To mourn a mischief that is past and gone is the next way to draw new mischief on.
William Shakespeare, “Othello”
Table of Contents
13 April 2023
- 8:05-8:15 Kawaramachi Matsubara to Kyoto station bus, 8:50-12:50 Kyoto station to Takayama bus centre bus
- Takayama old town: mitarashi-dango, buying a samue… (1h)
- Dinner @ Aji-hei: a bunch of local specialties
Today I left Kyoto, feeling fed up.
The direct bus to Takayama was strangely empty. A handful of Japanese people, a European couple, and me. I thought people would be flocking to the festival.
This, alongside the long distance, long ride time, and konbini stops along the way, gave me a strong Hokkaido déjà vu, where I’d done pretty much the same. Taking technologically-advanced, albeit crowded, trains was great, yet crossing a country on a bus with minimal passengers felt more special.
Takayama was almost as empty when I arrived. I visited the tourist information centre; Hebrew was among the languages of the many maps. The lady at the counter didn’t bat an eyelid upon hearing I was from Israel. Bad omen.
Another bad omen: rain forecast for the day after tomorrow. The second day of the festival would most likely be cancelled.
At least my hostel, booked seven months in advance, was fantastic. Mere minutes from the station and the old town, where the festival would take place. Cute building, rustic and traditional vibe, and a staff that helped me plan my itinerary for today.
Takayama Old Town
I headed straight to the old town. Déjà vu to Higashi-chaya in Kanazawa. It was teensy tiny, but the streets were preserved, and no less than seven sake breweries graced them. I ate mitarashi-dango, a local specialty. Instead of being sweet the way dango always was, it was dipped in soy sauce.
Then I stumbled upon the only shop around selling traditional Japanese garb. There was one samue (everyday winter outfit) that caught my eye. I asked what the time the shop would close, in case I changed my mind, and left with my fingers as far away as possible from my wallet.
There wasn’t much else to do, after checking out the preserved streets. I ran into the European couple from the bus this morning three times. I saw a rescued cat café, which I would’ve entered, if I hadn’t done so yesterday in Kyoto. My FOMO forced me to return to the kimono shop, where I bought the samue for the festival tomorrow.
Finally, I grabbed some food from a small, family-run grocery store, and ate it at my hostel. Takayama was my kind of city, in the sense that everything in its centre was a 5–10-minute walk away.
Inside the hostel, there weren’t any tables left, so I asked a couple of cool Australian girls a little older than me if I could sit at theirs. We talked a bunch, and later went to a large chain grocery store together (I’d asked the staff about a shop where I might find black sticky rice). They only had regular black rice. I bought it anyway, hoping the pudding would turn out okay.
Back near the hostel, the Aussies and I split up. They returned to the hostel to make dinner, while I went to an izakaya recommended to me by the staff.
The izakaya was full of locals, with only one foreigner. A good sign. I waited a short while for a seat at the counter. Soon enough, I was served two Hida region specialties: braised tofu, potatoes, and pickles; a magnolia leaf grilled with miso and leak; and Hida sake. To cap it all, complimentary pickled cucumber AND fresh cucumber.
The sake was incredible. I left the izakaya stuffed – a rarity in Japan – and tipsy, satisfied despite paying twice my budget, before settling on a couch at the hostel’s common area. The Aussies were there, in addition to an American guy and a Danish guy, all around my age as well. We spent around two hours together, and made plans to attend the festival tomorrow.
Today’s highlights: riding a long-distance through the Japanese countryside to the Alps; dinner at the izakaya; and hanging out with fellow guests in the lounge before bed.
14 April 2023
- Quick stop at the morning market
- 8:30-11:00 the gathering of the floats
- 11:00-11:40 Karakuri performance @ Takayama Shrine
- 13:00 Beginning of procession @ Hie Shrine
- 13:30 Lion dance @ Domae Shrine
- 13:30-16:00 Enjoying the rest of the procession
- 16:00-18:00 Resting at the hostel
- 18:00-20:00 night festival
- Dinner: conveyor belt sushi @ Hamazushi
- Arcade @ SEGA world Takayama
Takayama Morning Market
Today started early, as I’d wanted to check out the morning market before the festival would begin. I donned my new samue and jinbei from Kyoto underneath, and headed out with the American guy at 8:00. There was a 7/11 a minute away from the hostel, and inside, the elusive salmon and cream cheese sandwich.
