Category: Japan

As I had a spare morning, I decided to go by subway from my hotel in Shinjuku to Happo-en, with its delightful garden. Subway travel can look daunting at first, but is remarkably easy because of all the signage.

Whether you look at a map book, as shown below, or at an automatic ticket machine area, as shown at the top of this blog, it can at first look a bit daunting to foreigners, especially those like me who come from a city with only a few train lines. But the basic navigational skills relevant to many other world cities work in Tokyo as well, and, indeed, the system is planned well to make it easier than in many other places.

It’s much easier than it might at first seem. These days, many of the ticket machines have an English button, and you can avoid the machines altogether by using a pre-purchased card, which lets you in and out of stations, deducting the fare automatically from the stored balance. To see where to go, a closer look at a map shows that you can even avoid trying to read the writing, but just read the numbers:

 

In this case, my subway station under my hotel is Tochomae (number E-27 on the Oedo Line), and the guide book advised me that the Happo-en is at Shirokanedai (number N-02 on the Namboku Line). Following the coloured line shows me that I needed to change lines at Azabu-juban (Number E-22 and N-04). It is much easier to follow the numbers than the names! Mathematics to the rescue again! E-22 is five stops from E-27 and then N-02 is two stops from N-04. Easy!

Along the way, trains usually offer some form of information regarding where you are, what the next station is, which lines you can change to at the next station, etc. Much of this is in Japanese, but there is some English announcement and often good signage. As an especially good example, the Oedo train showed in real time at each station (inside the carriage) what to expect when you got off!

I’m in carriage 6, as we arrive at Kokuritsu-Kyogijo (or E-24 for short!). There will be stairs and an escalator where I get off, or a lift to the left opposite carriage 5 or further stairs and escalators at carriage 3. Brilliant! (especially if you’re carrying luggage).

Once you get off the train, There are usually maps and signs in abundance, telling you how to get to many places. In this case, there were many signs directing me to the Namboku line I needed to change to (tap the images to see the whole sign):

 

Some of the connections between lines are a fair distance apart in reality, as well as some levels apart, even if contiguous on the printed map, so you can even get a bit of exercise transferring! But you’re unlikely to get lost.

It’s not hard to get lost if you leave the station via the wrong exit, however, so it’s worth paying attention to the maps showing local features and advising which exit to use. In this case, it was easy enough to find Happo-en required Exit 1, and as soon as I left the station and surfaced in the street, there was another map to follow, as shown below. All very helpful to people unfamiliar with the area:

 

In this case, there are only two exits – so only one way of getting it wrong – but some stations have many more than that. There are many other signs in stations allowing you to find your way to particular attractions and exits without too much problem. All remarkably easier than you might think, in fact.

I was rather surprised to see that the crosswalk to Happo-en, not far from the station, had a crosswalk attendant, who sprung into action as soon as the walk light turned green. Unlike, say, New Yorkers, Tokyo citizens wait for the light to turn green before walking and the cars all stop for pedestrians (unlike, say, Beijing drivers), so it was not clear to me why this chap was needed at all, but he did his job with great diligence, and I crossed the street without incident:

 

What is Happo-en? It’s a delightful garden of about 30 000 square metres, hidden near Shinagawa in Tokyo. It’s about 300 years old and is a lovely place, with many attached dining options, so is a popular place for functions, like banquets, weddings, etc. I had not heard of it until the previous night, when I was lucky enough to attend a nice dinner there. I returned in the day time because it was hard to see the garden properly in the night.

I was pleased I came back, as the garden was truly lovely and very green:

 

Like many Japanese gardens, there were some lovely lanterns and some nice water features, in this case including even some waterfalls:

 

Interestingly, the Happo-en garden included a lovely collection of Bonsai trees, some of them more than 500 years old (i.e., older than the garden itself). [I was concerned that all of the ages ended in 0, suggesting to me that they were incorrect, and making me want to return next year to see if they were all increased by a year … So I was a bit skeptical about the ages shown.] Here are a couple of Bonsai examples:

 

While I saw some of these features at night, they were much better in the daylight. My dinner last night was delightful, showing again how much attention is paid to presentation of food in Japan. We had a succession of courses, all of which were delicious:

 

While in the area, I decided to further test out my navigational skills to find Sengakuji Temple, which was nearby (according to maps and guidebook). This proved to be a bit trickier than navigating the subway. I found myself walking through small lanes with relatively few signs to help. Japanese addresses and street signs are rarely of much help, in fact, unlike my own country, where they are a reliable guide.

 

To my surprise, however, I rounded a corner and there was the temple, with no earlier signs warning of its impending arrival!

 

It was a nice little temple, and I knew almost nothing about it until I arrived. It turns out to be quite famous as the burial site of the forty-seven Ronin (a set of Samurai who were loyal to their master and exacted revenge on a Feudal Lord who was responsible for his death by suicide). The story was even made into a film recently – unbeknownst to me.

 

The Buddhist temple revered one of its famous monks, shown here, and had some lovely plants. (The images above show one example, together with a blown-up version to see the detail.)

The forty-seven Samurai warriors are buried in the temple grounds, and are the reason that the temple is quite famous and visited by many Japanese people. Here are some of the set of grave markers … the 47 are all buried near their Feudal master, also buried at the temple.

I wandered on a bit further, looking for Shinagawa JR station, not far away, to make my journey back to the hotel. I encountered this extraordinary map on the street, which made it emphatically clear how large and complex the station is:

When I entered the station, which was as large as the collection of lines would predict, I was intrigued to find a massive bridge over the lines:

But, despite the size and scale of the station, it was easy to navigate and I had no trouble getting back to my hotel in time for a scheduled meeting.

The Tokyo transportation system is unequalled in the world. Easy to navigate, covering an immense area and servicing a population of about 37 million people as well as lots of tourists, it is reliable and safe, with frequent trains all day long and much easier to get around with than anything else here in Tokyo.

It’s always hard going back to Perth, where public transport is at best meagre, and the navigational skills I have developed here are usually of no value at all.

Nishi-Shinjuku, or the west side of Shinjuku, is often called Tokyo’s skyscraper district, for good reasons. It must surely be one of the most extraordinary urban environments on the planet. Perched forty stories up, as shown above, I thought I’d go down for a stroll to get some fresh air and to try to capture some of the amazing architecture and ambience to share.

I’ve been here often before and strolled around often, but it is always pleasurable. Tokyo was destroyed by the great Kanto earthquake of 1923, and was devastated again after WWII, but somehow the skyscrapers today in Nishi-Shinjuku seem to be making a defiant statement of some sort, that they are here to stay regardless. The earthquake codes are very strict here, and I understand that the buildings are erected to cope with severe earthquakes (but you never really know until they happen). Maybe irrationally, I’ve not felt unsafe here, even up high.

