Our plans, in other words, were never going to get off the ground. On the other hand it was lunchtime, and while Madam fancied a fried sweet potato from the lobby. I leaned in favour of a Japanese curry from the restaurant upstairs so I set off in solo mode to find my own lunch, a thousand-yen note in hand. Once seated in the restaurant, I learned that I could have the curry by itself for 950 yen or with egg for 950. Opting in favour of the egg, I was rewarded with a plate of curry and rice accompanied by a black-shelled soft boiled egg which I peeled and incorporated into the curry and rice mixture. I don’t know if that’s the correct approach, but, in the absence of expert guidance regarding the correct protocol, that was what I did. Downstairs, informing ‘Er Indoors about my action, I was bemused to learn consumption of the seven year egg had added seven years to my life span. She pointed to handy packs of five similar eggs, but I decided that should I purchase an extra thirty-five years on Hughesy’s life span would probably be too much for the superannuation fund to handle.
An extra seven years would have to do.
Back on the rope-way we set off once again into the mist, finishing at Togendai on Lake Ashi, where we boarded what appeared to be a replica of a pirate ship for a sight-seeing cruise to Moto-Hakone. The cruise supposedly offers one of the best Fuji-viewing options, but we were flat out seeing past the shores of the lake and, from Moto-Hakone it was impossible to see the other end of the lake, let alone any majestic mountain that might be lurking above it.
In Moto-Hakone we decided that discretion and a chance to get warm was the better part of valour, so we boarded a bus that would take us straight back to the hotel, braved the traffic between the bus stop and the front door, and checked in.
When we entered the room I’d, not to put too fine a point on it, just about had enough for the day. Then we opened the curtains, and the view that greeted us was absolutely spectacular. The hotel is situated right on a bend in the stream that flows down to Hakone-Yumoto and, from the rooms on the stream side, you have views up and down the steep-sided, heavily-forested river valley. I would have been quite happy to spend the next hour or so just sitting down and gazing out the window at the views while the camera battery recovered from the day’s ordeal, but ‘Er Indoors was particularly insistent that I take a trip downstairs to the onsen (hot-spring spa, which was, basically, the reason for the hotel’s existence), because it would be good for the muscle that had been troubling my right leg, and, eventually, I realized that I might as well surrender to the inevitable and traipsed off downstairs.
Under different circumstances I could probably have spent longer soaking in the warm water, which admittedly does wonders for tired muscles, but the siren song of the view from an upstairs window proved much stronger than the solitary enjoyment of a giant-sized bathtub (a pleasure that could have been interrupted at any time by the arrival of other guests) so I emerged after ten minutes. All up the onsen-visit had taken about twenty minutes out of premium canyon-gazing time and I had barely settled back into a relaxed gaze across the stream before a phone call alerted us that our evening meal - four or five courses in classic French style - awaited us.
The bottle of red (Cuvee Quatre Saisons, no less) disappointed on first taste but improved considerably: (a) with breathing (as a red wine should), or (b) as the level lowered.
Personally I tend to ascribe the improvement to the effects of oxygen on the contents of the bottle rather than the effects of the contents of the bottle on the drinker, but your mileage might vary. Back upstairs, ‘Er Indoors attended to various administrative matters while I looked out across the dark stream with the iPod and a can of Asahi Super Dry for company.