The Little House of Concrete

The plan was to head out of Kōbe, heading north towards the coloured leaves, looping through the Tohoku area en route to Hokkaidō, then back down to Sendai. Cross the country again into the Japanese Alps and the week concludes in Unazuki Onsen on the way to Nagano, former host city to the Winter Olympics.

Saturday, 27 October 2012 

The Tokyo Express wasn't leaving until 9:25, but I was awake around the regulation back home time. 

That meant (a) the body clock was still operating in Australian mode and (b) we had time, once we'd risen around six, for a leisurely movement through the shower and a casual check of the final packing arrangements.

So casual, in fact, that when we made our way downstairs at the scheduled starting time for the Viking, we neglected to grab the two vouchers on the way out. 

Back upstairs, minor panic when they weren't quite where we thought they were. 

It was a timely reminder that you don't want to take things too easy.

There was a single pass through the buffet for Hughesy, and Madam's return visit brought back a single serve of a single item.

 We were back upstairs by 7:40 loaded and locked and checking out comfortably before eight, with intentions towards the 8:05 shuttle. It delivered us to Sannomiya in plenty of time to take the one-stop underground leg to ShinKōbe, arriving a good three-quarters of an hour before the scheduled departure.

The frequency of Shinkansen services along the Tokaido line was underlined by the fact that our 9:25 Hikari was the third train headed for Tokyo after nine o'clock. It left almost immediately after a faster Nozomi, which left at 9:22.

Once aboard, the Black Monster went behind the seats at the back of the carriage; the backpacks went onto the overhead, and we settled back for the three-hour haul to Tokyo.

As is so often the case, as soon as the train started moving, we were straight into a tunnel. When we emerged a minute or two later, we were zooming along above rooftop level. 

We'd landed Car 7 Seats 10 B&C, which meant we didn't have access to the window seat, which seemed to be vacant. I could have been tempted to snaffle the spare seat, but, with Osaka and Kyoto coming up in quick succession, it might not be a good idea.

Just as well. 

A couple of minutes later we were in Osaka where a flood of passengers filled up most of the vacant seats, leaving 10A teasingly empty as we set back off. 

That brought us onto the flat land between Osaka and Kyoto, past houses intermingled with agricultural plots, commercial premises, apartment blocks and a stretch of forest, a real patchwork of land use.

We came up into Kyoto in a hurry. 

One moment I was checking if we'd passed it because I thought we'd be there by now and the next, there we (quite literally) were. 

Another flood of incomers failed to fill 10A, so as we emerged from the regulation tunnel on the way out of Kyoto, I took advantage of the window seat. With half an hour until Nagoya, I might as well.

Again, the land between Kyoto and Nagoya is mostly flat, with the same patchwork of land use. 

We weren't quite in Nagoya when the news ticker at the front of the carriage revealed Silvio Berlusconi had been sentenced to four years, and the stop delivered an occupant for 10A.

The head between Hughesy and the window had me looking around a bit more than would have been the case under other circumstances.  That underlined the cambering of the tracks on the Shinkansen lines.

Queensland has the tilt train running on regular tracks. 

But if you want actual speed and extremely rapid transit, you want to be on something that leans into a cambered curve.

We'd done the Nagoya > Tokyo leg last time around, in two legs, one as far as Odawara en route to Hakone and the second the rest of the way a day later. So it wasn't new territory. 

That was just as well. The sunshine on that side had the occupants of 9A and 10A sliding down the shades. That, in turn, directed the sightseeing side of things to the left-hand side. That was the quarter where you'd expect to be sighting Mount Fuji.

Predictably, between the camber and the weather conditions, Fuji-viewing prospects weren't looking too flash. But heading out of Hamamatsu, when the camber permitted the sight of mountains away on the left (partially obscured by haze, but definitely mountains) made me much more hopeful.

By the time we pulled up in Mishima. However, it was evident that the Curse of the Frockster that had prevented us from catching sight of Fujisan had kicked in again.

For several years, well before our 2008 journey, the Frockster had babbled on about trips to Japan and the possibilities of planting a Bowen Mango tree on top of Mount Fuji. That was a prospect so sacrilegious that the deities guarding the mountain kept it shrouded in cloud and drizzle while we were there. 

It was a blatant case of ensuring we couldn't locate the sacred peak on the off chance we might return with plans to fulfil Eylesy's suggestion.

And it seems to have kicked in again.

10A was vacated at Mishima, on the edge of the Yokohama-Tokyo conurbation. 

Apart from the improvement in the sightseeing aspect, there was a handy electrical outlet that allowed a slight recharge of the iPad as we thundered towards Tokyo. It would only be a tad over half an hour, but every little bit helps.

Everything needed to be packed away the stop before Tokyo itself. Once we were off the train, it was a case of seeking out The Translator, which was remarkably easy, given the number of people who were in and around Tokyo Station.

Once the rendezvous had been made, we wandered off to check out recently completed restoration work that brought the ground level entrance back to the facade built just under a century before. 

After photos of the dome at the entrance, we headed across the station square for lunch.

We had around two hours to spend over lunch, and a glance around the immediate vicinity revealed queues just about everywhere. 

Fortunately, we spotted a table in the corner of an Italian place that seemed to belong to the eat at the counter persuasion and grabbed it tout suite.

It turned out to be a very handy stroke of lunch. 

The pasta was made on the premises, the accompaniments were quite acceptable, and there were a couple of Italian wines on the wine list.  

After lunch, with another hour to kill, the options were to order extras and stay where we were or head off and find somewhere we could sit and talk. If the dessert menu had included cassata I'd have ordered one, but it didn't, and I had to settle for a Nebbiolo instead.

After lunch we headed to the station, moving through the subterranean redevelopment. 

That proved to be quite fascinating.

There wasn't much, surprisingly, until we'd flashed the Rail Passes and passed into the Station proper, where we found a rabbit warren of retail outlets. Some of them were more upmarket than you might expect in the setting, including a liquor operation that was offering wine tasting.

I tried two versions of an indigenous red grape, something that mightn't sound too promising. But the early drinking style was surprisingly pleasant, and the other, which had a little bottle age was quite acceptable. 

I've tasted worse wines made by better-known makers from much more traditional varieties.

We'd dawdled along the way until we spotted a clock showing 2:44. 

We were due to depart at 2:56, so it was a scramble to find the seats and claim a bit of the all-important space at the rear of the carriage for the Black Monster.

That space was almost all gone, but I managed to claim the remaining bit, something that may come in handy when we make the mad scramble off the train in Sendai. 

We were headed to Kitakami, which isn't a stopping point for the faster services, so we'd veered away from the stop everywhere all the way from Tokyo option.

That would have meant a reduction in the time for lunch.

Tapping out the Travelogue update took us out of greater Tokyo, through a stop at Omiya and on into the tsunami zone. 

We'd been over this section before, around the same time of day four and a half years previously, and we were on the right-hand side of the northbound train again. 

The countryside is flat. While there isn't a lot of actual visual interest along the way, the patchwork is easy on the eye, and the urban stretches have plenty of green scattered among the buildings.

The run towards Sendai proved simultaneously easy on the eye and mildly disturbing, primarily due to the amount of greenery across to the horizon. 

We'd arrived this time with hopes of sighting hillsides full of autumnal colouring. Apart from the odd russet patch here and there the foliage, on the southern side of Sendai, at least, remained dark green. That was, as suggested, rather pleasing as a vista but wasn't what brought us there.

Still, we weren't that far into the Deep North. 

Perhaps things would be more promising as the latitudes rose and altitude kicked in.

Something brought us to an unscheduled stop at Fukushima, where there was no sign of the nuclear power plant that attracted attention in the aftermath of last year's tsunami. That was mostly, I guess due to the mountain range that lies between the city and the coast. 

That isn't the case at Sendai, where we were scheduled to change trains.

The Shinkansen was around five minutes late coming into Sendai, and our slower upcountry train was due to leave five minutes after the scheduled arrival time of the Shinkansen. But it was waiting on the other side of the platform when we arrived, and we managed the switch without difficulty.

The upcountry train doesn't use the same tracks as its more sophisticated sibling, and from the time we pulled out of Sendai, that was rather obvious. 

That’s not suggesting we're talking the old clickety-clack of the Queensland rattler. But we moved into the gathering dusk at a noticeably slower speed with much more frequent stops.

The first of those was at Furukawa. Not far after the brief stop, we were into a wall of forest on the left-hand side of the train, which is where we found ourselves this time around. 

I may be wrong about the woods, but as we rattled along at a fair old sub-Shinkansen clip, there weren't many lights until we started to slow down into Kurikoma-Kogan.

While we were pulled up there, a passing Shinkansen reminded us of the pecking order.  

Madam remarked that we must be starting to climb, and we were probably moving into coloured leaves territory. Given the fact it was now entirely dark outside, there was no way to verify the notion, but I hoped she was right.

The carriage hadn't been crowded when we boarded, but a steady flow of departures continued at Ichinoseki, and again at Kanegasaki. By the time we reached Kitakami, there was practically no one left, and most of us chickens alighted there.

