I waved goodbye to my boyfriend
through the train window and made my way back to Obaachan’s. It was a Sunday,
so I shared the carriage ride home with all the drunken sleepers retracing
their steps on the first train creeping in to the suburbs, the dusty velvet
green cushions smelt of stale smoke and cocktails, whilst I dreamt about the
mountains.
1
Yagisaki Station – Yokokawa –
Karuizawa
Hiking shoes on, rucksack strapped,
walking stick bought. We’re on our way in to the countryside for a five day
hike in the Kiso Valleys, following the Nakasendo Trail, an old Edo trade route
linking Kyoto and Tokyo (which used to be called Edo). Doing the whole trail
would be impossible in the time frame and with my short legs, but we can walk a
fair stretch of it and take in the beautiful historical scenery. Aidan planned
the route superbly with train rides to break up our long walks, so I’m hopeful
that I won’t drag down his pace or morale if I get tired and hungry.
Yokokawa station is at the foot of
some big mountains and when we arrive there is a cold drizzling mist blanketing
the earth. I look around and it feels like we’ve come to a nowhere town. The
mist tastes great. My aunt Mariko told me the night before we left on the trip
that Yokokawa is famous for their kama
meshi; a ceramic bowl filled with warm rice and delicious things that
travellers ate on their way. A bento bowl. I had that on my mind as we
disembarked the train but we were too early as none of the shop fronts were
open, and so, we two ventured out in to the mist like the brave explorers we
were. Halfway down the long road we realised that we were going the wrong way.
So we turned around and trundled back up the road and here my co-pilot and I
learned our first lesson of hiking holidays: Setting off in the right direction is the first and most important
hurdle. On the bright side, when we returned to Yokokawa station the shops
were open and serving kama meshi.
Yay! We bought two solid pots that were radiating heat, and I stuffed them in
to the top of my rucksack.
On the road again, walking by the
side of a winding highway for the first part, until it got quieter and we
passed a shrine at the foot of the mountains with no discernible name. I’m
always up for visiting shrines/temples when we come across them on the way, so
we climb the steps and have a look. A plateau clearing amidst a dense dark
forest with a wide wooden shrine standing at the back. It seemed forgotten,
tranquil and held a subdued awesomeness - just the kind of shrine I like. I
shook the bell, made a racket and did omairi
(showed some respect) then we headed on our way. Sometime soon after we see a
thin wooden post with a sign that reads:
中山道
Nakasendo
It looked
very unassuming so we doubted it for a second, but as we’ll find out over the
course of our trip not that many
people do this walk. And the truck drivers will wonder when they pass us on
highways whether we’re mad or foreign, or both. But yes, here it was the first
sign of the old road! It led us under a newly constructed tunnel and then up a
steep hillside to a shelter. In the shelter were an old Japanese couple who
looked like true hikers, so I knew we were in the right place. To the left of
them was a small dark path that led upwards in to a thick forest and mountains
and then disappeared. The initial clamber was steep and sweaty, and as we rose
above the road we’d left behind, the mist caught between the trees and
dissipated a green glow around my ankles. At least it wasn’t hot or humid but
cool and wet. I used Piston (the name I gave my walking stick) to haul me up
the mountain, whilst Aidan strode out in front, bounding off boulders and I
felt very heavy. There were small stone markers along the steep track, and we
passed an Australian group of hikers who chirruped some friendly comments,
which I can’t remember because I was concentrating on moving my feet. Already
feeling so tired I wasn’t sure if I could actually keep this up for five days,
but not listening to my brain, I carried on struggling up rocks. At the steepest
point we passed a huge pile of stones that previous passers-by had accumulated
on top of each other, which I guess was a form of encouragement. But I was
still out of breath and feeling dizzy so I said I really want to - eat – lunch - please? My kind co-pilot told me
that we were scaling a mountain, so, I shouldn’t feel too bad about being tired
already and at the next carved out hollow on the mountainside we opened up our kama meshi, still warm in the pot. I’m
not going to lie, lunch was my favourite part of the first day. It held inside
the best meal I could have wished for. A cute egg, mushrooms, sweet ginger,
apricot, pickled plum, bamboo shoots, pork, chicken, and a chestnut all on a
bed of white rice. After chomping down the meal and a good glug of water I felt
ready to climb mountains again.