For me, the centrepiece has always been the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building, from which there is a neat free observatory (in each of the two towers) 45 floors up. I’ve often taken friends – newcomers to Tokyo – up there to see the view, showing the city from horizon to horizon, with greater Tokyo now having some 37 million people or so. I happened to do that again today … here are a few quick snaps, giving a sense of the views. You can also see some green space: the huge Yoyogi Park nearby, for example.

The view from the tower also gives a good look at other things, such as the expressways (so-called … often not very express with commercial traffic!) snaking their way among buildings, such as these two:

But I’m in Nishi-Shinjuku and the building itself is beautiful. Here’s a view from my hotel, up high:

You can see the Olympic logos near the ground. This is the building from which Tokyo’s successful bid for the 2020 Olympic games came. I like the mathematical feel to the two logos, which you can see more clearly here:

If you look more closely around the base, you can see some of the roads and walkways around it, as well as the companion buildings next to it and the park behind it.

But let’s get down from the heights and look from below. The building just seems to go up and up …

And the courtyard below dwarfs anyone wandering around it … with an amazing feeling of spaciousness, in a  country where things often feel cramped. If you click on these photos, you’ll see larger versions.

You will already have noticed how hard it is to faithfully reflect large architecture in a photo, without doctoring the photos … the angles often look wrong, as if the world is leaning in. But I’m too lazy (and also lacking in skill) to fix the problems, so I hope you can get a sense of the environment anyway.

The TMG is but one of the many skyscrapers here. None are really really tall (typically around 40-50 floors high?), but walking around the TMG gives a sense of perspective of other buildings in the district. The first one below is actually taken from underneath the TMG, showing the immense colonnade:

None of the buildings is really really tall, but they are tall enough to give an impression of urban-ness, typically around 50 or 60 stories, I think. Here are a couple of examples of famous buildings, a little closer up:

I loved the huge intersections, too! The cocoon building looks especially spectacular, maybe because it is so different from its companions.

Walking around the Nishi-Shinjuku area, with skyscrapers all around, is remarkably pleasant, with wide walkways, devoid of rubbish usually and with lots of trees. Here are a few examples, to give you a sense of the ambience:

The first of these is right outside my hotel, and I have often enjoyed sitting in the restaurant at breakfast, watching the streams of people walking past, going to work. [These pictures were taken on Saturday morning, so the streets are all but deserted.]

There are also gardens associated with many of the buildings, so the whole area feels surprisingly green. Below are a few examples, including a couple where the green of summer is about to be replaced by autumnal colours. I’m not sure why the tree is tied down so securely, but I assume it’s to protect against typhoons?

There are also sculptures scattered around the area, such as the iconic Love symbol and the more recent (2017 – which explains why I had not seen it previously) Keimu Kamata statue called ‘Hand of peace’.

Near the Love sign is an interesting astronomical clock on a tower, reminiscent of the wonderful old clock in Old Prague square – albeit a modern version by Seiko – and associated with another nice piece of urban architecture, the I-Land building with its neat water features.

Cycling is a popular mode of transport around Nishi-Shinjuku, and the footpaths are wide enough to cope with it. I was impressed that this lady was taking two children for a ride on her bike, both protected from the elements.

Another striking feature of the area are the underground walkways. Last night, it was raining a little, but I managed to walk from Shinjuku station back to my hotel almost entirely under cover (using the first walkway shown below). Shinjuku station in rush hour in the mornings is still regarded as the busiest place on Planet Earth, so having an efficient way for people to walk from the station to their offices is obviously a good idea. It was a lot more crowded last night.

Walking around even revealed some unexpected things to me. I had noticed these odd architectural features in the street outside, but thought they were just decorative triangles. This morning, I found out – somewhat to my astonishment – that they were entries to the subway train underneath my hotel! The work crew (a small army, in fact!) were making sure everything was gleaming, while they had a chance, as you can see.

While it’s not surprising that there are subway lines under my hotel – after all, it is only a couple of hundred metres to Shinjuku station and there are many lines going through there – it’s surprising that I didn’t know, because I have stayed here four or five times previously!

At the edge of the skyscraper district, there’s a nice little park, called the Shinjuku Chuo Park. It’s very green, with lots of plants, and even a few animals such as turtles in a pond.

While breakfasting this morning, I noticed small group of a couple of dozen people down there, so wandered down to see what was drawing them there (I recall a few years ago finding a swap-meet!). To my surprise, I found a now very large number of people in the park, and wondered if it was a demonstration of some sort, unlikely as that might seem. I was intrigued at the chap taking photos from the shoulders of someone else (Did he really think he got a much better view??). Then they all started to move off in a sort of march, but the person to whom I spoke said it was for ‘exercise’, so maybe it wasn’t a demonstration? The people seemed to be out for a good time, as you can tell, too. All very mysterious.

Finally, I can’t help but comment about East Shinjuku (the other side of the train station). Notwithstanding the large exercise group, Nishi-Shinjuku is quiet, almost serene, stately and at times almost overwhelming, an urban architectural showcase with grandeur in abundance. Yet the ‘other side of the tracks’ is mad, crazy, noisy, brash and could easily be on a different planet:

And at night, the neon lights come out in East Shinjuku, while West Shinjuku is already sleeping:

There must be few places in the world where everything changes so much with a short stroll, although I know there are some. I’d prefer to end this post with stately quiet, calm Nishi-Shinjuku:

It’s a lovely spot. Even if you’re not staying there, should you get to Tokyo, at least go for a stroll, and soak it all in.

 

I had not heard of either temari or misuhiki before I found them unintentionally today. What beautiful traditional crafts these are! But to start at the beginning, I was wandering in the Samurai district on my last day in Kanazawa – indeed my last day in Japan for a while – and enjoying the change of weather. Yesterday was raining all day, sometimes heavily, but today was lovely and sunny.

I popped into what did not look very interesting, but I knew it was a sort of museum of pharmacy in the old days: just an ordinary building (at least for here):

Indeed, it did include a museum of pharmacy, just inside the entry, which was interesting, but not especially rivetting, and the descriptions were a little cryptic to a non-Japanese.

Then I turned the corner, and was astounded to see a collection of brightly coloured geometric objects with various patterns and sizes. No two patterns were the same: each was clearly made individually:

There was some English description of these, which are called Kaga Temari, or, more colloquially, temari balls. Apparently, they are something of a local tradition, which I had missed as I’d not been frequenting shops (yet).

