Rues of Roo

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Autumn Swan. Japan style

If there was one thing that we had become accustomed to by our third day in Japan, it was that supposed ‘sights’ were hardly visible surrounded by a mass of ugly concrete suburbia. Sometimes it sort of felt like a treasure hunt, scouring through the streets of urban sprawl that envelope the glorious temples situated there. Yet, you still couldn’t discount the urban sprawl. Being Japan, everything just seems different, though admittedly it’s probably just down to the fact that everything is written in Katakana or Hiragana. I swear, if everything was in Roman characters it’d look downright ordinary, and if it was in Cyrillic, well, I’d be worried.

Of course I overexaggerate to a certain extent, but the Brutalist Modern Architecture styles that are evident from recent modernisation in the 60s and 70s is much more pleasant than that you would find in London. If anything, it is rather cute, as everything is built in order to conserve space, resulting in rather boxy buildings. I suppose in the same way that many romanticise the streets of London when they watch movies like ‘Love, Actually’, or ‘Closer’, many do the same with those in Japan. I could not help but think of classic movies like ‘Swing Girls’ or ‘Waterboys’ when walking through the suburbian parts of Japan. Even the quiet streets depicted in anime like ‘The Girl Who Leapt Through Time’ or ‘Whisper of the Heart’ bring to mind the compact yet rather charming environment in which you suddenly wish you grew up in as a young teenager. Yet, as with most other countries, many of the towns and cities just look the same, and Japan differs not. These box houses and flats are everywhere, and however cute you may find the first one, you do become rather immune to it after a while, which is why Tsumago (the street), and Takayama (an autumn town) were slightly different from many others. But before we arrive there, let us deal with the castle, Himeji.

Himeji Castle, in detail

Himeji only has one thing going for it (as far as I could tell) which is Himeji castle. Supposedly the most beautiful of all castles in Japan, there’s no doubt as to its impressiveness. The interior, unfortunately, is far from the measure of its external glory, and the slippers you have to walk around with inside are definitely a health and safety hazard. Smooth slippers and varnished wood just don’t go together, let alone with six flights of stairs with steps that are intent on not allowing your foot to be placed upon them.

Himeji Castle from the outer courts

The highlight of Himeji Castle is really the outside. I guess it’s like most of humanity, the more you get to know the thing from the inside, it’s kind of a turn off. Look, nod, say hello, that’s it, enough. Common courtesy. But at least you can enjoy the castle for what it is. Truth be told, the rumours are true, and once you’ve seen Himeji castle, all others just pale in comparison. The odd thing about Himeji is that while the castle is so grand and oozes with history, the city itself just blends into normality. Sad, really.

Household decorations in Tsumago

The Street.
Weaving our way from Kyoto through a network of train services to a small station called Nagiso, we proceeded to a small town called Tsumago. What I had gathered about this town was that it was essentially a street that had been decreed to maintain its Edo like state, with all power cables and telephone wires being built underground (and I was thinking ‘er… isn’t that what like, London does?’ – but you look at cities like Kyoto and you begin to understand how big a deal it is to do that in Japan). Nevertheless, we’d been told it was a 15 minute walk from one of the town to the other, but I had a hard time believing that. Until we reached the place.

Tsumago is the (freaking) smallest town I’ve ever been in. The walk from one end to the other was more like five minutes, and on a scale of entertainment from one to ten, this town came in at minus five. I’m being mean, I suppose. Tsumago is not really a town to be examined on its own, one should really take into consideration the surrounding area which is the Kiso Valley and the other towns in the vicinity. Along the Kiso Valley are numerous destinations set in lush surroundings such as Matsumoto and further north, Nagano, and put together, the journey along the valley all the way north would have been quite an interesting trip in itself given that the weather held well. However, as it was, our journey was to take us west and the valley was not to be seen, not on this trip at least.

Old wooden houses in the only street of Tsumago

Tsumago’s plus points would have to be that all the little shop houses and residential buildings are extremely quaint. The history that is so rich in the area is evident, and our first Ryokan stay was definitely an experience. What boggles the mind is that people actually live here, whole families, complete with kids. It truly makes one wonder what these people could possibly do should the tourism industry deteriorate or vanish from this secluded place. Cute little house or no, it’s a hard life, and you have to wonder what they are thinking seeing holidaying tourists from all over the world coming to ogle at their little house in amazement and awe.