The rain
had stopped but thankfully the cooling white mist was still present, and once
we had cleared the steep rubble path we entered a surreal dreamlike forest. The
tree trunks shot up in to the canopy like telegraph poles, and the earth
beneath my feet was bouncy. Good for treading. The green leaves above and the
foliage all around produced a matcha
mist to walk through, whilst in the distance you could make out a smokey blue
horizon. When you stopped all you could hear were raindrops far above, dripping
on leaves upon leaves. Bird song and silence. The walk had become satisfying
and Piston was doing a good job of holding me up. Eating the lunches had
lightened my load and the whole thing seemed magical now, and comparatively
easy. We pass a stone Buddha on a lotus leaf encased in a green thicket. There
are a multitude of おじぞうさん or jizo we pass along the path, protectors
of travellers and markers for the old Nakasendo road. Inconspicuous stone
saints with bald bowed heads, whom I want to give a nod of appreciation to
every time I notice one. We press through a high peak between the mountain,
splitting the North and the South side, and when we reach the “middle” of the
way there is a tumbledown teahouse, well abandoned with smashed panes of glass
and sagging roof. Quite surprisingly looming in the mist high above us is a
long-forgotten hotel. A ruin and a relic from the Bubble Era, with a skeleton
of a bus precariously driven to the end of the road and parked there for the
rest of time, beside this eerie collapsing building. I thought about the last
hotelier who must have closed-up shop, turning his back on that strange
mountain life of luxury and loneliness.
Four hours
in to our six hour walk is when you’re feeling grateful for the escape that the
mountains provide. No people, no talking, just trees. But then I feel a little
sad that I’ll be leaving this mountain behind, even if I did struggle at the
beginning - that this soon will pass.
We reach
Kumano Jinja near the summit of Mount Asama, which has two shrines and a very
old bell and tree, both as holy. Cutting through Kumano Jinja is the border of
two neighbouring prefectures of Nagano and Gunma, so I guess we were in both at
the same time. There is a spectacular view over the mountain ranges from the
precincts of the shrine but due to the mist we saw nothing. But we ate a Calorie Mate snack bar (the maple
flavour is the best) and imagined the view we could see through the freezing
fog, and took it all in. We only had to walk down a proper road made for
vehicles and we would soon be in Karuizawa town. Instead of following this
boring road we took a winding trail that led us through woodland, betwixt the
second-homes for the famous and wealthy. Odd modernist shapes stuck out from
the fertile ground, one had an indoor swimming pool and others looked like the Sylvanian Families house. The hiking
trail shot us out in to Karuizawa Ginza, a classy boulevard of designer shops
and bakeries. A funny spot to see us in after hours of sweaty trekking. We walk
through this rejuvenated Edo post-town of Karuizawa, a resort-town now for tourists
and a hang-out for moneyed families, and keep on walking to our out of the way
motel.
2
Karuizawa
Station – Kiso Hirasawa – Narai juku
We are now
chasing the sun riding on a tetsudo
train called the Shinano WanMan ワンマン* It's very exciting because we’re chugging along over the railway tracks and
I love old trains. Mountains appear broken up by towns and sometimes I get a
glimpse of river. After yesterday’s long and arduous walk I’m glad to be
plonked down on a train seat, eating gummy sweets and looking out over
fast-paced scenery. The train ride takes approximately three hours, with a
transfer break on a station platform where we share an Ebisu beer. The mountain range we left behind in Karuizawa looked
like it was about to be engulfed in swathes of rain, so good riddance, because
here we are on our sunny platform drinking a beer. My sun hat from Okinawa is
being used for the first time after a soggy start.
*Until
recently I thought it was called a ManMan train, but when I visited my friend
Moe in Kyoto we rode on a similar kind of train driven by one conductor
aka. one man aka. WanMan - even thought it was a woman - so now I
know what the train is correctly called and why.
The train
drops us off at Kiso Hirasawa Station, where no one else gets off and it’s a
clear blue sky day. The JR ticket office attendant did her best to hide her
wonder when I asked how much a ticket cost to this place, and the lack of
trains presumably attests to how unpopular this post-town is with tourists.
