Sunday, 8 December 2013
It was just after six when I eventually returned to the waking world. After a spell tapping away at the Travelogue, it was time to sort out the laundry, repack the bags and try to answer the critical question for the day.
How cold was it likely to be in Matsumoto?
There was, of course, a significant supplementary question along the lines of how well Hughesy was going to handle it.
Given the uncertainties those questions produced, I ended up with a pair of insulated pants, the new merino jumper and a handy scarf in the backpack. I'd already donned several layers of new thermal clothing to keep the upper portions cosy.
The insulated pants were there in case the jeans I was wearing failed to live up to the task.
The load included a couple of bottles of water since a man is not a camel, but in this case, with the backpack on, I must have looked like one.
There was, however, one significant element that seemed to be missing.
A visit to the Kathmandu store in Townsville yielded a pair of gloves since I knew we were heading up into the mountains where the hands might need protection.
Now, with the prospect of temperatures in the low single figures, they were nowhere to be found. I was sure I'd packed them. But on the evidence, I was forced to concede that I may have left them on the living room table a couple of thousand kilometres away.
Still, there wasn't a great deal I could do about it when the time came to head down to the conveniently located Kishibe station. The gloves question gave us something to occupy our minds while we were waiting for the train upstairs in ShinOsaka.
We could probably have done something about breakfast in Kishibe, and we needed something to tide us over through lunch before the Japanese banquet in the onsen resort that evening.
I ended up with beef sandwiches, and there was something more traditionally Japanese for Madam.
Armed with breakfast supplies, we made our way up to the platform, where the Shinkansen was as punctual as you'd expect it to be.
Aboard the train, the fifteen-minute leg to Kyoto provided a window to get breakfast out of the way.
The iPad came out as we left Kyoto en route to a change of trains in Nagoya. Notes for the first part of today's report were finished by the time we hit relatively open country for the next part of the fifty-three-minute run.
Outside the window, the countryside was greener than I expected.
The stubble from the last rice harvest in the paddy fields and the familiar jigsaw pattern of farmland, housing, commercial and industrial operations filled out the landscape.
At one point, we headed into a tunnel through a mountain range with an extensive quarry operation and a zigzag roadway ascending the range. It was something I thought I might be able to locate through Google Earth, but subsequent attempts haven't yielded results.
I need to make a more accurate assessment of where the Shinkansen line runs.
We alighted in Nagoya, and, initially, headed for the wrong platform in search of the connection that would take us up into the mountains. Once we'd been redirected, we arrived on the right platform to find ourselves beside the Toyama train that takes you through Takayama.
It certainly brought back memories.
The train that pulled in a couple of minutes later, so the Public Address system informed us, wasn't ours. A troop of cleaners swarmed aboard, set about their duties and were changing the seats around to face the other way when the train pulled out to make room for the Shinano Limited Express.
You'd reckon over three visits to the country I'd have sorted out issues relating to headroom. But as I pushed The Red Suitcase into a space designated for such objects, I managed to bang the top of my head against an inconveniently placed divider.
We hadn't been underway long when we made a brief stop at Chikusa in the northeastern suburbs of Nagoya, home to several university campuses.
Once we were underway again, on the sunny side of the train, there was an excuse to remove my jacket.
I couldn't, however, hang it up the way you can on one of the Shinkansen services, where there are handy hangers provided. On the other hand, with the picture windows giving generous views as we headed into the evergreen mountainside forests, I wasn't in a position to complain.
Mostly, however, we passed through tunnels with spectacular little bits in between that promised striking things to come.
Once we were through the tunnels, it was back into the urban sprawl at Tajimi, a city in Gifu Prefecture best known for ceramics and pottery. There's also a temple (Eihōji) belonging to the Nanzenji faction of the Rinzai school of Zen and a Catholic monastery famous for its wine.
The train stopped there, and we were back in the tunnels again as we continued the northward journey.
Once we were out of them, I reclined the seat to take in the view as the river valley we were following started to narrow, and the built landscape gave way to a natural one.
We got our first glimpse of snowy mountains came around 11:42.
There was another stop at Nakatsugawa, a former post town on one of two routes that connected Edo (modern-day Tokyo) to the old imperial capital of Kyoto.
