Traversing Heaven’s Bridge… upside-down

If you happened to be in my neck of the woods this past Monday, you might have noticed throngs of young people gallivanting about on the streets. With the men in dark suits, and the women dressed in elaborate long-sleeved (furisode) kimono and faux-fur wraps, it might seem like they were on their way to a high-school dance (though they don’t have those here) or something similar.

That’s certainly what I thought when I first encountered these groups back when I studied abroad here. But actually, the 15^th of January marks Adults’ Day in Japan, and, thanks to the government’s “Happy Monday System” for national holidays, it was observed just this week. The age of majority here is 20, and all 20-year-old men and women dress to the nines, then converge on a predetermined location to listen to boring speeches by politicians about the meaning of responsibility and adulthood. That rite solemnly passed, they are then set loose upon the town, most choosing to exercise their newfound alcohol-purchasing power. The news the next morning is usually full of reports about disorderly youths. So much for that “responsibility”.

As for me, I’m getting back into the swing of classes this week, but while my travels are still fresh in my memory (mostly from every single teacher asking me if I went back to the US), I should try and relate them to you, as well. So that brings me to my first destination on my five-day odyssey: Amanohashidate.

Located on the Tango Peninsula in northern Kyoto Prefecture (in layman’s terms, about four hours north of Osaka, with good connections), Amanohashidate (roughly, “Bridge of Heaven”) is a famed… sand bar. It spans Miyazu Bay with a distance of 3.2 km (about 2 miles), and is covered by about 7000 pine trees. In spite of this rather humble description, it is known throughout Japan as one of the country’s “Three Great Views”, as set forth in the 17^th century by a Confucian scholar connected to the Tokugawa Shogun. Its image was then made famous in a woodblock print by Hiroshige, a master of the art, around 1860. So, sandbar though it may be, its reputation precedes it. And besides, I’d already got to see one of the other two Great Views—Itsukushima Shrine in Hiroshima—back in 2006, so I figured it’d at least get me one step closer to completing the hat trick.

I’d only just decided the day before that I would be better off doing the journey as a day trip: scrutinizing my map and the train timetables, I realized that I’d be hopelessly late for supper at my first port of call if I followed my itinerary to the letter. (This, you must understand, was after I had pared it down from reaching Nagano in three days, which I might have been able to do in real life if I never actually got off the trains.) So, splitting my first day into two and plotting out a more leisurely first outing, I had my revised plan all set… only to wake up at 6:45, or just about the same time my train was supposed to leave. Throwing on my clothes and grabbing my camera, I took off for the train station, but the damage was already done: when you only have one train per hour where you’re going, the slightest delay means a fairly long time spent, well, killing time.

And it was cold. I’d forgotten that the center of Japan, in between the coasts, is also quite mountainous; the elevation at my first transfer station, combined with a genuine cold snap that day, left me shivering even with multiple layers on. So I bided my time, first at Sasayama, and later at Fukuchiyama, taking pictures of trains I couldn’t board and generally trying to stave off frostbite and hypothermia. Nevertheless, the snow up north was a sight for sore eyes, and even though I was no longer entirely sure whether I had earlobes, it was enough to put me into a state of blissful serenity for the rest of the day. Or at least until my toes started to complain as well.

Arriving in Miyazu just past noon, I surveyed my options for taking in the scenery. The aforementioned woodblock print depicts Amanohashidate from the southeast, in what’s known (perhaps a bit over-ambitiously) as the “Flying Dragon View”. I thought about doing likewise, but on closer inspection, the observation point was now part of “Amanohashidate View Land”: essentially a tacky, glorified children’s playground overlooking one of Japan’s most majestic sights. Thanks, but no thanks. Instead, I chose to take a ferry across the bay to Kasamatsu Park, which houses something equally famous: the renowned Mata-nozoki-dai (“between-the-legs viewing platform”). That’s right: the accepted method of viewing Amanohashidate, as passed down through the generations, is to bend over and gaze at it upside-down. Apparently, it’s supposed to make it look like it’s floating in the heavens. Or maybe the locals were just having a laugh at the expense of travelers who’d come from all across the country to see their sandbar. Either way, I set my mind on coming here.

Taking the ferry across, I stood against the railing under the falling sleet, watching the fog roll across the mountains while sea gulls darted, dove, and glided around the boat (the ferry operators were actually selling snacks for the wannabe-pigeons on-board, which I declined). The rest of the passengers were Chinese-speakers who didn’t seem to like the cold much, so I had the outer deck to myself. Immersed in the open air, I reveled in the feeling of being out on the water with the wind on my face, which I hadn’t experienced since I’d left the U.S.

One short hike and cable-car trip later, I finally found myself looking out across the bay, onto Amanohashidate itself. I was a bit surprised to learn that the mass of trees we’d passed on our way to the opposite shore was what I’d come to see, but from above, it was breathtaking. Almost on cue, the sleet eased up, the clouds rolled back, and I could see across the bay, out onto the sea in one direction and up into the mountains in the other. It really was worth the trip, after all. Feeling particularly pleased with myself, I decided to give the upside-down viewing a shot. Maybe it was just the dizziness from all the blood rushing to my head, but from that angle, it really did look as though it were a bridge floating in a particularly choppy sky. I dutifully took several more photos from both orientations, and then headed back the way I’d come. After all, it would take just as long to get home as it did to get there.