A check on the ubiquitous Google won’t give you that much on Kitakami, but in any case, we weren’t necessarily there for tourist attractions or sightseeing. 

Madam and Our Host go back far enough to warrant a visit whenever we’re passing. So it’s a matter of catching up and conversing after an evening arrival, with the option of taking a squiz at the sights the next day.

Located at the confluence of the Kitakami and Waga Rivers in Iwate Prefecture, Kitakami, with a population around 95,000, sits on the Tohoku Shinkansen and the Tohoku Main Line, both operated by JR East, connecting Tokyo and Aomori Prefecture. 

That makes it a convenient and reasonably accessible resting spot for people looking to catch up with old friends. 

It's three hours north of Tokyo on the slowest of the three versions of the Shinkansen, which delivers a fair indication of the population pecking order where the bullet trains are concerned. 

The trip will set you back around ¥12,500 (a tad over $A145), which underlines the value of the JR Pass (7 days $335.00; 14 days $535.00)

The fastest Shinkansen, Nozomi, only stop at major centres like Tokyo, Nagoya, Kyoto and Osaka, hurtling between destinations at maximum speed. That makes one of them a now you see it, now you don't proposition when you're standing on the platform at one of the lesser stations. 

Japan RailPass holders don't get to ride on those, but that's understandable given the premium service and the demand for seats.

Below that there's a variety of fast and semi-fast versions, depending on the line you're taking, including the Hikari and Sakura (Tokaido, Sanyo, Kyushu), the Hayate and Yamabiko (Tōhoku). They stop more often but bypass smaller centres. 

Kitakami, with a population that's heading towards a hundred thousand, still isn't big enough to warrant being included on those services.

We were there in the wrong season since the city's chief claim to fame lies in ten thousand cherry trees planted along two kilometres of the Kitakami River. 

You get another sense of pecking orders in the sakura department. The fortnight or so in late April when the trees are in full bloom sees Kitakami rated as one of the Tōhoku Region's three best cherry blossom spots. Hirosaki Castle and Kakunodate are the others, but Kitakami is only regarded as one of the hundred best places nationwide to view cherry blossoms.

Other attractions (in case you're passing by) include the Michinoku Traditional Dance Festival and Michinoku Folklore Village. The latter has thirty farmhouses, and other buildings from around Tōhoku restored and arranged around forested walkways, ponds and fields.

I guess it's something similar to what we saw in the Hida Folk Village in Takayama and something that would undoubtedly be a candidate on a less crowded itinerary. 

So would Kitakami City Folklore Museum (included in the admission fee for the Folklore Village) with exhibits of Buddhist art, and displays relating to the natural and cultural history of the area.

The Kitakami River, coincidentally, being one of the region's most significant geographical features is the fourth largest river in Japan. It drains an area of 10,150 square kilometres in the rural areas of Iwate and Miyagi Prefectures. Since there are no dams from its mouth to the Shijūshida Dam north of Morioka, there is a spectacular salmon run every autumn. 

We'll be referring to the river again when we talk Hiraizumi in tomorrow's Travelogue.

Having alighted, we made our way through the station into the car park, where a brief conference saw Madam and I back inside buying tickets for the next day's leg. We couldn't do that until they'd conferred about what it was going to be. 

Our Host is a teacher and has plenty to do. So we figured we'd catch a train somewhere along the route we followed on our day's ramblings and then leave her to get on with the rest of her weekend.

Extracting the tickets from an official in the ticket office who seemed to resent people carrying Japan Rail Passes in general, or Japanese-speaking people carrying JR Passes in particular, took a couple of minutes more than you might expect. 

But we emerged, tickets in hand, to head off for the evening's accommodation, where we reacquainted ourselves with Grog Dog. We also introduced ourselves to his canine confrere, Red Cordial Dog, who seems to have fallen into a vat of hyperactivity inducer.

We didn't hang about too long and were soon off after a quick discussion of the dinner options. 

We got a sorry, house full at the first stop, and a similar response at a second. But a phone call and a brisk walk through the eating and drinking area near the station got us a booth at the third. It was a vaguely Italian-themed place whose trademark dish was Buffalo Chicken. 

That turned out to be bony chicken pieces with a barbeque sauce, so I'm not sure where the Buffalo bit originated. 

Still, it was cheap; there was plenty of it. 

The Chilean red wine with a title that seemed to translate as The Devil's Castle was quite quaffable though I exercised a modicum of restraint. 

The bill, which I managed to catch a glimpse of on the way out, ran to around ¥7200. That seemed cheap for a variety of nibbles, a fair-sized pizza, a drink each for the girls and half a dozen glasses of red for Yours Truly.

Back at base camp, there was coffee, conversation and a couple of performing dogs to fill in the time until one felt inclined to crash.

Sunday, 28 October 2012 

Given the circumstances when I woke, seemingly the first human to have emerged from slumber, I did a quick calculation. 

If I was going to sit with the iPad on the knees and continue to tap out Travelogue, I needed to find a niche at the top of the stairs and ignore the piteous whining emanating from the living area below.

If I'd ventured downstairs, there would have been two insistent canines demanding attention. Until someone else surfaced and took up the running that would make the writing bit impossible. 

I hadn't been at it too long before Our Host surfaced, and I caught up with the rest of the previous day before venturing into the maelstrom for a shower and breakfast.

Readers may suspect hyperbole when I use the word maelstrom to describe a living area inhabited by two smallish dogs. But given nonstop hyperactivity (Red Cordial Dog) and frenzied demands for attention (Grog Dog) no more suitable descriptor springs to mind.

It's equally difficult to come up with a single word to summarise the venue that occupied the bulk of the day, the town of Hiraizumi and its premier attraction, Chusonji temple.

We set off just after nine, heading south to a place we'd visited last time around. The persistent drizzle had sent us indoors for lunch rather than up the steps to the temple. We had taken a look at the town's other main drawcard at Motsuji. Maybe, if I'd done some homework I'd have been more inclined to venture into the drizzle rather than sit inside and shovel curry down the gullet. 

This time, around I'd done detailed research, so strap yourselves in for a somewhat lengthy exposition, boys and girls.

There was a degree of concern on Our Hostess' part as to whether I really wanted to go to Chusonji, but I produced the handy PDF with walking around the town map. 

That seemed to quell most of her concerns. 

There were some places I wanted to go, even if going constituted a brief glance and a photo.

On the surface, driving through the town, there's nothing to differentiate Hiraizumi from a myriad of other small Japanese country towns. 

If you reach the car parks outside the major attractions, you'd soon realise there's something special in the vicinity. 

So, the back story.

A population around eight and a half thousand is a far cry from the late Heian era or the Kamakura Period. 

Back then, when Hiraizumi was the home of the Fujiwara, the most powerful clan in Japan, and was the de facto capital of an area that covered nearly one-third of the country. The population was between fifty thousand and one hundred thousand. The city’ almost rivalled the national capital, Kyoto.

The oldest structure in Hiraizumi seems to be Hakusan Shrine at the summit of Mount Kanzan (Barrier Mountain), described in 1334 as seven hundred years old. The shrine has been rebuilt several times, but its latest incarnation still stands in the same strategic location.

That location, at the junction of the Kitakami and Koromo Rivers, prompted Fujiwara no Kiyohira to move his home to Mount Kanzan around 1100. The Koromo River was the boundary between the Japanese heartland to the south and the territory of the northern Emishi peoples.

Japanese hunters, trappers, settlers and missionaries had been in contact with the Emishi since the early eighth century. A Buddhist priest named Gyōki established  Kokusekiji temple in the mountains east of the Kitakami River in 729. 

Military expeditions to subdue the Emishi were repelled in 776 and 787. A scorched earth policy, burning crops, capturing and resettling women and children prompted Emishi leaders to surrender in 802. They were subsequently beheaded.

It’s one thing to defeat your enemies but another to keep them subdued. The territory ended up as half a dozen semi-autonomous districts along the Kitakami River that came under the control of a powerful Emishi clan, the Abe family. 

Semi-autonomous is the operative word. 

Abe no Yoritoki refused to send taxes to Kyoto, led raids south of the Koromo River and acted as if he was an independent ruler. He obviously needed to be subdued. 

The result was the Zenkunen or Early Nine-Years War (1050-1062) where the Abe were defeated by Minamoto no Yoriyoshi and Kiyohara no Takenori. 

The six districts were handed to Kiyohara no Takenori. That didn’t work out, and corruption resulted in the Gosannen or Latter Three Years' War (1083-1087).

Thirteen years later, Fujiwara no Kiyohira moved to Hiraizumi, on the old border, planning to rule an area stretching from the Shirakawa Barrier to present-day Aomori Prefecture. His new base was located almost exactly in the centre of the Tōhoku region on the main road leading from Kyoto to the north (the Frontier Way).

Kiyohira built Chūsonji at the top of the mountain, and other pagodas, temples and gardens followed through Hiraizumi's golden age, one that lasted a mere three generations.