It seems that they were first made from silk as handballs a long time ago (from the 14th century) by the nobility, as an engagement present for a daughter, but they were so attractive that other people started making them also. When cotton became available, early in the 17th century, they became very fashionable, and it is still a tradition in Kanazawa that mothers make one of these for their engaged daughters.

Here are some other examples:

I was of course intrigued by the mathematics of weaving these beautiful shapes onto a sphere, and was instantly impressed with the level of craft competence that must be involved – to say nothing of the mathematical competence.

It seems that the balls are made from tightly bound yarn, which is then embroidered on the outside. It is no mean feat to get the shapes and sizes correct to produce a pattern that fits around a spherical surface, as you will appreciate if you try it for yourself. Here are some others, which were somewhere between a softball and a soccer ball in size:

There were smaller ones as well, clearly less intricate. Some of these were about golf ball size, and some even smaller:

I didn’t tarry to look too closely at the mathematics (except to admire it), but geometric shapes were very evident. This one looked a bit like a dodecahedron (a solid made with regular pentagons on each face, all twelve of them), for example:

Others reminded me of ‘string art’, which we have sometimes done in mathematics classes, as it’s nice to see curves coming from straight lines:

Here’s another that included spiral patterns:

And here is yet another selection, this time in cases and with a pleasant background of traditional fabric printing:

What a treat! I was quite excited and I think I made the day of the person selling tickets to the museum. He seemed very pleased that I seemed very pleased, although that may just be (typical) Japanese politeness and care for visitors.

I would have been perfectly happy with my ‘discovery’ – a bit like Captain Cook’s ‘discovery’ of Australia, although the locals did not realise that it was lost ;-). But I went up to the next floor of the pharmacy museum and found some beautiful Japanese wrapping, called mizuhiki. Here’s an example:

The wrapping in this (and the other cases shown) is for an engagement present. Regardless of what the present is/was (clearly not just the block of wood shown), the wrapping must be a major part of the gift, I think. The examples shown were absolutely beautifully done. Here’s another set of examples (click on it to see it more closely if you wish), showing that paper-folding as well as tying strings are both involved. (Not quite origami, however).

I have long known that Japanese people pride themselves on wrapping things beautifully … buying anything in a department store, for example, will give you a sense of that pride. I recall once in the large Takashimaya store in Shinjuku, in Tokyo, counting no less than fourteen shop assistants working full-time at the wrapping counter on one floor. It was unacceptable to just buy something and pop it into a plastic bag. the wrapping is part of the transaction. But these mizuhiki seem to take the art form to a new level.

Here are some others, nicely arranged:

… and a blown-up version of one of them, so that you can see the intricacy and the care with which it has been created.

I learned a valuable lesson (already known to the rest of the world as “Don’t judge a book by its cover”. Sometimes as a traveller, you have to just go ahead and look at things, even if you are not sure about them, or taste or drink them, even if they look unfamiliar. Now, just as I am leaving Kanazawa, I am beginning to realise why it prides itself on its traditional arts and crafts.

The Pharmacy Museum made my day.

 

My first time in Kanazawa comprised being lost for a while – an unavoidable consequence of (independent) travelling, and rarely problematic. But when I was found again, I decided to have a look at Kanazawa’s famous Kenrokuen Garden, recognised as one of the three best gardens in Japan – and that’s saying something in a country with many beautiful gardens.

I did not expect Kanazawa Station to be such a magnificent new structure; my mental picture was of a small city station. As the snapshot of the exit below shows, my mental picture was completely wrong! I knew where I was at that stage, but the feeling soon dissipated, and I had some adventures finding my lodging. A story for another day.

When finally I headed to the garden, I managed to find a nice entry path – which was not in fact to the garden at all, but to the adjacent castle. Oh, dear! One of those days … I was intrigued however at the lovely greenery, glistening in the drizzle that was falling, and the collection of statues, and at first thought that they were leading to the garden. I could not work out why (most of) the statues of women were naked and all the statues of men were clothed! Very strange, but perhaps some cultural mores are involved?

The sample of four (of many) statues here attracted my attention for other reasons, too. I was impressed to see a female nude not obviously showing a ‘perfect’ figure, for example. And I would have liked to know who the scholars (?) were, but all the annotations were in Japanese. And, anyway, I needed to find the garden before it closed, and I saw the top of part of what was clearly Kanazawa castle nearby, and realised I was lost again:

When I did find the actual garden, shortly afterwards, I was not disappointed. It’s really beautiful, and I enjoyed strolling around it in the fading sunlight and the slight misty-moisty drizzle. The photo at the top of this blog shows a famous view.

I learned from the guidebook that a perfect landscape garden should combine six elements: spaciousness, seclusion, artifice, antiquity, watercourses and panoramas. This one succeeded in all respects, and it was lovely to walk around. [I was also pleased that this was one of the few places in Japan where I was given a Seniors’ discount and entered for free after proving my (advanced) age!]

Here are some assorted views of the garden, which hopefully speak for themselves. (You can tap on them if you wish to enlarge them and see the whole picture in most cases).

It was nice to see at least one lantern turned on (as it was now past five o’clock and getting dark):

The garden had lots of water in it, and so also had lots of bridges, as well as some workmen in the river:

Some of the water was vertical, rather than horizontal, too:

Of course, the selfie brigade were out in force, as were the kimonos. I am no longer surprised to see people taking pictures of themselves in what is quite likely the single most photographed piece of garden in Japan.

I did notice that quite a few of the (ancient) trees had logs supporting their branches, like these. I guess that’s necessary with seriously old trees, although the garden is not much more than 300 years old. [In fact, I found out later that the supports are there for the winter, so that heavy snowfalls do not break the branches.]

 

Having already found Kanazawa Castle once, I decided to find it again, for a quick look before closing time. It was less impressive than the garden, which is what I expected, but was still worth a quick look. The castle gate through which I went was impressive:

Inside there was lots of lawn as well as attractive bits of castle. However, I knew that the castle (like most Japanese castles, which used to be made of wood) was a replacement for an earlier version, and hence really a sort of fake castle. Still, It looked impressive:

I have no idea why ravens seem to be attracted to castles, both in Shakespearean plays, in England generally and now in Japan. Very odd.

The sight of a trio of young women with their kimonos was more than I could ignore, so couldn’t resist a couple of snaps. (I reasoned to myself that the sole purpose of their wearing kimonos was to be photographed, and so I obliged):

So, it was a quick trip, and I took many more photos than are shown here, but I was satisfied that my first afternoon in Kanazawa was both pleasant and successful, despite the earlier navigational hiccups.

