Into Japan
Japan has a sound. It’s not the clattering of the pachinko machines; as deafening as that is, you can’t hear it out on the street. Nor is it the whining of the cicadas, although that is definitely the sound of the Japanese summer. No, it’s the constant plonking and dinging emitted by countless loudspeakers, sometimes without any apparent reason.
This sound carried me out of Yokohama to the Shinkansen and hence to Kyoto, where it followed me down the street for hours spent looking for an inn—until I was suddenly faced with the walls of the Higashi Honganji temple and centuries of history.
It almost made it all worth it.
04/09/2007
I’m not one for getting up early, but even with a leisurely trip up to Yokohama station, I had to wait for another 50 minutes until the travel centre deigned to open its doors at 11. It’s privately owned, so I guess they can determine their opening hours, but the queue was already substantial. It struck me as not a bad place to work in.
There is nothing to be gained by standing in a queue, so I spent a while walking around a food court with a dazzling array of counters and shops but no seating area. Then I went back outside and sat on a low wall with a sign which probably said ‘don’t sit here’ next to a guy who was lying prone and half-naked, sleeping in the morning sun.
I wanted to join him. Trying for an early start had been a bad idea.
The travel centre opened eventually, and soon I had my seven-day Japan Rail Pass, my ticket to see the country. I also made a reservation on the Shinkansen. Yes I could get to Kyoto today. Not a problem.
I breathed a sign of relief. My experience with European railways (the British foremost among them) has told me that it can be tricky to get a reservation for fast trains on short notice. And the Shinkansen!
As I leaned back in the comfortable seat, there was an announcement that smoking was permitted only in the non-reserved carriage 3. So you could even smoke!
Memories of a kinder, more efficient age surfaced. A time when it took the length of exactly one pipe to travel from Oxford to London, without waiting for delays on the platform.
I debated briefly making my way to carriage 3, but the seat was so comfortable and the journey so short that it hardly seemed worth it. OK, so it was about two and a half hours, but it felt like five minutes. Not only did I have no concept about the distances involved , I had no concept about the speed of the train. In the end, the two cancelled each other out and we pulled into Kyoto station in the early hours of the afternoon.
And I got lost. Again.
I seem to have a particular talent for finding the back entrance to anywhere. In Kyoto, my strategy was simple: home straight in on the information counter. I followed the sign with the question mark around several bends and down an underground passage, finally ending up in front of what seemed like a ticket counter, rather than the tourist information (in fact, the tourist information isn’t that easy to find, but it’s located somewhere on the mezzanine floor of what must be one of the world’s grandest station concourses).
Instead of heading back, I walked outside. I had this concept of Kyoto as a bijou old town. No idea how I got that into my head.
Long story short: I walked in the wrong direction, right past a hotel that offered rooms for under 5000¥—breakfast included—within the station area, ended up at J-hoppers (don’t ask me how—instinct, I presume) only to find it booked out and eventually made the wise decision to hobble back on what were now my open-blistered feet.
That was when I stumbled across the temple. And learned another painful lesson: you may not be able to afford a stay in a luxury hotel, but chances are that the concierge will have a map, so get one before setting off.
I hobbled around the hotel area (right in front of the grandiose station entrance) for several hours before eventually settling for a room at just under 6000¥.
“It is traditional Japanese room!”
“Yeah, fine.”
“Communal bath.”
“Oh—OK”
“Smoker or nonsmoker?”
Bliss.
So I opened the door to my first traditional Japanese room, and it is quite different. You exchange your shoes for slippers to cross the two steps of the hallway to the toilet, where you exchange your floor slippers for bathroom slippers. Or take one step side-ways and drop the slippers to step onto the raised wooden platform, barefoot or in socks, and from there into the tatami room.
There was a huge desk at knee-height right in the centre of the room. I figured I could spread out the futon in the corner, but thankfully decided to leave it and go for a quick walk to catch the last rays of the evening sun: when I got back, the desk was placed neatly against the wall and a comfortable futon arranged in the middle of the room, with fresh linen and a crisply pressed yukata ready to wear.
Time to hit that communal bath.
Denni