In 1189, the city was razed by Minamoto Yoritomo, who was soon to become Japan's first Shōgun. He was in pursuit of his brother and rival Yoshitsune, who was being protected by the Fujiwara leader. After the Fujiwara had fallen, the town sank into obscurity, with most of the buildings destroyed. 

When Matsuo Bashō visited the area in 1689 he reflected on the impermanence of human glory:

Ah, summer grasses!

All that remains

Of the warriors' dreams 

It was the contrast between the former glory and contemporary reality that prompted the desire to visit and take a look around a few places where there didn't seem that much to see.

But, first, there was Chusonji.

We arrived in the car park to find the place close to chockers with three baton-wielding traffic wardens guiding incoming cars and buses into slots in the parking area. 

Expecting to pay the regulation couple of hundred yen to fund maintenance and upkeep we were surprised to find there was no charge.

We made our way up the hill, through a magnificent avenue of ancient trees, passing a variety of smaller structures. Apart from being Hiraizumi's most famous temple, Chūsonji serves as the head temple of the Tendai sect in Tōhoku. But it is best known for its Golden Hall (Konjikidō), a mausoleum that contains the mummified remains of the leaders of the clan who ruled the area in its 12th-century heyday.

The Tendai sect says the temple was founded in 850. Scholars, on the other hand, opt for a later date around 1100 since there’s no archaeological or historical record of Buddhist activity in the area before that time.

Similar to Kyoto's Kinkakuji (Golden Pavilion), the Konjikido is a hall wholly covered in gold, dates back to 1124, one of two buildings that survive from the original compound. The other is the Kyozo Hall, which was a repository for  Buddhist scriptures (sutra). 

It mightn't be as impressive as the gilded Konjikido, but it predates that building by sixteen years.

The Konjikido initially sat in the open air. Successive measures to protect it from the elements saw it housed in a wooden building that still stands on the site. Then it was moved inside a concrete structure and placed behind thick glass, so it's only visible from the front.

Dedicated to Amida Nyorai (Buddha of Infinite Light) it measures five-and-a-half metres on the sides, stands eight metres high and contains altars for the first three Fujiwara lords. Apart from the roof, the whole thing is covered with gold leaf, decorated with gold lacquer and mother-of-pearl, studded with gold and silver, and includes three Buddha images. 

Beneath the statues on the central dais the body of the first Fujiwara lord, Kiyohira is interred. The left holds the body of his son, Motohira, and the right contains the body of Motohira's son Hidehira and Hidehira's son, Yasuhira’s head.

Walking around the kilometre-long network of paths that reach into the mountaintop forest, there's more to Chusonji than the golden hall, though that is, of course, what draws the crowds. 

Other buildings on the site were built in the Fujiwara period, including the Hondo (main hall), where rituals are performed, a Treasure Hall and a Noh theatre stage.

Having made our way around the temple, it was time for something in the way of sustenance. 

Given the number of tourists and sightseers in the area, you'd probably expect a lengthy delay. 

I hoped the majority of those inclined to seek out lunch were being delayed by the booming drums and the Noh theatre performance we'd bypassed.

We were on a side track, separate from the path we'd followed on the way up when we passed a seemingly innocuous building with some Japanese signage out the front. 

I'd have wandered past, but Our Host pulled us up, took a squiz at the sign and suggested we head inside. The description of what we'd be getting inside wasn't the sort of thing that would prompt an immediate Yes! 

On the other hand, if we could get in that took the lunch issue off the agenda.

Which it did, and rather tasty it was. 

The meal was punctuated by frequent updates on the scoreline from a soccer semifinal, where Our Host's school were battling the local equivalent of Argentina for a spot in the final. 

At two-nil down things did not look promising.

Back in the car as we headed off in search of places associated with former glories frequent updates on the soccer saw the scoreline move from two-nil down to two-all by full time. 

An own goal had the opposition ahead, then came the equaliser before the team hero slotted in the penalty that won the game.

And there's a little side story that goes with that. 

The star footballer, apparently not a scholar, had been looking at avenues of employment once he's finished his schooling and wasn't a candidate for tertiary education. 

He had, according to Our Host, applied for a job as a fireman and his scheduled job interview clashed with match day. With a morning match against Morioka and a morning job interview, it looked like something would have to give. You'd probably assume that a career path would take precedence over temporary sporting glory.

At the same time,  the Japanese take their school sport seriously. 

The first full day of our last visit coincided with the grand final of a High School baseball competition significant enough to generate nationwide TV coverage. I know because I saw it. We ended up sitting at a table next door to a bunch of Okinawans, chain-smoking and toasting their home town's success later that evening.

The semifinal was a big enough event to have the Mayor order the Fire Brigade to reschedule the interview so the star striker could play. 

They lost the Grand Final, but he got the job.

But as far as the locations associated with former glories were concerned, the weather put paid to plans to wander around the place on foot. But we managed to find the ruins of Kanjizaiōin, which once boasted a Pure Land' style Jōdo garden, built by Fujiwara Motohira's wife. 

Fire destroyed it in the 16th century, and today, all that remains is a park and a pond. 

Across the road, a sign near a cluster of houses is the only indication that this section of the Frontier Way was once Hiraizumi's main street. 

Back in the day, it was an area that would have had blocks of shops, as well as storehouses and commercial premises.

From there,  we made our way to the site of Muryokōin temple, once modelled after Byodoin in Kyoto. Apart from the signs identifying the site, all that remains is the temple's pond, though one sign gives an impression of the magnificent structure that once stood there. 

We also made our way towards the summit of  Mount Kinkeisan, where Buddhist sutras were once buried. 

Under more favourable conditions, I might have been tempted to take a stroll down the paved path. But I'd dictated the schedule for long enough and passed over the reins to Our Host. 

It wasn't long before the train left, and there were other fish to fry in an environment of coloured leaves.

The quest for coloured leaves brought us back to the Genbi Gorge, home of the flying dungo, though you'd have expected the weather to have stifled the dungo trade. 

We parked at the Sahara Glass Park, again pretending to be paying customers before heading for the gorge. 

The coloured leaves weren't quite at their best but weren't too far off.

From there it was on to Ichinoseki and farewell to Our Host. A Shinkansen took us to Morioka, where news of the soccer semifinal defeat didn't seem to have reached the platform. 

We made our way across to the right line for the Akita Shinkansen and were on the ground in Kakunodate in not quite pitch dark and light drizzle just after five-fifteen.

Fortunately, the hotel was located next door to the station, the rain wasn't falling that heavily, and the dash across open space was a mere cricket pitch or thereabouts.

Better, an investigation revealed a coin laundry, which solved a slight predicament. We'd been on the road for five days, and the laundry backup wasn't anywhere near the critical stage. 

We had two nights in Kakunodate, a late arrival into Aomori on Tuesday and an evening appointment in Sendai on Wednesday. On that basis, it made sense to deal with the dirty laundry and push the crisis point back another week or so.

With the washing machine doing its thing, the hotel restaurant did a perfectly acceptable job of filling a yawning gap without threatening to hit any heights. 

Afterwards, we retreated to the room for free WiFi, regular checks on the washing machine and healthy slugs out of the bottle of saké donated to the keep them warm in the mountains campaign.

Needless to say, there was no question of needing any rocking.

Monday, 29 October 2012

The big issue when I stirred on Day Six of the trip involved the weather conditions outside, and an initial glance out the window was hardly something you'd describe as promising. 

While there was no way of telling whether there was actual precipitation without going outside, there was visible mist. A murky gloom didn't bode well as far as the light was concerned.

There wasn't a definite plan for the day's activities, more a wishlist, weather permitting. 

After showering and discussing what we needed in the clothing department, we headed down for a very Japanese breakfast, returning to see signs that the weather might be lifting. 

The first thing was to scope out options for Tuesday's departure. 

The preferred option was a non-JR rail motor operation that couldn't be booked online. We also needed to check for a more definitive outlook on the day's weather forecast.

The endangered rail scenario looked good, but we were advised to be first in the queue if we wanted to be sure of a seat. That wasn't likely to be an issue. The hotel is on the other side of the plaza outside the station. 

The girl in the Tourist Information Centre had promising news on the weather front. 

By the time we were waiting for the shuttle to the Dakigaeri Valley, I was thinking of removing the corduroy shirt and doing the walk in a t-shirt. That represented a remarkable turnaround from earlier when I was advised to ditch the corduroy in favour of the merino thermal underlay and the padded insulator. 

The t-shirt bit was probably never a viable option, but the fact that it was even considered shows how much the weather prospects had improved.

The bus shuttled off on time at 10:15, stopping at the Tazawaka Art, Spa, Brewery and Theatre Resort along the way. It's a twenty-minute run through the countryside. While you can do it by taxi, which may be quicker, the free bus is the way to go if you're not inclined to shell out for a cab fare.

The bus runs during October and early November, so there’s no choice for the rest of the year.

Reputedly one of the most beautiful valleys in Japan, the Dakigaeri Valley runs along the banks of the Tamagawa River. It's evident from the time you pull into the car park that you're in for something special.

 The mountains that surround the valley would be an attractive proposition any time from spring onwards but are at their best as the autumn leaves start to turn. 