On the way home, still learning where the bus went and where I live, I enjoyed a stroll along the nearby river, which had some lovely older style houses as well as some interesting bridges.

It’s nice to walk somewhere when you first arrive, just to get your bearings, and I’m going for another walk tomorrow morning.

It’s only been a short stop of two days in Takayama, in (or close to) the Japanese alps, but I have enjoyed it immensely. A change of pace from the cities, as Takayama is a  smallish city of about 60 thousand people, and it prides itself on maintaining some of the old ways of Japan. There are some sections of the city that are designated as areas to be preserved, so that the old architectural styles and associated customs can be experienced by all.

I’ve spent most of my time here just walking around, enjoying the ambience, the slow pace of life and the views of old Japan. It’s nice to walk slowly and soak it all in sometimes. Here are a couple more streetscapes to give you the idea:

Many artisans, such as wood workers, worked here, so it is unsurprising that so many buildings are wooden. Houses in the preservation areas look lovely, too, and many have an inviting front door area, festooned with flowers and plants. Here are a few examples:

The shops, too, have a traditional feel to them, as the random examples below show. Click on a photo to see more.

There is a morning market every morning; not quite a farmers’ market (although there are farmers there selling their produce), but a pleasant environment for strolling, shopping and chatting. I enjoyed some ginger-flavoured rice crackers and also my first experience with takoyaki balls, described at the stall as a “Japanese soul food, with flour, Welsh onion and octopus. They were delicious, and the young lady selling them was pleased to practice her English, finding Perth on her globe!

The morning markets seemed to be as much social affairs as commercial affairs, with a lovely relaxed feel, and lots of greetings and banter between shopkeepers and customers. Many stalls provided free samples to passers-by. I continue to be intrigued by the Japanese penchant for cartoon characters, not only for children.

Takayama is very proud of its annual festival, held twice a year and attracting enormous numbers of people to the city. the population apparently swells to around 300 thousand for the occasion. It’s been going for hundreds of years, and is regarded as one of the three most important festivals in Japan. So I felt obliged to visit the Festival Museum, which has four of the floats on display, as well as other information. You can see below some of the extraordinary floats (called yatai), as well as one of the hundreds of banners around town reminding people of the World Heritage status of the festival.

The yatai are very large and in my travels around town, I stumbled upon the occasional garage in which they are stored. (There are 23 altogether, and only four on display, so the other nineteen are somewhere else!)

I also visited a very nice display of traditional houses (the Hida Folk Village), which have been moved from elsewhere in the province to Takayama, to preserve a sense of how people used to live. The very peaked houses (called gassho, as they are reminiscent of the hands of people praying and named accordingly) were designed to withstand the heavy snowfalls in this region in winter. It was a very interesting park, and occupied me wandering for a couple of hours.

The folk village even has a small rice field, which is now almost ready for harvesting. Each of the houses had at least one central fire for cooking as well as heating (and lighting) in traditional times.  The thatched roofs were very complex, and were apparently usually built by the whole village when needed. There were also some lovely views of the nearby mountains from the village.

Takayama has a good collection of interesting temples, some of them hundreds of years old, and I enjoyed following the (sometimes cryptic) signs to get from one temple to the next. I’m sure that the directions were clear to whoever wrote them, but they often gave me some pause before knowing where to go next!

I was also able to visit a few old houses, which were open to the public. The tatami mats were very prominent in all of them. I learned that rooms can change character easily by putting something in them; a room is not necessarily designed as a bedroom for example, but clearly takes on that character when a bed is added. Similarly, a bare room can easily become a reception room of some sort by adding a table and chairs. Linking the house to the garden seemed to be important, too. I love the paper screens and the complete lack of clutter (not possible for me to emulate the latter, however!)

In my wandering around town, I was impressed to find how well toilets are provided. (This has been the case everywhere in Japan, unlike the case in some countries – especially European – where there seems to be an assumption that nobody needs to go to the toilet and, if they do, they are prepared to pay handsomely for it).  The Free Lounge was a wonderful example, providing both toilets, benches, a cot for a baby and space to rest, as well as tourist information and even a computer with advice on where to go … all for free! I resented paying sometimes as much as one euro in Europe just to pee or being expected to buy something in other countries for the privilege of relieving yourself; they have a lot to learn from Japanese hospitality!

In my travels today, I also visited a couple of sake breweries, apparently something else for which the region is famous. The large sake barrels are distinctive, and identify  an establishment as being involved with sake. I’ve tried sake several times before, even  a few times on this trip, but am still unable to tell one sake drink from another, unlike real sake drinkers. In fact, this evening, I noticed some sake bottles high on a shelf in an izakaya, shown below, and left there after opening, waiting until their owner next returns to continue drinking them; a clear sign of the trust Japanese people put in each other – in Australia, we would certainly be worried that someone else would be helping themselves to our drink in our absence!

Speaking of izakaya, of which I have written a blog previously, I enjoyed meeting up with some local Japanese people tonight at a couple of different places, firstly in a local pub and secondly in a Mexican restaurant (as the tempura restaurant at which I had intended to dine was full). As usual, it was nice to chat with the locals, despite the inevitable language barriers. People here continue to be very friendly to strangers. I was very impressed also with the automatic beer-pouring machine in the pub! (Which makes me wonder again, if it’s that easy, why Australian restaurants don’t offer draught beer …)

I got the impression that nothing much happens in a hurry here in Takayama. Cars seem hardly ever get out of second gear, and bicycles just generally glide along. For example, I was surprised this afternoon to see a lady park in the middle of the main street, leaving her vehicle with lights flashing, so that she could pop into a roadside stall for a couple of minutes and get some rice balls. Nobody seemed to mind: the traffic behind her just waited until she was finished, rather than blowing their horns impatiently! I had just myself eaten some of the rice balls, and discovered how delicious they were, so I understood her plan.

But this morning, on the other hand, I spotted a (very) young man out walking with his brand new squeaky shoes, who was certainly in a  hurry. It seems that he had just found out how to walk and was determined to cover as much ground as he could as quickly as he could. He stopped short on seeing me, as the picture below shows.

But then he moved on, at his previous frantic pace. No doubt, in time, he’ll be socialised to slow down, take a deep breath, and enjoy the country lifestyle offered by this charming traditional city, as do his relatives, no doubt.

Last minute addendum … the first rain I have experienced since coming to Japan more than two weeks ago, and just a little drizzle. I loved watching the convoys of uniformed kids going to school, with the yellow umbrella apparently part of the school uniform for elementary school. Of course, the high school kids are too cool for that, and go by bicycle!