We took the last two and some snacks for the festival. The market was small and underwhelming, with mostly produce and souvenirs.
It was 8:30. The old town was packed. Yatai floats, decorated with golden carvings, were already being stationed in various locations, while festival participants were playing the flute. I heard so much Hebrew, that it felt like I was in Tel Aviv.
The American guy and I temporarily split up. I walked to Hie Shrine, where the festival was supposed to begin. The streets leading up to it were bizarrely empty. Why was everyone looking at the unprepared floats, instead of queuing at the festival’s main shrine?
It was just a few Japanese attenders and me up there. Crazy, the difference in atmosphere a block could make. They were a bit surprised to see me among them. Maybe because I was wearing a samue.
We watched festival participants walk into the shrine and pray. I listened to their music but ultimately left, after realising the procession was due to depart the shrine at 13:00, rather than 9:30 like I’d assumed.
“似合ってる,” an old Japanese woman said on my way back, pointing at my samue. (“It suits you.”)
But my big, blue, half-torn backpack and Luigi side bag weren’t doing the samue any favours. Moreover, I had to pee like crazy, and there were no restrooms in plain sight. So I made a quick stop at my hostel, where I changed to a smaller bag.
“似合ってる,” one of the staff said.
Feeling better about yesterday’s unplanned expense, I returned to Tel Aviv the old town and joined the hostel gang, who had already queued up for the Karakuri performance at 11:00.
Takayama Festival
Karakuri was a form of traditional Japanese theatre involving mechanical puppets. Very slow, very abstract. Required comfort and patience – things I lacked, standing for an hour and a half among a horde of spectators.
After the performance, I was so thirsty, having abstained from all liquids, that I got a refreshing mint ice cream. I split from the group again, wanting to return to Hie Shrine, and ran on the way into the European couple from yesterday.
Takayama the kind of place where you constantly ran into acquaintances. An Israeli couple from Hiroshima, for example, who I’d had dinner with. The Dutch girl I’d met on Yoshino Mountain. We reunited at 13:00, after watching the procession leave the shrine.
It took five whole minutes for all the participants to walk through the torii. There was a seemingly endless variety in their traditional garments and roles: children in lion costumes, flute players wearing double layered masks with a mouth cut-out underneath, gong players, etc.
We queued up at Domae Shrine for the brief lion dance, enacted by children. Then, both of us being vegetarians, ate Nozawana oyaki – steamed bun with green pickles, a regional specialty – by the river, with cherry petals falling on us like in a pink blizzard.
I ran into the European couple yet again… for the fifth time… it was fun talking to them each time.
Before we knew it, it was 16:00, and the procession had come to an end. The Takayama gang and I returned to rest at the hostel (now with the Dutch girl as well), everyone feeling exhausted, until we went to queue up for the night festival at 18:00. Bats were flying above the darkening streets.
We were standing right next to a bridge, which was off-limits. A Japanese man and a French student of Japanese from Okinawa were next to us. The Japanese man gestured at the bridge, where you could see the floats leaving their point of origin from another bridge. I followed them and beheld three yatais shining in the darkness – yet a police officer urged us to keep moving, rather than stay on the bridge – and I found myself on the other side, my way back blocked by another officer, and separated from my new friends, the Japanese man, the French student, and my bag.
The last point didn’t occur to me until much later. I wasn’t worried about leaving my belongings with the people from the hostel. But I couldn’t manage to reunite with them. Everywhere was a complete standstill, with all the bridges being blocked by officers.
I dashed through some back alleys and did a detour until I found my way back to a main street, so I’d be able to at least watch the procession. It was better than during the day, because the yatai’s lights at night made them stand out even more. Men of all ages were bearing the floats, from young to old. I kept waving at the children sitting up on them. This sort of thing had been happening a lot on my trip: Japanese kids loved waving at foreigners and saying “haro” in a thick accent. I knew the kids from tonight noticed me, being the only spectator (local or foreigner) in traditional Japanese garb. It did strike me as a bit odd that all the festival attenders today, even the Japanese, were wearing Western clothes.
Sushi and Arcades
At 20:00, after all eleven floats continued past the street and crossing was allowed, I reunited with the gang. We walked twenty minutes to a conveyor belt sushi. There was no table large enough for the eight of us, so we split into adjacent ones.
