WHEN ROADS ATTACK!

(Hienkaku, Hakone-Yumoto)

Given how relaxed the previous evening had left me, I decided to roll with it, and indulged in the ultimate luxury, and did not set myself an alarm for the morning. Which didn’t stop everyone else in the hotel getting up and making a ruckus, but never mind. It was the thought that counted.

The days plan consisted of doing the classic loop of the Hakone area. It started with the train from Yumoto Station to Gora station. This was the weirdest rail set up I’ve ever come across. Instead of running from station to station in a straight line, it zig-zagged. At every station, the train changed directions and started up a new line. Disconcerting at first.

At Gora, it was a cable car up a pretty steep slope, and from there to the Hakone rope way. I admit, after the Trans Alpine route, all this transport hopping had me wary, but this was a much more relaxed atmosphere, and everything was out in the open, so there was plenty of opportunity to gawk at the forested hills.

The rope way went up, and up, to Owakudani, a sulphur venting pit, described as a little bit of hell. As I wandered out of the rope way station, I happened to glance out the window, and OH MY FUCKING GOD MOUNT FUJI!!!!!!!!

FUJI-SAN! MOUNT FUJI!



AAAAAHHHH!!!

I’d be marvelling at the mountains all around me, how big they were, and there in the distance sat Fuji-san, easily twice as big as the tallest of them. That perfect cone shape stands out a mile.

I had a moment like this in America last year. On the first day of the tour, we were in the bus heading into the Cascade Mountains. I was gawking at them, because they disappeared into the clouds and still had snow on them, and then I saw Mt Rainer, which popped up through the top of the clouds well and clear.

You have no idea what a mental slap in the brain with ice cold water and lemon juice that is. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to take mountains for granted. The timing was good for the sky to be clear enough. I’d assumed Fuji-san would be hidden by clouds and haze. I am so lucky, so very lucky, and this world is will never stop surprising me.

Owakudani was a funny little tourist gimmick. There wasn’t much geyesering or venting to be seen, although there were signs everywhere telling people not to loiter too long, as the fumes from the ground were toxic. At the top of the little trail through the area was a hut selling eggs, which had not just been cooked in the ground, but by the ground. Their shells had turned black from the gasses. They were only available in packets of six, so I bought some and joined the throngs of people standing around narrow tables, tap-tap-tapping and peeling their eggs. It was wicked fun, actually. There’s nothing like communal egg eating to make people giggle. As I hadn’t yet eaten for the day, I nommed down a couple. I prefer my eggs soft boiled, but I don’t think cooking in a hell pit is a precise art.



The girls next to me couldn’t peel to save the world.

All the while, Fuji-san sat, looking over my shoulder at my eggs.

It dominates the landscape. It isn’t a mountain range, it is one giant mountain that dwarfs the ranges around it. I couldn’t do anything but stare at it, whenever it was visible. To think I intended to climb in. I wouldn’t dare now. One of the Norwegians A and I met at worldcon climbed Fuji-san. He said that tallest mountain in Norway is approx 2500m (rough memory guess there), and that the climbing on Fuji-san starts at 2500m. If Vikings have trouble climbing it, there’s no hope for me.



I got back on the rope way, which dropped me off down by Lake Ashi. From there, a sight-seeing cruise would go down the lake, and I could get off at either Hakone-machi or Moto-Hakone.

Said sight-seeing boat was the corniest, cheesiest pirate boat I have ever seen. It even came with fake sails. I’m glad the audio play they pumped over the speakers for the whole cruise was in Japanese, as even to me it sounded damn awful.

I hopped off at Hakone-machi, as there was supposed to be a good ancient cedar avenue between Hakone-machi and Moto-hakone. First, food. At Noah’s, I had a “chinese bowl”, and I could tell it was definitely chinese by the brown glug of sauce over everything. You know that sauce; greasy, thickened with cornflour, probably packed with MSG. Ah, a taste of home.


(Yep. Glug.)

After minimal wandering, I found the Hakone Check Point, which is a reconstructed set, not the original. The English signage was minimal, but it was interesting to note how it controlled the flow of traffic between Edo and Kyoto. Hakone is reputed to be the hardest part of the highway to pass through, and not just because of official restrictions, but because the landscape itself is daunting. This one tiny little check point controlled everything.


