As we climbed into the mountains the mist closed in more tightly. Large power pylons in the valley beside us suggested the presence of nearby hydroelectric stations, We passed through frequent tunnels, skirting sudden canyons and waterfalls. As we made a lengthy stop at a little place called Inotani I looked out over forested mountains that evoked images of hermits and Zen poets in the mist.
Moving on through Sugihara, we passed into an area where there were patches of snow on slopes not far above the line. By this point we were following the river valley, almost at river level with the highway on the other side of the stream protected by a roof supported by lines of pillars.
As we rolled through Sakakami I gave up on writing in the journal, which I’d had open on the folding tabletop, deciding that the distraction of scribbling the odd brief observation was getting in the way of enjoying the scenery.
Approaching Takayama I couldn’t help noticing the houses looked to be of much the same construction as those further down, and guessed that they’d have to be very well insulated if the occupants were going to make it through what would have had to be harsh winters.
My suspicions about the temperature in these parts were confirmed as we alighted in Takayama just after nine o’clock in conditions colder than a mother-in-law’s kiss. We transferred the suitcase to the hotel, then headed back to the station precinct to catch the bus to the Hida Folk Village, where we spent a couple of hours wandering through buildings rescued from river valleys that had been flooded to provide the water supply for hydroelectric schemes.
The timber houses themselves weren’t really all that old, not going back much further than the middle of eighteenth century, but were the sorts of places where ordinary people would have lived.