The mail we'd received in town suggested they were somewhere between thirty-three and fifty per cent. 

If the lower estimate was a correct assessment, I don't think my eyes could stand the full glory at the height of the season.

You make your way in past the predictable array of stalls offering snacks and regional specialities. 

The trail that takes you into the valley starts at a Shinto shrine devoted to the god of rain before the Kaminoiwahashi suspension bridge leads you onto the path along the river valley. 

The path was initially a railway used by timber getters. 

Wagons loaded with cedar logs were carried to Jindai, the nearest station on the mainline. 

Unsurprisingly, given the rail origin, the track winds through the valley with tunnels and bridges, but only the first four kilometres (out of twelve) were open to the public when we were there. 

That stretch was enough to get us to the Mikaerinotaki waterfall. That was the thirty-metre highlight of an incredible stroll through forests where the leaves were around seventy-five per cent (according to The Supervisor, who's more au fait with these things than your narrator).

I also noticed the waters of the Tamagawa River are a cobalt blue, much like the water in Bluewater Creek north of Townsville. The explanation, in that case,  according to my High School Geography, was copper sulphate.  Whether that applies, in this instance, is uncertain. English language material is thin on the ground.

Had the trail been open for more than four kilometres we may well have failed to make it back for the 12:45 shuttle bus. That would have raised issues with lunch and would have limited the time available to look at the samurai quarter of Kakunodate.

Enclosed by mountains and the Hinokinaigawa River, the castle town of Kakunodate is famous for its samurai tradition. The town was founded in 1620, with two distinct areas, the samurai district, once home to eighty families, and the merchant area.

Hundreds of cherry trees line a two-kilometre stretch of the river. They make it one of Tohoku's most famous sakura viewing spots and the town has been tagged the little Kyoto of Tohoku.

Lunch was a curry and a flavoursome product of the local brewery. The latter went down well enough to have me dropping into a bottle shop on the way back to the hotel to pick up further examples of the local brewer’s art. 

The eatery was an outbuilding of a residence in the merchants’ quarter. A wander through that part of town allowed us to have a look around before heading slightly uphill to the autumn leaves in the samurai quarter in the northern part of town.

Kakunodate is, by all accounts, a prime example of a Japanese castle town although the castle hasn’t survived.

Several of the samurai houses, privately owned by descendants of the warriors are open to the public and are said to offer some of the best examples of samurai architecture in Japan

We didn’t see many foreigners while we were wandering around, but the town is high on the pecking order as far as the scenic side of things is concerned. 

Given the coloured leaves on display, it wasn’t difficult to see why.

We took a turn through a samurai house and received a definite reminder of just how tough things must have been in winter.

With the prospect of moving on the morrow, we were tucked away in the cot reasonably early. 

That isn’t too difficult to do when nightfall comes in well and truly after five in the afternoon. 

We’d explored most scenic options around town. That was enough to know there’d be a case for returning in the sakura season though that would probably be an overnight stop en route to somewhere else. If we do, there’ll be a stroll through the riverbank tunnel of cherry blossoms, designated as a Place of Scenic Beauty.

And there’s the prospect of spring leaves as an additional treat.

Accommodation could, however, be an issue. 

Kakunodate is big on festivals, and you’d assume the town will be booked out for Sakura Matsuri in spring. There’s a lion dance with drums and flute (Sasaramai) in summer, and Yamabuttsuke Matsuri in early autumn (samurai-themed floats). The sequence wraps up with Hiburikamakura to ward off evil spirits and improve prospects for a healthy New Year in winter.

You might think a return is unlikely, but given the experience on the endangered railway the next day, you can never tell.

Tuesday, 30 October 2012 

If Monday's effort seems to contradict Hughesy's "if you've got the rail pass you might as well use it" principle, the next three days will deliver rail travel in abundance.

The schedule for the first day underlines the variety side of things, starting with a morning ride on an ancient rail motor on what Madam christened the Endangered Railroad up to Takanosu. 

A stop for lunch at a French restaurant would be followed by a leg on a JR local line down to the coast and the mainline service looping around the northwestern coast of Honshū to Aomori.

If you’re looking for details regarding the Endangered Railroad, the official moniker is the Akita Nairiku Jūkan Railway. It’s what’s termed a third sector company. The Japan Rail consortium is the first sector, and the major private lines comprise the second. The third sector encompasses everything else.

This particular concern took over two former JR lines in 1986 and added a new line to link the two in 1989. 

Since the line runs across a sparsely populated region, it’s never going to be a big money-spinner. Because it faces what you might term severe business challenges you don’t need to be Einstein to figure out the origin of the Endangered bit.

Seats on the Endangered Rail are on a first-come, first-served basis, and we weren't sure whether the carriage would have room to stow the Black Monster. So we were into breakfast at the hotel just after seven, packed and booked out around eight and second in line for tickets in the booking office. 

So far, so good.

We were second on the train as well, which gave us plenty of time to scope out possible luggage space. 

As it turned out, there were a couple of bench style seats a useful space for the Monster towards the front of the railmotor. That aligned nicely with the prospect of a view to the front on an ultra-scenic route.

The cabin wasn't quite full when we started off, but there wasn't an abundance of spare seats either. There was no way of knowing how many passengers were there for the long haul to Takanosu or how many would be alighting along the way.

As soon as we started, someone plonked themselves in front of where I was sitting. That blocked the view to the front, which was the reason I'd plonked myself there in the first place. 

We started off across farmland, with stops at little places called Ugo-o-ota and Saimyoji, which lead to the conclusion there was likely to be an amount of picking up and dropping off along the way

 I wasn’t clued in to the back story and wasn’t sure whether we were talking a tourist operation or a local line serving relatively isolated communities. 

As time went on, it was evident local traffic was the primary raison d’etre for the line. But tourists in the spring and autumn allow the business to keep its nose above water.

At the third station (Yatsu), where the platform sat beside a siding, our train stopped to allow a motor headed in the opposite direction to pass. 

We were off again at 9:18.

Subsequent research revealed a nearby park where Japan’s largest Saimyoji chestnuts are grown, and a vast katakuri violet field said to be the largest in Japan. That’s another reason for tourists to step off the train for a bit. 

Next time, maybe we will, but, this time, around we had serious ground to cover.

From Yatsu, the line threads its way through mountains and forests. 

The mountain leg began with a rapid-fire sequence of three or four tunnels, before opening onto flat farmland again. 

Heading upwards through a landscape where the leaves were well and truly on the turn, we reached Matsuba, the old terminus when the line was part of the national railway system. 

From there,  you could head across to the country’s deepest lake, Lake Tazawa, or relax at one of the onsen resorts.

By Ugonakazato, whole slopes had gone multicolour. 

A  thirteen-minute delay at Kamihinokinai gave people a chance to stretch the legs and grab the odd photo. 

It also allowed me to ascertain that I was, again, the only foreigner in the vicinity.

The delay was to allow an express, a rail motor of roughly equivalent age, to pass. Once it had, we were off again at 9:56. 

We hit a tunnel at Tozawa at 10:03 emerged, and then another, then a third and a fourth in the space of two minutes, a fifth at 10:05. A minute later, we were in for a long dark haul, moving steadily higher, and emerging five minutes later.

We were only just out of the tunnel when we reached a station platform lined with a tour party happily clicking away as the train approached. They clambered aboard once we'd ground to a halt. 

The newcomers were obviously aboard for the most scenic section of the route, which took the train slowly across a couple of bridges, and were gone a few stops further down the track. 

I hadn’t sighted too many other travellers getting on, but the train stopped a couple of times, setting down the odd passenger who'd probably been on board since Kakunodate.

Along the way, we passed Ani-Matagi, one of the top hundred stations in Tohoku. The area also boasts a bear pasture, Utto Onsen Matagi no Yu resort, Yasunotaki Falls. The latter is reputedly the second most beautiful waterfall in Japan. There is also a museum where displays cover the history of the bear hunters of northern Japan.

Not that we were getting out to check out displays that would probably have lacked explanatory material in English, you understand.

The population was thinned out considerably there, and we seemed to be well into the uplands, following a broad river valley. 

Once the tour party and onsen set was gone, there was a noticeable change in the coloured leaves. I was inclined to ascribe that to a preponderance of evergreens rather than deciduous species.

The last leg into Takanosu took us across a broad expanse of upland paddy fields.

Overall it was another spectacular tick in the box for Madam's research skills.

Comments from people she'd spoken to on the train suggested we'd managed to lob there on the very best day. Given my lack of experience with seasonal leaves, I'm inclined to take their word for it.

Once we disembarked in Takanosu, there were of two and a half hours to kill, and the research skills kicked in once again. 

Three streets down from the station, a right-hand turn takes you onto a quiet back street with a rather good French restaurant that operates under the moniker of Boire un Coup.

Of course,  we were there for lunch, which doesn't marry well with full a la carte and an extensive wine list. 

There were two plats du jour, a chicken confit and a pasta marinara, both of which were quite delicious. We tried a Chardonnay and a Cabernet, both from Languedoc, and both good examples of varieties not usually associated with the region.