(There's that stupid mole again! She can't hold a camera and control her facial expressions at the same time.)

The material museum that was included in the admission ticket (I was handed a coupon book with the Hakone Free Pass that gave me a dollar discount), had even less English signage, but there were some great illustrations of exactly what happened to people who tried to avoid the check point by going through the mountains. Crucifixion. Crushing. Beheading. Etc. Serious business.

I didn’t quite find the cedar avenue. Again, lack of English signage, and lack of proper detail on the three maps I had. I ended up just walking to Moto-Hakone along the main road. I think, I can’t confirm it though, that the cedar avenue actually ran right beside the road. Which would make it a not particularly peaceful walk.

Along the docks to the other side of the inlet, where I found a beautiful floating torii. The large orange gate was set just in the water. Smoke drifted through the trees and out over the lake, as someone was burning off debrie from the typhoon. I don’t know why, but I love each and every torii I come across. They’re simple, elegant things, with so much potential to be something extraordinary.




(There she is again, jumping in my picture! I think she's stalking me. Also, her profile freaks me out. For srs.)

From the torii, I hiked up the stairs and across the road to the Hakone Shrine and treasure museum, which was full of tour groups and half blocked off by a TV crew setting up for recording. What I saw of it was lovely. The prayer walls in particular were full of blocks of wood, covered with wishes. I found a couple in English, and reading them felt like an enormous intrusion of privacy. It felt right that I couldn’t read the majority; wishes should be secrets.



Having finished with what I wanted to see, I headed back into Moto-Hakone to look for the Old Tokaido Highway, which is a section of the original highway between Edo and Kyoto. Surprisingly, I found it easily (a handy sign near a bright pink shop on the main road), and set off. Every map I had featured the Amazake-Chanya Tea House not far up the highway, where I would be able to catch the bus back to Yumoto.



Right. You’re sensing a pattern with my luck, aren’t you?

None of the reading I did for Hakone mentioned that the Old Tokaido Highway was a deathwish. I think I would have remembered that. A pity, because that’s useful information to have, and had I had it, I wouldn’t have gone.

For starters, when the books talk about the ‘paved highway’, they don’t mention that the ancient Japanese idea of paving is to find the most lumpy uneven mismatched rocks possible, and then throw them on the ground. It was just as bad, if not occasionally worse, than the trail down into the Grand Canyon.

It was also wet, and littered with leaves and branches from the typhoon. Everything was slippery. The majority of my attention was focused on where I was putting me feet, otherwise I might have enjoyed the walk, as it went through dense forest and bamboo groves. It was very quiet, and far from the road. I only met two people coming back the other way.

It started as a niggling little thought; if I twist my ankle, fall and shatter my knee, trip and knock myself out and drown in an inch of water, no one will find me for days. This thought got bigger with every minute, with every sign I walked past that was full of kanji and no English. Along with it was the growing realisation that I had no real idea how far the tea house was, and that, holy shit, it was five o’clock, it was going to get dark soon. You know, dark. Not light. Here, in this overgrown death path in the forest.

Those aren’t nice thoughts to be carrying around.


(Without flash. Dark. Rocky. Sad face.)

Then it got worse. The path started to go down hill. Going up an uneven rocky slippery surface is much easier than going down one. There was a moment where I just stopped, and stood frozen in the growing dark, afraid to go on as I was convinced I was going to fall and break something and ruin my whole trip, yet unable to go back. There were no easy escapes to be had. But lo! I heard cars, the actual road was up ahead, always a good sign. A burst of speed and I found the road, and better yet, a sign saying the tea house was 400 m further. With a definite distance in hand, I powered on. The last stretch of the highway was easier to traverse, as the paving was long gone, thank goodness.

I staggered into the Amazake-Chanya tea house, and with my pig-japanese and their pig-english, ordered myself some freshly made warm mochi (seriously delicious, these ones had no filling, and were just the glutenous rice jelly covered in green tea powder), and a cup of amazake (a warm drink made of fermented rice broth, which was sweet and amazingly delicious), and sat down to wait for the bus.

