Day 11

Today we made our way to Kudoyama, a small town just outside Koyasan (Mount Koya). It was a convoluted route from Hiroshima. We took the Shinkansen to Shin-Osaka first, then took a JR train to Wakayama followed by a local train to Kokawa, then Hashimoto, and finally a train to Kudoyama.

Most of today was spent on the trains. On the local trains we see mostly senior citizens. Old ladies bow and smile warmly when I move to make space for them. Old Japanese men with mole ridden faces and chronic halitosis sit beside me on the bench. I bury myself in my Murakami book and plug myself into my music to pass the time.

We disembarked at Kokowa station for a change over. Looking around I notice that these semi-rural locations are not so very distinct from small towns in the U.K. Besides the inhabitants and the language, there are few clues to discern between the two. Something about the style of the architecture, and the small distances between houses gives it away, but standing on the platform of Kokowa station the world seems very small indeed.

We suddenly witnessed a very rare event. The train was late. The station master individually addressed each group of travellers on the platform. He walked up to me and released a long string of Japanese, of which I understood only ‘Jyu pun’. 10 minutes late, okay. I assume the rest of the statement was an explanation or apology. Sa ne?

We hopped onto the train after ten minutes. There were a handful of senior citizens and a swarm of fresh faced adolescents; girls with perfectly straight jet black hair, pleated blue skirts hanging to their knees, and rucksacks with panda bears and other cute trinkets hanging from them. A rich red tie folded twice upon itself acts as a focal point meeting the apex of their v-line navy cardigans. Long black socks and plain black shoes adorn their feet. Boys wear sleek black formal jackets with gold buttons and only a hint of collar. Trendy white trainers and dark grey suit trousers complete the image. Half have bowed heads as they type furiously on their phones, but the mood is different from inner-city trains and a chorus of high pitched chatter and laughter fills the air. In the next carriage over tiny Japanese school children with bright yellow caps, white shirts and navy blue shorts gleefully spread their wings and wreak havoc. We cannot hear them.

A girl’s face is covered with a white surgical mask. I estimate that one in forty such faces at Japanese railway stations are covered with masks. I am told this is to protect against allergies (and not to stop the spread of germs which is apparently a common urban myth). This activity is ubiquitous amongst old and young, men and women. I do not see any signs of discrimination against those with masks, even among school children, though I am hardly in a position to make such a judgement based on such a brief time frame. I wonder why we do not do the same in England. Is it vanity that prevents us? Then why do young Japanese women, with their perfect make-up and so meticulous with their outfits, also partake in this behaviour?

We change at Hashimoto and board a Nankai train for Koyasan. The already pretty landscape recedes to reveal widely spaced rural locations with detailed and undeniably beautiful forest covered hillsides.

Before long we arrive at our final destination: Kudoyama. Koyasan looms over Kudoyama, a town which is sprawled at its base in a seemingly random fashion.

 We had not planned well for our next leg of the journey. The Instructions given by Nakagawa Ryokan from the station were ambiguous. We took our best guess and found ourselves at the entrance to a fairly quick country road with little in the way of architecture beyond. Must have gone wrong. Ed tried to use his phone's GPS but he was reaching his data limit. A middle aged but strong-looking Japanese man passed nearby and I took the opportunity to seek local help. "Nakagaw Ryokan wa doko desu ka?". "Nakagawa Ryokan?" he responded before firing off a number of sentences in Japanese of which I understood just enough to determine that we were to take two left turns and proceed for 300 metres. I was pretty pleased with myself for all the effort I put in to learning Japanese for the journey. So we lugged our suitcases onwards. Next problem. Everything here is written in kanji and I can only read the hiragana and katakana. As I may have mentioned before, many of the ordinary rural buildings look somewhat like shrines and temples to my naive eyes. After checking the GPS again, asking a few more bystanders, and carefully observing a picture of the building we finally narrowed in on our destination.

The Ryokan had a small shrine in the reception area. All other floors were covered with tatami or carpet, and the walls, though wooden, were thin enough that simply walking along the corridor was sufficient for the entire building to creak and shake. "How did ninjas ever do their work?" I wondered. A kind looking middle-aged gentlemen greeted us and, after we removed our shoes, lead us to our room. The room was stunning, easily more than 4 times the size of any of the previous rooms. This was, in fact, only half of the accomodation because we had a separate bedroom and living room. The furnishings were sparse, but pretty and clean, and the space afforded by the lack of furnishings was easy to enjoy.

The sparsely decorated, yet beautiful, living room.

Ed and I just happened to be enjoying some green tea when the camera accidentally went off. Yes, I'm a kid.

Our host asked after our dinner plans and when we asked for his recommendation he offered to show us a good restaurant and to meet him downstairs at 6. He pointed out that the restaurant was also an onsen. That seems odd. Oh well I'll find out soon. Time to begin nosing around the room and after some repacking of the suitcase we headed downstairs. He led us to his gun-metal Audi Quattro (that makes a change from the box-cars, he must be doing okay). We got into the car and a recording of a high pitched Japanese lady offered advice. Our host offered to show us the temple at the start of the hiking route we would begin tomorrow morning, Jison-in temple. We chatted for a few minutes about our plans.

After a few minutes we pulled up at a parking spot circumscribed by a few houses and a Collosal wall. We walked towards the nearby wooden gate built into the wall, and found ourselves standing at the foot of Jison-in temple. Impressive. Through the open gate the temple complex was visible as well as a further set of steps and torii behind. The path tomorrow held could not be marked more clearly. Walking inside our host explained that the Shingon monks built this wall and gate to defend their sect of esoteric Buddhism against the nearby Tokugawa clan. Walking further into the temple complex the layout appeared to be similar to others we had seen. A modest (by Japanese standards) pagoda stood to the right, and temple buildings to the left with a path which lay between.