Of course, being me, it’s not like I could sit back and enjoy my evening once I got back to Osaka. Planning out last minute travel arrangements, stuffing an assortment of items into an already hopelessly overloaded backpack, and looking around frantically for one more pair of wool socks, I finally sank into a fitful sleep around one in the morning. With an intended departure time of six o’clock, this wasn’t going to turn out quite as I had planned….

ONLINE EXCLUSIVE: My entire album of photos from the day is available for your perusal online. Check it out. At the moment, I can’t get the slideshow feature to not go backwards starting from the last image taken, but I’ll work that out later. For the time being, just navigate through by clicking the left-arrow button that appears when you mouse over the image. Or click “View All” and see them at your leisure.

Once more into the breach

It’s now the January of a new year, and for me, that means a return to the classroom for the final term of the academic year. Or almost, anyway. As it so happens, the students get to come back from their winter vacation, hastily completed homework in hand, only to find a series of aptitude tests awaiting them. Such is their constant plight. I have to admit, I’m surprised at the sheer amount of government-mandated tests they’re required to take, and wondering if they have any particular significance for the students or the schools. Surely they can’t all determine the students’ academic futures, can they?

That said, I can’t say that I have any particular opposition to these tests, because for me, it means I get to spend one more day in something approximating vacation-mode. While I may be sitting at a desk trying to look industrious, I also have the luxury of changing tack on a whim, and (of course) regaling people who stayed in Osaka with tales of my travels at the end of 2008. People around here always seem surprised that I didn’t return home for the holidays, but for me, at least, it was obvious: I am firmly of the opinion that when you have the opportunity to go someplace you have never been before, you should take it before it passes by. This attitude has occasionally led to my becoming temporarily lost in unfamiliar areas, but I have always come out of such situations with a healthy appreciation for the places I’ve been, and an even greater determination to explore further next time.

So when it came time to plot my latest adventure, I was nearly burning up with anticipation. I would finally head to the other side of Honshu, and explore the Sea of Japan coast as well as the rugged central mountains. For me, this was especially important, because it really doesn’t snow in any significant quantity in Osaka. Having spent my childhood in the North Country, where people scoff at Lake Effect whiteouts, and pretty much everyone has a pair of snow pants, I’ve been disappointed about this for a long while. Japan’s other coast, in contrast, gets plenty of snow in the winter months: in fact, some of the most picturesque views of the places I was going were taken in winter, reassuring me that a lush blanket of new-fallen powder would grace every hillside and treetop for the perfect touch of home. Its reputation is such that it’s actually known as “Snow Country”. Perfect.

With this criterion in mind, I decided to trace my way in a clockwise loop from Osaka: first heading northwards to see Amanohashidate, one of Japan’s “Three Views”; then east, to the port city of Maizuru; stopping in the coincidentally named Obama, and then on to Kanazawa, with its famous gardens and well-preserved samurai- and merchand quarters. After that, it would be on to the rustic mountain village of Shirakawa (a UNESCO-selected World Heritage site), and the well-preserved history—not to mention hot spring baths—of Hida-Takayama, otherwise known as “Little Kyoto”. In short, it was to be a whirlwind tour over five days, with me carting most everything in an oversized backpack, much to the protestation of my overworked feet.

On second thought, maybe “whirlwind” isn’t really the right word. To accommodate a substantial amount of long-distance travel, mostly by rail, I took advantage of the “Youth 18 Ticket”, sold through the Japan Railways Group. For a mere ¥11500 (roughly $120 or so), you get five days of unlimited travel on any local train on any line run by the successor corporations to the National Rail. To put it another way, this meant that I could travel far and do so cheaply, but at a snail’s pace. Express trains aren’t covered by the ticket, and the bullet train lines—not that there were any, where I was going—don’t even let you through the gate with it. But on the bright side, I did get to enjoy the scenery along the way.

One thing I hadn’t anticipated with regards to the trains, though, is the sheer emptiness of the timetable in the less-populous regions of the country. Scanning the chart to try and plan my route for the first and second days, I was dismayed to discover that local trains past the northern reaches of the Osaka metropolitan area run at one per hour, if that. If I was going to get anywhere with something resembling decent speed, it would mean making all of my connections at various transfer stations… so you can just about guess how that turned out. Nevertheless, I can say with satisfaction that the ability to leave the station and come back, either to buy snacks or just to wander, is a major perk that helps kill the boredom of having to wait 75 minutes for the next train like the one you just missed.

In spite of the inconvenience of the trains, however, I still managed to make my entire trip using public transportation, which is something I could scarcely imagine being able to do back home. Even in the sparsely populated areas where I was, there were more trains on a given day (actually, quite a few more, factoring in the expresses that I couldn’t take) than many of Amtrak’s long-haul services through New York State. For me, it’s great. But it’s also kind of sad when a rural Japanese line linking modest-sized towns gets more regular service than most any train line in the US outside of the Northeast Corridor. It really makes a world of difference when it comes to getting around.

But now that the “travel” part is mostly out of the way, I really ought to tell you about what I actually saw on my journey. So, over the next few weeks, I’ll be giving you highlights from my trip, as well as a few of my more interesting observations. The full account would probably take up the space of this column for the better part of a year, but I hope you find the Cliffs Notes version at least somewhat entertaining. Now, onward to next week, and Day 1!

BONUS: As an exclusive to those reading this online, I now present to you my first two drafts of my travel itinerary. Much too ambitious. Click for readable size: