Thursday, 10 April 2008
The next morning we awoke to be confronted by bleak, drizzly weather. When ‘Er Indoors checked the weather forecast of The Mother’s Mobile, it wasn’t promising.
Seemingly, indoors was the place to be for the next twenty-four hours or so. The forecast suggested rain and wind in Odawara, where’d we be alighting from the Shinkansen on a day where the planned agenda included a lot of walking.
We discussed matters over breakfast, as you do, and headed upstairs to tackle the increasingly difficult task of fitting everything into the suitcase, adding items acquired since yesterday morning.
We managed to stay dry by taking the underground route to the station, arriving in plenty of time in spite of an initial mild case of panic.
On the platform, I started to realise how many Shinkansen services run every day along the Tokaido corridor. The track next door to our platform had trains departing for Tokyo at 9:10, 9:19 and 9:27. Our train, also to Tokyo (though we were disembarking at Odawara) left at 9:22.
In other words, four trains to the same destination leaving in the space of just under twenty minutes.
When we’d booked the day’s seats we’d been told that there were no window seats available (we’d landed Car 12 Seats 13 B&C) but, as it turned out, there was no one in 13A. No one arrived to claim it, so we managed to end up with the window seat since the train was travelling express from Nagoya to Odawara.
That solved a slight luggage problem on a crowded train.
While there are the predictable overhead racks for hand luggage, on Shinkansen there isn’t a designated space for large luggage. That’s hardly surprising.
Making those provisions would create space constraints in other ways.
Once the places most people stow such items have been filled, there isn’t much choice. You'll just have to squeeze your suitcase between your legs and the seat in front of you.
Fortunately, they’ve allowed plenty of legroom.
I moved to 13A, Madam occupied 13B, and the suitcase had the whole space in front of 13C to itself.
Despite the window seat, there wasn’t much to see in a landscape misty wet with rain, so I devoted the time to writing up the previous day’s leg of the journey.
Outside, the landscape was pretty much as it had been the last time we were on the coastal plain though I noticed some structures that seemed to be greenhouses.
Surprisingly, there also seemed to be a little more forest than usual. Before we moved back into the familiar urban sprawl, we reached the bridge across the brackish Hamana Lake, a drowned river valley with its mouth blocked by sandbanks.
There were, predictably, plenty of Shinkansen headed in the other direction.
One minute you’re looking across the landscape, then there’s a jolt against the window. A silver and blue blur obscures the view, which reappears almost before you’ve had time to blink.
We were seated on the starboard side of the train, but to the left, we had views across to the South Alps as ‘Er Indoors scanned that side, hoping for a glimpse of Mount Fuji.
Though spring had well and truly sprung on the lowlands, there was plenty of snow on the peaks.
We passed tea plantings on slopes where rice cultivation would have been out of the question, as well as on flatter ground.
It was probably totally-misguided optimism, but it seemed that the weather away to our right was lifting though there was dense cloud over the mountains on our left.
Still, there was plenty to ponder. Passing through an urban area, I was surprised to see what looked like a cathedral towering above the surroundings. That might have been in Shizuoka though it’s impossible to tell for sure.
There are few stations on this section of the Shinkansen line. Even if there were, from a train travelling at express speed, you’re flat out reading the signs as you whiz past.
The other standout, apart from the odd cathedral-like structure, was an increasing number of tunnels as we headed towards Atami, a coastal hot spring resort that has been attracting travellers since the 8th century.
We’d alighted from the train in Odawara and were looking for the most appropriate exit when a southbound Shinkansen rocketed through the station. It showed just how fast 200 kilometres per hour is when you’re standing nearby.
It was literally a case of now you see it; now you don’t.
‘Er Indoors lead us off the platform thirty seconds later, single-mindedly heading off in search of the window where she could pick up a pair of two-day Hakone passes. That left Yours Truly struggling down a flight of stairs juggling the suitcase.
About halfway down, I felt a twinge in my right leg, which didn’t help the mobility on a day when we’d planned on doing plenty of walking.
Once we’d bought the passes, we caught a local train, which carried us to Hakone-Yumoto, and a bus to the Quatre Saisons Hotel at Tonosawa.
The bus dropped us off in a car park a hundred metres down the road from the hotel. That left us with a rather scary walk along the side of a narrow winding road with traffic passing in both directions.