That's a minor claim to fame alongside the city's latter-day status as the home of chestnut delicacies, including kurikinton (boiled and mashed chestnuts, mixed with sugar and reshaped into their original shape) and soft-serve chestnut ice cream.
As we wound our way up into the mountains, I started to get a tad tired. But I was not drowsy enough to miss the bands of bare deciduous trees running down the sides of the slopes interspersed with bands of evergreens.
Shiojiri, the last stop before our destination in Matsumoto, seemed to be a grape-growing centre.
Hughesy tends to notice things like barrels stacked on railway platforms.
The city's name apparently translates as Salt Butt, because it marked the end of the road for salt merchants travelling inland from the Sea of Japan. It was the point where the mountain passes became too treacherous to cross in winter. Those on the other side of the range tended to draw their supplies of salt from the Pacific Ocean side.
Once we'd arrived in Matsumoto, the priority was to lock down the final train legs, from Niigata to Tokyo and, most importantly, from Tokyo back to Osaka on Saturday.
From there, we headed to the tourist information to grab a map, guide book and any other materials that might seem relevant. Then we headed to a second intermediate stop to drop off the baggage.
Our accommodation is out on the edge of the city, and I'm tapping this out looking over the lights of Matsumoto towards the Japanese Alps, which were a magnificent sight before the sun went down.
Elsewhere you'd start looking for a coin locker, but here it was a case of heading to a hotel near the station hotel dropping the bags there.
The next time we saw them was in the lobby of the night's hotel.
I still had the backpack. I was working on the basis that the other stuff could go missing, but there was no way I was letting the iPad out of my sight. Some might quibble about the weight, but it was only a fifteen-minute walk over to Matsumoto Castle, and, in any case, I needed the exercise.
The walk took us through what seemed to be the outskirts of downtown Matsumoto before a left hand turn onto the street that leads up to the castle. Unlike some other places, the approach doesn't have the castle looming at the end.
We crossed the river, having passed a CD shop called Beatniks, which seemed strangely appropriate given the Beat Generation affinity with Zen Buddhism.
It was about a block from there to the approaches to the castle. As we headed across the final intersection with the castle over on the left, I was bemused by an incongruous modern building.
Quite a big one, in fact, and something that didn't quite fit into the vibe of an old castle precinct.
Subsequent investigation using a sitemap Madam had failed to notice revealed it was the Matsumoto Museum, with displays of artefacts documenting the city's history. The ticket that got us into the castle was good there too.
Matsumoto (unsurprisingly, given where we were headed) is an old castle town that had grown into a modern city with a population around a quarter of a million. The number built up gradually, like other centres, by slowly merging the old town with surrounding villages.
Surrounded by mountains, the city is noted for its apples, soba (buckwheat noodles) and saké.
A nearby wasabi farm is reputed to be the world's largest and the area boasts many onsen resorts.
Matsumoto Castle (Matsumotojō, also known as Crow Castle or Karasujo due to its black exterior) rates as one of Japan's Top Three Castles alongside Himeji and Kumamoto Castles and houses a comprehensive exhibit on the history of firearms in Japan.
Given a lack of English language signage, that might not be such a big drawcard, but Matsumoto is mostly intact, unlike other sites that have been reconstructed in ferroconcrete.
It also differs in being a flatland castle (hirajiro) built on a plain beside a swamp rather than on a hilltop or a river crossing.
This lack of natural defences meant the castle ended up with three concentric moats and an extensive system of inter-connecting walls and gatehouses. There's also an outer earthen wall almost around three kilometres in circumference designed to deaden cannon fire.
What you're looking at today, however, is the five-tiered, six-storied main castle keep (tenshukaku) and secondary donjon, built between1592 and 1614. It was an upgrade to a previous fortification (Fukashi Castle) which dated back to 1504.
In 1872, after the Meiji Restoration, the site, along with other castles, was sold for redevelopment.
News that it was about to be demolished caused locals to start a campaign to save the building, and it was acquired by the city government.
It had been used as an aircraft factory during World War Two. But managed to avoid being damaged by American bombers. If it hadn't done so, you'd probably be looking at a ferroconcrete replica.
Your tour of the interior reinforces the idea that seventeenth-century samurai weren't big strapping blokes. There are suits of armour on display that make that point. As you make your way up and down the steep wooden stairs, it's evident that conditions inside when the castle was under attack suited short, agile types.
