I haven’t had the opportunity to talk to as many people on this trip as I usually do. Partially it’s the Japanese language barrier; I only remember one Japanese gentlemen on a train in Tokyo who noticed I was holding a map of that driverless train and commented about it in English. Otherwise, there have been few Westerners to talk to. Maybe it’s because I’m so often off the beaten track, and also because it’s off-season. Anyway, traveling to Nara I had a chat on the platform in Takayama with an Australian guy from Margaret River, south of Perth, where I hope to stop next year. Changing trains in Toyama I said something to a couple and his English answer sounded of German, so we had a German chat. Then arriving in the hotel in Nara I was waited on by the only Westerner behind the desk, but whose spotty English sounded of French, so we shifted to French and became “best friends” on the spot. He’s from Bordeaux working in hotel management and turns out to be the Front Desk Supervisor. I was at the Hotel Nikko Nara, a modern building attached to the rail station. The name might sound confusing, since I wasn’t in Nikko, but Nikko Hotels is a Japanese chain of international hotels, that was an offspring of Japan Airlines. I just wonder, if Nikko Hotels actually did have a hotel in Nikko, what they’d call it.

Starting the second day at the hotel, apparently a Russian ballet troupe was visiting Nara and staying at the hotel, since there was a chalkboard in the lobby in Russian giving their schedule for the day. There were a number of Westerners at the hotel, so they didn’t stand out for that reason, nor because they looked Russian. It was just that both the men and women looked like young, lithe, artsy ballet dancers. One woman filling her plate at the breakfast buffet was relaxing while standing with her left foot perpendicular to the right, which tells you even more than if she’d been wearing a sign saying “ballerina”. At one point I went to the chalkboard to try to read the name of the troupe. Russian handwritten script varies from the printed form, as all scripts do, and besides one word was sloppily written, so I was having trouble with it. A ballerina showed up and I checked with her what the name was. I’d interpreted it correctly as the:

Japanese Bathhouse   But right at check-in the hotel distributed a large flyer telling you they had a Japanese bathhouse on the 6th floor whose use was not only complimentary but which they were urging you to use. They said there were separate ones for men and women, to bring a towel, and if you wish, you can come in the free hotel slippers to simplify things, but otherwise street clothes, as there were lockers. It sounded like a good thing after a long day on the train, and I went.

I remember hearing mindless people in the past laughing about the fact that in Japan you wash before you get in the tub for your bath, but they didn’t know what they were talking about. The bath in question is a hot tub, and of course you should be clean before you get in a public hot tub or public swimming pool. I also remember hearing other mindless people say in the past that they were sweaty so they were going to jump into a pool. Savages. But in Japan they carry cleanliness to the opposite extreme.

On entering the locker room you take off your shoes and carry them to your locker. This is Japan, and no one’s going to muddy up locker room floors. You leave all your clothes and your towel in the locker, hang the key on your wrist, and enter what is essentially the pool house. The hot tub in my current experience, is quite long and looks like a mini-pool. The showering areas are on two adjacent sides of the pool room, but here you’re picturing the wrong thing. These are individual sit-down showers, without barriers in between. You sit on a small plastic stepstool in front of your own mirror with a hand-held shower and liquid soap and shampoos in front of you. There was also a plastic pot that the guys used a lot to dump water over their heads, which didn’t make sense to me given the hand-held shower. There were maybe eight guys in the room, and this is where things got essentially Japanese, and what is what I meant about the other extreme. They washed. And washed. And washed. And when they were done washing, they washed again. Soap head to toe, rinse, then again, mostly while sitting on your little stepstool. I went along with it, but how clean can you get?

Finally you get into the hot tub, and this one was meant to be filled to the brim, so when anyone got in, it overflowed, with the excess water swiftly carried away. Visually, it was a nice affect.

As in any hot tub, the heat was really beneficial, and even muscles you didn’t know you had begin to relax. Still, I found the guys didn’t stay in all that long, or as long as I’m used to.