I had the Chardonnay with the pasta and thought it was in much the same flavour profile as new wave Australian takes on the variety. 

With lunch concluded, we still had an hour to kill. An inquiry about origins of wine had the proprietor proudly hauling bottles out of the wine fridge.  

He had a right to be proud because, for a restaurant in a small provincial town in northern Japan,  it was an excellent range.

That turned into a conversation about wine that could have gone on for a while. But when two customers who'd eaten in the private room on the other side of the entrance arrived to pay their bill, we took the advantage to escape. 

The rest of the waiting time passed in the waiting room at Takanosu station, a spell long enough to bring the narrative more or less up to date.

The next leg involved a connection on a local line that brought us down to Higashi-Noshiro, where we boarded the rather splendidly named Resort Train #5. 

Looking at the train itself you'd think there wasn't that much different or unusual about it. 

Once you're aboard, however, two things become apparent. 

The first is that you've got leg room over and above what you'd reasonably expect. 

I suspect this has something to do with the Resort in the train's name since you'd expect holidaymakers to be carrying a bit more baggage than the average traveller.

The second is the not quite ceiling to floor windows. 

Looping around the northwest of Honshū we’d be looking across the Sea of Japan towards the setting sun. Windows stretching from just below the overhead luggage rack to below the armrest maximise the viewing options.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the way things panned out. 

The sun was shining, albeit somewhat reluctantly, when we left Higashi-Noshiro. The cloud cover had kicked in big-time before we hit the coast. Although the fat old Sun was out there somewhere, he was lurking behind a bank of clouds that ruled out anything resembling an actual sunset.

Although that was the case, the views out across a strangely tranquil ocean that presented a contrast to evident anti-erosion work taking place along the actual coastline. 

The railway line hugged the coast, sometimes with a road in between wheels and water. Sometimes, quite literally, we were looking from the picture window almost directly down onto the beach.

Twice, along particularly picturesque stretches of coast, the train slowed to a crawl to allow maximum photo opportunities.

There were frequent stops along the way, as befits a train servicing a resort area, with comings and goings as passengers moved from one venue to another. 

After the sun had sunk below the horizon, there wasn't much to see. So I settled back to read, tossing up between the Neil Young autobiography and the latest issue of Uncut, downloaded in Kakunodate.

An announcement over the train's P.A. System brought an unexpected flurry of action at Kawabe. The Resort Special took itself forward one more station, then retraced its path en route to Aomori. 

The announcement advised the impatient aboard our train to switch to a local train at the next station, which would get us into Aomori some twenty minutes earlier than initially planned.

Needless to say, a mad scramble ensued, hauling the Black Monster up the stairs, across the bridge to the neighbouring platform and back down again. It was a situation where you'd have been reluctant to use the escalator even if one had been available.

The line into Aomori seems, on the evidence available, to be a single line, given lengthy delays in several stations to allow trains higher up the pecking order to travel in the opposite direction.

The second last stop was ShinAomori, the Shinkansen stop, located well out of the city to link better with the next stage of the  Shinkansen network, a new underwater connection to Hokkaidō.

 On the ground in Aomori, the hotel turned to be further from the station than anticipated. 

Once we’d checked in, we checked out the laundry facilities on the way to dinner, which comprised a healthy serve of deep-fried scallops. They were accompanied by the usual trimmings in the form of rice, miso soup and assorted garnishes.

 While it was a healthy serve in one sense, the contents were unlikely to attract a tick from the Food Police, 

You couldn't have complained about the quantity or the quality, but after around a week of three hearty serves a day Hughesy wasn't keen on the bulk. 

I made as big a hole as I could in everything else, but was careful to ensure there wasn't a skerrick of scallop in evidence on the plate.

Next time I intend, as I pointed out to Madam, maxing out on the scallops with no accompaniments at all except, possibly, a beer to wash them down.

And I'm not even sure about the beer.

Back at the hotel, a washing machine in the laundry was available, though it required ¥400 to operate so you can't say it was free. Since it was a neat combination of washer and dryer, it meant we could avoid the up and down checking to see if the dryer needed another cycle or two routine.

Still, that meant a two-hour cycle. So Madam poured herself a full Japanese bath of the fill almost to the brim and then immerse yourself variety. She spent a good quarter of an hour therein and insisted Hughesy do the same. 

There's a fair bit more body mass where Hughesy's concerned, and I was fairly Clancy conscious as I set about the immersion process. 

Still, regardless of the substantial overflow (Japanese bathrooms seem to be constructed to cater for it), it was a rather pleasant way to relax.

Wednesday, 31 October 2012

The day kicked off with the close to regulation reasonably early departure from a station that the cold, bright light of day showed to be right beside Aomori’s waterfront. 

8:24 isn’t up there with the sparrows at first light but isn’t exactly late either.

A ferry that transports cars and passengers over to Hokkaidō was clearly visible from the footbridge en route to Platform 6).

Aomori Prefecture has several tourist attractions. They are mostly nature-related. Historical ruins include Sannai-Maruyama (Japan's most significant, said to date back to 4,000 to 5,000 BC). Korekawa and Kamegaoka would have their share of appeal to the interested observer, and Hirosaki Castle is a well-known cherry blossom venue.

Given our schedule (arriving around seven-twenty in the evening, off to take the tunnel under the Tsugaru Strait before eight-thirty the following morning) we were never going to be doing much looking around.

The city is a relatively recent development, dating back to the  Edo Period when the Hirosaki clan began building a port and used woods nearby as landmarks for inward-bound shipping. 

Aomori either translates as blue or green forest, and the name did not come into use until after 1783. A counter-theory attributes it to an Ainu word. Either way, there’s no doubt the town was an important stepping stone in the Japanese colonisation of Hokkaidō.

Human occupation of the area goes back a way. It was part of the region ruled from Hiraizumi by the Northern Fujiwara clan during the Heian Period, although it was mainly inhabited by hunting and gathering Emishi people. 

Around the start of the Edo Period, Aomori was a minor port. But in the administrative reforms that followed the Meiji Restoration, various feudal domains were abolished and replaced with prefectures. That process brought about the inauguration of Aomori Prefecture on 23 September 1871. 

Aomori, however, wasn’t designated as a city until 1 April 1898.

You can’t help thinking those developments were related to the Japanese aim to bring the whole of the archipelago under Imperial rule and restrict foreign incursions.

Within a year of the creation of Aomori Prefecture the Hokkaidō Colonization Office was operating a ferry service from Aomori to Hakodate. 

Twenty years later the Tōhoku Main Line connected the area with Tokyo by rail. The line we’d used to reach the city is slightly more recent, dating back to 1908.

Modern Aomori owes much of its status to its position at the terminus of those rail lines. It also serves as the port for the Seikan Ferry, which opened in 1908. Operating between Aomori and Hakodate, the ferry service carried around 160 million passengers on nearly three-quarters of a million services until the Seikan Tunnel, the longest of its kind in the world, came into service.

The Tōhoku Expressway connected Aomori to Tokyo in 1979, and the city is currently the northern terminus of Japan's Shinkansen service. That will change in the not too distant future when the new bullet train line goes in under the Tsugaru Strait. 

We saw signs construction of that line is well and truly underway.

Sighting the ferry on the way to the morning train was a reminder of those matters,

From Aomori,  the line followed the coast, with views across the water to Hokkaidō, though what I thought was the northern island turned out to be the northeastern arm of Honshū. 

Blue sky and sunshine meant it was sunglasses weather, not conducive to iPad typing. That could be caught up on the half-hour haul under the Tsugaru Strait. 

We were running beside the beach as we came into Kanita. From there, the line started to move inland. There were deep green forests on either side, with broad swathes of multicoloured leaves interspersed with the evergreens, with paddy fields closer to the line itself.

By 9:03 we were starting to run into tunnels, the first relatively short, and by 9:05 we’d reached a longer one, emerging again by 9:08, when we were supposed to be hitting the big one. 

The train came to a halt at Tsugaru Hamana. 

When we were underway again, with water clearly visible on the left at 9:11, we were in another tunnel. It wasn't the one that meant our next sighting of daylight would have been on Hokkaidō. There were more as we made our way under ridges running down to the sea, which was still over on our left.

The false alarms meant I wasn't sure whether the tunnel we hit at 9:14 was the big one. But given the fact that we were still hurtling through the darkness two minutes later, I guess it was.

We were supposed to hit bottom at 9:22, two hundred and forty metres down in a tunnel ten metres wide and eight metres high. That was what the documentation indicated. There was no way of assessing dimensions in the Stygian gloom outside. 

It was an outstanding engineering feat, some forty-two years in the making.

At 9:40, we were onto Hokkaidō, emerging with a heavily wooded hillside area on our left as the train pulled into the station at Shiriuchi. We were back in a tunnel shortly after that, presumably prompted by the same engineering concerns that applied on the other side.

We were on the eastern side of the train, so it was sunglasses weather as we passed what looked like the in-progress construction of the Hokkaidō Shinkansen line. 

The Strait was like a millpond, and it was a case of sitting back and enjoying the view for the rest of the journey.