According to the timetable, I had missed the last bus by 10 minutes.

I specifically did not think about this for a while, and enjoyed my mochi and amazake.

The tea house staff told me the walk to Hatajuku, where buses still ran to Yumoto, would take an hour. Depressing, but oh well. At least this time I wouldn’t be walking on a deathtrap ancient highway. Instead, I’d be on a well used mountain highway with no curb for pedestrians, sharp corners, and mad Japanese drivers. A different sort of deathtrap, but at least they wouldn’t have to look for my body.

It was getting dark.

The tea house manager told me again the walk would take an hour, it was dark, the highway was not a good place to walk in the dark, and that he was going home to Yumoto, and he would drive me there. It took a bit of language wrestling to get this across, but when I finally understood, I just about kissed his feet. I don’t think he had any concept of what an enormous boon he was offering me, and apologised, actually apologised, when his father was late in turning up to swap shifts.

We had ourselves a great mangled conversation on the drive down to Yumoto. I startled myself, with how much I was able to converse in Japanese, although his English was much better than he allowed himself. The road was pretty intimidating, and also not lit.

He dropped me off at my hotel. I won’t butcher his name by attempting to spell it here, but I owe him a great debt. Domo arigato gozaimas.

Funny, had this happened in Australia, I’m not sure I would have accepted. A and I talked about this. There is a much higher basic level of trust operating in this country, not merely because trust is polite, but because it is tested. Whereas, you all know what happens if you accept rides from strangers in rural Australia, right? Right. You get horribly butchered, they never find your body, and then make a movie out of it.

You know what Amazake Chan-ya is, right? It's fucking Rivendell. It's the Last Homely House. It's that inn in the Dragonlance books in Solace which has a near identical name. It's the safe haven in all those epic tales.

I tracked the mud from the Old Tokaido into the hotel. Sorry, gomenazai. Yamasoba was closed when I set out for dinner. Either that, or it was a Tardis in disguise, and has zipped off to serve mountain mushrooms in another dimension.

So, what’s the moral of this story? Check the fucking timetable before you go. Don’t ever, not even when you have company, it’s dry and you have many hours of daylight, don’t ever walk on the Old Tokaido Highway.

And do, most definitely, do go visit the Amazake Chan-ya tea house, where they serve great home made sweets and drinks, and rescue poor fools like me with a smile.

NEW DEVILRY?!

(Hienkaku, Hakone-Yumoto)

WTF was that? This country is water mad!

The map (this hotel is big enough to require a map) indicated that there was a women’s bath just down the corridor from my room, so I investigated. I nearly chickened out. It’s one thing to do the bath ritual when you have a private bathroom to yourself, another when it’s big and public and people are watching every mistake you make.

I found it, opened the door and was greeted with the sight of two absolutely naked women. Stark. The fact that they didn’t care about this made it much easier to do the nekkid thing too. Oddly enough, I have yet to feel fat while surrounded by all these stick-thin women. I feel huge – I think I have a whole lot more hip, tit and shoulder and keep side-swiping things – but not fat.

It was made even less daunting when they left, and I had the whole bath to myself.

Did I say bath? I mean giant heated hot water pool. Again, constantly recycling and refreshing the nice hot water. After a thorough scrubbing, soaping and rinsing on the shower stools, I slipped in.

I shouldn’t say ‘sinful’, as ‘sin’ is a word that comes with religious connotations, but I think it has been drawn far enough into pop culture to mean doing something that should be considered bad. All this luxurious water just slopping around, not being used half the time, that feels like sin. I will make use of every bath I come across in this country, because Australia can’t afford to use water like this. You know, when I was researching for my trip, I thought all the onsen and hot springs sounded a bit dull. Relaxing, yes, but I didn’t grasp the appeal. I repent. I have totally seen the light. I will return to this land just to sit around in the bath all day.