Outside a temple, man made art, God made art. Takayama

The Town
One day in Tsumago was really more than enough. The age old cliché of being at one with nature and all that actually freaked me out after a while. The eerie silence of the night in a strange place hardly filled me with comfort and joy, so the journey to some semblance of real civilization was a welcome thought. Takayama via Nagoya was our next destination and was the most north we would travel during our Japan journey. And you could tell. The two hour journey from Nagoya was intriguing, to say the least, as you literally witnessed the seasons changing around you. One thing I had forgotten to mention earlier was my previous excitement at being able to witness autumn once again. Somehow autumns in London had gone rather unappreciated during my twenty odd years there, due mainly to the perpetual grey skies and autumn leaves in London mean wet mushy brown crap on the floor that not only clogs up the drains (which I have to subsequently clear from said drain) and litters the garden (which I have to subsequently rake). In addition, for some reason, autumn leaves mean delayed trains and generally it’s not all that pleasant. Autumn in Japan, however, is a different story. I didn’t have to clean up any of the mess and it just seemed all the more beautiful here with the difference species of maple that grace the forests in the region. The maple in Japan are smaller, tiny, in fact, so the trees that glow a deep red as autumn embraces the country seem all the more sophisticated than the large, clumsy maple that you find in most other parts of the world. I suppose the fact that it is accompanied with blue skies made the atmosphere all the more enjoyable.

Autumn in full…bloom

Nevertheless, my point in telling this is that as I said, I was somewhat excited as to see the wonderful autumn colours in Japan. I had read that late October, early November was the time when autumn would explode with vibrancy. So you can imagine the disappointment I had when on the Shinkansen from Tokyo to Kyoto that it was mentioned that all the trees are green. Freaking green. Green as the summers of London and green as the trees in Singapore. Green green green.

Old country houses preserved near Takayama

So then, imagine happiness and joy as we traveled from Nagoya, north to Takayama, as every 15 minutes or so you notice that there are more and more orange and red trees. Maybe one every 30 trees to begin with, then slowly, one every 15, until eventually as we pulled into Takayama, the hills were literally a mass of orange and red and yellow. The funny thing is, I should point out, is that the forests in Japan are a real mix of deciduous and conifer trees, which means that while you do have many areas of earthen colours, there are other areas of the hills around that are still green with conifer. What you end up with is mix of what looks like cancerous hills, with a plague of death stretching in blotches interspersed with green patches. So ultimately, not as beautiful as I would have liked. Expectations, dashed, well, not completely I suppose…

Prayers written and tied

Anyway, while I would rant about a lack of beautiful autumn surroundings, Takayama was quite pleasant. It’s a city, of sorts, but really a rather quaint one, with a grid like system that is easy to navigate and a very charming ‘old town’ where you can find an assortment of the usual shrines and temples. What has been said about places like Kyoto can be said here, and the charm that existed in Tsumago, while not quite as prevalent, was still present in Takayama with its ample dose of old style wooden houses. What really captures the imagination in Takayama is the small city life here. The romanticized type that I mentioned earlier of Japanese dramas and anime. Of those supposed nobodies who in actuality have that special something. They come from places like Takayama. At around 5pm everyday there is a town-wide announcement, and they play music over this town-wide PA system too. The kids all wear yellow hats (though we realized that this is Japan wide) and red bags and there are morning markets everyday selling everything from Hidagyu beef to beer to huge, deliciously sweet apples. The main shopping street is tiny but ever so quaint, almost Brighton-esque in its composition and paved walkways, complete with riverside cafes blended with huge Pachinko arenas. Small cafes and restaurants dot the city waiting to be discovered together with the odd Ryokan. A Ghibli themed shop here, and a French bakery there, and then a 100 year old sushi restaurant right next to it. It almost felt familiar after a day, almost comfortable. And the fact that it really was autumn here did nothing to harm that quaint, inviting atmosphere.

Kids in hats, Takayama

Takayama was a nice place to be, it just had that homely feel to it. Sure, there was some of the dull architecture that exists in all Japanese towns, but the dull ambience was familiar, almost Wimbledon, in a strange way. While we suffered some rather bad weather there, it seemed nostalgic - almost British in its persistent drizzling, depressing nature. Taking shelter in a warm café watching the rain fall outside, almost Parisian. Takayama was a charming place to walk in and explore, and even after the trip there, while I can’t say it was absolutely astounding, seeing photos of the place brings back fond memories. Indeed, the quiet, calm nature of the place would be a far cry of a prelude to our next stop of the sprawling metropolis of Tokyo.

More photos after the jump…

Continue reading ‘Chapter 3. A Castle, A Street, An Autumn Town’