Sayounara, Nihao.

As I watched the blood moon glowing above the Hiroshima skyline, I felt a sad sense of resignation, knowing that it was my last night in Japan. With a belly pleasantly full of okonomiyaki, I thought about the extraordinary kindness of the people that I met in Japan, the crazy juxtaposition between the pulsing cities and the peaceful mountains, and the fact that sushi is never going to taste as good again.

Doing my best to silently struggle into my clothes, I left the hostel at 05:30 to get the bus to the airport. After two short flights, briefly suspended by a shorter layover, we began to descend into Beijing. And we kept descending. I began to wonder why the cloud was so low, before realising that it had transmorphed into smog. A dusky yellow haze obscured the world. The sun was reduced to a distant red disk in the sky, unable to muster the strength to cast a shadow. I became aware of my breathing, trying to inhale in short, shallow bursts, in an attempt to protect my lungs. The smog clung to us as we went deeper into the city, a noxious menace intent on smothering those who dared to question it’s sovereignty. Welcome to Beijing.

This morning I got up early, and after working out how to arrange my facemask without steaming up my glasses, I took the subway (which was surprisingly easy after Tokyo’s sphinx-like riddle) to Nanluoguxiang to check out the hútòng – a web of tiny streets said to embody the character of Beijing. Suspicious eyes and the throaty hoiking of mucus followed me as I wove down the dusty passageways, peering into esoteric courtyards and equally mysterious shops. By some magic I managed to find my way out of the web to the Drum and Bell towers, admiring their imperious rectitude in the dusky haze.

From there I went to the Lama Temple, the intricately detailed buildings offering respite from the clouds of incense outside. Gigantic statues gazed down serenely in the dim light, passively observing the worshippers bowing at their feet. I then made my way over to the Confucius Temple, which was much calmer and more peaceful. Marble statues of the man himself welcomed the occasional visitor, the gigantic stone slabs painstakingly etched with his teachings obediently regimented, stretching down an endless corridor.

Showing no sign of flagging, I decided to head up to the Summer Palace. Meeting with droves of tour groups, I zigzagged down The Long Corridor, regretting the obfuscation of the lakeside vista. In some respects, however, the fog made the whole experience more atmospheric. I sat watching boats fade out of vision, while the haunting silhouettes of the palace unblinkingly guarded the shore.

Finally admitting my exhaustion, I stumbled back to the hostel, but not before indulging in a cheeky bit of Peking Duck. I think I deserved it.

The magic of Miyajima.

Yesterday me and my hostel-buddies made the short trip over to Miyajima Island, marketed as, “One of the top three scenic spots in Japan.” With a sales pitch like that, it was hard to resist, so we hopped on to the ferry, along with roughly three billion schoolchildren. On disembarking, we were immediately confronted with the spectacular Itsukushima Shrine, rising magnificently from the gentle waves.

The swarming crowds detracted slightly from the overall effect, so we decided to get off the main road and head for Mount Misen. The six of us started well, but it soon emerged that one of the German guys, Christian, was afraid of heights. Now I’m not really one for heights either, but I’m okay if I have solid ground under my feet. For Christian, however, the sheer drop that ran alongside the uneven steps that we were climbing, was too much. After doing his best to push through his fear, he had to turn back. The rest of us haltingly soldiered on, frequently overtaken by sprightly Japanese octogenarians in full hiking regalia. After a couple of hours, we reached the top, and it all seemed worth it (as it so often does).

After pausing to inhale the views, we made our way back down the mountain, following a track that opened up into occasional glimpses of the port, through the primeval forest. As soon as we got off the hiking trail, we ploughed into a fresh ferryload of tourists, so we took evasive action and headed round to the beach. After a forty-minute walk (which seemed grotesquely excessive after our mountainous morning), we found the beach. An untouched expanse of fine shale stretched alongside the clear water. We sat watching herons nonchalantly sweep into the surf, easing our aching feet into the cool tide, before reluctantly pulling on our shoes, and heading back home.

Peace and perspective.

