Nikko

Every man and his dog in Nikko (日光) is selling yuba.

Mum took the plunge and ordered it yesterday for lunch, without any idea what it was, or any indication of it’s composition provided by the menu. Nikko might be a tourist town, but it’s a Japanese tourist town, which doesn’t cater for international visitors in the manner that some locations do. Not that I’m complaining – the less English I see, the more I’m forced to use my Japanese knowledge. It’s got to the stage that I’ll often read the Japanese sign before even noticing the English exists. Mum is experiencing a similar phenomenon, except for her it culminates in pushing doors that clearly say “PULL” on them directly underneath “引く”. Oops.

Yesterday morning we headed up to Toshogu (東照宮) – a shrine dedicated to Tokugawa Ieyasu (徳川 家康), the shogun during the start of the 17th century. It’s an interesting place, with a number of shrines within the compound, as well as a gorgeous (if somewhat challenging on the cardiovascular system) hiking trail up through the surrounding mountains. The crowds were fairly epic – though apparently by no means comparable to the weekend and national holiday attendance – with a lot of primary school excursions, and Japanese and Korean tour groups running at the same time we were there.

The main shrine in the central area was ridiculously crowded, sometimes shoulder to shoulder for extended periods, with no possibility to move beyond a slow shuffle forward. After escaping from there, though, viewing some of the smaller buildings was thoroughly enjoyable, with only a smattering of people wandering through and saying a quick prayer.

There was also a horse stable in the grounds. According to our guide, Taiyo, the horses at Toshugu hail from New Zealand. Not sure why they imported them rather than sourcing them locally, but there you go.

Mum and I started the hike sort of by accident. The weather since we arrived in Japan has been quite muggy and warm (it may be autumn on the calendar, but the weather probably won’t cool off properly until the end of the month), and the cool, leafy path up the hill and away from the crowds was like a siren’s song. So we began to climb.

And climb. And climb. And climb. I could feel myself getting short of breath, and the pressure uilding in my ears. I could hear Mum huffing and puffing somewhere behind me. We continued on, up and up and up, till after about 3000 steps (according to my trusty pedometer) we reached the summit. After a brief rest to catch our breaths, it was down, down, down the other side.

For the most part, the track was shaded by huge trees, and the sound of the nearby river and ubiquitous chirping cicadas (セミ) our only soundtrack. Quite a number of  energetic (genki  元気*) seniors in their exercise gear were also out for a daily constitutional – testament to Japanese longevity – and exchanged “konnichiwa”s (こんにちは) with us. Country folk, as reported on expat blogs all over the internet, are far more friendly than their urban counterparts. I guess it’s easier to be so when there’s more of a community feel. Gem’s said similar things about living in Orange.

We reached a small shrine on the way down, after about 20 minutes of walking, and realised that we hadn’t seen any signposts in ages, that it was getting late and that we’d left clothes in the dryer at the ryokan (how very domestic!) which we should probably remove so that other guests could use it. After reaching a path that split into two directions – with nary a sign in sight – Mum prodded me into requesting assistance from one of the aforementioned senior gentlemen, who was consulting his map. Goody, a chance to show off my mad Jap skillz (which are nowhere near as “jouzu!” as Japanese people insist they are).

「あの、すみません。ここはどこですか。」(“Excuse me. Where are we?**”) I asked, proffering my map.

He looked at it, running his fingers over the words (why, oh why has Taiyo given us an English-only map?), then tried to compare it with his own, Japanese map, muttering a bit.

「どこのに行きますか。」(“Where are you going?”) he replied eventually, clearly having given up on actually marrying up the details.

「東照宮です。」(“To Toshogu”) I replied after an embarrassingly long pause. Like most older men, he mumbled quite markedly, and it took quite a while for what he was saying to click.

He stared at his own map for a moment, then suggested we continue along the right-hand path (don’t ask me exactly what he said – I was happy enough to have understood him). Then he proceeded to guide us back himself. This is despite having originally been heading in the other direction. The awesomeness of Japanese people, let me show you it. I’d heard stories of people going out of their way to help you, but it was still a shock to actually experience it.

