NO MOAR HAIRPINS

(Mutsu Park Hotel, Mutsu)

Never again will I travel without ear plugs. Not ten minutes after I turned the light out, a bunch of DUDES started carrying on in the corridor. All they seemed to be doing was talking loudly and laughing loudly. No reason why they couldn’t do that in their rooms, right? OMG THEY JUST STARTED AGAIN NOW. WHAT. WHAT. NO. I WILL GAIJIN SMASH THEIR TEETH. Yes, anyway. The noise stressed me out so much I couldn’t decide if calling reception to make them shut up was an irrational reaction or not. I elected to just jam my ear plugs in and take a stab at thinking happy thoughts.

This morning I did some quick research, hunting out road numbers, maps, and re-establishing where the car hire place was. Some convenience stores and petrol stations pop up on Google Maps, which caused me some grief.

I caught the 9:15 bus bound for Sai, with the intention of getting off at Ohata Station and having a taxi take me from there. Unfortunately, I’d maybe nodded off a bit on the leg between Ohata and Mutsu, and couldn’t remember how long it took, or how far it was, and maybe that K’s we just past was the K’s marked on Google, and should I get off? No, best stay on the bus if you’re not sure, there isn’t another bus for three hours. But this seems to be taking a long time. And going all remote coastal village again. Have I gone past Ohata already? Oh shit. I don’t know! There aren’t any convenient road signs to check. Should I get off and get a taxi back? Wait, there are absolutely no stores around here, I won’t be able to have anyone call a taxi for me. Ah crap. AH CRAP.

Asking the woman next to me if we’d passed Ohata ended this monologue. Yay.

Same as yesterday, a couple of taxis idled by the station, the drivers half asleep. Possibly even the same taxis as yesterday. They probably hadn’t moved. I woke the nearest driver up, my dodgy Japanese pronunciation and his thick accent sorted out the address, and off we went. I was still harbouring the slight fear that I’d judged the distances all wrong, and was going to shell out to go back half the bus ride, but thankfully that wasn’t the case.

I’d hired my car through an online booking service, specialising in taking English-speaking bookings. They’d set me up with Mazda. FYI, anyone else using the Ohata Mazda car rental office, there isn’t a Mazda sign to be seen. Suzuki, yes. Daihatsu, yes. No Mazda. The taxi driver even went in to confirm that they hired cars, before leaving.

They had my booking, so all was well. All they wanted from me was a photocopy of my licence and international drivers permit, a signature at the bottom of a form, and 5500 yen for two days hire. I don’t think she could be bothered attempting to explain insurance and the like.

The car they gave me was a Mazda Demio, which I think is the 121 back home. It was clean, new, and went, which is all I really needed.

I swear, it was like driving a tin of sardines.

I’m used to driving mum and dad’s cars. Mum’s isn’t new any more, but when you put your foot down, it goes. Dad’s is new, and goes even more. This tin of sardines, it was a gutless tin of sardines. It took a while to get up to 80 km on the long, flat, straight roads (which is twice the speed limit, ahem), and going uphill? Forget it. Most roads had a 40 km speed limit, and going uphill, I had my foot to the floor just to maintain 40.

While I’d remembered to grab my iPod, I’d forgotten to pick up my FM transmitter as well. Stupid me. The car was very quiet though, I’ll give it that. Earphones it was.

And I drove. And I didn’t have to worry about bus time tables or connecting trains, and William Wallace did not shout “FREEEDOOOM!” louder than I did. Hot diggity. If only car hire was a more feasible form of travel in this country. The luxury! The decadence! I could go where ever I wanted, whenever I wanted! UNLIMITED POWER!

While Shimokita-Hanto is quite large, it’s sparsely populated enough that I didn’t need a road map to get around; there were signs everywhere indicating distance and direction for everything I wanted to go to, in both kanji and English. The car also came with an in built navigation system. It was all in Japanese, but was nevertheless very useful. Until I turned the volume up and started listening to the radio, at which point it started talking to me. Having a moderate Japanese woman ask you a question when you’re alone in a car is very unnerving.