The closer I got to Hiroshima on the Shinkansen, the more foreboding the clouds became, as typhoon Phanfone slowly rolled in. Being British, however, I simply donned my waterproof, put a plastic bag over my rucksack, and headed out to the Peace Memorial Park, dedicated to the victims of the eponymous atomic bomb that has come to define the city. Set against a backdrop of dismal grey, the hollow shell of the Atomic Bomb Dome was eery in its harrowing significance, silently evoking the deaths of 140,000 people.

I made my way past the Children’s Peace Monument, the cenotaph and the Flame of Peace, to the Peace Memorial Museum, to get a deeper understanding of the events of the 6th of August 1945. The exhibits induced a lingering sense of sickness and utter disbelief at what humans are capable of. School uniforms torn and soiled with blood, images of people suffering from horrific burns, their skin cauterised and molten, a solitary incinerated tricycle.These artefacts were nauseating in the horror they represented, and I left the museum feeling humbled and full of pity. The positivity of the park itself is a testament to the memories of the victims, the beautifully designed monuments and memorials gesturing towards enduring peace and a universal end to suffering.

Feeling pensive, I walked back towards the centre of the city, just as the rain began to worsen. To balance the solemnity of the afternoon, I decided to indulge in my favourite Japanese dish (and one for which Hiroshima is renowned); Okonomiyaki. I weaved down to Okonomi-mura, deciding to simultaneously take the opportunity to try another of Hiroshima’s specialities; oysters. A delicious mound of egg, noodles, bacon, and beansprouts was set before me on the hot plate, topped with lightly fried bivalve molluscs. The sizeable bubbles of ocean exploded in my mouth, making me question the superiority of the famous oysters of my hometown, and forcing me to resolve that I was going to have to pay another gastronomical pilgrimage before I leave.

After a night of heavy rain, the sun tentatively emerged, so I walked up to the Hiroshima Prefectural Art Museum, and the neighbouring Shukkei-en garden. The gallery was slightly underwhelming, excluding Dali’s ‘Dreams of Venus’, but that may partially be due to the fact that I didn’t pay for the special exhibition of Renoir and Monet, knowing that I can see them for free at the National Gallery in London. The garden was pleasant, but outshone by the Koko-en in Himeji. I think I’m just getting a bit spoilt with beautiful places now.

Realising that I’ve been gorging myself on spectacular landscapes and fantastic experiences, I decided to have a quiet afternoon, so that I could reflect on my distorted perspective. I ended up indulging myself a bit more, with a three-hour onsen. At least I felt slightly guilty. But probably not enough to regret it.

Lovingly restored.

My penultimate stop in Japan was Himeji, famous for its white castle, which is said to resemble an egret or heron in flight (although the substance behind this analogy escaped me). I got up early yesterday to beat the crowds, and casually wandered around the grounds, eager to see an example of actual history (which legitimises the castle as a World Cultural Heritage Site), rather than a reconstructed replica. I was only half disappointed. Treading bare foot on the worn wooden boards of ‘The Long Corridor’, I peered out of the tiny defensive windows at the city below, silently embraced by the mountains in the distance. The crisp smell of tatami mats perfumed the wide, whitewashed walkway, giving a completely different atmosphere from the dank, mildewy darkness of the castle’s European counterparts. However, I emerged from this atemporal capsule into a building site. The main tower was being renovated, shielded by scaffolding and cranes (the construction kind, not the bird kind). The detail of the structure maintained its impressiveness, particularly in light of a video which showed the painstaking process of sculpting replica tiles in the shape of shachi (fish with a tiger’s head, said to protect against fire). The finesse of the specialists’ work augmented my sense of the feat of the original builders, but I was still slightly embittered about not having the full experience of a Japanese castle (even if my excellent photography skills reaped a crane-free shot).

My regret was assuaged by the beauty of the Koko-en gardens, adjacent to the castle. With a ticket benevolently donated by a Belgian couple from my hostel, I wistfully floated through a series of landscapes, just beginning to show the first flush of autumn. The edges of the Azalea leaves were tinted with a bright red, a few reluctantly drifting into the koi filled streams below. I spent a long time there just being, before sauntering back towards town for some sushi.

Kōbe baby.