The last stage took us on a sweeping loop around the harbour that brought Hakodate to prominence, so at this point, it's time for another diversion into the historical and geographical background.

After it opened to foreign trade in 1854, Hakodate was the principal port in northern Japan, and until the Great Hakodate Fire of 1934, it was the north island’s largest city. 

It now ranks third behind Sapporo and Asahikawa. 

The city's origins date back to 1454 when Kono Kaganokami Masamichi built a manor house in an Ainu fishing village called Usukeshi (a bay in Ainu). 

We're talking frontier lifestyle and issues with indigenous people here, and an Ainu rebellion drove Masamichi's son, Kono Suemichi, and family out of Hakodate in 1512.

There isn't much in the way of recorded history for the next century, apart from the recurrent conflict between the Ainu and armed merchants establishing trading posts and control trade in the region. 

Given the frontier experience elsewhere you'd tend to assume people weren't interested in keeping records for posterity. You'd guess there wasn't a great deal of government supervision either.

In any case,  there was an Ainu uprising led by a warrior called Shakushain between 1669 and 1672, that resulted in defeat and suppression for the Ainu and laid the foundations for modern Hakodate. 

By the nineteenth century, the settlement was flourishing, and there was rapid development after, the Tokugawa Shōgunate took direct control of Hakodate in 1779. A magistracy was established in 1802.

But the significant change came in 1854 when a fleet of five U.S. ships surveyed the harbour under the terms of the Convention of Kanagawa, negotiated by Commodore Matthew Perry. 

The port was wholly opened to foreign trade on 2 June 1859 as one of five Japanese points of contact with the outside world. Visitors can see evidence of that status in the Old Foreign Quarter, which hosted several overseas consulates.

On the ground in Hakodate,  the priority was, as usual, dropping the Black Monster at the hotel, but a couple of logistical and administrative details needed to be sorted first. 

Madam needed to book the next batch of train tickets, and the travelling funds needed to be replenished, so a rendezvous with an ATM was also a priority.

We could have accomplished those things before we hit the hotel, but railway ticket offices and Black Monsters aren't a good match. So we took the item in question to its overnight lodgings, where we found our room was ready for us. 

That, at least, took another piece out of the equation since there was no need to get back to check-in.

Downstairs we had a chat with the accommodating gentleman on the front desk and headed back to the station for tickets and cash replenishment. 

There were three main items on the list, and discussion at the hotel had done a fair bit to sort them into a workable sequence.

We started with a trip to the star-shaped fortress at Goryōkaku. It was the first European-style fortress built in Japan, a relic of the era when the country was opening up to the West.

Ironically, it was built to defend the city against imperialist threats from Western powers and was completed in 1864.

That was just in time for the fortress to become the headquarters of the Ezo Republic after Enomoto Takeaki fled to Hakodate with the remnants of his Navy and a handful of French advisers in 1866. 

They established the Republic on Christmas Day and attempted to gain international recognition through foreign legations in the city. But government forces defeated the secessionists in the Battle of Hakodate in 1869, and the town and fort surrendered peacefully.

After the fort had lost its military significance, it was turned into a park, with 1,600 cherry trees planted around the moats. As a result, it is now one of Hokkaidō's best cherry blossom spots. 

The best views come from the nearby Goryōkaku Tower though you’re likely to wait up to three hours to make the ascent at the height of the sakura season. 

A hundred metres up looking towards the fort, you can see why.

The area around the castle and the tower is a noted eating area, and we had already picked up two recommendations for lunch. 

With a choice between curry and ramen, the noodles won. That was mostly due to the number of encounters I've had with curry over the past week. 

Ramen was always going to be Madam's preference, so there is an element of diplomacy in there as well.

The ramen arrived in a large bowl of stock. 

Having once again left Hughesy's fork at the hotel, I had no choice but to have a go with chopsticks.

As it turned out, I could have asked for a fork since my unorthodox, but highly effective chopstick technique prompted one of the waiters to deliver one. 

By that point, I'd demolished about 90% of the noodles, so the fork remained where it had been placed.

From there, we headed to the Tower for panoramic views across the city, then made our way downstairs and headed for the fortress. The sakura-covered defensive walls could have prompted an extensive photo session, but we had other fish to fry.

So we made our way back to the tram line and headed for the old Foreign Quarter. 

As one of the first ports opened to foreign shipping, you could have tipped great things for Hakodate.

Relative isolation (I suspect that was one of the reasons the port was selected in the first place) meant the city was bypassed by more centrally positioned rivals. 

So much of what was built in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries is still there if it wasn't destroyed in the 1907 fire. Much of what fell victim to the flames seems to have been rebuilt in a similar style.

Interestingly, the area near the foot of Mount Hakodate is known as Motomachi, which translates as an original town. That explains the presence of the Hakodate Public Hall, which housed the local government in the early twentieth century. 

Equally interesting is the fact that Kōbe, Nagasaki and Yokohama all have districts bearing the same name.

We took a ramble through the area, past Russian Orthodox, Roman Catholic and Episcopal Churches, the Russian and British Consulates, and the Higashi Honganji temple. Then we made our way downhill to the red brick warehouses along the waterfront.

They’ve been developed into a shopping, dining and entertainment complex that’s a prime example of the sort of shopping you’ll find in a tourist area of a gift-oriented society. 

It’s also the hub of Hakodate’s eating and drinking options. 

We also passed Japan’s first concrete electricity pole and located the Spanish eatery Madam had selected as a possible dinner option.

By this time, we were waiting for the sunset. 

The third leg of the Hakodate trifecta involved an ascent of Mount Hakodate for one of the Best Three Nighttime Vistas in Japan (alongside Nagasaki's Mount Inasa and Kōbe's Mount Rokko), rated the equal of the evening views across Naples and Hong Kong. 

The rambling had just about run out of possibilities around four. So with a good hour and a half to wait for the bus that would take us to the summit, we headed back to the hotel for a brief spell.

The helpful advice we received on arrival hadn't quite turned out to be on the money. 

We'd been advised against buying a day-long tram ticket, which seemed to cost more than the likely total of fares between the railway station and the fortress and back to Motomachi. 

But we both agreed that if we'd shelled out for the day pass, we might have headed further around to the Foreigners' Cemetery rather than moseying back to the accommodation.

In any case, rugged up to the best of our ability, we were back out around 5:10, heading for the bus terminal, where a 5:30 service would take us up to the top.

 As it turned out, it was just as well we were on the spot early. 

Our position in the queue that formed after the Motomachi Gourmet bus left landed us seats rather than standing room.

Mount Hakodate is a lumpy, 334-metre wooded mountain at the southern end of the peninsula on which Hakodate is located. 

The mountain's local nickname is Gagyūzan (Mount Cow's Back) since the mountain allegedly resembles a resting cow. 

Facilities at the summit include observation platforms, souvenir shops, a cafe and a restaurant. 

Advice at the hotel suggested the bus (¥360 return) rather than the ropeway (¥640/1160 one-way/return). 

The ropeway would provide a continuous vista along a single line of sight where the bus, twisting and turning on its way, offered spectacular views on both sides of the vehicle. 

Hint: If you take the bus, try to procure seats on the same side for both legs of the journey. There are excellent views from both sides, and if you swap, you'll end up seeing the same thing both ways.

The bus was packed to the gunwales on the way up. But once we were there, the mob dispersed to all quarters, with many opting to descend on the ropeway. 

Bus one way, ropeway t'other seemed to be the preferred option. We found ourselves sharing the downward bus with a bunch of stylishly dressed hipsters who alighted in the gourmet quarter, evidently out for a big night.

I guessed they made the ascent via ropeway, and with the sightseeing done were off to make merry.

We took ourselves around to a vantage point overlooking the city for snapshot action where capturing the full moon over the city lights was a priority. 

Once we'd accomplished that we made our way into the summit complex, with its array of gift shops, tea houses and restaurants. A rooftop area that might have offered the best views but was predictably, packed.

In any case,  we were out to get a seat on the 6:20 bus and found ourselves occupying the places we'd had for the ascent, locking in the both sides of the view aspect.

Back on the ground, we headed back to the hotel since the camera bag was surplus to requirements, and the plan for the rest of the evening involved chicken yakitori and a couple of cleansing ales. 

That plan came unstuck when we stopped to chat with the helpful front desk man, who informed us the proprietor of the eatery next door was inclined to be difficult. 

Really? A chef with quirky personality issues? Who'd have thunk? 

He directed us instead to a little warren of eating and drinking places a couple of hundred metres away. It was over on the other side of the major intersection near the railway station where we'd boarded the bus. 

Now, you might take this next bit the wrong way. 

So it's important to emphasise that while I was keen to hit the yakitori chicken with a couple of beers for the evening meal, the key issues were avoiding a big meal. 

Specifically, avoiding the rice, salad and miso soup that invariably accompanies a set meal in Japan. 

In short, I was looking for a little bit of something tasty that didn't require chopsticks.

We arrived in a maze that contained about fourteen assorted eateries. Most of them were of the sit at the counter and drink while you snack on the nibbles you can order off the blackboard menu persuasion.

