Japan 10 : The Old Streets

My first train direct to Nagoya was at 9am the following day, so after a bit of a snooze, I got up and ambled over to the station, my tum still not feeling too great. My trusty guide book mentioned a small town named Narai en route that was a famous tourist spot, partly because of its location in a beautiful valley, and its history as a 'post town' - one of 69 towns used as a stopover on the journey between Edo (Tokyo) and Kyoto in the days before the railway, but mainly down to the long main street through the centre of it, flanked on both sides by perfectly preserved Edo-period houses and shops. Since Nagano to Nagoya was quite a short hop, this sounded like a good way to spend the day.
Getting there wasn't quite as simple as it could have been. The rapid train leaving Nagano only stopped at a handful of stations between Nagano and Nagoya, and Narai wasn't one of them. The only way to do it was get off at Shiojiri, then take a local train along the same track to Narai, then another local train when done to Kiso-Fukushima, which was the next stop along that the rapid trains stopped at and finally a quick blast along to Nagano, where I had a room booked for the night.

The mountain pass between Nagano and Shiojiri was as nice a view as any of the train legs I'd encountered so far, plenty of woodland and steep drops into rural areas, with the train track carefully tiptoeing its way around the rocky ledges of the hills either side. Alighting at Shiojiri, I had a half hour before the local train arrived, so I headed out to what reminded me of the freezing, deserted streets of Hokkaido, except this time, the sun was out and it was pleasantly warm. Feeling too scroogelike to dump my bags in a locker for thirty minutes, I lugged them around with me on a circuit of the nearest block.
As I walked, it didn't look like your normal ghost town - everything was clean and well-maintained, but it looked as if the air-raid sirens had finished blaring just as I had stepped off the train and everyone was peeking out from their concrete bunkers waiting for the all-clear. Feeling the weight of the packing, I decided not to stray too far and rounded the nearest right hand bend to the lights outside the station. A small shopping arcade including a pastry chef making his wares in the window for precisely no-one to see held my attention for a short while until it was time to move on.


A short train ride later, through several local stops (with someone helping me find the right station once more) had me finally in Narai. The clock said 11:30, and the next train would be at 1:00, (with the one after hours away) which left a short amount of time to peruse the streets at leisure. Opposite the station (which was officially closed by Japan Rail some time ago, but was re-opened and staffed by the locals) is a giant map of the place, and while the much-lauded street was to the left, my eye was drawn to the curious pathway heading out to the right, into an area with decidedly non-traditional buildings jutting out from the steep hillside.

I headed upwards. The views event from the lower levels into the rest of the valley and beyond were beautiful, a great place to live, I'm sure, and the air was super-fresh like on a mountain-top, and after a slight accosting by an angry dog (fortunately tied to a post) the path joined a road on a shallower incline, until I hit upon the curious entrance to a Hachiman-jinja Shinto shrine. One of the many things in Japan that has captured my heart is the countryside, peppered liberally with small pathways and trails, at the end of which is usually a muted, subdued and wonderful piece of Japanese engineering or craftsmanship, usually constructed in reverence and respect to a local deity, and the nature around them. Even to a religion-weary old cynic like myself, the desire to explore these places brought back the energies I once had as a child.

This place was no different. The pathway led to a set of steep steps, and at the top, just past a Torii gate, (angled forwards so you could see it properly as you ascended), was a large log cabin and a hidden shrine. Throwing in a few yen and doing the hand-clap was now becoming second-nature and just seemed the right thing to do regardless of there being anyone else there or not. Coming back down, a further pathway led through the pine trees to an opening, and following it brought me to an area called Narai-Juku full of small bib and clothes-wearing statues called Jizo. Following the path along, it returned me to a more modern Japan, where the tarmac returned and the uglier contemporary houses became prominent once more. Gathering my breath, I followed the winding road back to the station.