Finally, all over town are these Saurubobo dolls, which are good luck charms, coming in various sizes and colours. This is a large one, clearly, sitting outside a shop.

Best of luck to all from Takayama … a really beautiful place. I hope to return here one day.

 

 

 

I’m enjoying train travel in Japan. It’s incredibly efficient and well-organised and almost everywhere is accessible by train. Sitting in a train allows you to see the world go by, always interesting in a country other than your own, but capturing it on film can be a challenge. So this blog is just to illustrate the challenge, as well as some of the solutions, on my trip today from Kobe to Takayama, just in case you want to try to do the same. At the risk of making a bad pun, the blog is intended to give you some pointers, as suggested by the photo above. (I apologise in advance to those who know more about this than I do; the advice is not directed at you!)

The trip began in a shinkansen (aka ‘bullet train’) from Kobe to Nagoya and then a regular diesel train from Nogoya up into the Japanese Alps to Takayama. The picture above shows a station officer sending the train off in Kobe. Staff always wear white gloves (as do taxi drivers), and take their roles very seriously. This chap is verifying by pointing that he has checked that all is OK in that direction, before waving the train off. Trains leave exactly on time and usually arrive exactly on time. Drivers go through a similar routine, I have noticed, to verify to themselves that they have checked the appropriate signals, etc. I feel very safe on Japanese trains, as human error has been reduced as much as possible.

The photo of the chap was made out my window, just as the train was leaving, so it was moving very slowly. Apart from the driver standing in front of the pole, which clutters up the picture, it’s not a challenge to take such a photo.

When the train is moving, it’s a different matter, of course. And shinkansen move pretty fast – although nowhere near as fast as a bullet. The technology is now quite old, and some high speed trains in other countries are much faster, but a typical shinkansen speed is around 220 kilometres per hour, fast enough to make photography challenging. So what can go wrong?

Firstly, when the train is travelling fast, photos will be blurred, unless the camera shutter speed has been made very fast. If you’re using your smartphone as your camera, you may find it hard to do much about that, as the camera will decide for itself what shutter speed to use (and will usually result in a blurred image, as it doesn’t know you’re going fast.) If you have a real camera, you may be able to set the shutter speed. On most cameras on which this is possible, you need to set the camera to S mode (for speed) and adjust the speed to suit the circumstances. The numbers are ‘backwards’, too, so that a setting of ’60’ means 1/60 th of a second, which is half as fast as a setting of ‘120’, which is 1/120 th of a second.

In the photo below, my camera was set to 1/160 th of a second – easily OK for normal photography, but not for a photo from a shinkansen, even when it had not reached full speed:

This photo is obviously unacceptable, because of the blurring. Notice that it is more blurred closer to me in the train than it is further away. After posting it here, I have discarded it. When I noticed the problem (this was the first photo out of Kobe), I changed the setting to 1/640 th of a second, which is what I normally use for a shinkansen photo.

Another problem are the reflections in a window. These are worst on the sunny side of the train usually, and are often hard to avoid. The photo below shows an awful example, where I have managed to photograph myself as well as the scene out the window, so this one is a failure too. On one train today, I was able to switch sides of the train as it moved directions, when there were few passengers, but that is not always possible. Sometimes,  you have to wait for the train to change direction if you can’t move.

Another problem in trains in particular is that there are often poles outside, which appear exactly when you don’t want them, so a nice photo can be ruined because it turns out to be a photo of a pole, with a nice background. There’s an example below. I was interested in the regular use of solar panels in the Japanese countryside, but this pole appeared at precisely the wrong moment! The photo also has some window reflections in it, and is also to be discarded.

Avoiding poles is not easy, especially at high speed, as you are not looking for them. But in fact, they are often quite regular, almost rhythmic, and can be avoided with practice for some kinds of shots (such as scenery); it’s harder for taking photos of objects like the solar panels, however.

Even getting what you want to photograph in the frame at speed is hard sometimes, especially when you can’t see far ahead. So this photo of some other solar panels just misses the panels, as I pressed the shutter a little bit too soon and also needed to zoom out a bit first. There’s no time to zoom at speed in fact, so you need to have the camera zoom already set to the appropriate width ready for a photo. Still, an impressive array of solar panels, but another discard!

There are other ways to miss a photo, too. We passed this enormous solar panel by Panasonic (at least 100 m long, I think), but I was simply too slow to photograph it, so only caught a tiny bit and got the tree in front instead! Yet another disaster … and there were no other objects like this I saw today. You get only one chance, often, so have to be alert.

Never content with making one mistake at a time, I often managed to make several at once, such as this disastrous photo, which misses the main object (the bridge), gets a pole in the road and has many reflections. Yet another failure!

 

Some problems can be repaired afterwards, by careful cropping, fortunately. Here’s an example. I wanted to take a photo of someone working in the fields, not just of the scenery. The photo I took managed to do that, but the farmer is quite lost and only just visible in the photo (as I had been previously trying to photograph wide scenes).

 

If the photo is cropped, and is of sufficiently high resolution to permit that, it can be improved a bit. I usually take photos at 3 megapixels, which allows some zooming without losing too much resolution, as in this case. It is not always clear how (or even whether) you can change the resolution on camera phones, however. I’m not unhappy with this photo, which gives a sense of the enormity of the farmer’s task, without background clutter.

Zooming in even further may be problematic, as the photo will become quite grainy, unless it is was originally at a much higher resolution (say 10 or 16 megapixels). In this case, I’m unhappy with the graininess, although some might be less unhappy with it; it’s all a matter of personal preference and style at some point, of course. And, again, you may not be able to change the resolution on your camera if it is actually a smartphone.

Taking photos from trains often is difficult with things getting in the way, especially electrical wires, and physical barriers set up to keep noise away from communities with a train going through them. Sometimes, it is just not possible to take a photo at all; at other times, the photo will unavoidably include wires, and you have to accept that (or manipulate it later using software such as PhotoShop, which is probably too much hard work for casual holiday snaps. So, I will tolerate the wires in a photo like the one below, persuading myself that it’s actually part of the scene:

The scenery in the mountains was stunning, and there were many views like this that I enjoyed, despite my inability to capture them with my camera.

I remember many years ago having my portrait taken by a colleague (who was the photography teacher in the school), back in the days before digital cameras. He said that he discarded most photos he took, expecting to get one or two shots from a roll of 36 that he was prepared to print, a ‘hit-rate’ of less than 10%, which surprised me. He was an experienced professional (and not shooting out of a train window!) So I am not easily discouraged, and with a digital camera, it’s easy to discard failures with essentially no cost (unlike film). On my train trip today, I took around 100 photos, of which about a dozen are worth keeping … and it kept me amused for most of the trip!

