No Nara
Todaiji Buddhist temple in Nara.
Based on a public domain image.
09/09/2007
The train I’d boarded on impulse turned out to be JR after all—the slow train with many additional stops for commuters. The subway uses a different station.
And that was the cause for my troubles.
Today would be the first day in almost a week when I didn’t get to visit at least one World Heritage Site, even though Nara boasts no fewer than eight of them. It does not, however, boast many hotels.
This time, I’d had the foresight to print out a map in the foyer of the excellent Toyoko Inn in Himeji. I didn’t seem to need it as I spotted the ‘Super Hotel’ from the station. It wasn’t open for check-in until 3 p.m., but I could live with that. After all, the Toyoko Inn didn’t open until four. However, the reception wasn’t staffed, and I didn’t want to risk coming back later, only to find it fully booked, with lines of destitute travellers queuing down the street like the homeless in ‘The Pursuit of Happyness’ which I’d watched last night.
So, map in hand, I went to look for alternatives.
Of the five hotels listed in the area between the station and the park, three didn’t seem to exist and the remaining two were too expensive. But the ‘Super Hotel’ wasn’t listed, so the map wasn’t aimed at budget travellers. I would just have to look around.
The sun climbed into the sky. Before long, rivulets of sweat were streaming down my face and into my eyes. By noon, it was as hot as Bangkok.
I was about to give up when I spotted a sign for the tourist information.
***(Long entry—1,500 words—but worth it if you want to read about me making an arse of myself)***
There was a friendly Volunteer Guide behind the counter, but—incredibly—he told me that there was “nobody qualified” to assist with accommodation enquiries. I looked around at the half dozen or so uniformed paid staff and frowned.
He pointed at the map that I had placed onto the counter.”Go to station,” he said. “Kintetsu Nara station—” I’m sure I heard that explicitly “—Nara Station.”
So I walked back down the road I had come from and down the stairs to Kintetsu Station. The underground passage seemed to go on forever; it looked more like an underpass. Maybe it was an underpass, in which case it would get me back out where I had started.
I retraced my steps and walked back up the stairs, feeling my face grow red with exertion. Although the backpack wasn’t too heavy to begin with, it seemed to gain in weight with every step.
The station was definitely down that passage. But it didn’t seem right to me. This wasn’t the place where I’d expect to find a tourist information counter—this screamed ‘commuter station’.
Had the guy sent me this way to get rid of me? The situation reminded me of Taiwan.
Still, I should give him the benefit of the doubt. So I went back down that long passage and there was the station at the end of it. But there was no sign of any information counter.
I showed my JR pass to the woman at the gate and she said, “No, not JR.” This was the subway station.
I waved my map and said, “no train! Only information. Information hoteru.” I said it as one word. She took a while to understand, because Japanese is syllabic.
“Ah, ho-te-ru.” She shook her head.
No, there was definitely no information to be had down here.
Sudden anger engulfed me. Why don’t they have any staff that can deal with accommodation queries in the goddamn tourist information? Is that such an unreasonable request?
But I would not be brushed off so easily. I was through with playing the face game. I was going back there, and I was going to kill the guy.
Maybe the misunderstanding would have been resolved there and then, but to my eternal shame, the guy wasn’t at the counter. In his place a female Volunteer Guide smiled at me. A Volunteer Guide who doesn’t get paid to take shit from foreigners. And I did give her shit.
Then the guy reappeared and I gave him shit too. He looked flabbergasted.
“There was nobody there?”
“Nobody. Zero. Nada. I don’t care if you can’t help me, but don’t send people running around in circles. Don’t send them to places that don’t exist. Don’t—”
“Maybe it’s lunchtime? From twelve to one—”
I nearly burst a vein. “There is no staff! No information counter! Nothing!”
It was perhaps because they were both gaping at my tomato-red face that they didn’t see my finger circling Kintetsu Nara Station on the map. Neither of them.
The woman—now looking acutely embarrassed—opened a filing cabinet and proffered flyers for two different hostels. I took one and thanked her, suddenly aware that I had been making a scene. My anger had been converted into a quiet, seething fury by the calm gaijin woman who had joined the queue behind me, advising me to speak in a “soft voice”.
I am aware of Japanese etiquette—in theory. I never fail to bow to people. I always make sure to hand over money with my right hand. But she could talk. She hadn’t been chasing all over the place, walking down dusty side-streets in the baking sun, looking for hotels that didn’t exist, and she looked like she had a place to stay. All the gaijin I passed in the street did: they were all relaxed and happy. That was because they had planned their itineraries and booked their accommodation in advance. Bastards.
I thanked the woman again, almost ready to burst into tears.
“May I ask where you come from?”
“Oh, erm—” which country should I give the honour to? “—England.”
“Ah,” she raised an eyebrow.
Perhaps I should have said Germany. I felt that I’d embarrassed the wrong country (but I don’t any more).
I had a decision to make. The hostel was out-of-town. There was a phone number, but no phone. Should I take the bus there? It would mean trudging once more through the underground maze of Kintetsu Station—which apparently has seven exists. And if the place was listed in the Lonely Planet, it would mean wasting an hour to get there only to find it fully booked.
Thoughts of Kyoto came to mind. I discarded that option.
I could continue to walk down the main road either towards the park or back towards the JR station, where the map indicated small clusters of hotels. But I didn’t trust the map any more and—unlike in any other town I’ve been to—the hotels here didn’t seem to advertise their presence to passers-by.
I could put the backpack in a locker and wait for the ‘Super Hotel’ to open, joining the homeless queue.
Or I could just leave.
That was it. Nara had turned against me. I didn’t have to stay here: I had lost all inclination to as much as glance at a temple or shrine. I would go to Nikko instead, making the most of tomorrow.
On the way to the station I passed the Hotel Fujita Nara. It was where it should be, but I felt out of place there. It was well out of my price range.
I couldn’t see the Nara Washington Plaza. Either the map really was jinxed, or I had developed selective blindness. Nara was doing this to me.
I didn’t have to stay.
In the JR station entrance I hesitated. After all this, it seemed a shame to leave.
I cast a last look at the ‘Super Hotel’ across the street (still closed and deserted), then turned around—and there in the corner was the Tourist Information. The real one. I had walked right past it on my way out.
Only cowards run away. I should book a room and go back and grovel to the Volunteer Guides, the guy in particular. I should kiss his feet and shine his shoes to make up for my shame. If he was there. And if he was not, how would I explain myself? I would burst into tears and it would make everything worse.
I walked up to the counter and looked at the selection of leaflets spread out in front of me. A room in a very nice B&B—traditional Japanese style—for 4,200¥ with breakfast a paltry 300¥ extra. The woman at the counter offered to phone them.
I couldn’t do it.
I’m a coward. The freedom of independent travel can turn us into arseholes: we always have the option to run away, to turn our backs on a problem, an apology, an inconvenience.
I turned around and got the next train out.
But I would pay for this.
(Note: This map does indicate a tourist information at Kintetsu Nara Station, as well as one opposite KNS. All the maps that I’ve seen agree on the position of the Green Hotel Ashibi which I failed to locate in a twenty-minute search of the area.)
Tags: Japan without a Clue, Nara, Travel, Travel tales, Tag Index
Denni