Having seen what I wanted to in Tokyo, there were two areas nearby that were recommended. To the south, I went to Kamakura (with a quick stop afterward in Yokohama) on a day trip out of Tokyo, but I went to Nikko in the north as the first leg of my trip going further north, to Hokkaido.

Day 6: Kamakura   Tokyo looks east to its bay; south of it is Yokohama, also on the bay, and south that is Kamakura, which is on a bay facing south, separated from Tokyo Bay by a peninsula. An express train from Shinjuku, with one change, brought me to Kanakura in 58 minutes. I’d say it was an hour, but this is Japan, and when they say the two trains will get you there in 58 minutes, including time to change trains, you’d better believe it.

There are three things of interest in Kamakura. On the east side of the rail line, within a block one comes upon the boulevard that leads up to a major shrine. This boulevard is sedate and nowhere as commercial as in Asakusa. There’s a wide park-like path up the center under a canopy of what I’m told are cherry trees, so the blossoms in the spring must be quite attractive. The boulevard leads from the beach, behind you, where a first torii is visible, to the shrine in front of you, through two more torii. This all dates from the 1190’s. At the end, an elaborate, free-standing gateway leads to the steps up to the Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine. Do distinguish the vermilion-colored shrine as being separate from the gate in the foreground. The wooded setting adds a natural atmosphere to the scene.

A look at the votive tablets here showed the first one I saw in Russian:

On the other side of the main rail line, a tiny one-track private rail line takes off to the west side of Kamakura. Since it was private, I needed a separate ticket for this, and rode to the third stop (which only took five minutes) to Hase, for two locations of interest. The first was a walk up the main street for ten minutes, which brought me to the compound enclosing the Great Buddha, or Daibutsu, of Kamakura, dating from 1252.

Since I was beginning to get shrined-out, it was nice to see something as spectacularly different as this. The entrance fee for an 大人 was ￥ 200, the first fee I’d come across. The Daibutsu sits outside, and for good reason. The buildings that had been built around it had been swept away by high winds or by a tsunami, depending on what you read—I suspect at different times it might have been both. In any case, nothing was rebuilt around the statue after the 15C. I understand there is a similar one in Nara that’s somewhat larger, but the spectacular setting of this Daibutsu against a backdrop of wooded hills makes it rather unique. The serenity of the facial expression is also noteworthy. As I was staring at it, I looked down at the cover of my Frommer’s guidebook and found that that’s just what was pictured there. I’d been looking at the book all along not knowing what it was.

The height with the pedestal is 13.4 m (44.0 ft), while the statue itself is 11.3 m (37.1 ft). The size, the expression, the setting, all add to its spectacular simplicity. But there’s more. As you walk around the statue, you see there are two large windows with open shutters, letting light into the hollow statue. Then you come across another tiny ticket office where you pay ￥ 20 extra to enter an opening in the base and climb a few stairs to see the interior. Inside it looks large, yet also small from that point of view. Looking up the opening for the head while inside the body is odd. It’s explained how 30 sections of bronze were welded together to make the statue. It’s also reminiscent of being inside the Statue of Liberty, but on a much smaller scale.

There were swarms of kids on field trips visiting the Daibutsu. I precocious Japanese middle-school girl came up to me and practiced her English dialog: “Hello, my name is XX. What’s yours?” So we had a little chat.

Walking back to the Hase station I turned a couple of blocks off the road to visit another important temple up on a hillside with nice views. Again there was a fee, as it turned out most shrines had, which allowed you to visit a number of small locations going up the path, including a cave mentioned earlier. But at the top is the Hase Kannon Temple, also known as the Hase-dera. The 8C statue inside is of Kannon herself, the Goddess of Mercy. It’s 9.18 m (30.1 ft) tall and is made of a single piece of gilded camphor wood. The gold leaf was applied in 1342. Aside from her regular face, she has 11 others on little heads on top of her head, three looking forward, three left, three right, one on top, and, I’m told, one in the back. Each face supposedly has a different expression, demonstrating her compassion for different kinds of suffering.

But a Russian votive tablet here had nothing to do with suffering:

From a terrace nearby with benches, there’s a beautiful view over the roofs of Kamakura down to the beach area, and the bay beyond.