For the past two days I’ve been chilling out in Kōbe. On finding the hostel (another success), I ventured down to the harbour and watched life happen, from the endearing stumbles of toddlers clambering over benches, to the vast impassivity of cruise liners streaming towards the dock. After a few minutes or hours, I wandered over to the station, and boarded a train that snaked into the mountains as the sun set. Just as dusk was falling, I arrived in the village of Arima, chose an onsen, and went inside. Frequent readers may have noticed that this has become something of a habit (this was my third in four days), but I’m sure there are worse ways to spend an evening. I sank into the coppery water, and drifted into peace.

Yesterday morning, I resolved to see more of the city, so I dutifully left the hostel and got deliciously lost in about five minutes. Fortune was on my side, and after a few minutes I met a lovely thirty-two-year-old Japanese lady called Rie, who became my willing guide for about an hour, taking me to Ikuta shrine, and directing me to Nankinmachi (Chinatown). She doggedly refused to let me buy her a drink for her trouble, but we amicably parted ways, and I set off (for once) in the right direction. Nankinmachi was a bustling sea of food vendors and, and after getting caught in a tide of schoolchildren, I fought my way back to main street, checking out Motomachi and Sannomiya before heading towards the harbour. I stayed until the glittering lights peeped through the foreboding darkness, before meandering back, exhausted and footsore.

This morning is my last in Kobe, so I thought I’d check out the Nunobiki Falls, located just behind Shin-Kōbe station. I arrived early, and soon heard the sound of rushing water as I climbed steep steps set into the rock. Suddenly the falls were in front of me, spray majestically cascading down into the the turbulent pool below.

Feeling energetic, I thought it would be a good idea to go a bit higher, so that I could find the station for the cable car that was languidly bobbing above me. I climbed. And then climbed a bit more. And soon sweat was pouring off me, and I had become the falls. I carried on, eventually reaching the entrance to a herb garden, which led to the cable car, but didn’t open for another hour. Dejected, I was about to crumple into a heap, when a gardener opened the gate, probably telling me that it wasn’t open yet, but that I could come in. That’s what happened, anyway. The fresh pungency of sage and rosemary revived me as I continued my ascent (though at a much slower pace), and I paused to take in the beauty of the vista before me, uninterrupted by other tourists (who obviously knew the garden’s opening hours). The garden clung desperately to the face of the mountain, out of reach of the concrete jaws of the city below, which gradually melted into the lapping waves of the harbour. I reached the top. I breathed. And I swung down, in a little glass box.

Ridin’ Solo.

Alex and I parted ways in Osaka. She was bound for Munich, I was bound for Nara. Sitting on the train, my face plastered with woe, a kind lady assured me I was going the right way, and comfortingly told to me about her life. The journey wasn’t long, and I found the hostel surprisingly easily (I’ve been living off Alex’s navigation for the past two weeks, hence the surprise). As I shuffled into the dorm, two Chinese girls introduced themselves to me; Ma and Misaki. There isn’t much to do in Nara, everyone just goes to see the deer and the big Buddha, so we arranged to go together. I went to bed grieving for my travel buddy, but grateful for my new acquaintances.

This morning we headed over to Nara Park, home of 1,200 deer. As we walked through the park, the bolder (and fatter) deer came up to us, nuzzling Ma’s pockets, fully aware of the deer biscuits that were temporarily residing therein. She soon had a herd chasing her and eating her dress, so Misaki and I decided against feeding them ourselves. Some of them were cute, others were a bit scraggly, but it was fun to watch people try and manipulate them for a photo. Some of them succeeded.

After heading back through the park, me and my new friends split up, but I thanked them profusely for the company they’d given me. I headed to the Tōdai-ji, to see the big Buddha. Walking up the long path towards the ornate building, I felt a sense of calm gently breaking through the cloud of my aloneness. On reaching the top of the steps, I took a deep breath and looked up at the gigantic structure before me, admiring it in solitary peace. This peace was soon broken by the rabble of Australian school children who were sharing this moment with me, but even they were silenced by the soothing chanting that began to emanate from a group of worshippers at the Buddha’s feet. Warm sound rolled into cadences that, after a shimmer of uncertainty, resolved smoothly into harmony.

I left the temple with a sense of composure, and decided to visit the Yoshikien garden (which only served to confirm my inner serenity) before heading back to the hostel. Today I ate by myself, got lost by myself, and even had a cheeky onsen by myself (I can see this developing into a bit of a habit). I’m learning to be alone. But it’s also good to know that people are there when you need them.