Here are a few of the small number of photos I chose to keep. [You can click on photos to see larger versions, if you wish.] Of my several attempts, mostly abject failures, I liked the following two photos of solar panels, the first showing that they are often blended into the farmyard environment, as if farmers are growing electricity as well as rice, while the second was a lucky shot, showing a giant electrical company recognising the need to get electricity to use its products. It’s clear to me that Japan takes alternative energy sources very seriously, possibly more so after the Fukushima nuclear reactor disaster, and no doubt in accord with its signing of the Paris agreement on reducing greenhouse gases.

I saw many rural scenes, with crops in various stages of production, and it seemed to me that very little usable land was not being used for cultivation. So I enjoyed photos like the following:

I often saw cases where the crops came right up to the farm buildings and where a cemetery (clearly immovable) had crops growing all around it. I also liked some of the scenes later in my journey that showed the mountains as well as the fields and gave a sense of the wider landscape.

I saw many rice fields under cultivation, unsurprisingly as rice is commonly eaten in Japan (much more so than is the case in Australia). But there were other things cultivated as well. I was surprised, to see that tea was also grown, for example; after several attempts, I managed to capture a small plantation, as shown below. I should not have been surprised, of course, as tea is very popular in Japan, and grows well at higher altitudes, so is more likely to be seen as we got closer to Takayama and away from the plains of Kansai. Vegetables are also important and I saw some greenhouses apparently for that purpose as we got into the mountains, where earlier on lower land, vegetables were simply grown in fields next to the rice fields.

In the mountains, there were many lovely scenes involving rivers bubbling through the landscape. Here are a few examples:

I also saw some interesting bridges en route, such as these (but failed miserably to photograph most of the bridges I saw!).

Although most of my photos were unsuccessful, I have long ago learned that you have to fail, and fail often, before you can succeed. This applies to lots of things, of course, not just to photography. Despite my many failures today, I thoroughly enjoyed the wonderful scenery passing all too quickly past my window, and I was pleased that I managed to catch a few bits of it on my camera. I will remember some of my journey later, as well as the visual delights of the Japanese countryside, by looking at the ‘surviving’ photos.

And if you are a beginner, hopefully some of my tips are of use, not just for trains but for other moving vehicles like buses and cars.

 

 

Can there be anything more quintessentially Japanese than bathing in an onsen, or natural hot springs? I’ve had several Japanese baths (e.g. in public bath houses, and recently in facilities at my capsule hotel), but not previously visited a natural onsen, which are widespread in Japan. Japan is naturally volcanic, with lots of mountains and so lots of hot springs, and people have been bathing in them for thousands of years, so I decided to do the same. An additional motivation was to ‘take the waters’ and give my feet and legs a rest!

Arima Onsen is a small town full of onsen about 20 km outside Kobe, and I gather quite a famous one. It’s a pretty little town, with lots of small shops in the central area and a number of small temples dotted around the steep streets. I decided to go for a stroll before my bath.

A river bubbles right through the town, and there are attractive bridges crossing it, as well as a warning to not be caught down there in flood conditions. The English translation for this important sign was clear. (Click on the photo to see it in full).

The town streets near the river and the station have some attractive little shops as well as a pleasant, unrushed ambience and even the beginnings of autumnal colours appearing. I saw a fruit I’ve not seen before, hanging from a vine, and I was intrigued at the public foot bath in the middle of town. I decided to not create a public nuisance of myself by trying the foot bath out, leaving that to my real bath. But this was clear evidence that I was in a spa town.

The town streets are small and steep, and there are many temples strewn amongst the houses, with not much traffic. I went for a stroll (if that’s what you describe as wandering up and down very steep hills) Here are some examples:

I love the beautiful designs often seen in Japan, where making things attractive seems to be a national obsession. These lovely containers outside a temple are a good example.

The small, windy and hilly streets must be a nightmare for drivers and pedestrians, although any traffic necessarily drives very slowly. I have seen little signs like this one before, warning motorists that there are pedestrians around (usually children, but not in this case).

Older folks must struggle with the hills (and I think that Japan has amongst the highest proportion of citizens over 60 in the world) but this chap has the solution with his gopher. I was a bit surprised to see him out in his pyjamas visiting the local store, but it seems that kind of town. Smoking here is still quite common, and I guess he thought it would be easier to continue the habit, while getting around the hills without being too puffed out. Hard to tell, without chatting, which I didn’t try.

Walking the dogs must be tricky too with all the hills, but this solution seemed to me to miss the point of the exercise:

I saw occasional confirmation that there were hot springs in town, such as the contraption below in what seemed to be somebody’s back yard (and out of which steam was coming), as well as the public drinking fountain advising users that it was drinkable water, not the hot springs water (with lots of minerals in it).

I had purchased a day pass to an onsen; when I eventually started looking for my onsen, called Taiko no yu, it was a little tricky. But I enjoyed the stroll, anyway, determined not to be in a hurry. There was even information to absorb, such as this lovely little sign about decorative tiles warding off evil spirits; what a shame that someone had covered it over with a wire! (So I’ve provided an uncluttered version on a wall for you to read instead.) Unless you are Japanese, you will see the communication problem is not only about the wire.

There were maps around, such as this one, but English did not feature prominently on it. If you click on the map, you’ll see a bigger version – which may not help, in this case!

I had a town map with a little English on it, but, as these things often are, there was no scale on it, and it was not a very good guide to distances or even directions. [As an aside, in Kobe the other day, the lady in the tourist office pointed to two places, that were almost exactly the same distance from my starting point on a map. One of them she said was a short walk, while the other required a train trip of two stops! My attempts to persuade her that the map was unhelpful came to nought.]

While poor map construction is mathematically problematic, my feet were beginning to advise me that it was biologically problematic too! Eventually, using a combination of maps, my Ulmon app on my phone, asking directions and (mostly) luck, I found what might be a sign for my onsen shown at the top of the blog – at least the arrow was immediately decipherable, even if the rest of the characters were not. Nearby, I found another version of the sign, this time with the actual name of the onsen in English characters, as well as some information. Success!

The first thing necessary when entering the onsen is to remove your shoes, and place them in a locker. When checking in, I gave them my locker key, which they kept until I checked out.

I was then issued with everything needed: a robe (I got to choose my colour, so chose purple; the robe I got was brown, however) a towel and a small hand towel. I then went to a locker room, disrobed and put everything in my locker (except the hand towel), and headed off to the bath. I had a locker key on my wrist that allowed my to bathe, with my belongings secure, and also allowed me to buy things (such as food, beer, extras, etc) using a small barcode (that is, using mathematics). Of course, I could not take my camera into the bathing areas, for reasons of public impropriety.