The Edo-houses must have been freshly creosoted now that winter was pretty much out of the way (bar a few drifts of stubborn snow here and there), because they had a bit of a smell about them. Sticking out directly onto the main road, (that looked out of place because someone had decided to tarmac it) they lent at obscure angles to each other and no two were the same. Some had been converted into restaurants, others were ryokan or shops (many shops) or museums to the history of the town, but most seemed to still function as houses for ordinary families. Tanuki statues were placed here and there outside some of them to greet the weary traveller.
At several points along the length of the street were signposts for a number of shrines, and various pathways heading right between the houses and up into the forested hillside above, and if time and energy would have allowed, I'd have stopped and explored a few. However there was really only time for one, so it would have to be what seemed to be the main shrine at the end.


Tucked away in the woods behind a modern-looking building stood a pair of structures, both looking very old and in comparison to the buildings on the street, not very well maintained. As I got nearer, an old woman who had beaten me to it set aside her wheeled-basket-cum-zimmer and picked up a stick. She turned to smile at me and then headed slowly up the side of a small ravine that was home to a trickling stream of water. I winced and tried to call her back as she shuffled up the hill negotiating the rocks and branches along the way, until she sat herself down and started poking the stick into the soft ground around her.
With her back to me, I couldn't tell what she was doing, but at least she had made her journey and seemed happy, so I switched focus to the shrines. Perched up the side of the steep hill and surrounded by fir trees and gravel, they looked like they were part of a central gathering place that the imposing structure in front of them had now replaced. One shrine looked newer than the other, and had a large, curved roof like a ski jump, while the other was a very basic structure, little more than a shed. Each of course had the obligatory donations box, so in went a few yen, and after a bit more hand clapping and a little sit down I moved on. The woman and her zimmer by this point, had disappeared so what she was digging for would remain a mystery.

On my return down the long road, the side roads to the right connected this side of town with a few structures at the other side of the train tracks (and the valley river), which thanks to the dozens of ancient roads criss-crossing it, had more than its fair share of level crossings. The main area was a car and coach park, now quite empty but would probably be pretty full during the main tourist season. One vehicle going nowhere though was yet another steam train stuck at the side of a touisty log cabin at one corner of the car park, consigned to looking bored just temptingly next to the tracks it once used to travel.

Heading back across the tracks (the car park was about the only thing over there) I headed pretty much straight back due to the time, pausing only to trot down a side road, at the end of which was a traditional Japanese Temple Bell in an open area with kids playing. It looked a bit of a private area (for quite a rich-looking household) so I left for the train.

As I boarded the train, I saw a non-Japanese guy for the first time since leaving Europe, so I sat down and we started chatting. Richard was from New Jersey and was spending some quality time setting up camp around the area, (including Narai) on a trekking holiday. As if to prove what a small world it was, when I told him about my little part of it (Yorkshire, UK) he said he had done some work teaching at Bradford University (where I had studied) and had even been to nearby Hebden Bridge and Skipton sightseeing not one month before. Quite taken aback with the worldly knowledge of the guy I was quite struck dumb for things to say (and actually found it difficult to not immediately start my sentences in Pidgeon Japanese), but got my voice back and spent a little time with him exchanging stories about the holiday so far, until Kiso-Fukushima rolled up.

Rejoining the Nagoya train immediately as it was still in the station, I continued getting some pictures of the valley that the track descended and went on its way to Nagoya. A mixture of sunlight, batteries and a bad seat meant that unfortunately some of them didn't come out too good, but the valley itself was beautiful almost all the way into Nagoya. The track was part way up one side of a large and winding valley, covered with trees and fields on both sides, and the bottom of the valley was home to the stretch of water responsible for carving it through the centuries. The river was not deep, in fact at some points it was barely a river at all, and for much of the trip it was filled with chalk-white boulders worn smooth with the flow, some of them as big as a house!
As Nagoya came close, the naturalistic views petered out and were replaced by the scars on the landscape of industry and commerce.