Kiso Hirasawa is famous for lacquer ware, because in the Edo Period the
profitable post-towns along the Nakasendo had to diversify to make their income
after the Shogun made it illegal to sell off their timber. The Kiso Valley has
lots of forest and good sources of cypress, which the Shogun zealously
controlled and taxed. Walking through Kiso Hirasawa there are lots of lacquer
ware shop fronts, beautifully embellished with Edo period architecture but for
some reason all the shops are closed. It is a dead zone. With the lack of
people and the old wooden roofs however, swallows swoop in and out darting
every which way, tinged with cobalt blue and red cheeks. Enjoying the sun we
walked around this pretty post-town twice, swinging by the main Hachiman shrine
at the end of town. On the second time round we passed a pickle van and man,
who had parked up beside two old obaachans in the street. I asked them Why were the shops all closed? and one
says because Nothing happens and if
we were looking for somewhere more interesting then we should try Narai, the
next town. That’s lucky because we’re
staying there tonight, I think and buy a packet of dried apricots from the
pickle man. But the two old ladies are perfectly happy basking in the sun with
their pickles.
Following a
well-trodden path beside a river we head toward Narai juku. Juku I find out simply means post-town,
so a lot of the towns along the Nakasendo have this adage as they were built
for the purpose of serving runners and riders along the mountain way. There are
five main historical trails in Japan: Tokaido, Nikko-Kaido, Nakasendo, Mito-Kaido, Koushu-Kaido.
And they all linked cities to Tokyo in the feudal times but are now out of use
because we have cars and aeroplanes. The trail we’re taking is called the
Nakasendo, also known as the Princess Road, because a famous princess from
Kyoto once travelled across it to reach Edo after she got married. The
Nakasendo was better suited for women and their entourage plus all their
belongings and dowry, because the trail does not cross any rivers, which the
speedier Tokaido passage would have encountered. I imagine, getting expensive
silks wet or drowning men for a cedar closet wasn’t a risk a daimyo was willing
to take when it came to his wife. But it must have been knackering for all
those carriers and commoners (many probably died) to help move important
possessions along this narrow and steep path, bravo feudal barrow boys.
Reaching
Narai juku by foot is a sight. The exquisite Edo period features remain on the minshuku & ryokans (inns) and shops
lining the main road; the upper half of the buildings jut out slightly over the
lower half, giving the street a lean-to feeling of antiquity and bygone bustle.
We reach Narai in the late afternoon sun. Western tourists are wondering the
street admiring the wooden frames and swooping swallows, and I discern the
figure of a busy innkeeper wiping down the back of a frosted glass door. Not
quite sure where we are staying but knowing that it is in this idyllic postcard
post-town makes me excited and nervous, but as we look at the street map with
all the names of the minshuku and
find ours, we walk on as a green-blue mountain steadily rises over the road in
the distance. We find it with a wooden sliding door and a small lamp outside,
which has a blue and white stencil of a crescent moon and two stars; Tsuchikawa Ryokan is a blessing. Going through a long corridor and up the stairs in to an
old Japanese house, we’re met by an angelic woman who feels like a mother. She
lets us take off our muddy shoes, and shows us the way to the top floor, to our
spacious room, then gently leaves us. The view from our tatami is breathtaking.
Mountains upon mountains and sky. Later at dinner she tells me that we are 934m
above sea level, so tomorrow our walk up to Tori Toge Pass won’t be too
difficult as we’ll only have to ascend another 100m, or so. The air is pure and
the stars are bright. And we have a wooden bath tub to soak in, and there’s
only one other guest whom we don’t see until breakfast, who turns out to be a
lacquer ware specialist out on fieldwork. This place is a mysterious precious
stone you should hold on to but not stare at, keeping it safe in your pocket. A
writer wrote about the room we’re staying in at Tsuchikawa Inn and we flicked
through his book in the evening, but as we’ve noticed when the sun starts to
set in the mountains, it gets dark fast so we turn in to sleep early and wake
up with the dawn.
3
Narai juku
– Tori Toge Pass –Yabuhara – Route 19 - Miyanokoshi – Kiso Fukushima
Today was the first hot day. As we
left the minshuku of dreams the innkeeper gave us two sweets, which I sucked on all the way
up the steep mountain path made of rubble, Piston again helping me to survive.