Even though the fish were among the worst I’d had in Japan, I still had a blast – conveyor belts were always funny, and hanging out with everyone couldn’t have been more enjoyable. We hit the SEGA arcade next door afterwards (my first arcade in Japan) and took a bunch of silly, heavily-filtered pictures at a photo booth. Finally, we walked back to the hostel and talked a bunch on the street at night. We all agreed the thing we would miss the most about Japan would be the toilets.
The American guy would be leaving first thing tomorrow morning, while the Aussies and I on the day after. I didn’t want to part ways with him. It was yet another farewell to a person I appreciated and wished to spend more time with.
How many premature goodbyes was that by now? I’d lost count. There was a slight chance of us meeting next week in Tokyo, though.
I went to bed exhausted from this long day but content with the festival I’d attended and the friends I’d made.
Today’s highlights: seeing yatai floats paraded around; witnessing prayer at Hie Shrine with only a handful of Japanese visitors; mint ice cream; running into acquaintances and reuniting with travelling pals; the procession; the night festival; conveyor belt sushi dinner; and the photo booth at the arcade.
15 April 2023
- 10:40-11:40 Takayama bus center to Hirayu bus center bus
- Hirayu no mori Onsen (2h)
- Lunch @ Hirayu no Mori restaurant
- Onsen round two (1h)
- 16:30-17:30 Hirayu bus center to Takayama bus center bus
- Dinner: quail eggs and black rice pudding at hostel
Slow morning. Waking up without an alarm and chilling, before deciding to do a day trip to an onsen.
I didn’t mind that the festival had been cancelled today. One full day was more than enough. On the contrary, even if it hadn’t rained, I wouldn’t have attended the second day, since it was identical to the first (minus the night festival). After yesterday, taking it slow and relaxing at an onsen was just what I’d needed.
Onsen at Oku-Hida
So I boarded the bus to Oku-Hida, AKA Rotenburo Paradise. The region with the most open-air baths in Japan. The bus was expensive, but this would be my last rotenburo for this trip.
Sitting next to me were two Israeli solo travellers in their early twenties, headed to the same onsen – and staying in a nearby hostel in Takayama. The staff at both accommodations had recommended this place to us.
The ride was gorgeous, through tiny, hillside villages with traditional homes and sakuras in their backyard. I’d been seeing Sakura on a daily basis since March 17th. But snow was a marvel I hadn’t witnessed in a while. There was some residues on the streets – not powered like Hokkaido’s, but still – a sight I welcomed with open arms.
We arrived at one of the best onsens I’d been too. Two indoor baths and no less than seven outdoors ones. To cap it all, it was half price from what I’d grown used to pay, for such an expansive complex.
Milky water, white minerals, smelly sulphur – and a view of the misty alps. It was drizzling so lightly, that if raindrops hadn’t been hitting the water, I wouldn’t have noticed.
I soaked for the two hours with the Israeli guy, chatting with him and a couple of locals. The onsen water felt like fifty degrees inside some of the pools, so much that our skin turned red after a while.
We met the Israeli girl at the onsen’s restaurant, where I had the Hoba miso set (a local specialty that included the miso dish on a leaf). After lunch, the two Israelis left, while I wanted to soak again. This fantastic rotenburo would be my final one.
On the way back to Takayama, the fog was so dense, that sometimes the bus went right through it. Like driving through a cloud.
All the rides of the last few days made me jumpy and giddy, and I couldn’t stop dreaming about experiencing this sort of thing for days to come. Soon the last plane of my trip would be gone. It worried me. I was in a hurry to chase the world and my dreams, yet I was going nowhere.
A Bittersweet Dinner at the Hostel
Back at the hostel, I boiled quail eggs I’d gotten at a nearby grocery store (only a hundred yen for a pack of those) and tasted them for the first time. Then I made a black rice pudding, gave a portion to the nice staff, and ate dinner with the Australian girls.
We got around to talking about relationships. I found myself talking about the Japanese guy from the digital detox ryokan for the second day in a row. He was still in my thoughts.
They berated me for being a blind idiot who’d missed all the signs and chickened out of asking him for his number.
When the conversation turned to dating apps, one of the Aussies said she enjoyed first dates for the excitement of meeting someone new. This was how I’d felt at that moment, and overall on this trip. I had the best time with them for the third day in a row.