Clean and dazzled and zoned, I slunk out again to hunt down some chow. The rain had stopped, and the air was cool and clean. For a town mostly populated by hotels, there was only one place on the main street still open for dinner, which is peculiar. I’m glad I didn’t settle for bento again. ‘Yamasoba’ (mountain noodles) served zansai soba, which consisted of fresh seasonal mountain vegetables served on soba noodles in hot soup. Vegetables? Vegetables! All my bitchin’ had been answered. I could only identify bamboo shoots, but the rest was mighty tasty, and the noodles were hand made and soft. I nommed (I hereby declare ‘nom’ a verb) most enthusiastically. I might go back tomorrow, as there was another dish there that was mountain mushrooms with noodles, and that sounds divine.



Alas, a terrible and scurrilous task awaited me when I got back: my shoes.

I’d packed a second pair of shoes, because travelling with only one pair is asking for trouble. I think I last wore them in Tokyo, in the rain. I guess they were still wet when I packed them, because when I pulled them out, they were still wet, and rank, and there was mould growing on them.

There is nothing about that sentence that is pleasant.

So, if you don’t want to spend your evening with a bar of soap, a toothbrush, and stinky shoes, don’t pack shoes away when wet.

Lifestyle whiplash!

(Hienkaku, Hakone-Yumoto)

Whoa, so much to back track.

I didn’t have raw horsemeat or vegetables for dinner. I found a bar called People’s, which allegedly provided internet access on request, but it was the bar’s one day off. Go figure. I settled on a place called ‘Buns’, which was largely empty, served me a weird funky tasty seasoned cod roe pizza, and left it at that.

The disadvantage to staying in tiny little wooden ryokan that are over 100 years old is that they creak just like a building over 100 years old should. When I got up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet, everyone in the building knew about it. It’s possible the neighbours did to.

The other disadvantage is that things get worn. The futon was very thin, as was the pillow, and I have too much hip and shoulder to be comfortable lying on my side without some cushy stuff underneath me. This gave my insomnia a boost.

Why the hell do I have insomnia anyway? I’ve been running around like a headless chicken every day, getting far more exercise than I normally do, I should be sleeping like a log. Maybe I’m just wired.

I left early the next morning, as I planned to go to Murodo, a plateau in the Japan Alpine National Park. To get there, I had to take a train to Shinano-Oomachi station, and from there the trans-alpine route.

First hitch came about when I went to reserve a seat to Shinano-Oomachi. The clerk wouldn’t let me on the 9:10, and gave me a seat on the 10:27, which was a much later start that I wanted, but oh well. In hindsight, I now known that the 9:10 didn’t require reservations at all, as it was just a local service and I could have merely walked on. Dammit.

There was a table set up right that the exit of Shinano-Oomachi station to buy passes for the Trans Alpine route, which saved me wandering about. The return pass to Murodo was 11200 yen, which isn’t cheap. They gave me a sheaf of tickets, and sent me to the bus stop. I don’t know what it is with the Japanese giving out tickets to get tickets. I gave the first to the bus driver, who went as far as Ogizawa station.

From Ogizawa, it was a trolley bus in a tunnel through the mountain to Kurobe Dam. At this point, the sun was out and the sky was blue, and the dam was pretty impressive to behold. There was a lot of stairs involved, for some reason. The walk across the dam was pleasant, the water a fabulous jade colour, and the alps were so very green.


(Kurobe Dam)

From there, a trolley lift thingy up through the mountain, followed by a cable car from one peak to the next. That was great. Australian needs to get itself some real majestic mountains.



At the top, yet another trolley bus and finally, we were at Murodo plateau, after a bit over 3 hours of travel.



Thanks to my late start, I only had a bit over an hour to walk around before heading back, in order to get the last bus back to Shinano-Oomachi. The air up there had that fresh, clean and cool feel that mountain air does. From memory, the altitude was approximately 2500m above sea level. I took at quick stroll around. So high up, I was still surrounded by peaks looking down on me. At this time of year, it was green as far as I could see. Too early for autumn leaves and too late for flowers. The ground birds that are meant to live there all year round were being coy. The ponds were deep and still and peaceful. There was a sulphur vent area that I started to head towards, but even from a distance it smelt bad. Really bad. Worse than Yellowstone. My nose decided it didn’t want to go any closer.


(Some stupid mole jumped in front of my camera right as I took the shot.)


(I don't know what was in all those boxes, or why he was taking them down to the sulphur vents, but he wasn't having a good time.)