It is necessary to thoroughly wash yourself before a Japanese bath; it is completely improper to use the bath to wash in, as it is for soaking in. All the facilities of soap, shampoo, conditioner, etc are provided (as described earlier on my capsule hotel blog, so I won’t repeat them here).

It was lovely. I tried out various bathing pools, which had hot water, some of them very hot, and there were also some saunas. I’ve downloaded a couple of images from the web to show you examples from this particular onsen:

(In case you leap to conclusions, men and women bathed separately!) The baths shown here are outside in the open air, albeit with some roofing, but there were several inside as well. I tried them all, of course, including the small tubs you can see. usually there were three or four others in a bath (but not in a tub!), but people for the most part completely ignored other people, but just sat in the bath and wallowed. The exception of course was people who came together (such as a group of young men and a father and son). The muddy bath did not feel muddy, but most of the others were crystal clear and delightful to sit in.

And the small towel? That mostly sat on people’s heads, and was used to wipe off perspiration (e.g. in a sauna) or used to dry you a little walking between baths. Some people used it to modestly cover themselves, too, when walking around, but most didn’t. Of course, it is quite improper for the towel to be in the water, as it will contaminate it … so I was mortified when mine fell off my head, but fortunately nobody was watching (I hope!) and I quickly grabbed it again and restored it to my head!

All kinds of males were in my half of the onsen: young, old, tall, short, fat, skinny, etc. Yet it seemed to me that nobody was even slightly concerned about others – their size or shape – but was just there to enjoy a bath. I have of course been in lockers before, but I’ve not seen such a large number of people wandering around naked, and not in the least concerned that everyone else was naked too. So I was very surprised on returning to the locker room on one occasion, a room with about a dozen naked men in it, to find a cleaner mopping the floor between all the men and generally tidying up the dressing areas (basins, mirrors, hair dryers, etc). She (yes, she!) seemed blissfully unaware that she was in room full of naked men, and they also completely ignored her, as they were busy getting dressed, or dried. It tells me a lot about the idea of the bath.

After a while luxuriating, and having tried everything at least once, I decided to have lunch, which required putting my pyjamas back on and going to the lunch room, which was mixed (so that people could eat with their partners or families). It was a lovely room with lovely food, and not too expensive. Everyone is wearing the same pyjamas, men and women alike (except for the choice of colour) and people all looked very relaxed, as I was. [I could take a few snaps here on my phone, on which I also enjoyed some free wifi]

The surrounds of the onsen were all spotless – indeed, gleaming – and it was a beautiful place to spend a few hours. There were also shops, of course, mostly selling food and other souvenirs of various kinds.

I am frankly surprised, given the amount of food that seems to be sold, that people here are not heavier than they are. Maybe it’s all the walking up and down hills?

What a wonderful experience! Thoroughly recommended, if you have the chance. I was completely refreshed and relaxed after it all, and pleased that I had ‘taken the plunge’. [But don’t misunderstand that! swimming in the baths is almost as unacceptable as washing in them!] It’s a terrifically democratic experience, too. you don’t know whether the chap next to you in the bath is manager of an international corporation, the local MP or a local street-cleaner. Without our clothes and other trappings, we’re all just human beings.

If you get to Japan, and even (or especially!) if you are anatomically unhappy with yourself as too tall, short, thin, fat or otherwise ‘unacceptable’, forget all that. Nobody will be even slightly concerned about that, and you can simply enjoy a decent bath. If you’re interested further in this little town, see this website.

I’ll do this again, I hope, one day.

The Lonely Planet Guide described Dotombori in Osaka in two ways. They said it was an example of “evolution: survival of the flashiest”, and also suggested that, if Lady Gaga was a city, this would be it. I think they got it right on both counts. As you can tell from the picture above, ‘flashy’ is an apt description.

But first, the process of getting there. I’ve not found Osaka as easy to navigate as Tokyo, but maybe that’s just my unfamiliarity. I stumbled upon the extraordinary Namba Walk from Namba Station that seems to go for miles (well, at least hundreds of metres!), and needs its own map to navigate. The walk comprises shops and shops and shops and restaurants and shops and restaurants … and lots of people going to and from train stations or to eat and drink and shop. (This picture is unusually empty)

I was greatly surprised to see a few familiar paintings on the wall (reproductions, of course), and only then noticed that I was in the Chicago Gallery in Namba Walk, with reproductions from the Art Institute of Chicago, one of my favourite museums. (Click on the pictures to see them in full).

There are other walking arcades around the area, too, with wonderful high ceilings, as typical Japanese ‘shopping streets’ often seem to have. And lots of signs! More and more shops and signs and people and unusually (for Japan) noisy.

Many of the little side streets off the walking arcades  look OTT as well, such as these examples with their signs and lavish use of electrical cables.

But Dotomobori Arcade itself, a hundred metres or so of street, was completely over the top – a riot of restaurants, bars, shops, etc all competing (very loudly) for customers with spruikers everywhere and advertising banners like I’ve not seen elsewhere.

If you’re not some sort of showman, you’ll not survive here long in business, as the LP suggested, encouraging flashiness. Lots of the advertising actually moves, too! The crab legs, for example. The Fugu fish are a particular Japanese specialty and prominent in advertising; I’ve not tried them, but I think they can be poisonous if you’re not careful. (I’m careful.)

Behind the arcade is a small canal, and it looks a bit quieter and more refined (until you look up!)

At night, the lights come on and it looks like sideshow alley, with lots of neon lighting everywhere. It felt completely safe, however.

In the middle of all the madness, however, there is a little Japanese Temple, Hozen-ji, which seemed to be a slight relief from the mayhem around it:

Just in case you thought that everything in Japan is peaceful, quiet and restful; if you have such an illusion, come to Dotombori.

Unforgettable.

I think I’ve always liked buildings, and of many different kinds. I enjoy old temples, Greek ruins, skyscrapers, English manor houses, Japanese castles, churches, etc. I’ve been lucky enough to see some fabulous buildings over the years, but (perhaps like Prince Charles?) I don’t like boring buildings. [But, to be fair, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and what I find boring, others might actually like.] So I was attracted to Osaka’s wonderful Umeda Sky Building, pictured above, and it was the first thing I headed for after arriving.