 There weren't any spaces at the yakitori place, but there were alternatives. 

The problem was, initially, deciding which one. Then when we'd settled on one establishment, we had to deal with Madam's natural inclination to try as many of the yummy alternatives as possible.

Personally, I would have been happy to have another couple of goes at the scallops we started with. They were simmered in a little stock on a small stove, using a large shell as a cooking vessel. 

I wasn't keen on the sight of raw scallops, but once they'd simmered away atop the little cooker, the result was quite superb. 

Once they were gone, I could have gone another, probably another and quite possibly a fourth serve, turning the pieces in the broth and taking hearty swigs of beer in between turns.

Madam, on the other hand, couldn't help but order sashimi, which I'm sure I would have done had I been Japanese. 

There was a dish of potatoes where you were supposed to hollow out space in the middle and insert raw squid and a dab of butter. This, I gather, is a Hokkaidō delicacy, and it wasn't bad, but, as the reader might guess, it involved chopsticks to do the hollowing out, something I was hoping to avoid.

I was also hoping to avoid suggestions that I might like to try bits and pieces off the platter of sashimi that followed the platter's arrival. 

Like I said earlier, I was after a small feed that didn't involve chopsticks and wanted to avoid concern about whether I was enjoying myself. 

Because, actually, I was. 

We're talking an eating and drinking environment you're not going to find in Australia. If there weren't the old language issues, I'd have been joining in the badinage.

We were in there following a chat with the proprietress, whose son acted as the barman while she did a bit in the room at the rear that served as the kitchen. 

When we arrived, a married couple was finishing up before heading elsewhere and a couple of girls apparently on a quiet night out. 

Conversation ebbed and flowed back and forth, aided, abetted and redirected by the barman, who was a pretty classy operator.  

After the couple had left, a rotund and jovial gentleman arrived, settled in to simmer scallops and engage in banter. Much of it seemed to concern the relative merits of Hokkaidō and Tokyo, which was, as far as I could gather, where the two girls were from.

All in all, a delightful little session.

Except for the fact that the bloke over there was tucking into what I'd have preferred. Instead, I was being pushed towards bits and pieces deemed necessary to broaden Hughesy's gustatory horizons. 

Those attempts were something I could have done without, as was the consequence of moving the venue from staggering distance of the hotel to a much more remote location.

We'd been snug enough in the little eatery, and when we hit the side street outside things weren't too bad. But as we stood at the intersection near the bus terminal waiting for the lights to change the wind chill factor kicked in big time. 

It's fair to say I've never been colder in my life. 

One minute I was fine, but as the core body temperature plunged, Madam looked in my direction. She noted that I seemed to be having trouble and asked whether I was all right. 

An anguished No produced an offer of the scarf she'd been using to insulate her neck, which, in turn, created a minor thermal crisis on that front. 

Needless to say, once the lights changed, there was a frantic scramble across the intersection, along the main street to the side street that housed the hotel. 

Though that cut out a large part of the wind chill, it took a good five to ten minutes to restore the equanimity once we were safely inside.

A warm bath for Madam, a hearty slug of medicinal saké for Hughesy and by nine-thirty both of us were snugly pushing up Zs, with the prospect of an early rise on the morrow. Temperatures were bound to be a significant cause for concern. 

Thursday, 1 November 2012

If you're going to visit Hakodate,  four items fall automatically into the must-do category. 

We'd managed three the day before. If we wanted to fit in the fourth, we would have to be up and about around sparrow fart. The appropriate layering of clothing was going to be a significant issue. 

I'd nearly frozen on the way back from the alley full of eateries the night before and wasn't keen to repeat the experience.

We were off to the Morning Fish Markets, and  I wasn't sure we were going to make it.

I'd seen a fish market in Sydney, and that is something to behold. In this case, on a crisp autumn morning, since a picture is worth a thousand words, we might as well let pictures do the talking. 

There are more than three hundred and sixty stalls in the daily market (Hakodate Asaichi) near the railway station. The action kicks off at five in the morning (six in winter), but there’s no hurry. 

The markets cover four blocks, operate through the morning, close at noon, and offer an incredible variety of cold water seafood, including crabs, salmon eggs, sea urchin, squid, scallops and many other kinds of fresh fish and shellfish, as well as fresh produce.

And you don’t have to cart your selection back to base to cook it. 

There are plenty of restaurants and cafes in the area and stalls that serve up breakfasts, such as uni-ikura domburi (seafood-topped rice bowl).

Apart from Hokkaidō crabs, Hakodate's signature fish is squid. The signature dish is shio rāmen, noodles prepared with squid stock instead of the pork stock you’re likely to be served elsewhere. Not really my cup of tea.

Neither is ikameshi (rice-stuffed squid), but I’ll be back to gorge on shellfish and crab…

On a leg where punctuality mattered, we were seated on the train a quarter of an hour before departure. 

If we were going to fit everything into the day's itinerary, we had to be on the 8:08 Limited Express Super Hakucho. Then we'd need to be pretty smart about moving to the Shinkansen that would drop us at Sendai in time to head on a scenic sail around the bay at Matsushima.

We were on the left-hand side of the train this time, which meant another view across the water while we made our way towards the tunnel. 

Again, the views across the bay were spectacular. They had, however,  lost some of the wow factor after the top of Mount Hakodate.

While there were the same false alarms, we'd experienced on the northward journey, this time, we were running on time/.

There was a helpful diagram and cheat sheet on the back of each seat in the carriage.

We were slightly behind the 8:56 on the back of the seating schedule when we hit the tunnel, passing the deepest point around 9:08 and the Tappi Undersea Station at 9:15. 

It wasn't easy to tell which of the lights we passed were station and which belonged to a train in the opposite direction. 

My money was on station to the left and train to the right but without a way of verifying the guess… 

We were back on the surface at 9:21, and the run to ShinAomori proved uneventful. 

A lengthy stay at Aomori was followed by a change of direction (nose into Aomori; rear-end leads the way to ShinAomori.

That would have left us with our backs to the engine, but there's a facility that allows you to swing your seats through 180 degrees, so you're facing the front.  Neat, eh?

We probably didn't need to do that. It was only a matter of minutes before we were extricating ourselves from the carriage, onto a convenient elevator and heading towards the Shinkansen section. That was another floor above the intermediate level where we flashed our tickets and rail passes.

The train was ready and waiting, set to go, and the baggage space at the rear of Carriage 2 was conveniently empty. 

Once I'd shed the merino undergarment, a vital cog in the keep Hughesy warm arrangements over the previous couple of days, it was time to settle back. I had the iPod shuffling through the playlists as I enjoyed the bits of new territory I was able to glimpse between tunnels as we made our way towards Morioka. 

That was where we'd left the Tohoku Shinkansen line en route to Kakunodate four days earlier.

From there it was on to Sendai/

On the ground there we didn't quite make a mad scramble from train to the hotel to a local line for the excursion to Matsushima, but we moved at a pretty fair clip.  

It wasn't as if we needed to hurry.

But there's a fundamental issue when you're not familiar with the actual lie of the actual land and lunch was waiting at the other end of the suburban rail leg. 

Even if there wasn't any urgency, it made sense to get to the right station on the right line ASAP. 

Things would have been easier if we'd paused, followed the directions we'd received when we deposited the luggage and looked around the corner at the Lottery agency. 

But we didn't look, didn't find the handy subway entrance we emerged from on the return journey subsequently almost went via the Cape.

Once we'd arrived at the station, Matsushima Kaigan (Beach) as opposed to Matsushima, the first job was to find lunch. 

Matsushima sits on the JR Tohoku Main Line. It's a ten-minute walk away from where people who are visiting the scenic bay actually want to go, so don't go that way...

We could have looked around for other options, but just along from the station, there was a funky little place offering oyster burgers, which seemed like the way to go. Matsushima is, after all, a prime oyster producing area as was evident once we hit the water.

The oyster burger went down a treat. I could have opted for another, but there were places to go and sights that needed to be seen. I had to be content with the prospect of a grilled oyster and a glass of white wine once we'd been out on the briny. 

I was intrigued, to say the least, by what variety of white wine a funky little operation like this one would be able to rustle up. 

From there we set off in search of the cruise terminal, wandering through a park along the way, and arriving in time to be hustled onto an earlier cruise, which turned out to be handy from a post-cruise perspective.

The bay and the two hundred and sixty pine-clad islands and islets are known as Matsushima (Matsu = pines, shima = islands). They are one of the Three Views of Japan alongside Miyajima and Amanohashidate.

An apocryphal haiku attributed to Bashō supposedly suggests the great poet was at a loss for words when he visited the place, stopping off on his way to or from the Deep North:

Matsushima ah!

A-ah, Matsushima, ah!

Matsushima, ah!

But he would surely have been able to come up with something better.

Several companies offer cruises, and most are based at Matsushima Pier, a five-minute walk (ten if you take your time) from Matsushima Kaigan. Others operate from Shiogama Pier, a short walk from Hon-Shiogama Station, three stations ahead of Matsushima Kaigan on the JR Senseki Line.