Day 6 (End): Yokohama   On the way back to Tokyo, Yokohama was on the way, so I got off there and took a connecting local train just one stop closer to the center. Yokohama had been a small fishing village when Perry arrived. Then the shogun chose it, along with Nagasaki and Hakodate, as one of three ports open to international trade, and today it’s Japan’s second largest city. It’s as modern as anything in the 21C. The local station I got off was all glass and steel. I walked across a large open plaza (where I saw those Halloween kids) and there was an escalator up to a moving sidewalk which went on for several blocks through 21C buildings. Fortunately it passed the Maritime Museum, which had a large sailing ship on display docked next to it, which brought one back down to earth.

But it’s the history that drew me to Yokohama. Just imagine the revolution in daily life after the 1868 Meiji Restoration. And much of it started in Yokohama. These are Yokohama’s firsts, and note the dates: first bakery, 1860; first photo studio, 1862; first beer brewery, 1869; first cinema, 1870; first daily newspaper, 1870; first public restroom, 1871; first ice cream, 1879.

Day 7: Nikko I   I took the Chuo crosstown to Tokyo Station to change to my first Shinkansen ride. They tend to have different livery colors, but they all have that snub nose for speed. (That’s what looks so odd when two are coupled together nose-to-nose.) I was in line waiting for my train when I saw a little bit of “theater” that was very enjoyable.

I’m aware that everyone bows. One evening I tuned in by chance to the start of a TV news show, and both the female and male anchors greeted viewers with a deep SEATED bow. But I didn’t expect the following from the train cleaning staff.

Tokyo Station was the last stop for the incoming train and had to be cleaned before reversing direction north. The cleaning lady, in her striped uniform, and holding a dust scoop and other tools of her trade, was facing the incoming train. And then she bowed to it as it arrived. I have to wrap my mind around that. She couldn’t have been bowing to a train. Maybe she was bowing to the train driver. No, she must have been bowing to the arriving passengers.

She held a plastic bag, and as each passenger dropped trash into the bag, she bowed. Well, let’s call that her gratitude for having fewer items for her to pick up herself. Then, in a tightly choreographed few minutes, and looking like a tornado at work, she boarded the empty train and wiped down every windowsill in her part of the car; opened and wiped every tray table; stepped on a lever under each group of seats and reversed their direction. Then, she and other cleaners, men and women, got off the train at the same time, about 6-8 lined up near us with their back to the train, and, under the leadership of what seemed to be a group captain, the entire row bowed deeply to the passengers in line.

My first Shinkansen ride was more crowded than later ones, probably because it was a Saturday and because we were leaving Tokyo, but it was a fast, comfortable ride. It was short (Nikko could have been a day trip out of Tokyo), and I changed at Utsunomiya for a regular train, a Nikko Line train up to Nikko. It was by chance that this trip fell on a weekend, but once again, there were crowds. I ended up standing the entire forty minutes to Nikko. When I left Monday morning, the return train had only a handful of passengers.

The sign outside the Nikko station declared proudly that Nikko was 543 m (1781 ft) above sea level, and you could tell. The air was brisk, and the leaves were yellow and RED. Everywhere you looked, a red tree stood out among the others. It was so refreshing. It was a beautiful autumn day in the mountains. My hotel was located right at the area of interest, but unfortunately, it was about a half-hour’s walk from the station. I don’t mind walking, but it was slightly uphill. Well, on the way back, it would be downhill.

The Nikko Kanaya Hotel was recommended, not only because it was right at the historic area, but because it was historic itself. Right after the Meiji restoration of 1868, none other than the same Hepburn who devised the romaji writing system urged the Kanaya family to open a Western-style hotel in Nikko, which they did in 1873. It still has the atmosphere of a European country lodge, heavy on wooden beams. My room faced the front garden, which included some bright red trees, adding to the atmosphere. The history of the hotel was shown in pictures along the corridor. Lindbergh stayed here in the 1930’s and Indira Gandhi in the 1950’s.