It’s a fabulous modern building, with an observation area on top, to which I headed. Getting to the top involves going on an escalator between the two towers, however – a slightly scary experience! Here they are (one up and the other down) from the ground level:

And this is what they look like from the inside, as you are about to launch off on a ride between the towers, as well as from above, once you’ve arrived. It’s a spectacular sight and feeling. And of course I was pleased that the steps moved all by themselves, and didn’t need me to climb!

As you’ll expect, although the building is not super high (I think around 40 stories), there’s a pretty good view of the city from the observation platform at the top. Here are a few snaps to prove it. (Click on them if you wish, for a better view).

I’m embarrassed to say that I did not realise there was so much water around Osaka until I saw it from above, and nor did I know there was a downtown ferris wheel! The airport is very close to the city, and it’s always interesting to look down on planes …  I watched the trains going over the railway bridge for a while: there were often three, four and even five in view at once. You can see what’s happening in a city and what it looks like from this height.

The observation area itself was interesting, as it was constructed on the ground first and then lifted to the top as a block (of more than 1000 tons!) after the towers were built! Wow! It took about seven hours, but I’m nonetheless amazed at such a feat. Apparently, it was the first building to use this technique.

Another interesting aspect was the floor below the observation deck, which had nice pods to sit in (with friends) and from which one could watch the world out there. Those of you who know my views about selfies will not be surprised at my reaction to the two young ladies, sitting up high in a coffee shop lookout of one of the world’s great buildings, with fabulous views to see, and who took a photo – of themselves! Ye gods!

Wherever I walked around and in the building, I was greeted with wonderful views, such as the following few examples. I enjoyed looking down on next-door’s helipad!

There was an interesting display in the observation area of famous buildings. This snapshot shows just a few of them (click it to see them), but you’ll probably recognise some of these (such as the Eiffel Tower, La Sagradia Familia,The Temple of Heaven, The Taj Mahal, etc.). This particular building was named by a Times of London journalist a few years back as one of the top 20 buildings in the world. No doubt others have other lists, but I certainly enjoyed seeing it and being in it briefly.

Architects, like artists and poets, deserve to be named. Bravo Hiroshi Hara!

There are many other examples of lovely architecture in Osaka, some parts of which have a great feel. For example, this is the new Osaka train station (in the background on  the left). I loved the human touch of benches to sit on outside, too. And, being Japan, there is no litter at all anywhere. (People take their litter with them or deposit it in the place from which they bought it.)

The feeling of spaciousness inside newer train stations is extraordinary, as these snaps suggest. One of them at least is the Osaka station and another is the new Namba station elsewhere in the city (my recollection is hazy). It must be very satisfying to work as an architect and to be allowed to create spaces for people like these, but which nonetheless fulfilled their function as well.

Similarly, the examples below caught my imagination, too. Lovely shapes, designed for the joy of making something lovely. And of course, the mathematics is everywhere …

These are all newer pieces of architecture, clearly, but for me they added a nice feel to the city. I hope you like them too.

The view from the top of Miyashima Island has been described as one of the three top scenic views in Japan, so I had determined to see it. (They were described as uninterrupted 36o degree views, hardly a surprise as they’re on top!) But with sore feet after the temple experience, and because of the hot weather I decided to get the available ropeway there and back (a ropeway in Japan is what I had previously called a cable car), rather than just one way and walking back as originally planned. I regard this as evidence that I am getting smarter as I get older – albeit scanty.

En route to the ropeway, I stopped to rest my feet and have some lunch. I spotted a deer outside the restaurant and inside noticed that they used tatami mats for seating around tables. There are many deer on Miyajima Island, all quite tame and this one looked as hungry as me. I’ve long ago stopped sitting on the floor to eat, however, and had chosen a chair with my table … further evidence of advancing wisdom.

I always worry a bit about cablecars, to be honest. I can all too easily imagine the effects of a little bit of rust, a little bit of metal fatigue, an unusual response to environmental stress, etc. But I threw all caution to the winds and took off up the mountain, which tops out at 535 m.

Actually, there were two successive ropeways in this case, the first one with a smaller car than the second. Both show the luxuriant tree growth on the island, and both proceeded without incident (phew!). A nice thing about a small cable car is that you can meet others, of course, similarly imperilled, and in this case I met a lovely family holidaying from Tokyo. I even tried to engage the older child (a boy) in English conversation, ready for the return to school tomorrow, especially as he had not yet done his homework. [I was surprised to find children got lots of summer holiday homework, which is rare in Australia.]

Once we reached the top, the view was indeed terrific. I could se parts of the ‘inland sea’ between Honshu and Shikoku, including some islands. The heat made it a bit hazy, but I was still pleased to be there.

However, the climb was not over, as there was a walk to the top of the mountain. This proved to be very hard in the heat, with my feet still complaining from the temple walk and because it was quite steep. I did not have to climb (in the Hillary and Tensing sense), but it was tough going. Made me realise that although my brain still thinks I’m about 22 or so, my body has better evidence of my age, and I was uneasy about getting to the top observatory before it closed at 4 pm.

Along the way there were small temples, some founded by the same man who founded Daisho-in temple, as described in another blog. Reikado Hall is quite famous it seems for housing a fire that has been burning for 1200 years! The same fire was used as a pilot to light the flame of remembrance in Hiroshima’s Peace Park (as described briefly in another blog), making an interesting and unexpected connection of my two blogs. But all I noticed on the way up, having stopped at the temple to catch my breath (only just successfully) was that there were still more stairs to climb! (Click on the images to expand them, and see the stairs for yourself).

So I trudged on up the hill, determined not to be beaten, against the advice of my feet. To prove I actually made it, here is a picture of the observatory, at the top, which was a very welcome sight. I’m pleased that Mt Misen was not 540 m high … I don’t know that I could have made another five metres!

I rarely indulge in selfies, having already a pretty good idea of what I look like, even under conditions of heat stress, but on this occasion I succumbed to a suggestion of my companion family (who had reached the summit some time before me) to recognise my success with a photo:

The view was indeed magnificent, and in all directions. I was able to see more of the Inland Sea and of course across to Hiroshima, from whence I had come for the day out. here are a few snaps:

And here is a picture of my travelling companions and myself, enjoying the comforts of the observatory before tackling the descent. They were very pleasant company.

The trip down the hill was a little easier, after the success of the climb. I paused occasionally to capture the views, and especially liked seeing some of the trees against the sea, even dead trees:

In all, a wonderful day’s outing to Miyajima, that made me glad I came, despite the physical hardships. It’s a lovely place, and I can now see why some people prefer to stay overnight at the island to enjoy its many charms, but at a more relaxed pace. The sense of achievement in reaching goals is pretty nice too, as even my feet probably agree.