It was about eleven when we dropped the luggage off and walked back to the bus stop in the rain as cars rolled past in alarming proximity. I don’t mind sharing the road with the odd car, but I’d prefer to have the vehicles passing by somewhere beyond an arm’s reach.
Back in Hakone-Yumoto, we caught the train to Gora, an amazing zigzag ride that had switch-backs galore as we headed up into the mountains. The views on a fine, sunny day would have been spectacular, but the journey through the misty drizzle created a mood of primaeval mystery.
From Gora, we took the cable car up the hill to Sounzan, just missing the chance to investigate a Swiss restaurant just down the road from the station.
The next stage of the quest involved the Hakone rope-way that would end up depositing us on the shores of Lake Ashi. We decided to stop for lunch at a rope-way station, Owakudani, one of the top spots for viewing Mount Fuji.
A glance at the accompanying photo shows we had as much chance of viewing the mountain as a wheelchair-bound double amputee has of taking out the triple jump gold medal at the Olympics.
Our plans, in other words, were never going to get off the ground.
On the other hand, it was lunchtime, and while Madam fancied a fried sweet potato from the lobby. I leaned in favour towards a Japanese curry from the restaurant upstairs, so I set off in solo mode to find my own lunch, a thousand-yen note in hand.
Seated in the restaurant, I learned that I could have the curry by itself for ¥850 or with egg for 950.
Opting for the egg, I ended up with a plate of curry and rice with a black-shelled soft boiled egg that I peeled and incorporated into the curry and rice mixture.
I don’t know if that’s the way it’s supposed to go, but, lacking any expert guidance regarding the correct protocol, that was what I did.
Downstairs, informing ‘Er Indoors about my action, I was bemused to learn consumption of the seven-year egg had added seven years to my life span.
She pointed to packs of five eggs, but an extra thirty-five years added onto Hughesy’s life span would be too much for the superannuation fund to handle.
An extra seven would have to do.
Back on the rope-way, we set off once again into the mist, finishing at Togendai on Lake Ashi, where we boarded what appeared to be a replica of a pirate ship for a sight-seeing cruise to Moto-Hakone.
The cruise supposedly offers one of the best Fuji-viewing options, but we were flat out seeing past the shores of the lake. From Moto-Hakone it was impossible to see the other end of the lake, let alone any majestic mountain that might be lurking above it.
In Moto-Hakone, we decided discretion and the chance to get warm was the better part of valour. So we boarded a bus back to the hotel, braved the traffic between the bus stop and the front door, and checked in.
When we entered the room I’d, not to put too fine a point on it, just about had enough for the day.
Then we opened the curtains, and the view that greeted us was spectacular.
The hotel is situated right on a bend in the stream that flows down to Hakone-Yumoto and, from the rooms on the stream side you have views up and down the steep-sided, heavily-forested river valley.
I would have been quite happy to spend the next hour or so sitting and gazing out the window at the views while the camera battery recovered from the day’s ordeal.
‘Er Indoors, on the other hand, was adamant that I take a trip downstairs to the onsen, the hot-spring spa that was the reason the hotel existed.
It was difficult to argue with the notion that it would be good for the muscle that had been troubling my right leg.
On the other hand, the cleansing procedures you needed to carry out before you take the dip into the waters were intimidating, to say the least.
Eventually, I decided that I may as well surrender to the inevitable and traipsed off downstairs.
Under different circumstances, I could have spent longer soaking in the warm water, which does wonders for tired muscles. But the siren song of the view from an upstairs window proved much stronger than the solitary enjoyment of a giant-sized bathtub.
That pleasure could have been interrupted at any time by the arrival of other guests, so I emerged after ten minutes.
All up the onsen-visit had taken twenty minutes out of premium canyon-gazing time.
I had barely settled back into a relaxed gaze across the stream when a phone call advised that dinner - five classic French style courses - awaited us in the restaurant.
A bottle of Cuvee Quatre Saisons disappointed on first taste but improved considerably:
(a) with breathing (as a red wine should), or
(b) as the level lowered.
I tend to ascribe improvement to the effects of oxygen on the contents, rather than the impact of the contents on the drinker, but your mileage might vary.
Back upstairs, ‘Er Indoors attended to various administrative matters while I looked out across the dark stream with the iPod and a can of Asahi Super Dry for company.