The song of the uguisu also kept me
going, that Japanese bird of springtime, as beads of sweat rolled into my eyes
and made them sting. Aidan was in shorts and climbing heroically, along the
trail we passed a few points where fresh cool drinking water could be caught
and drunk straight from the mountains in two blue ceramic cups left there by
some lovely person. The town of Narai juku we left behind was the real deal,
with 200 stone jizo statues and
graves for ancestors carved in to the steep mountainside overlooking the town.
As we climbed, I thought what a relief it would have been for travellers making
the descent to end up in that thriving civilised post-town, but sadly we were
going the other direction. There was a respite at the end of all of this
clambering, which turned out to be this Big View of mountains Far Away and a
feeling of accomplishment. I took a long drink of water whilst Aidan drenched
his cap in a clean spring and slopped it back on top of his hot head. He’d adopted
a walking stick on the way up, one that had been left behind by previous
ramblers, and named it Magnus.
The Tori Toge Pass should be somewhere around here - but neither of us knew what it
looked like or what it was, so we walked around in circles at the top of this
Big View for almost an hour, getting lost and ending up at a maintenance
facility point for an electrical satellite. We finally decided that the Tori
Toge Pass was this crossroads that we’d walked over several times now, and we
were right, it’s an ancient checkpoint for guardsmen who had been off duty for
about 400 years. We took a wide gravel path that descended down the other side
of the valley, nowhere near Narai anymore and ambled happily under the shade of
the tall trees heading towards the next post-town called Yabuhara juku. The
Nakasendo trail led us out on to hot tarmac and no shade in the midday sun, so
we walked through this quiet town until we spotted the railway. Positioned on a
peak next to Yabuhara Station was a shrine, so we climbed up to see it, and we
sat down on the cool damp earth and looked over the town, deciding whether to
take a train or not, and more importantly where to have lunch. We found Oginoya
soba restaurant, where the pugnacious dedicated chef provided us with
refreshing zaru soba seasoned with
ginger and ume, a tart plum sauce. In
the dark interior of this renovated old Japanese house where we ate the
noodles, there was a Colorado family who were loving the mountains, and walking
the Nakasendo in the opposite way. We’re heading towards Kyoto, and they’re
heading towards Tokyo, and from what they said it sounded like we had a lot of
interesting post-towns to come. The head chef owner gave me thorough advice in
rapid fire Japanese about what we should do next. The train wasn’t leaving
Yabuhara Station for over an hour so we should carry on to the next post-town
called Miyanokoshi, and get the train from there to our end destination. OK I said, and he warned us there was a
strip of motorway on Route 19, but it wouldn’t be too bad, so that’s what we
did.
Leaving
Yabuhara there is a preserved steam locomotive with flowers growing up and through
its spokes, and a farmer couple planting down rice saplings in neat straight
lines. The paddy fields where Obaachan lives have been seeded for a while now,
so they must plant later in the mountains, as it’s cooler in the higher
altitude. The temperatures in the morning and afternoon differ by ten degrees
or more, and it gets really hot around 2-3PM. We’ve come in a good season when
it’s not raining or blistering, although it feels like it as we walk hugging
the highway, buffeted by hot gusts of wind from cars and lorry exhausts. After
one ugly mural and my asphalt based nose runs, we reach this calm divergence
off the highway crossing the river. I stop in the well-needed shade and chew up
all the apricots I bought from the pickle man, then Aidan spots a little
vermillion snake swimming avidly upstream and not making it very far. Entranced
by the slippery snake I slap on more sunscreen over layers of old sunscreen,
and we head on south through the valley. Suddenly there’s a snow-peaked mountain
far off in the distance (probably Mt. Kyogatake) and we break out in to the
open, amongst placid sun-baked paddy fields. Luckily we took the scenic route
avoiding a causeway tunnel we can hear thundering off in the distance, but I
spoke too fast, because coming up is the highway again and jesus we have to
walk through a tunnel. Murderous vans roll past perilously close I feel, but
there’s a raised pavement so I guess we’re safe. Echoes like rumbling thunder
strike every time a truck goes through the entrance or exits, and it feels like
we’re getting close to Mordor.