And so I started the trip back, etc etc etc. The train back to Matsumoto was a normal local train, and took much longer than the express. It was about 8pm by the time I left the train to the cry of “Matsumotooooo!” and I was knackered. I settled for a small bento set, and admitted the day had defeated me.

Overall, the most unsatisfying day yet. From what I saw, the park is spectacular, and definitely worth exploring. The Trans Alpine Route is not the way to do that. It’s a lot of money for very few glimpses of the scenery. Each leg of the journey was punctuated by at least a 20 minute wait before the next leg began, with attendants telling us not to queue up and wait, but go and look in the souvenier shops. It didn’t take much for that to get very annoying. Unless you’re actually using the route as a means to get from A to B, give it a miss. Blerk.

My mood probably wasn’t helped by the fact that my tummy has been playing silly buggers for a couple of days. This sudden all fibre and seafood diet is messing with my stomach, methinks. Oh, vegetables.

And despite being knackered I didn’t sleep.

This morning I fought with my alarm before rolling out of bed, finished packing, and checked out. All the Marumo staff speak English, so what with the rain, I was able to request a taxi to the station. I found Vie De France, a bakery chain I’ve seen a few places now, and they had salad sandwiches on pita bread! Hell yes. They also do a really good egg custard bun, but their orange juice has a weird uncooked dough aftertaste.

The train from Matsumoto to Hachioji was a limited express, and I’m glad I had reserved a seat on this. There are carriages set aside for unreserved seats, but they’re constantly packed from what I can see. I had the carriage largely to myself, and dozed off.

The mountains were growing clouds. Tendrils and wisps reached up from the trees, reaching for the real clouds skimming the peaks. This wasn’t just for the morning, or the Matsumoto area. It was everywhere.

At Hachioji I swapped to the JR Yokohama line, and got on a local train to Machida. I misunderstood the conductor though, and got off at the first stop, not the tenth, so did a bit of unintentional train hopping. No big deal, it was just a bit of a pain lugging my rucksack around.

From Machida I switched to the Odakyu line, which the JR pass doesn’t cover, and went as far as Odawara. At Odawara, I bought a three day Hakone Free Pass for about 4500 yen, which gives me unlimited travel on all the transport in the Hakone area, starting at Odawara. From Odawara, a quick train ride to Hakone-Yumoto, and the Tessa had landed.

Except I had no idea where my hotel was.

A brief jaunt up the main road indicated that the tourist information centre was not where the LP guide indicated it was, so I shrugged and caught a taxi. The driver also had no idea where the hotel was, but fixed this by just ringing them and getting the address. It wasn’t far from the station at all, but I know I would have never found it on my own.

And…wow.

I’d forgotten I’d made a point of booking myself somewhere nice here. I’ve become used to tiny rooms and shared amenities. Oh my. I walked in and wondered if I’d made a mistake, and maybe there was another person with my name who just happened to make a booking for the same dates and same hotel.

There is a little entrance lobby with shoe racks and a mini bar. My very own private toilet, which is, I might add, separate from my very own private bathroom. A huge main room, with a huge table, TV cupboards, and then, yes there’s more, a sitting room with floor to ceiling windows that looks out into a garden! And a little stone zen garden in the corner! It’s utterly ridiculous, it’s fantastic! I could do cartwheels in here, if I could do cartwheels. I now understand why some people go on holiday and just stay in their hotel for days on end. I’m tempted to.



But no, I am a good traveller, and went straight back out to explore Hakone-Yumoto and at least find my way to the station again. As it is, Hakone-Yumoto doesn’t take much time to explore. I forgot to take a camera with me, but there is one seafood shop that has enormous wooden tuna and lobster plastered to the front second story. I swear, this country is trying to kill me. Every second shop was selling freshly baked and steamed red bean cakes. I don’t want to OD on red beans though, so I bought some crackers instead. Mighty hard and tasty, they are too.

I think I’ll stare at the garden for a bit, and hope that the rain lets up before I go out for dinner. I saw a great looking sushi place on the walk back. There are numerous baths in this hotel complex thing. Might have to check them out too.

This place just makes me laugh.