Nagoya is the fourth-largest city in Japan (besides Tokyo, Yokohama and Osaka) and has the same sense of hurry to it that Tokyo has, though without so much of the buzz that went along with it. Nagoya station itself was huge (the largest in the world), and not like any other station so far; a series of open areas containing shops and department stores, connected by a network of wide, pillared tunnels. To complicate still further, the station also connected to the Nagoya subway system and each area was packed with rush-hour wall-to-wall commuters. Wherever you stood there were bodies zipping by in every direction trying to get to their station before the trains went. Stopping off for breath in a Kiosk, I watched the world go by and realised that I had no idea in which direction to go. Fortunately the river of people I decided to join washed me up at a large open area containing a massive board of train departures and an information desk staffed by an english speaker.

After showing them my map for the hotel that was printed out for me back in Nagano, they were able to point me at the correct exit and I was able to find the correct hotel. Fortunately, not too far away, (and next to the biggest panchinko shrine I had seen so far) the Chisun Inn was a cheap and cheerful affair shaped like a cylinder. The central lift took me up to my floor, where I chose my room from a circular corridor with a door to each room every couple of feet. Entering, and knocking my head on the low door, it was the very definition of 'compact and bijou', more so than any other I had been to so far, but it was clean, had all the amenities, and would do just nicely for the night.
Dropping off my packs, I decided to use the remainder of the day (it was about 4pm) to explore some of Nagoya. Even though the city had the smack laid down on it by some of the tourist sites I had visited, my travel book did outline a couple of places that sounded half interesting. Studying the maps showed me that I could visit a few in a streight line and be back at the hotel before nightfall, so I headed back to the station to catch the subway train.

Subway Tips
The subway was not covered by my Japan Rail pass, and so I had to do something not encountered before: buy a ticket. And that meant the automated machines. Armed with my book I cross-referenced the required station name with the japanese symbols on the giant subway map above me, which told me the going rate. Approaching the machine, a nice 'In English' chunky button stood out, and pressing it brought up an almost completely unhelpful screen telling me things in engrish that I couldn't work out.. so I did the only thing I could do - pump 100yen coins into the machine until I hit the amount I had guessed I needed, and see what happened. Fortunately a button flashed for me to press, and my ticket was spat out at me. So that's my 'tip': throw money at the machine and eventually it will be happy.


My first destination was the Nagoya Robot Museum, which was located a few minutes from Sekae station. After braving the subway crowds (both off and on the trains) I eventually managed to make my way back to street level and found myself slap bang in the middle of downtown Nagoya - massive multilane roads in a grid system, with huge department stores anywhere you could fit one in. Fortunately, next to the bus stations were city guide maps. Unfortunatly they were all in Japanese and didnt tally with the map in my book, but eventually after some asking and showing a cubic building with a silver sheen hoved into view. Excited that I'd made it before the described closing time, I arrived at the door, complete with a 'Robot Museum' sign on it. I tried the door, which was locked. I looked around the building. There were no other doors. It took me a full minute of searching around and arriving back at the entrance to realise the sign was actually telling me what I didn't want to know: the museum had closed down the previous year.


With the wind out of my sails, and not actually remembering the direction I came from, I slumped down on to the steps outside and had another look at my book. The next thing along was the Nagoya TV Tower, situated in the middle of the Hisaya-odori Park, a long thin stretch of parkland running down the middle of the main Hisaya-odori road. The tower itself used to be the tallest structure in Nagoya, but has long-since been dwarfed by the buildings around it.

Once I'd had my fill of the park, my eyes glanced east to a strange structure that resembled a spaceship across the road. This was the 'Spaceship Aqua' a huge Voyager-shaped structure held up by steel pillars. Its purpose seemed to be primarily as an extended covering to the subterrainian bus terminal you could see below, but it was also open as a free exhibit to the public.