Out on the
other side there’s a Seven Eleven
where we rest for half an hour sipping on cold sweet coffees, dusting ourselves
off, and making the most of the free wifi. There’s still a leg to go before we
arrive at Miyanokoshi Station, but on the way we pass a great deep lagoon where
a dragon who disguised itself as a princess is said to be sleeping. Peering
over the edge in to the dark turquoise waters we encounter a boy of about three
or six who thinks I’m an obaachan (a very old woman) because of my attire
(towel draped over my head under a sun hat), and he explains to us that if his
Obaachan fell down the abyss then she would turn in to bones. Yes that’s true.
We walk on. To reach the station we pass through a hamlet and fields being
irrigated by gurgling sparkling water, storehouses filled with timber and made
of the stuff, a few people walking their dogs and finally here we are in
Miyanokoshi juku. There is a museum here dedicated to a samurai family with a well kempt garden, but we don’t have time to investigate it because
there’s less than one train per hour and it’s almost time. We hurry on through
the sleepy post-town and enter the station where there’s not a soul in sight
apart from a cleaner who is mopping the stairs. I ask her How do we get to Kiso Fukushima Station? And she gives me a toothy
grin and tells me to Cross the bridge
over to the other platform then wait exactly in that white square. When you get
on the train you take a coupon then pay for a ticket. We collapse in a heap
on the other platform gulping lots of water, knowing we probably hadn’t drunk
enough. My face is all red and dirty from the road, and Aidan is sprawled in
the shade. The small train comes on time and we board feeling like the muckiest
passengers alive, and the cleaner with her mop boards with us; she tells me, I live in Fukushima. I come here every day
and clean that platform and by the time I’ve finished cleaning the other
platform my train pulls up. I do it every day. It’s my job. That sounds
like a nice routine I think, and nod to show her my appreciation, then the
brilliant landscape of the Kiso Valley opens up and flits past us through the
carriage windows.
Off the
train at a neighbouring major post-town called Kiso Fukushima juku we pop in to
the tourist bureau to ask for directions to our hotel. It’s on the other side
of town but we get to walk beside the Kiso River to get there; the sun is
setting as we venture through the most urban place we’ve visited yet. Wearily
treading over the pavement that skirts along the foot of the impressive Mt.
Ontake, we pass a crowded graveyard full of ancestors cut deep in to the
hillside looking over the town, the remains of a chapel, and lots more jizo. It’s the time when school ends, so
we pass a lot of children in yellow caps carrying randoseru bags, and as we pass each child Aidan gives them a hearty
greeting like he does with every other walker we pass on our travels. One
cheeky kid mimics his foreign accented Konnichiwa!
leaving me laughing. We stay in Kiso Mikawaya that night which has an onsen (hot spring) in the basement and a
view over the Kiso River. It’s beautiful at dusk, but I’ve got a primal fear of
the raging river outside in the darkness and Aidan’s eyes are red from an
allergic reaction to the sun cream, but I feel like a queen to not be wearing
walking boots.
4
Kiso
Fukushima Station – Nojiri – Junikane – Route 19 / Kiso Valley - Midono – Wago
– Godo – Watashima – Tsumago – O-Tsumago
A big day
of walking ahead so we get an early train out of Kiso Fukushima. It was a nice
town with historic sites and a visible population that made it tick to a modern
clock. Many people spend a day hiking around Mt. Ontake, which is a spiritual
spot for healers and good for creative inspiration. And passing through the
town I saw a road sign that read like poetry:
Please
drive slowly
Swallows
are flying lowly
So I liked
the place. It was a shame we didn’t have more time to explore it but we were on
a tight walker’s schedule, you know how it is. When we got to the station half
an hour early for the train it was crucial to stock up on food before it came,
otherwise we’d have to do a whole day’s hike with no provisions apart from
those dry Nature Valley bars, which
no one fancied. Some guy who looked like a tech start-up founder walked over to
us and started talking in English, with confidence, which is a rare and brilliant
effort from a Japanese native. And we asked him and his lovely wife standing
there beside him Dyu know if there’s a
supermarket nearby? And he said Sure,
we need to go anyway, I’ll take you. And with that we followed him not
down the road but in to his car and he drove us at a pace to the nearest convenience
store, then drove us back in time to catch our train! What a top bloke. His
name is Naoki and he loves walking too, he’s even done that 88 shrine pilgrimage around the Japanese islands and now lives near the mountains to live
out his hobby. Hi-five for Naoki. With a swift goodbye and plastic bag full of onigiri, sweets, and drinks we boarded
the train that would take us to Nojiri.