You'll also pass openings that could be used by archers and musket bearers, along with others used to drop stones onto those trying to make their way into the building. At the top, the observation deck gives extensive views over the city.
I didn't make it all the way up there, given the size of the backpack and the single narrow staircase that was supposed to handle traffic in both directions. But the view from the fifth floor wasn't too bad.
The whole thing would be at its best in spring and autumn since there are hundreds of cherry trees on the grounds. In prime sakura season, it would undoubtedly draw massive crowds. It's not recommended for people with dodgy knees either.
Once Madam made her way back down, we headed back towards the exit, taking in views across the courtyard. Back at ground level, there were still two hours before the bus to the hotel.
Making our way around the grounds, we ran across a samurai in full regalia, there to provide photo opportunities.
Given the wearer's height, one had to suspect the regalia was a modern replica rather than a genuine seventeenth-century relic.
With time up our sleeves, we made a quick visit to the city museum, which wasn't that impressive. However, it provided familiar items in the twentieth-century section that were enough to make us feel, well, old.
We headed back to the station, veering left when we reached the river to head along an interesting street of shops selling antiques, second-hand books, foodstuffs and knickknacks.
There are frequent, and quite amusing, references to frogs.
The street's mascots originate in the river, but it's also a pun on kaeru (the Japanese word for return).
Frogs were given as a charm to bring loved ones back home safely and to encourage money and goods to make their way back into the shopkeepers' premises.
We made our way along the other side of the river, hooking back onto familiar territory on the way back to the station, where the shuttle was sitting, quietly waiting for passengers.
Once we were underway, the twenty-minute bus trip had more to do with traffic conditions than the actual distance.
The distance we travelled was considerably longer than a crow would have taken. I wouldn't want to be walking it without a cut lunch and, more importantly, a compass or a good mud map.
Hotel Shoho is an impressively large structure on the eastern outskirts of Matsumoto that operates on a considerably larger scale than some onsen.
The girl who showed us to the room stressed we had to use this particular lift travelling between the room and the restaurant, lobby and onsen facilities.
I'm not the world's greatest fan of the hot spring experience, but I invariably surrender to the inevitable expectation. So I always find myself donning the bathrobe and making the obligatory excursion to the steamy facilities.
Interestingly, on my way there, I observed a vending machine right beside the elevator.
Once I'd done what was required and made it back to the room, I thought a couple of beers would constitute a suitable reward.
Dinner involved a semi-private booth in the restaurant rather than the room./ It arrived with the usual wide variety of dishes. I'm often unsure about the exact identity, but in a damn the torpedoes full speed ahead approach end up having a go at most of them.
There's the odd item that's obviously, and definitely, one to avoid and they're usually identified as such.
But by and large, I've found that if you're willing to give it a go, the item you're not overwhelmed about works well with others around it.
In most cases, they're bite-sized pieces, so it's down the hatch. There was sashimi to follow.
I'm not usually a fan, but the salmon and tuna were excellent, and the octopus, which I'd generally avoid, worked with wasabi and soy.
The attendant had fired up the hotpot bowl while we were working through the first courses. Things would have been better if we'd got to it a little bit earlier.
There was a hot plate arrangement in the middle of the table that was less than satisfactory (as far as I was concerned) because the wagyu splattered fat across the rest of the area.
Frankly, it wasn't the best I've encountered and seemed to be fatty offcuts rather than prime steak.
Or maybe an extremely well-marbled prime steak.
It was something Hughesy, and his shirt sleeves, could have done without.
There was rice and assorted other tidbits to follow. I had a sporadic go at them but, basically, I was pleasantly sated with what I'd had and didn't need any more.
Like most things, it'd probably be different if I was Japanese.
The local beer they were serving was excellent (I suspect a wheat beer), and I tried a red wine (Concord) that was semi-acceptable.
I was interested in identifying the variety, so we stopped by the retail section on our way back to our room on the eighth floor.
I was carrying the iPad and managed to locate WiFi in the lobby along the way, caught a cricket score and headed upstairs for a go at the massage chair, a bit more Travelogue, and polished off the other Asahi before heading to bed.
Madam claimed the in-room (or rather on-balcony) bathtub for a hot bath in the private enclosure overlooking the city and had her go looking out over the city lights.
For my part, I was happy to leave her to it, looking forward to using the facility to watch the Alps appear as the sun rose in the morning.