When you got to the top of the stairs, the oval section turned out to be a walkway with a misted glass bottom, and in the centre was a 'lake' of water no more than an inch or two deep. Around the edge were seats, so you could sit and look at the sunset over the lake and pretend you weren't in a city at all. It was all quite pleasant and calm up there, so I decided to stay a little and admire the sights until the sun was low in the sky.

After making my way back down, I looked back at the map. It was clear that the remaining sights would have to wait until tomorrow as most attractions had by this time closed, so I walked some more around Hisaya-odori park and some of the shops that were still open, and then began to head back to my hotel, which was by now a welcome sight.

Japan 9 : Mothballs

Early morning in Nagano brought a choice: I was there for that day and then the next, and then it was off to Nagoya for a day. Do I spend all of the middle day in the former 1998 Winter Olympics city, or move along to the next place on the schedule. While deciding, I unstuck my various bits of clothing from each other and sent a laundry bag off - the first one since arriving in Japan - and went to an Internet Cafe.

The internet sites I'd glanced at were not kind to Nagoya, referring to it as a place you could safely leave off the list. However, my trusty book did list a few spots you might want to go to if there, so I was undecided.

The tourist office was closed, and wouldnt open for a couple of hours. Since that would waste precious hours, I decided to go for the attractions first. Nagano has two main attractions, one new and one old. The first, Zenko-ji Temple, is at the north end of the city at the far end of Chuo-dori, the long road I'd been up the evening before. It's one of Japans' most famous Buddhist temples, reported to contain one of the first golden Bhuddist statues brought to Japan, and a major pilgrimage site. At the south of the city lies the other main attraction: the M-Wave Arena, a huge indoor stadium that hosted the speed-skating part of the Winter Olympics 10 years previous, and now doubles as a museum to comemmorate the event.
On a coin toss, I decided to head north first. Zenko-ji temple was a 15-minute walk up the road, which became increasingly traditional-looking as it went up the hill. Either side, the buildings turned from flashy commercial glass houses with neon signs (with the odd shrine located on the back streets) to a mixture of older pre-war western-style buildings and Edo-period (or Edo-style) houses. Even the roads and pavements changed to a cobbled surface to let you know you were getting close.

Zenko-ji temple is guarded by twin gates. The first one, Niōmon, is at the end of the final section of Chuo-dori, where the main slew of traffic is diverted to the left, and the road becomes a quarter mile of paving flanked by some of the most well-kept and poshest residential buildings I had seen in the country. Approaching Niōmon itself, the first thing you see after the hugeness of it is the recesses on either side, each of which contain a large sculpture of a Deva guardian, whose purpose is to scare off non-believers and enemies of Buddhism. After quickly heading left and praying to the shrine of Totoro and assorted soft toys, my Buddhist credentials were in place and I went through.

On the intermediate road between Niōmon and the next gate, is the equivalent of Blackpool front. Shop after shop of trinkets and souvineers, each filled and surrounded by dozens of tourists, fingering the plastic necklaces, dried fish and miniature cats-with-bells-on-them. Resisting the urge to indulge for the moment I pressed on to the second gate, Sanmon, which was even larger and more impressive than the first. A huge twin-roofed structure, you could easily mistake it for a building in itself. It had just recently gone through a 5-year facelift and looked pretty damn good for it.


Once inside the inner area, it opens out to a square, with an area to the left containing several smaller temples, including the Kyōzō shrine, containing a giant octagonal stand which you can revolve to show all the different sutras, Buddhist scriptures said to be records of the teachings of the guy himself. Surrounding the area are a number of smaller temples, more Buddhist statues, shrines and a couple of sympathetically-designed souvineer shops, all kept absolutely pristine as if they had just been made. A guy was outside at the time gently filling in a crack in the road with cement it seemed barely a second after it appeared. It was clear that I was in a very highly-respected place. The surroundings of the shrine were suitably palatial - a moat containing koi and some stone turtles, immaculately carved statues and beautiful architecture. Some of the internal decor was gorgeous.