From Nojiri Station the plan was to
walk through mountain paths to miss out a highway and then drop down somewhere
in the remote valleys, but alas, we walked up into woodland and then got lost
down a logging track and had to retrace our steps. It was hot but early, so, undeterred
we found another track that looked promising, which led us through a tori gate towards a shrine that looked
undiscovered or wholly attended by spirits, but we figured that we were still
lost however mysterious and pretty this all was, so we left that place. We
returned to Nojiri juku and walked through this peaceful village following its
main road that had been built with sharp right angles to deter attackers. It
may not be exactly here - but it’s in the area anyway so it’s worth mentioning
- in the near distant past a samurai came through the Kiso Valley and was asked
by a small village to help them fight off the raiding bandits. The samurai
agreed and won the battle for the village but lost his life in the fight, and
this inspired Akira Kurosawa’s film Seven Samurai. Neat. We were soon in the neighbouring post-town of
Junikane, a sleepy hamlet and one of my favourites because all the inhabitants
owned Shiba-ken dogs. They look like foxes with a smile and they’re keen-eyed
without being nosy. As we turned a bend the whole verdant valley opened up
before us and we were greeted by a rounded-back obaachan in the fields, and a
friendly peaceable natured Shiba pup who loved to be petted. Junikane is
comprised of a few houses and shrines, so we sat in the main shrine precinct
and ate an onigiri before deciding to
press on.
Down below us we could see a
railway track, which meant we were by Junikane Station. I had a look at the
train timetable and there was no train for over an hour so we walked on as
planned, and were soon joined by a bunch of healthy-looking old people, all possibly
embarking on a group walking tour. It meant we had company for perhaps the
first time on our holiday, and it gave us confidence that we were indeed
walking in the right direction. An old couple in matching bucket hats leads the
way. Hurray. We walked beside the Kiso River, sandwiched between stunning
scenery and a busy highway (Route 19 that’s built on top of the old Nakasendo road),
moved along by the calming presence of pensioners. The enormous boulders on the
riverbed, cracked and bleached bone white by the sun looked immovable; but the
ice-water melt off the mountains and the litres of rain during typhoons gushing
in to the river, means they must be have been budged. It was scorching hot and
my eyes were dry even though I was downing lots of water, all thanks to my
over-active sweat glands. When the single file of oldies in front started to
cross the highway, one by one, and we followed I was pleased. Then when we got
into some shade and felt a cool breeze I was joyful. Aidan bought me a can of
cold drink from the vending machine and I stripped off in to my bra and wiped
down my sweat, and did a little dance under the shade of a tree. Free from the
straps of my rucksack! We were now in Midono juku where there’s also a station,
but we’d made it through the toughest leg on the motorway, so after my
breather, I was happy to carry on going.
Early afternoon in the mountains is
hot and the shade from bamboo groves is a solace. We pass through a post-town
named Wago, I think famed for their sake because another post-town was
prohibited from making any. Then Godo, which I like because of its name that
sounds like my favourite play. We take a break in the shade of a monument
erected for a particular professor. Whenever we
find running water, Aidan douses his cap and slaps it on to his head to cool down,
whilst I continue to wear my obaachan attire with the hand-towel draped over my
head and under my hat. Caked in sun cream and sweat. The gardens of the
residences in this area are super well cared for, pruned and preened to
perfection, not a pine needle out of place. There is a breezy cobbled path that
leads us through bamboo and I laugh at how idyllic it is here. It’s as hot as a
summer’s day and we spot two small kids, a brother and his younger sister,
being sprayed down by a hose by their dad. He’s cleaning out their coy carp
pond and the little girl comes to show me, there’s a round plastic pool
brimming with water holding gold and orange fish. Her brother looks like the
boss because he’s got a fishing net, casually slung over his shoulders like the
barrel of a gun. You know we’re almost
where we want to be? And that’s Tsumago: The Postcard Post-Town of the
Nakasendo.