So you think it’s over. Nope. It’s back to the little stools and you don’t just rinse off any chlorine there may have been (although I didn’t smell any), you soap up and scrub, and scrub, and scrub. Everyone is a vision in white soap suds. I think I’ve done enough scrubbing for the next month. But it was a very pleasant experience—as any hot tub is—but this had the cultural component as well.

I went back the second night at about the same time in the early evening—and I was the only one there. I still scrubbed at the end—when in Rome--but just a bit less. But then the third night there were 2-3 guys, so back to deep scrubbing.

Heisei 21   Walking down the street I had a sudden epiphany about something I hadn’t written about before. When I got my Japan Rail Pass that first night at Narita Airport, I wondered about the dates. It says the pass is valid from 21.10.28 to 21.11.17. Now I recognize in that the dates October 28 and November 17, but what’s that about 21? But the clerk just brushed that off as a triviality. My sudden epiphany walking down the street was understanding why it said 21 for the year, based on something I’d found out—and reported on—at a later date. Let me give you the hint that you should think not in terms of 21, but of 20. Any ideas?

In Kyoto last Saturday I got to visit the Imperial Palace because it was the celebration of the 20th anniversary of the ascension of the current emperor to the throne—which makes this ongoing year the 21st year. Further research shows that the eras are named, and that that of the current emperor is called Heisei, so this year is Heisei 21. The Heisei era started on January 8, 1989, the first day after the death of the last emperor. Therefore 1989 fell into two eras, although the old era continued for only about a week that year. This local designation for years is another example of the Japanese living in two worlds with the dividing line falling in 1868. At home they count years based on emperor’s reigns, but to the outside world they go along with it being 2009.

Day 18: Nara   A drizzle had started the evening before and it lasted the whole day in Nara. It was really no problem, but I went to my “best friend” and asked him about “des parapluies pour les clients” and I had an umbrella in my hands in no time.

Nara in 710 became the first permanent capital of Japan, and that event brought about a cultural flourishing. Most of the places of interest are in the very large Nara Park across town, about a 15-minute walk east from the station area.

I entered the park up a flight of stairs and at the top I suddenly smelled incense because there was a small shrine right there. The combination of incense and rain had an interesting affect on the senses, and rain being just another aspect of nature, I even felt a haiku brewing. Then I saw something so totally charmingly trivial that seemed so typically Japanese. Is there anything more mundane than a rainspout? Well, twice on sales booths in the temple area I saw downspouts that consisted of what looked like metal teacups on a chain, one below the other. The water leaked out the bottom of each “teacup” into the one below it. It served the purpose of getting the rainwater down where you wanted it, but did it in such a visible way that it could have been a fountain spilling water from one level to another.

This first area was a few buildings that were part of Kofuku-ji Temple dating from 730, but the main thing of interest was the Five-Story Pagoda. Earlier versions burned down five times, and the present one dates from 1426 and is an exact replica of the first. It’s the second tallest in Japan at 50.1 m (164.4 ft).

You notice one thing immediately about Nara Park—it’s full of tame deer. They were originally considered sacred and are left alone. They’re called sika deer, a native of Asia, and although not tiny, are rather small, sort of the size of a large dog. They come up to you for food (you can buy “deer food” from vendors, which turns out to be sort of crackers), wander about shrines, are all over in field and forest, and walk up to shops looking for handouts. The females are light brown, the males are dark brown and have their horns cut off. There were also a few spotted fawns. In case you wanted to know, when a deer is wet it shakes off like a dog does, so stand back.

Nara Park had its share of bright red Japanese maples, just like Nikko, Takayama, and Kyoto. All these red trees are probably the clearest image I’ll retain of this trip.

But the most spectacular monument to see in all of Nara is at the Todai-ji Temple, which was originally meant to be the headquarters of all Buddhist temples in Japan. Actually, it contains two things, the Great Buddha (Daibutsu) and the Great Buddha Hall (Daibutsu-den) that it’s located in.