First waypoint in my quest was Osore-zan, a volcanic mountain that is regarded as one of Japan’s most sacred, it is said to be the doorway to hell. The mountain fronts onto a lake, and the creek running into it is said to be the equivalent of the river Styx, which all dead must cross. The Bodaji-temple there is for Jizo, who looks over unborn babies and dead children, although people visit this mountain to commune with the dead in general. The name, ‘osorezan’, literally means ‘mountain of fear’.

The drive there was fantastic. As much as I mocked the 40 k/p/h speed limit, I was hard pressed to find any opportunity to do more than 50. The road was a narrow, twisty, windy thing, full of sharp turns and blind corners and more hairpins than I thought possible. All around was lush wonderful light-filled forest. Are they elms? I don’t think so, but they had light green leaves, and everywhere gold and brown and red and purple was hinted at. Although the drive was fun, it’s on roads like these I prefer to be the passenger, and spend the whole time staring out the window.

The lake Usuri-ko sprang out suddenly, the trees fell back, and I was there.



While all the tourist information goes on about how eerie the place is, gate way to hell and all that, none of the mentioned how astonishingly beautiful it is. The temple didn’t jump out at me, so I move quickly to the grounds themselves.




(There were a couple such murals, or banners, or panels, fencing a court yard before the temple. I don't know what exactly they depict, but the pictures are pretty good indicators. Hell. And fear. And Buddha.)

It’s moderate thermal activity area, just a couple of small vents breathing heavily and casting pale green on the stones around them. Still, it’s a wasteland, with nothing growing at all. Except rocks. People have created cairns, strangely intricate piles of stones, to aid the dead in their passage through the underworld. All the rocks are awkwardly shaped, and these piles so careful constructed, they look delicate. Lonely and colourful windmills were stuck here and there, placed by the parents of unborn children. Some of them spun in the wind. Some of them didn’t.







I found a back trail leading up into the forest, and took it. The bushes rustled as I walked by, and a peek in the foliage revealed a SNAKE. Wait, this isn’t Australia. Scratch the dramatic capital letters. It was a small, red, black and cream pattered fellow, and very shy. As soon as it noticed I was going for my camera, it slithered like a super fast slithering thing and vanished.



At the top of the trail was a small altar, featuring one of buddha’s less friendly faces. There were a couple of cans left as offering, and some flowers. Behind the altar, I found three tiny little jizo, facing the stone, backs to the world.




(See those teeth? Not friendly, not friendly at all.)




(This guy was on a retaining wall behind the altar, and the longer I looked at him, the creepier he became. I mean, just look at him. LOOK. AT. HIM.)


(FUCKING TERRIFYING.)

The snake didn’t come out on the way back down. I could hear it hiss, “fucking paparazzi,” as I left.

I wandered through the stone piles. It’s a sad beauty. It’s a lonely beauty. There was no one else around, and all I could hear were crows.


(Many of the piles built from smoother rocks were written on. I can guess, messages for the dead.)






(In instances where the thermal vents were open, many coins were tossed in, piled up, corroded and melted.)


(Whenever Jizo has lost his head, a new one is put in place. He is never headless.)








The path wound out of the rock piles to some more shrines and pools, one of them a startling blood red. It followed the lake shore, where the clouds and blue sky kept moving and throwing great shafts of sunlight down over the mountains.









Everywhere I looked, there was brilliant, contrasting colour. The golds and greens and rusts of the woods, the deep blue sky, the pale and deepening aqua of the lake, the white sand and stone of Osorezan, it went on and on. It is a desolate, bleak place, and it’s also teeming with life and movement.






















I hid behind my sunglasses a bit more.

Shimokita-Hanto isn’t really pitched as a tourist destination, nor is it trying to become one. I believe the peninsula is worth visiting just for Osorezan.