Naked.

We spent our last day in Kyoto checking out the Kinkaku-ji (Golden Pavilion) and the Fushimi Inari-taisha shrine, and while beautiful, our impression was sullied somewhat by the droves of tourists obstructing the most photogenic parts (which admittedly is exactly what we proceeded to do). Once we had sweated up the steep, winding steps of Fushimi, all but the most hardy had fallen away, and we enjoyed a moment of peace as the sun crept towards the horizon.

The next day, we made the arduous journey to Osaka, (which took about thirteen minutes on the bullet train). That wasn’t the hard part, but the heat, and the circumstances of the previous night meant that life was feeling very difficult. After ninety minutes of diaphoretic wandering, we mercifully found our hostel, and crashed.

Today, we decided to supplement our recovery by visiting an onsen. This is something that was pretty high on my list of things to do in Japan, and after some careful and targeted persuasion, Alex agreed to come. Nervously, we entered the cool marble reception, and after assiduously reading the English instructions, we went upstairs to the lockers. Taking a deep breath, we took off our clothes. All of them. And with nothing but a teeny tiny towel, we went through some glass doors into the showering area. Two rows of women were lined up on plastic stools at vanity mirrors, in various states of lathering, rinsing and repeating. We followed suit, before going through to the baths. The courtyard opened out into pools, some gently bubbling, some softly steaming, some absolutely freezing, and quickly forgetting our apprehension, we relaxed into the experience. We were fanned by dutiful attendants in the aromatic sauna, and exfoliated by the cleansing salt which a nice elderly lady rubbed into our backs. We soon found ourselves smiling serenely in relaxation.

Being naked is very fun, and I highly recommend it to everyone at every suitable opportunity. It felt so good to chill out after all the sightseeing we’ve been doing, and it was a great way to wind down as our time together nears its conclusion.

Time for tea.

Today we delved further into Japan’s culinary bizarreness, by visiting the Nishiki Market. Following a network of backstreets, we became part of the bustling crowd of tourists, traders and customers.The variety was astounding; live fish in barrels, dead fish on sticks, extortionately priced fruit and vegetables, artisanal sweets, we gawped at every stall, and tried as many samples as we could.

Well satisfied, we agreed that we hadn’t tired of Kyoto’s history, so we caught the bus to Northern Higashiyama to check out the Ginkaku-ji temple (which translates as the Silver Pavilion). Winding down a path forgivingly shaded from the stuffy heat, and lined by scrupulously raked sand sculptures, and lagoon-like ponds, we climbed the even stone steps to look out over the north of the city, before admiring the pavilion itself, (though crucially noting that it is not silver). Following the Path of Philosophy (literally, next to the canal), we stumbled upon Hōnen-in, a shrine that was unearthly in its silence, encased by gnarled trees and manicured walkways, before heading back towards Gion for a very special appointment.

Down an alley off the main road, we entered a curtained reception area, removing our shoes before sitting on crisp tatami mats. Once we had been joined by a few more people, a hushed silence fell as a beautiful woman entered in a kimono. Sitting behind a huge iron kettle, she explained to us the Way of Tea, detailing the significance of each movement and implement, before giving us a demonstration. Carefully spooning matcha into a teabowl, she precisely added water with a bamboo ladle before mixing with a handmade whisk, until the tea was frothy. We clumsily imitated her as instructed, trying not to spill any on the mats. The tea was delicious, and we felt calm and refreshed as the ceremony concluded.

We inadvertently continued this theme of relaxation as part of our nocturnal wanderings. After going to a department store for some tempura (which sounds scummy, but it was actually a great restaurant), we were inching towards the end of the escalator when we saw an army of massage chairs, about twenty, lined up in perfect formation. Unable to resist, we bound over, chose a chair each, and pressed all of the buttons, before we were slowly reclined into a supine position. Rollers deliberately targeted our aches with a firm pressure, the heated arm pads closing on our hands, and our legs were held into place as the tension was clicked out of our backs. We stayed for about an hour and a half, temporarily joined by businessmen and Australian tourists, before deciding.  That we should probably leave at some point. Tranquillised to the point of languor, we floated back to the hostel.

Bullet trains and bamboo trails.