Before we reach Tsumago juku we
climb yet another steep mountain path - because why not - that leads us to the
ruins of Tsumago Castle. It curves through dense forest to a clearing on a
mountain top where the castle used to stand. From here
we can look down in to the valley and see the straight long narrow street of
Tsumago in front, which is famed for it’s Edo Period authenticity, thanks to a
ban on overhead wires and vending machines. The view makes it feel like an
accomplishment and I stretch out my un-baggaged arms to the stratosphere. My
shoulders are going to ache tomorrow but it’ll be the last day, so I’d better
make the most of it. Piston helps me down the ridge and we take the final part
of our route that leads us straight in to Tsumago juku. I’ve become accustomed
to our solitude and so find it alien to encounter the multitude of clean
tourists in town, especially anyone who looks fashionable, they’re an exotic
bird to me at this point. First thing we do is grab an ice cold beer in the
garden of a tea place. Yes. There’s a small dark pond with brightly coloured
coy darting through it, and we sit and drink and cool off.
Walking down the street of Tsumago
there are museums and souvenir shops, you can buy geta (old wooden sandals) and I overhear a shopkeeper showing off
that he once killed a black bear There’s
his skin, hanging right there! Our post-town experiences have all been of a
similar shade but this place feels like a living museum with no town’s people
living here, perhaps they run the shops and commute in. At night when we come
back to walk the streets, it is dead quiet and we stumble across a few other
tourists taking night time photos, and one cat. Our minshuku for the evening is located at O-Tsumago, which is an off-shoot
post-town a few kilometres away, so we amble slowly through the historical
settings to reach it in time for tea. The croak of the frogs in the night time,
a million horns and trumpets rising out of the rice paddies, sounds like a
hilarious orchestra, drowning out the sounds of the trees and rivers.
5
O-Tsumago – Magome
We stayed the night in a cheerful
inn called Hanaya Ryokan, where the innkeepers had a family of their own, four
or five boys and a girl. We encountered a little one in the corridor who showed
us his grazed palm, and I was witness to another one’s meltdown when he found
out the bath wasn’t ready. The whole family looked picturesque in the fading
light of the evening playing with fireworks by the river.
After breakfast we set off in to
the mountains to walk the most popular part of the Nakasendo Trail, between
Tsumago and Magome juku. You pass two waterfalls on the way, the male waterfall
Otaki and the female waterfall Metaki. We posed according to gender in
front of those watery wonders. At some point on this trail is a tea house run
by an old man dressed in a jinbei. He
serves tea for guests and walkers and keeps a record of everyone who passes
through and their nationality. Yesterday:
124 people. Canadian, Spanish, Australian, French, Mexican, Taiwanese, Dutch.
Friday: 108 people. American, English, Brzailian, Finnish, Chinese, German.
His eyes light up when I ask him about the traditional hearth he’s prepared,
and why there’s always a model of fish hanging on top of iron kettles? The fish is a water creature and the kettle
is of fire, so the fish will work to keep the fire below its line to protect
the rest of the house from catching fire. He chops wood blocks with an axe and serves
us tea. The phone rings and a fire announcement for the mountains crackles over
the loudspeaker. We bow and place some coins in the donation box to get on our
way to Magome, but afterwards I’m still thinking about what he said, in the few
moments of dark quiet we stole in the smokey shade of his world. In that old museum
piece of a Japanese house on the Nakasendo. He is interested in telling people
about the original walkers of the Nakasendo, commoners who had to carry loads,
run to feed families, sell wares to make money. They stopped along the way at
havens like the place he’s housekeeping, slurping noodles, drinking water,
sharing stories. Today he is the only volunteer working 360 days a year to keep
that place running - I get five days off
for New Year.
We pass a famous twinned cypress
tree; two trees that grew in to one. And for the final memorable time on our
hike we pass a group of stone jizo,
or saints marking the way. I have loved how the sunlight dapples the forest
floor and the sheer amount of green I have grown used to seeing every day. The path leads us
out of the mountains and onto a road that winds steadily downwards towards
Magome juku. There’s a viewpoint from where we can see several mountains under
the searing sun, and it feels like we’ve done something. Magome is another
touristic post-town, not too dissimilar from Tsumago, hence maybe why they’re
linked together in the guidebooks. There’s a general hustle and bustle but because it’s 28
degrees and rising, everyone is melting (or maybe only me) so we duck in to a
soba shop and order noodles and beer. We’ve got a bus to catch out of the
mountains back in to the city of Nagano, then a bullet train to hurtle us back
towards Tokyo, undoing all the beautiful labour of the last five days. And
we’re happy.