All Japanese hotels supply you with sort of gray-white utilitarian “Japanese pajamas”, meant for sleeping, but which I just used to sit around in. They are kimonos, sort of, but the Kanaya had for you a magnificent cobalt-blue (my favorite) and white kimono, and the obi (you learn that word from crossword puzzles), or sash, was folded for you in sort of a pentagon. I enjoyed wearing this outfit while writing both evenings I was there. When I got curious as to what size, large or small, they would offer clients, I looked at the size tag in the collar and it said 中. Also, the electric tea-water heater was not only filled but on, and the tea set on the tea table looked enticing, so I made myself some green tea in the little teapot. The porcelain teacup sat in a lacquer dish, and the cozy evening atmosphere was just right.

They had both a Western restaurant and a Japanese one. I’m not a fan of Japanese food, having tried sushi years ago and found it lacking. But I went to the Japanese restaurant both evenings to try other things out. One evening I had tempura, vegetables cooked in batter, and it was OK. The other evening I had shabu-shabu, which is essentially beef fondue, but unfortunately cooked in just boiling water rather than broth, which involves quite a loss in taste. I always enjoy using chopsticks, which in a purely Japanese restaurant, unlike others, are the only utensils provided. I had no problem with the tempura, but for the shabu-shabu they gave you extra-long ones so you could dip the thinly-sliced beef and vegetables into the hot water, and managing the long ones worked fine, but started to cramp my hand after a while. By the way, shabu-shabu means swish-swish, which is what you do with the beef in the water, which cooks instantaneously, while the vegetables have to sit at the bottom of the pot for a while.

The Saturday I arrived, already knowing I’d meet with crowds, I went to the Nikko Sanai, which is the forested hill across from the hotel, where the temples are. It’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and also constitutes Nikko National Park. Where the road crosses the Daiya River at the foot of the hotel is the Shinkijo, the historic, but now disused, 1636 vermilion bridge which, in its day, could only be used by the shogun and his entourage. Climbing up the steps (!!!) on the hillside I reached the Sanai, and paid the admission. There are numerous shrines and temples, many skippable, and I’ll mention the two most interesting ones.

First comes the Rinnoji Temple from the 8C, which includes the Sanbutsudo Hall, or the Hall of the Three Buddhas. This is unusual, since you do not see the statues from an outside terrace as you’d expect. You enter the hall from behind the statues, then walk around to a cramped area in front of them, which means you’re forced to look up at a sharp angle. There are three gold-plated wooden buddhas seated in front of large halos, impressively 8.4 m (27.6 ft) tall. Outside there’s a charming Japanese garden, with green and red maples, a waterfall, and carp in a pond.

But the center of interest is the Toshogu Shrine of 1636, indicated by a large stone torii, followed by stairs (!!!) up the hillside. The many shrine buildings are known for their opulence, made of wood and gold leaf, but what I greatly appreciated, once again, is the forest. The shrine is set in a huge grove of magnificent, huge Japanese cedars that were planted over a period of 20 years in the 1600’s. 13,000 of the original trees still stand, and provide a marvelous backdrop and surrounding.

The pride of the shrine compound is the incredibly opulent, free-standing Yomeimon Gate, so untypical of a Buddhist or Shinto shrine which are characteristically much less adorned. Your eye doesn’t know what detail to look at first, the dragon heads, small figures, other decorations.

There are two well-known images associated with the Toshogu Shrine. The first one I had not been aware of before, but it’s an image that has become the symbol of Nikko. Making your way through the crowds on a Saturday afternoon, you’re directed to a doorway, above which is the wood carving of the Nikko Sleeping Cat, famous as a symbol of serenity.

But the other image is world famous. It has a three-word name, but its nine-word description can be quoted by every reader. All you have to hear are the first two words: “See no …”, and everyone could quote the entire phrase “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” as portrayed by the Three Wise Monkeys of the Toshogu Shrine.

This 17C wood carving is on a stable. The wooden building has five doorways on the front, and above each doorway is a monkey image of some sort, this famous one being second from the left. The reason for using monkeys on the five panels is that it was believed that monkeys protected the horses from disease. But the more important question is why use monkeys at all for what is essentially a Buddhist philosophical maxim? (Even though it’s usually regarded humorously in the West, because of the monkeys, its meaning is serious.) Why not rabbits? Or—here’s an idea—people, since the maxim is meant for people?

