of Hakata Station and only stopped because of the crosswalk.






And here we met Allen.

Playing his banjo on the corner with his case at his feet, a few hundred yen inside, there was Allen. We looked over in astonishment at the sound of a banjo in Japan! He noticed us watching and gave us a cheerful nod and called over "Have a nice night" as the light turned green and people began to cross. As the crowd thinned, we changed direction and headed for this strange, middle-aged minstrel.

"Where are you from?" I asked.

"London," he said. I asked what he was doing in Japan and he launched into his story.

Some years back, he had some trouble. (Dad suspects alcoholism) He lost pretty much everything, but turned his life around and used religion to help him with that. He took up the ukulele and banjo, heavily influenced by American old Western country and bluegrass.

"Your cowboys, they had the right feel and the spirit," he said. He also wrote poetry, which led naturally to songwriting.

After a while, since he'd lost his connections and wanted to avoid falling back into a very dark place, Allen decided that he'd make enough money with his music to get to Canada. Allen doesn't sell his songs, he doesn't record, he just plays on the street to spread his messages.

Then he played us a song. His songs are actually really good. They're worldly and universal truths that sort of reminded me of Shel Silverstein poems.

From Canada, he kept moving: Australia, New Zealand, South Korea, Hong Kong, Okinawa, back to South Korea and only four months ago, he arrived in Fukuoka. He's been doing this for about seven years. He lives totally off the grid: no phone, no computer, no credit cards. He just gets to the next destination and travels around, playing the banjo and living day by day.

His message is to create. After he turned to Christianity, he found a purpose in the idea of creation.

"We were created," he said. "So it's up to us to keep creating as creations and keep the cycle going." Staunch evolution believer that I am, the principle is pretty much universal: Create, evolve, move, grow but never forget where you came from.

Right on, Allen.