The Kamakura Daibutsu (2009/38) was the second largest in Japan, and has the impressive advantage of being outdoors in front of forested hills, while the one in Nara is a little bigger but also has a spectacular enclosure.

Starting with the Great Buddha Hall, the Daibutsu-den: it was destroyed by fire in wars in 1180 and 1567 and the present one is the third building, and dates from 1709. Look carefully at the size of it compared to the people. It is the largest wooden structure in the world, yet the present building is only 2/3 the width of what earlier ones were. Also, a model inside shows there used to be a seven-story pagoda on each side. (They seem to appear in odd numbers—3, 5, 7 stories.) The frontage width is 57 m (187 ft), the depth is 50 m (166 ft), and the height is 49 m (160 ft), which makes it approximately an irregular cube, a fact that’s more noticeable in the interior.

Walking up to the front door you really get a WOW! moment as you peer inside and see the Great Buddha of 752. If you realize how massive those roof pillars are, you’d realize how big the statue looks in reality. It’s cast in bronze and plated in gold. The left palm faces up, the right palm forward. It seems so very much bigger than the Kamakura one, probably because it’s enclosed. Kamakura’s height is 11.3 m (37.1 ft) while Nara’s height is 15.0 m (48.9 ft). The difference isn’t really all that much—they’re both giant statues—but Nara’s really impresses by its size, although I think the face is much too stylized as compared with Kamakura’s. The length of the head is 5.4 m (17.8 ft); the length of one of the eyes is 1.0 m (3.3 ft); the length of one of the elongated ears is 2.5 m (8.3 ft).

The statue, too, has undergone many repairs, including after an earthquake centuries ago toppled the head off the statue. The present head dates from 1692, while the hands are 16C-17C.

A kilometer’s walk to the far side of the park brought me into a forest and to the Kasuga Shrine. All of these monuments, including this primeval forest, are a UNESCO World Heritage Site known as “Historic Monuments of Ancient Nara”. The shrine itself is bright vermilion and is known for its many small, hanging bronze lanterns in the interior. But it’s the lanterns outside that impress the most. There are masses of stone pedestal lanterns along every pathway to and at the shrine, of different styles, all about the height of a person, and usually close enough together that it would be hard to squeeze between them. In some places they are 2-3 rows deep, and a few crowded corners have more rows than that. Including the smaller, hanging bronze lanterns inside, one source says there are 1,000 and another 3,000. Twice a year during festivals, all the lanterns are lit. That would be nice to see, but walking around, the charm of all these pedestal lanterns is in their multiplicity and in their location deep in this forest. Here’s an idyllic combination of deer, forest, and pedestal lantern in Nara Park.

When traveling, I only eat breakfast and dinner, so having that street snack in Takayama was therefore an aberration. The breakfasts have been good here (I love that miso soup!), and I’ve reported about some special dinners, such as sukiyaki, tempura, shabu-shabu, and soup dumplings. But a lot of dinners are lacking, so I took matters into my own hands, based on my having to buy “camp-out” food for that overnight on the sleeper train. I went shopping a few times in convenience stores for cold suppers in my hotel room. Here is one of the rare instances of the writing system being an impediment, since few food or beverage packages explain what’s inside. Still, I was able to find my way with enough items; some did have some English, and others had either pictures or were transparent. I was particularly pleased with the small containers of sake I found on a few occasions, as well as a small bottle of apricot-and-honey liqueur. Dining in can be fun.

Day 19: Horyu-ji   I had scheduled a day trip out of Nara to Horyu-ji Temple, but was wary from the start about getting there. While planning, before I knew how easy it was to get around in Japan, I was wary of going out to some small town somewhere then having to walk twenty minutes beyond. But Google Maps saved the day, and I had printed out an excellent map of everything from Horyu-ji Station up to the Temple.