The answer is a language issue—a pun. And because the pun is in Japanese, it proves that any depictions of this maxim that show monkeys have to be Japanese. Explained puns or jokes are never humorous, but it’s worthwhile seeing what happens. When this maxim is said in Japanese, it appears as “don’t say, don’t hear, don’t speak”. “Evil”, which appears in the translation, is only implied in the original. “Zaru” is an archaic word meaning “don’t”. But there’s another “zaru”, which means “monkey”, so we have a pair of homonyms. Therefore, when you say (and I’ll mix languages here) “zaru see, zaru hear, zaru speak”, you’re saying “don’t” but seemingly talking about monkeys at the same time.

It’s interesting that on some Japanese depictions of this maxim there’s a fourth monkey included, illustrating “do no evil”, which, frankly, seems like the best advice of the lot, so it’s odd it’s left out so often. But maybe it’s because one of the ways this monkey is depicted is with its hands over its crotch, which I find highly amusing.

Day 8: Nikko II   This was a bright Sunday morning, and I’d only planned one thing, leaving the rest of the day to relaxing and writing. It was about a half-hour walk up the main road to the Nikko Tamozawa Imperial Villa Memorial Park. The villa was built in 1899 around a central core dating from 1632, as a country estate for royalty, and was used until 1947. Restored, it’s the largest wooden imperial villa in Japan, with 106 rooms, 37 of which are open to the public. It’s mostly one level, with one small section having an upper floor. It’s entirely in Japanese style, with extensive woodwork and wood ceilings, translucent screens as sliding doors between rooms—an absolutely minimalist style. Typically, it’s unfurnished and minimally decorated, although there were some screens with paintings on them and some attractive chandeliers, but in simple, Japanese style. Some rooms are now a museum showing the construction and restoration of the wooden building, and I was pleased, when I saw a large picture of a worker with hammer and chisel, that the caption said, only in Japanese, that it illustrated 木工.

Going through the villa one was shoeless. Shrines have restrooms in outbuildings, but there was an indication in the villa that there was a restroom. How would this be done hygienically? At the entrance of the men’s room were four pair of slippers to slip on while inside.

Behind the villa was a beautiful Japanese garden with a stream that included three sets of stepping stones, all of which I tried out. The red trees here were of a remarkably intense yellow-red.

Back at the hotel, which was on a hillside above the river, there was a path down to the water’s edge, which was a pleasant stroll. I had also read that “autumn colors climax in Nikko at the beginning of November”, which is fortunately just when I was there.

Day 9: Train Day   It was time to go up north to Hokkaido, and I was planning to do my walk to the station, this time downhill, but the morning broke with a drizzle, so I made arrangements with the front desk for a taxi. At least it gave me more time to write. I was surprised to see the formality of taxi drivers, since he wore a uniform with a visored cap, and also white gloves.

As I’d suspected, the Nikko Line train back to Utsunomiya had only a handful of people. I had a ¾-hour wait for my Shinkansen connection when suddenly a Shinkansen sped by on a center track sounding like a jet plane flying very low. When you’re inside one passing another, you do feel a lurch, but then you’re soundproofed inside your own car.

When my train came, very few of use were boarding. There were only two ladies waiting at my entrance, one older, one younger. When the door opened, I indicated they should board first. Well, I never expected the bout of bowing, up, down, up, down, just for me letting them board first. I could really get used to this respect thing.

Because of the schedule, I needed another Shinkansen to take me to the end of the Shinkansen line, so there was a change in Sendai. There were only five minutes allowed, but it was from track 11 to 12, so I was hoping it would be just an across-platform change. Of course it was. Silly me. This is Japan.

In Hachinohe there was a quarter-hour to change from the end of the Shinkansen line to the regular train, and it was also an easy connection. After a couple of hours we approached the Seikan Tunnel. We did stop before entering, then just simply sailed through. I didn’t check, but maybe it took twenty minutes before we had moved from Honshu to Hokkaido under the strait. Hokkaido has 22% of the landmass of Japan, but only 5% of the population. If the US West has always illustrated the “wide open spaces”, I suppose here it’s Hokkaido in the north.

We pulled into Hakodate after 5 PM, but the sun’s been setting lately before 5, so it was already dark. Not only that, but getting off the heated train, a freezing blast hit me. Had that waitress in Nikko been right when she said Hokkaido would be cold? Fortunately the Loisir Hotel I’d booked was just diagonally across the street from the modern station, so I dashed across the street and settled in for the night.