After about ten minutes of walking – including a period where I thought the gentleman had misunderstood me and we were going somewhere completely different to where we intended – we turned up at the front entrance to Toshogu.

「あー！ありがとうございました！お世話になりました！」(“Thankyou very much! Thankyou for looking after us!”) I babbled, with Mum thanking him in English beside me.

「気を付けてね」(“Look after yourselves”) he replied, and off he went.

After that, we wandered back to the ryokan, rescued our laundry, and headed out for lunch. Japanese people tend to eat earlier than we do – it was nearly three in the afternoon and a lot of places looked like they were wrapping up lunch service. We ended up at Matsubaya, a restaurant high on a hill with a light, airy, spacious dining area (unusual in this part of the world) and a limited English menu. I looked at the Japanese menu, but there weren’t a lot of familiar terms. I ended up going with tempura zaru udon (tempura-ed everything but the kitchen sink – including pumpkin with the skin still attached, and a prawn with half its shell still on – and cold soba with a soy-infused dipping sauce). It was possibly the most expensive meal so far, at 1300円 for me, and 1000円 for Mum, but it was good value, at least infosar as I was concerned.

Mum offered me a taste of her yuba, which was white and wrinkly and generally unidentifiable. I grabbed some with my chopsticks and popped in in my mouth. “Tastes like intestines, doesn’t it?” she said conversationally. “I think it’s intestines.” I stopped mid-chew and tried not to gag.

In the afternoon, we took a wander up the road in search of the bake jizo, but were distracted by the Imperial Villa, which we stumbled upon by chance. It was a fairly unassuming building from the front, but Mum was keen and so in we went.

It was worth it. The villa itself went on and on, opening up in different directions, with wings for servants and visitors, enclosed gardens, a billiards room, sitting rooms, bathrooms, a study. Then there was the garden – beautifully designed, beautifully maintained. All of it was in true, understated Japanese style.

We had dinner at a local tavern that caters for foreign visitors, with its walls covered in foreign money (a few Aussie fives and tenners were spotted), handwritten notes, student cards, drivers licences (expired, I assume) and business cards. It served a variety of standard Japanese dishes (日本料理) – yakitori, yakiudon, yakisoba, gyoza, ramen, mix rice. Half the menu was dedicated to vegetarian dishes. Yay! I’m usually fairly safe in Japan, with the strong seafood-eating culture, but menus are sometimes heavy on the meat and low on anything else, and after a failed attempt to eat chicken on the flight over, other options were more than welcome.

On our second and last day in Nikko, Mum and I made our second attempt to find the bake jizo. This time we had more success. Total success, in fact. They turbed out to be a few minutes walk from the ryokan, though we entered the walking track from the other end, which was about 40 minutes walk up the main road through Nikko.

Once again, a beautiful, leafy walking track with dappled sun peeking through in places. I’m sure when the leaves start to turn in a few weeks, it will start to look spectacular. Anyone willing to make a return trip with me for autumn?

The bake jizo are statues that line the banks of the river. Apparently, their snappy dressing is the work of local monks.

After dropping in for a little while at the ryokan, we headed back down toward to central Nikko to take a look at the shops. Sadly, it was a disappointment. Tourist-geared by run down, they were a bit of a sad sight. We heard later from someone in our tour group that there was better shopping to be had up in the mountains, near the waterfall. We know for next time.

It was time to head off to the train station, so we high-tailed it to the ryokan, grabbed our luggage, jumped in a taxi, and went back to JR Nikko station. Next stop: Hakone.

*  Genki does not strictly mean energetic, but it is the word the Japanese would use in this situation. There isn’t a direct translation into English – it’s sort of a mix of energetic, healthy, happy and a few other things that aren’t coming to mind at this late hour.

**  Not a direct translation – that would be more like “Here is where?”. Consider it an insight into Engrish – that’s pretty much the direct result of using English words with a Japanese grammatical structure.

Tagged as: japan 09, Travel