I’d known it was just three stations down the line--a ten-minute train ride. But I’d pictured the walk north to be out in the country somewhere. Well, Horyu-ji is just a regular suburban town, and the route was easily followed. There were even occasional signs, and medallions in the pavement telling you where to turn. As it turned out, the only way the trip could have been easier would have been if someone had picked you up and carried you.

The special thing about Horyu-ji Temple is age. It’s the oldest of the old. It was founded in 607 as a center of Buddhism in Japan, and Buddhism did blossom from here. It had been a larger complex, but today about 45 buildings remain, some from the end of the 7C, and are grouped into a Western Precinct and an Eastern, all of which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Both precincts are surrounded, quite unusually for a temple, by cloisters, this showing the more interesting Western one from the interior, with its ceremonial entrance gate on the south side. It’s interesting not only for its form, but because it encloses the oldest surviving wooden structures in the world.

The Western Precinct also has three buildings built into its north side of its cloister, but most impressive were two buildings centered within the square cloister, a five-story pagoda and the Kondo, the Main Hall. These two are considered the two oldest wooden buildings in the world. The wood for the central pillar of the pagoda is estimated to have been felled in 594. These really are both the oldest of the old. The atmosphere was serene and ancient.

The five-story pagoda is 32.45 m (122 ft) high. The five stories aren’t connected, so no one can go up inside, but the building is rather meant to inspire from without. Pagodas are another borrowing from Hinduism to Buddhism, since they have evolved from Indian stupas, which also are used to hold relics. The Kondo has three small buddhas, which, as usual, are protected by statues of gods, in this case the oldest set of “heavenly guardians” in Japan, made of camphor wood. What particularly interested me was the description of the ceiling painting with small figures on it. It said they were heavenly beings flying with phoenixes in a style reminiscent of the “lands west of China” from which trade routes stretched across Asia to Japan. If they weren’t talking about Marco Polo, they were certainly talking about the Silk Road/Routes.

One enters at the Western Precinct and then moves toward the Eastern, where my favorite building was the belfry, whose unusual lower part is described as “skirt style”. The pole that strikes the bell protrudes from the left.

I was so comfortably oriented in the town of Horyu-ji by my Google map that, when I was ready to leave from the Eastern Precinct instead of from where I’d entered the complex, I decided to cut down through a pleasant neighborhood on that side of town that got me to the station just as easily.

Day 20: Kurashiki   It took four trains, two local, two Shinkansen, with three changes, to get from Nara to Kurashiki, but all that took just three minutes over 2 ½ hours and I was in Kurashiki just after noon. That is what you call good rail service.

A ten-minute walk got me to my hotel, which I’d chosen because it was so well located, with the historic area literally around the corner. Kurashiki is a picturesque market town, or, more accurately, the Bikan Historic District is. Kurashiki means “warehouse village”, since rice, sake, and cotton would come in from surrounding areas to be warehoused before being transshipped to market. There’s a willow-fringed canal with 17C warehouses on both sides. These warehouses and granaries are now shops and restaurants. I’d read that the town can be mobbed by tourist buses, but that must be in the summer, since in November the canal area had just enough strollers to make it very pleasant in the afternoon autumn sun.

I found that the area of interest is really only three blocks long, and includes three stone bridges crossing the canal. In addition to the willows, the first block had plenty of bright red maples as well hanging over the water—and a pair of swans.

A few blocks away outside the historic district, I also visited the Ohashi House of 1796. This historic house belonged to a rice merchant, and the family was very important. While most merchant houses were right on the street like the marvelous one in Takayama, this house had on the street a gatehouse and then a garden in front of the main building, a style that at the time was only allowed to the samurai class. But the Takayama house was in a historic district, so its setting established the proper mood, while the Kurashiki house was unfortunately surrounded by modernity.

Day 21 Morning: Great Seto Bridge   Going from Nara to Kurashiki I purposely skipped two places on the way, which I’d planned to return to this next day, given the rapid rail service as well as the rail pass. They are the Great Seto Bridge and Himeji Castle.