We’d opted for the all-Matsushima experience, though if you’ve got time on your hands, it may pay to shop around. 

When you’ve only got a couple of hours in the afternoon, your choices are relatively limited. 

Of the time on the water, not much needs to be said, apart from invoking the one picture = a thousand words principle. The sea resembled a millpond. The oyster beds were prominent. 

It was an enjoyable way to spend an hour.

Back on dry land, we were inclined to head to Godaido, a small temple hall on an islet next door to the pier. 

It mightn't be the most historical or architecturally impressive temple, but the site dates back to 807, and it was founded by the same priest who founded nearby Zuiganji. 

The structure on the site is a 1604 reconstruction paid for by feudal lord Date Masamune, decorated with carvings of the twelve animals of the lunar calendar, three on each side. 

Its prominent location means it has become one of the symbols of Matsushima.

More impressive, although we didn't have time for an exhaustive look is Zuiganji temple, currently undergoing renovations. It'll stay that way until 2018. 

Although the grounds are open, the main hall will be closed until March 2016. If you're visiting in the meantime, they've opened other buildings, which aren't usually open to the public.

It would be natural to suspect the work is related to the tsunami on 11 March 2011, but Matsushima escaped significant damage thanks to its location inside the island-dotted bay. 

The islands blunted the impact of the waves. 

Most tourist attractions, shops and hotels reopened within a few weeks or months of the earthquake, but there was some structural damage. 

Though the JR Senseki Line is open for business, after Matsushima Kaigan, you can only go one stop further. If you’re looking to get to Matsushima by train, you’ll have to head through Sendai.

Founded in 828 by the Tendai sect, Zuiganji became a Zen temple during the Kamakura Period (1192-1333). It was restored, after years of decline, by the same feudal lord (Date Masamune) who restored Godaido as his family temple in 1609. 

Today it's one of the region's most prominent Zen temples, known for its gilded and painted sliding doors (fusuma). We didn't get to see them, but there's every chance we'll be back.

As you enter the grounds, a straight path flanked by cedar trees leads to the Main Hall, the Kuri (the kitchen where meals were prepared in the past) and the Seiryuden. The latter, also known as Zuiganji Art Museum displays some of the temple's treasures as well as artefacts of the Date clan. 

As you head in, an interesting path veers off to the right of the main avenue that takes you towards some caves used in the past for meditation. 

Today they contain moss-covered Kannon statues.

Madam had wandered in on the way to Godaido while I was putting my feet up and was struck by the long straight path that leads to the main hall. But she sighted something on the side path and hauled me in for a gander on the way back to the station.

As it turned out, we didn't stop off for a grilled oyster and a glass of white on the way, though there would have been plenty of time. 

Madam wasn't keen, and I didn't insist, knowing we were meeting up with some of her old friends for dinner.

Back in downtown Sendai, we finished the check-in procedure and hit the free WiFi. Around six, we wandered downstairs to rendezvous with a couple of wine lovers, although she was forced to refrain, having drawn (or possibly chosen) the designated driver short straw.

After a brief chat in the hotel lobby, we headed back through the Sendai Station complex in search of a funky little yakitori place that boasted a decent wine list. 

That, by the way, is an unusual combination. 

Yakitori usually gets washed down with beer or saké.

We started with beer before moving onto the red, and at that point I'm inclined to draw a discreet veil over proceedings, noting that the food was plentiful and quite excellent. 

The vinous proceedings started with a very acceptable Barbera and concluded with an equally enjoyable Nebbiolo. My liver would have preferred to have done without the Koonunga Hill Shiraz Cabernet that my learned colleague insisted on inserting between the two.

Friday, 2 November 2012

I wasn't a well boy when I surfaced on Friday morning, but that probably comes as no surprise under the circumstances. 

Given my 'druthers, I'd have given last night's middle bottle a miss, but the other party doing the drinking wasn't familiar with Australian wine.

It was, as far as we could tell, the only Australian red on the list.

That's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

Fortunately, after a big night, this was a big travel day and one that, initially, didn't involve a great deal of humping the Black Monster up and down staircases. 

If it had, I suspect there may have been fatalities.

If you are severely hungover, there are definitely far worse places to be than a speeding Shinkansen, and the transfer from Sendai to Omiya was relatively painless.

Omiya kicked in a novelty factor since we were boarding one of the double-decker Shinkansen. 

Madam's concerns about stowing the luggage were probably real enough. But they weren't the sort of thing you wanted to think about when you've got what P.G. Wodehouse was wont to describe as a morning head.

Once we'd boarded, we made our way up a tricky curved stairway that would have posed no difficulty for a teetotaller unencumbered by a Black Monster. Under the current circumstances, it presented issues.  

Fortunately, there was the regular space behind the back seats where Monster could be stowed.

Apart from worrying about luggage space, Madam had organized lunch, which, predictably, came in a bento container and, somewhat less predictably was wholly demolished with chopsticks. 

I'd only actually managed to do that once before but am currently disinclined to get myself back into the state that seems to have made the feat possible.

After the Shinkansen,  we progressively downgraded. 

First to a Hakutaka, which was still rather shmicko, then onto a local line operated by Toyama Regional Railways (Toyama Chihō Railway). They're a third sector company obviously doing it tough in an environment where travellers are increasingly likely to head where they want to go by car or bus. 

The company operates the railway, tram, and bus lines in the eastern part of Toyama Prefecture. Their main line runs from Toyama to Unazuki Onsen (which was where we were headed). 

It's part of a mere 93.2 km of lines to hot springs and the mountainous region of Tateyama.

The Hakutaka dropped us at Uozu, and I wasn't keen on an "up the staircase and across the bridge and lump the Monster back down the other side" exercise to access the private line. 

Madam scoped out an elevator on the JR side though there was no escaping the old heave-ho as we climbed the stairs to access the local line. 

Being a local line, we were up for the fare since the JR Rail Pass wasn't valid on this section.

The sight of the train that rolled into Uozu didn’t do much to inspire confidence. 

From the look of the trains that passed in the other direction, the company’s rolling stock seemed to comprise whatever weatherbeaten items they'd managed to spare from the scrap heap. 

There was no standard livery pattern, and most of the rolling stock wasn’t far off its last legs.

Or, rather, I guess, its last wheels.

Although they mightn't look that flash, they work. 

We arrived at Unazuki Onsen late in the afternoon, with Madam enthused about hot baths and Hughesy after anything that would reduce the pain.

Developed as an off-shoot of hydroelectric projects that brought people into the previously inaccessible mountain region along the Kurobe Valley in Toyama Prefecture. 

Unazaki is rated as one of the purest hot springs in Japan.

It’s at the entrance to the Kurobe Gorge and marks one end of the sightseeing train route that runs through a deep V-shaped valley to Keyakidaira. 

The Hot Springs are the main attraction, drawing their water from Kuronagi Onsen, upstream on a tributary of the Kurobe. Up there, three thousand tons of water per day gush out of the ground at temperatures around 91°C. 

It cools down over the seven-kilometre journey but is still 60°C when it reaches the two-metre fountain in front of the station at Unazuki. 

The waters are said to be helpful if you’re suffering from rheumatism or neuralgia, and they’re supposed to help sports injuries and nervous disorders as well.

Today, Unazuki is a modern hot spring resort town full of ryokan inns and hotels. The one where we were staying (Feel Unazuki) offered the unusual combination of Japanese-style rooms (complete with tatami matting), a flat-screen TV and free WiFi.

More or less the best of both worlds.

You get your own toilet, which, predictably is of the washlet persuasion, but if you’re looking to bathe you’ll be doing it in the onsen. 

No sneaking into the Western-style shower here, folks, and you can forget the beds as well. 

It’s a futon on the floor, quilt over the top and that’s it. 

Pretty spartan, but I can vouch for the quality of the night’s sleep, which was sorely needed. 

It is, on the other hand, reasonably priced (¥6,000 per head for a two-person room, no price differential on weekends and holiday periods). 

There’s a Natural Observation Bathroom (Sky Spa) on the top floor giving you the onsen experience along with views of the Kurobe Gorge.

It’s the closest hotel to the Kurobe Torokko railway terminus, and a shortish walk from the regular train station, which is also the terminus of its line. 

There are plenty of alternatives if you’re chasing accommodation.

You can get some idea of the scale of the Japanese passion for the hot spring spa routine from the fact that resorts in this particular location employ four thousand people.

If someone had revealed that factoid in the afternoon, I’d have been reluctant to believe it, but that was before the following day’s experience.

Apart from the abundant waters, the other attraction is the local beer. It's brewed using water from the Kurobegawa River and local barley from Unazuki. The Dubious Reader may question "abundant waters", but there's more than enough to go around. The local authorities installed hot spring baths where weary travellers can soak their aching feet to commemorate the resort’s eightieth birthday)

After visiting the onsen,  I sampled a local brew over dinner with a curry, and it lived up to its reputation.

After suffering from the after-effects of overindulgence all through the day, I was under the doona soon after seven-thirty, sawing logs like it was going out of style.