As I approached, the centre of the main square became increasingly smoky. This was due to a giant pot of insense burning away constantly, watched over by a row of Buddhist statues known as the Rokujizō. Resisting the urge to hack my guts up, I did as many others were doing; walking up to it, stroking it and rubbing the smoke over themselves in the hope of good health and fortune for the day. The high-priestess occasionally came out to perform ceremonies in front of the burner, but unfortunately way too early in the morning for me to catch. Maybe next time.


The main temple itself was another shoes-off affair. As you went in, smiling but stern temple minders pointed politely at the no-camera signs, and it was clear from looking inside why they wanted to keep it unphotographed. The centre of the temple housed the dwellings of a god amongst men; more huge golden sutra stands suspended from the ceiling joined with hundreds of other ornaments both on the ceiling and floor, some gold, others laquered wood or polished stone. All this was housed within an area covered with cushioned tatami flooring which you could stand around, but not on. Behind this area was the site of a strange ritual, taken on by almost all visitors. After paying at an out-of-place electronic ticket machine, I was allowed to descend a set of stairs that led to a low, narrow tunnel underneath the palatial area, which twisted and turned at right-angles in complete darkness. The idea was that somewhere within the tunnel hung a key, and if you were to find it and touch it, eternal riches would be yours. Eventually, after a lot of bumping around into wooden posts and other people (but no keys), I emerged at the stairs of the exit which put me back at the start, and since my feet were now freezing cold, I passed on the opportunity to go around again.

Since I'd been through most of the temple buildings by this point, I had gotten a bout of temple overload, and almost craved the prospect of scrabbling through a few hundred trinkets of various shapes and sizes in the far more familiar consumerist society that I am used to. Flitting back and forth across the street between places selling as many necklaces as you could imagine, and then more than that, I finally alighted on a nice one for a certain Ms. Plants, plus a nice hefty 4GB SD card from a nearby camera shop. Since it was heading towards mid-afternoon, it was time to head back southwards again.

On the way, I decided to try my hand at using the ATMs once again. So far, I had seen very few card machines around Japan, and those few that I had tried were not very appreciative of my foreign status, spitting the card back out again and telling me where I should put it. However, passing a faux-Edo period Post Office building and remembering hearing that post offices had special machines, I thought I would have one more go, not least because the coffers were getting a little low. I wasn't quite prepared for what they had; pushed away in a corner of the entrance were two leviathans that resembled some sort of textile loom more than a cash machine. Thankfully, the little touch-sensitive screen had a big button marked 'English' and upon pressing, it literally talked me through it. I was briefly disheartened when it failed to display my current balance, but it did allow withdrawls, and soon the yen were being enthusiastically spit out at me.

Cash Tips
So theres a tip I should share: if in Japan, always make sure you know where the post offices are. Some businesses will accept your (visa) card, but only if it has been enabled for foreign use, (which mine sort of had, though it was a bit of a stickler the first time I needed to use it). Japan, despite its status as a thoroughly modern country, still favours good old-fashioned folding rather than cards.

A little peckish, and not wanting another curry, I stopped off at the first place that looked like it served authentic Japanese cuisine. Fujikan looked pretty good, and after reading up on various Soba-based foodstuffs I decided that it would be the thing to try. Unfortunately, I got mixed up with the contents of the menu cross-referenced with the contents of my phrase book, and ended up with.. Beef Curry.

After finishing my meal, I headed back down the hill in the light of the afternoon sun, popped into the all-encompasing internet cafe once more, and finally got accommodation for Nagoya and Kyoto after about an hour of waiting at the packed tourist office. Both places were a bit on the pricy side compared to what I was used to at this point (6-7000 yen per night, or about 30-35 quid), but they were in the middle of each city and at such short notice I couldn't be anything more than grateful.