More later. Right now, I have to pack and sleep. Only up this late because the dryer was pathetically slow with my washing.

Mmmmmmmm. ^__^

(Mutsu Park Hotel, Mutsu)

I established what was up with the internet; for some reason, the ISP the Aomori Grand Hotel uses doesn’t like the file server on the Rooster Teeth site, and trying to connect to it disconnected me completely, each time. Whacky. I tested it after midnight, and again a bit before 6am, and each time the RT file server killed my joy.

Still no sleep. You’re tired of hearing about it, aren’t you? I’m tired of being tired. All these small things keep highlighting exactly how borked I am; difficulty walking straight, sloppy balance, not quite lifting my feet high enough to not trip on a regular basis. Me, I’m a shiftworker. Power on. Go, little energiser bunny, go.

Now, this one day took the most flailing about to put together. Nitty gritty details of how to get where for how much will be included, for anyone else on the internet who might be interested in the same route. It’ll save them doing all the mad prodding and hunting I did.

The first quest for the day; the 8:05am train from Aomori to Kanita. Not the most challenging quest I’ve gone on. I gave myself time to acquire some breakfast and supplies, and trundled onto the platform, along with hordes of school kids. Japanese schools don’t appear to issue their students with enormous bags, unlike the growing majority of Australian schools. As a result, they take up a lot less space on the trains. They’re still school kids though. They dance in the carriage and push each other around and sprawl all over the seats. Two stops later, and the lot of them streamed off the train, leaving it empty and not nearly as interesting. Must. Keep. Eyes. Open.

This is rural Japan. This is rice paddies on all available space, and large farm houses standing alone and apart from each other.

Kanita is a linear town, stretched out thin and taut between the train tracks and the shore. It’s a working town, a fishing town, and makes no attempt to be pretty. This is another face of Japan, one I hadn’t seen yet.

Kanita station is of the three platforms and a tin shed variety. I asked at the ticket office where the ferry to Wakinosawa was, and was given vague directions. Follow the road out of the station straight to the main road, and turn left. Easily done, but there was nothing remotely ferry-ish to be seen. I dived into the post office and asked again, and they elaborated that it was about a 15 minute walk to the ferry wharf. Yipe! The train had arrived at 8:50, and the ferry was due to leave at 9:20. Not a lot of leeway for getting lost. Not a lot of leeway for walking there. Go, little energiser bunny, go. And I go’ed. My shins hated me, but I can walk far and fast when I need to. I came to a bridge, and lo! There was a sign for a ferry wharf. Although the ferry is called “Kamoshina” and doesn’t go anywhere near Mutsu, “Mutsu Bay Wharf” could only be it. Arrows, now, they’re easy to follow.

Around the corner I was rewarded with a view of the ferry, across a huge parking lot with fishing nets stretched everywhere. Phew. Acting on a hunch, I didn’t head to the ferry, but the very information office-y looking building nearby. I’m getting good at this. The ticket office was in the front foyer. Tickets can’t be bought on the ferry itself. It was only 1120 yen, which surprised me. It only costs a dollar or so more than what I pay to get to and from work every day.

Another dash across the parking lot, and I was on. Yay! Time to relax and actually eat something. It’s a one hour trip across the bay in a straight line. A good day to be on the water; the sun in and out of clouds, a good brisk wind and not much swell to speak of. If, like certain other monkeys who are prone to seasickness, you stand up on the open deck for the whole hour, it is a good idea to bring a hat, or something that will keep your hair out of your face.


(Kanita, from the ferry.)


(The Floating World)

I should point out that the ferry is actually a car ferry, and if you’re not interested in seeing Hotogakura on the second ferry, it probably works out better if you hire a car from Aomori, take it across in the ferry and just drive from there. The buses on the Shimokita Peninsula aren’t that regular. There was only one passenger on the ferry who walked off, and that was me.