We headed between the two temple halls and spotted a large number of pairs of breasts. Or rather, effigies of breasts, as these were dislocated from bodies, made from some kind of white/pink cloth with deep pink bobbles stuck centrally on each. Our host explained that at this time of the year people pray for the fertility of women, adding “please do not touch them”. The contrast between the stunning temple complex and the slightly childish looking effigies of breasts might seem surprising but, having seen so many apparent contrasts in this country, I have since become immune to the effect of such minor strangenesses.

And you thought I was joking!

We wrapped up the brief tour of the temple complex and got back in the car. A few more minutes and we arrived at a 4 storey building with a small balcony on the 2^nd floor. Our host pointed and said “out-door onsen”. 'Awesome', I thought.

We headed inside and our host spoke with the lady at the reception while we removed our shoes and found a locker for them (removing your shoes is common practice in Japanese-style restaurants to protect the tatami and keep it clean). We walked back over to the reception desk and the receptionist traded our keys for a bag with towels and new keys. Our host arranged to pick us up in two hours and left. We headed up to the second floor and found the lockers which matched our keys. Stripping naked and taking only the two towels (one small and one less small) with me I headed through the doors. In the near left corner were booths of sit-down shower cubicles. Just beyond the cubicles was a small rock fountain with hot water running into the first pool, around 8 by 8 feet, and then subsequently running into another slightly cooler pool of the same size. On the right hand side were the steam room, sauna, cold pool, and another pool inside a closed of section. At the far side of the room was a door leading to the balcony.

I headed over to the showers first. Each cubicle had a mirror, excellent for feeding the vanity of any particularly arrogant specimen of a male, which I am. Also, and primarily, of value for the many men who take this opportunity to shave. I made myself thoroughly clean and warmed up inside the pool just below the fountain. It was hot, not unbearable but rather a little hot and quite enjoyable. After a few minutes I headed out to the balcony. There was a small and shallow pool, perhaps thigh deep, and 7 by 12 feet. Heading in I lay almost fully submerged with my head resting on the step and closed my eyes. The wind was gusting with a hint of smoke, and the slightly bitter chill stung my face while the warm water heated me through. In the distance Koyasan and his brothers loomed above the Kudoyama town.

I closed my eyes. Bliss. I suddenly became aware of the rather strange lullaby being played on a glockenspiel. I opened my eyes reflexively and spotted the CCTV camera built into the ceiling. I did not particularly mind, but I was immediately conscious that such a thing would almost certainly not be allowed in the U.K. Then it clicked. The hot water and the lullaby do a great job of sending you to sleep. If I start to drown I’d be happy someone’s watching. I smiled and gave a wave, before leaning my head back again to rest. After a short while an elderly lady, a janitor, walked in and checked whether various bowls and supplies needed replacing and checked the cleanliness of the pools and floors. I felt no embarrassment. Why would I? No one else seemed to mind, so normalised were they to this procedure.

After 30 minutes I periodically visited the cold pool to clear my head. The heat did a fantastic job of forcing me to relax, but it also made me woozy and toyed with my balance. I left after an hour, first spending a few minutes standing by the balcony and enjoying the contrast of the bitter wind and the night view of Koyasan.

After I had returned to the locker rooms and changed back into my clothes I sat down and realised just how thoroughly relaxed I had become. None of my muscles wanted to move, though they felt sufficiently light to do so, and my neck was not particularly inspired to hold up my head. Unbelievable. I don’t understand why we don’t have onsen in the U.K. Everything about the experience is rewarding, and the use of a public bath must surely also be a societally equalising factor?

Regardless we headed up to the 3^rd floor where the restaurant was based. I had just noticed that I was hungry and the tantalising scent of Japanese cooking was in the air. The restaurant was a huge tatami floor half covered with ‘western-style’ tables and chairs, and half covered with Japanese-style short tables and floor-chairs (the seat and back of a chair without legs). We were directed over to a table. The waitress did not speak English although she could speak and understand certain words. It was enough, and frankly impressive considering Koyasan is not a famous tourist destination for foreigners. I ordered a wonderful fish tempura set menu which came with miso soup (of course!), rice, various pickled vegetables, and a cup of delicious green tea. Ed ordered the Beer set menu. He couldn’t really tell what it was except that it came with a free beer.

One of the best meals I've had. Tempura is sooo good!

My dinner arrived first and its beautiful presentation matched its taste. Ed’s dinner arrived shortly after. Chips! Really? Chips? I cracked myself up laughing. Ed seemed to have microwave oven chips with his octopus (which he kindly donated to me :D), tofu with spring onion and bonito flake garnish, and other less recognisable food stuffs such as pickled vegetables. 

eating chips with chopsticks. Yes!

We finished dinner right on time, settled up (less than £35 all in for both of us!), and were driven back to the ryokan. As I write this I sit on the tatami floor at the Japanese style table in the living room section of our accommodation dressed in the casual mens Yukata provided. Nice.

Despite all the travelling it turned out to be a fantastic day. Much more than I bargained for with this, our first, ryokan. Tomorrow we take on the 22km hike up the stone marker path to the summit of Koyasan, and sleep at an onsen-shukubo at the top. I can’t wait!

Thanks for reading. Sorry this post was delayed but it turns out that traditional lodgings such as this don’t come with wi-fi (even in Japan!).