Now came the daunting part: Getting to the M-Wave Arena. By bus. This was the first time I was going by Japanese bus, and I was not understanding of the etiquette. Finding the stand took long enough, and once again I was reliant on the kindness of strangers; this time a young mother with two hyperactive children to take care of. Once on the bus, I was given a few hand signals by fellow passengers about what to do, which eventually I got the hang of after several such trips.

Bus Tips
For those who may have to ride a Japanese bus (or tram), here is the way it works: When you get on (at the rear) you get a ticket with a number on it. That corresponds to one of the numbers on a big board at the front of the bus, where each number has a little LCD readout under it. As the bus goes between stops, the values under each number increase, and the price you pay is the amount under your number when you get off. To pay, you put your coins into a funnel atop a machine next to the driver. The machine also provides change for 500yen coins using the slot on the top. If in doubt, the driver will usually lend a hand at the stop.

After several nervous scans, I eventually arrived at the stop listed on my little piece of paper (fortunately like the train stations, bus stops usually have english translations on them too) and got off. I was in the south of Nagano, and it couldn't have been more different. Reflecting the type of attraction I was heading towards, this was a much more modern environment; wide roads, car lots, and american-style sidewalk shops and cafes. My goal was over the road and hard to miss, but looking at the time it was 4.45 and getting pretty late. Rushing over and scanning the area, it was not apparent how you actually got in; the side of the building showed off the impressive curved roof, and the front sloped down in a '1970s Bond Villan hideout' set of angular concrete pillars and shapes. Looking round for the entrance, and now a little panicked I may be too late or out of season, I took a stab at one of the Goldeneye-styled passageways through the concrete lair. The passageway acted like a wind tunnel and searingly cold air was blowing through, unheated by the lack of sun getting in. It took a little while for me to realise that the walls of the passage were made up of thousands of little tiles, each of them naming an athelete taking part that year.

Finally, and by fluke, I headed down some steps and found myself in front of some glass doors. Despite not seeing a single person yet, the doors swished open as I got near, and I was greeted by a lady who clearly was happy to see a paying punter. The place was empty. Really empty. The first thing she did was usher me into a film room, where the opening and closing ceremonies were being played on a 3D projector screen in front of me. Happy for a sit down for a while, I adorned my dusty 3D specs and watched as the various small children of the ceremony leaped about in front of me. Torches were lit, spotlights flashed and focused on different areas of the arena, and some sort of story of Nagano and the olympics was played out via the medium of dance. It was all very nice, and when it all went dark at the end, it was a little sad. Now, opening before me was the museum dedicated to the memory of the olympics, which was all that was left of a time of newness and excitement and hope. The place was deserted, smelt of mothballs, and some of the exhibits using the 'latest Windows 98 computers' were showing blue screens of death or other such disabilities. As I went round, the dusty remainders paved the way to the entrance to the indoor stadium itself, the cheering of the spectators still ringing in my ears from the video. It was now mostly silent, and as I climbed the stairs up to the higher seating areas the only signs of life now were a few people mulling about on the rink below, which had been drained of ice and water, and had just finished being the site of a car show. A few surviving olympic mascots - a quad of giant furry owls - sat in one of the corners. Sad and dejected, they were shadows of their former selves.

The final nail in the coffin of the memory of the olympics was the souvineer shop at the end, where the curators were still trying to sell off stocks of T-shirts, badges and books at silly prices. It made me glad to get out of there (this time by the now-obvious proper exit).
By now, the light was fading, and the bus I rode back on spent an hour or so in terrible traffic. Once back in the comfortable part of Nagano, I went to the 24h Internet Cafe again and uploaded all my pics, then went back to the hotel with some Halls cough sweets and ordered a pizza in. I don't know whether it was my feelings on seeing a city desperately try to wring some extra cash out of a fleeting event rather than concentrating on its much longer and better held history and architecture, or whether I'd picked something up, but I was starting to feel a little off.