(Wakinosawa)

As I suspected/counted on, there was another information office-y looking building right on the docks. They did sell tickets for the ferry to Sai, although I had some difficulty understanding the directions for which wharf it would dock at. The woman ended up taking me over, as she was delivering the crew’s lunch to them anyway. This ferry is a sightseeing ferry, so cost 2640 yen for just under two hours.

Oh, you know, the world plays mindgames. I’ve been stressed about the things going on back home, wondering if I should leave early, knowing that even if I did, there’s exactly nothing I can do, which has started contributing to the whole insomnia thing, and generally, haven’t been so chipper the last week or so. But then, the world turns around with a smile and says, “hey, girl, have a coastline.”

I had to hide behind my sunglasses. Funny how beauty makes you cry.


(The ferry had no outside space, and all the windows were dirty, so the photos aren't the best. Still, they're enough to jostle my memory.)



The coastline between Wakinosawa and Sai is spectacular. Rugged and rocky and fascinating, there is no beach, just mountainside that dives into the sea. The forest is burnished with autumn, a faint rust amid all the golden green. The sea is a great clean blue. Hotogakura is a particular formation of rocks said to look like Buddha. Buddha, you know, he’s a bit like Jesus. You can see him in anything, if you look hard enough. Although he has more class than to show up in a cheese sandwich.

Sai came far too quickly. Yet another information office-y looking building, which had toilets, very important, and the staff at the ferry ticket counter provided me with a handy map detailing where I could catch the bus to Mutsu. I had heaps of time before the bus was due, but I like to find my x-marks-the-spot before chilling.

Sai isn’t big enough to get lost in. Let’s just say, I didn’t find what I was looking for. To be fair, I was looking for the wrong thing. I was looking for a terminal, some big obvious “I R BUSES” structure. The population of the peninsula, and the tourism flow through Sai, doesn’t merit such a structure. After asking at a travel tour office, and getting extra directions, I found the bus stop. That’s all it was. A bus stop. Not even a seat. Be aware.


(I'm not kidding. The red sign is it.)

I killed some time at a café with some orange juice and a purple cake thing. I didn’t know what purple cake things tasted like, so I figured I should find out. They don’t taste like anything other than cake, really.

The bus was just a local bus, taking a long winding route along the coast, through all the little fishing villages, to Mutsu. These villages aren’t pretty, they’re fascinating. Thinner even than Kanita, there are houses which have the sea wall as their back fence. Fishing boats busted and dented and well-used are tied up everywhere. Nothing feels permanent. Everything, from the docks to the drying racks to the shacks to the houses, feels temporary. Every single house I saw was weatherboard built. Maybe because it’s cheap. Maybe because they know the sea will knock down expensive and cheap housing regardless.

They don’t forget the sea. I saw a man in his back yard, squatting on the sea wall, staring out at the horizon. Another had stopped by the road, just staring. Fishermen stood on the docks.

It’s not a glamorous bus ride, and definitely worth doing.

Fell in love again.

About an hour in, I really regretted the orange juice.

Fortunately, the stop at Ohata station (did you know Ohata had a station? I didn’t, and I don’t think any trains actually use it) was a decent one, enough time for the bus driver and me to make use of the toilets. From there it was a short trip to Mutsu. The whole ride cost 2260 yen.

Mutsu is not a tourist city. It had its eyes closed when I got of the bus, and when I went out for a walk later, it was still asleep. There isn’t much appeal to be had in strolling around, and not much strolling to be had.

My hotel was across the road from the bus terminal, easy to find, and heeeey! Free internet, with the cable already provided in the room, which hasn’t played up at all yet. There’s no information office to be seen, so if you’re after info, it’d be best to get what you need at the office in Aomori.

Tomorrow…I rent a car. Eeeek!

(For any interested, the timetable for the Kanita-Wakinosawa ferry in Japanese. I'm not at home and so can't find the pamphlet and correct name for the ferry from Wakinosawa to Sai.)