Yesterday we took the Shinkansen from Tokyo to Kyoto. The train was punctual to the second, and we eagerly climbed aboard, finding ourselves in a wide aisle lined with comfy reclining seats. No sooner had we sat down than the train bolted out of the station, the Tokyo skyline blurring past at a nauseating speed. In just two and a half hours, we travelled four hundred and seventy kilometres, to the ancient capital.

Today we explored the history that is the foundation of the city. Weaving up through Southern Higashiyama, we visited Buddhist temples and shrines, perfect in their symmetry, ornate in their detail. Tourists and worshippers converged in appreciation, observance and performance of ancient ritual. The temples were overwhelmingly inclusive and welcoming. After losing count of how many we’d seen, we headed up to Gion, getting lost whilst trying to spot a geisha, before going to Arashiyama to see another of Kyoto’s famous sites.

We went to the Bamboo Grove, that inspiringly emblazons my Lonely Planet. The sounds of the outside world were dulled the instant that we entered, the vast bamboo protecting us from modern reality. We were cocooned by an organic, living shelter, that even the sunlight could only partially penetrate, the strong, supple stalks continuing to infinity beyond the path.

The pace if life here is noticeably different from Tokyo. There’s an inherent mysticism that emanates from the temples, the back streets, and the bamboo of Kyoto. It is secret, beguiling, and intoxicating. And we can’t wait to explore it further.

Mountains (of rock and flesh).

After a mad few days in Tokyo, we decided to restore our inner calm by getting out of the city. We took the train to Kawaguchiko, to visit Japan’s most famous topographical feature; Mount Fuji. Cloud shrouded our first sight of the mountain, it’s shallow base the only thing visible, but undeterred, we hired bikes and rode around the lake that mirrored it. Breezing past Japanese families having picnics, a handful of chic hotels, and a pungent herb garden, we admired the shifting aspect of Fuji’s shadow.

Kawaguchiko, though small, offered a number of (what we believe to be) authentic restaurants, and being the gastronomical adventurers that we are, we resolved to try the local delicacy, Hōtō noodles. We cycled to a little white building off the main road, with a queue of patient parents and rambunctious children outside. Inside were eight low tables, surrounded by cushions. After removing our shoes we politely (we hope) gestured to a couple, who were only too happy to share with us. The next obstacle was the menu. Paper tickets were on the table, and after trying and failing to decipher the characters (with earnest though limited help from our neighbours), we picked a couple of dishes and hoped for the best. We were soon presented with a steaming bowl of thick, doughy noodles in a miso broth topped with beef, and other interesting unknowns. The thicker noodles offered a new challenge to our developing chopstick skills, and the waitress sympathetically offered us forks (though we did doggedly persevere). Satisfied, we returned to the hostel, getting an early night.

The early night was not just a consequence of our physical exertion and mental exhaustion, it was part of our ingenious plan. We got up at 5:00 am, threw on the clothes we’d laid out the night before, and stealthily crept downstairs. We cycled through the dawn, to the opposite side of the lake, and waited. Slowly, the vista seeped into vision, grey and blue in the morning light. And there was Fuji, temporarily liberated from its manacles of cloud, it’s peak simultaneously reaching up towards the heavens, and down towards the bottom of the lake.

Mission accomplished, we got the train back to Tokyo. We were lucky enough to obtain tickets for the Sumo wrestling that’s taking place this week, so after dumping our bags at a new hostel, we made our way to the Ryogoku Kokugikan, where the bouts were taking place. After finding our seats, we paused to take in the atmosphere. Perched right at the top of the cuboid arena, we surveyed the tiers of seating below us, which gradated into cushions the closer it got to the dohyo. The wrestlers were immune to the impassioned crowd, consumed by the Shinto ritualism of their sport; crouching, clapping, throwing salt and stomping before hurling themselves at their opponent. Two great mounds of flesh collide, rippling from the impact. And in an instant the bout is over, the winner graciously ascertained, and the next bout begins. It was a fantastic experience, and by the end of the day’s tournament we were as enthusiastic as the other spectators, celebrating Yoshikaze’s unexpected victory over his unbeaten opponent, Kakuryu. Today we’ve indulged completely in the beguiling idiosyncrasies of Japanese culture, and we’ve loved every second.