I had said at the beginning that the smallest of the four main islands, Shikoku, has in recent decades been connected to Honshu by a bridge in the east, one in the west, and a central one, the only one to also carry a rail line along with highway traffic. This is the Great Seto Bridge, built from 1978 to 1988.

Actually, it’s not one bridge but a bridge system, just as the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge is a bridge system consisting of two bridges, a tunnel on an island in between, as well as other structures. So the Great Seto Bridge System actually includes six named bridges, one of which we just had a picture of, and five viaducts, which island-hop over five small islands. The whole system is double-decked, with the trains running on the lower level, and it’s obvious on inspection that there is enough room for possible future accommodation of a Shinkansen route. The entire system is 13.1 km (8.1 mi) long, making it the world’s longest two-tiered bridge system.

I started by backtracking 15 minutes out of Kurashiki to Okayama, which is the gateway to the bridge. The trains crossing the bridge are called Marine Liners, and I took one to Sakaide, the first town on Shikoku. As soon as we crossed the first bridge the small islands of the Seto Inland Sea and Shikoku seemed ethereal in the distance. In Sakaide I then took the next Marine Liner back to connect to a Shinkansen to Himeji.

Day 21 Afternoon: Himeji   Think wedding cake. No, comparing Himeji Castle to a wedding cake insults the castle, since it’s much more majestic. But at least think layers of white! white! white! with pagoda roofs in between, then put it all on top of a hill, and you’ll have Himeji Castle. One of the signs I read on the castle grounds summed up for me totally what makes it look so impressively majestic:

There had been a fort here in the 14C, and the present castle was built in 1618. It’s a Unesco World Heritage Site. Its difference from other castles I’ve seen in Japan was that this one was totally military. There are openings in the wall to drop hot water or rocks on potential invaders—everything is defensive. Among other things on exhibit inside were two suits of armor, but not metal like you’re picturing, but leather and fabric, looking very Japanese. There were walls around the perimeter, moats, barriers, storehouses for rice during a siege.

Leaving the rail station, you immediately see the castle down the length of the main tree-bordered boulevard, about a 15-minute walk away. You also understand why it’s nicknamed White Heron Castle, since the white walls stretch on both sides from the main tower like a bird in flight.

The guidebook warned about the stairs. First you climb on outside pathways with steps, they you enter the tower and start climbing from level to level, with exhibitions on each floor, including those suits of armor. There’s natural illumination through windows, but still you’re looking at the dark-brown beam construction that’s so typical. Looking at the castle straight on, count the floors that I had to climb. How many do you see in the main tower?

One of the signs pointed out that, although it looks from the outside like the main tower has five stories, somehow it actually has six, plus a basement level, which is where we took off our shoes, carried them in a plastic grocery bag, and used slippers. (I’ve said the Japanese tend to be petite. The woman attendant, realizing she was dealing with a Western Bigfoot, pointed out a box of larger-sized slippers for me.) Although you see views all the way up, it’s from that one big room on the top floor that you get the best views. All the nearby greenery you’re seeing here is within the castle grounds, although we actually had some red trees included. Looking down the slope of the tile “pagoda” roof is also impressive. The brochure said that on fine days the view to the south beyond the rail station included islands in the Seto Inland Sea, which I clearly saw, since it was great, sunny weather.

The guidebook advised getting the combination ticket which includes the Koko-en Garden adjoining the castle complex at its base, right across the moat. It only dates from 1992, but has nine small separate gardens separated by walls, and as I say, I never let a Japanese garden pass me by. There was an unusual bamboo garden, and a pine tree garden. There was a stream running through several gardens, with bridges and stepping stones, and I never pass by stepping stones, either. But the main pond was the best, with about 250 colorful carp and a couple of waterfalls, and a number of red Japanese maples. It was a fine end to a fine day.