“It feels like this is my life now,” I said. “That I live here and spend every day with you. And I love that – and can’t believe tomorrow it will be over.”
For the umpteenth time on this trip, I hung out with people I felt like I’d known forever. Almost as if they’d become a constant presence in my life.
But then it was over. And I couldn’t have been sadder about it. Because I’d never expected for this sort of thing to happen on this trip, let alone on a weekly basis. More often than not, twice a week. I’d lost count of the number of times this had transpired.
Back home, I’d always struggled to find my tribe. I’d had friends, and people I’d been friendly with. But finding individuals whose wavelengths matched mine – that was rare. And I doubted it was because I’d been meeting more people on this trip than in my daily life in Israel. It had more to do with the fact that those colorful people had come from all over the world. Lately, such as in Kyoto and Takayama, I’d also hung out with a few Israelis, and the vibe wasn’t the same. Sometimes, it was off. Israeli people and I didn’t usually get along. When it came to me, their minds tended to be closed.
It simply proved how I really did not belong in that country, and how there were indeed people for me out there, elsewhere on Earth. Once again, I felt appreciative of our encounter and time together, yet crestfallen by its conclusion.
It was so easy to feel myself settling into a routine that made me happy: sleeping in the center of a small city (or old town), braving a cold climate up in the alps, eating food I liked, experiencing a culture I valued, and being around people I had the easiest time talking to from the get go. People I didn’t want to stop talking to. Who I would change my plans just to be around, if our schedules were a little more flexible.
That was the thing about travel. The friends you made and food you ate mattered no less than the places you visited.
I might see the Aussies again on their last day in Tokyo. Hopefully, it would work out.
Today’s highlights: smelling sulphur again for the first time in weeks and soaking in amazing outdoor baths; crossing fog on the way back; trying quail eggs for the first time; black rice pudding; and dinner with the Aussies.
16 April 2023
- 9:40-10:50 Takayama station to Inotani station train, 11:05-11:55 Inotani station to Toyama station train
- Tourist information center, Alpine Route ticket office, dropping luggage at hostel, buying a new Alpine Route ticket…
- 13:25-13:35 Suwanokawara station to Toyama station tram, 14:05-14:20 Toyama to Namerikawa station train
- Hotaruika Museum (~1h)
- 17:15-17:30 Namerikawa station to Toyama station train
- Toyama castle and river
Leaving Takayama this morning and all the people from the last few days was sad.
I took two slow, local trains instead of a direct limited express. At Itodani station, I heard the same music from the festival from afar. A small parade was playing it nearby.
Toyama
How could I describe the road to Toyama without sounding like a broken record? Gorgeous gorges, green mountains, and red bridges. A beautiful region.
Toyama, on the other hand, looked like a boring city. The wind was blowing like crazy. Still wearing my samue, I grew cold.
I headed straight to the tourist information centre, to ask if I could change the time of my ticket for Tateyama Kurobe Alpine Route, tomorrow’s day trip. Last week, there was only one slot left, for 13:20.
“That’s a bit late,” the staff said. “You’ll have to run.”
But I could still make changes to the reservation until 16:00 today. I went to the ticket office at the adjacent Dentestu-Toyama station to ask them how. They said that tomorrow morning, the weather would be bad.
I preferred a full day with a few hours of bad weather over half a day of rushed sightseeing. So I dropped off my luggage at my hostel, opened my laptop, and – lo and behold – there had been a few last-minute cancellations. I cancelled my booking (for a full refund) and snagged the 9:00 spot. Sweet.
Then I took the tram back to the station for my only destination for today.
Hotaruika Museum
Last night, one of the Aussies mentioned a unique feature of Toyama: Hotaruika, bioluminescent firefly squids that glowed in the dark. April was the only time of the year – and Toyama Bay the only place – where one could see them.
Hotaruika Museum was dedicated to them, in Namerikawa, a tiny city northeast of Toyama. Since I’d made zero plans for today, I decided this would be it.
Going from a teeming Takayama and spending all my time surrounded by new friends to walking the streets of Namerikawa all alone felt strange. But then I saw a bunch of cyclists and people with signs pointing them the way and saying “お疲れ様です”. Apparently there was a cycling event today near the coast.
Seagulls and gales. A roaring beach. Snow-capped alps. Needless to say, I was the only foreigner.
The museum, on the coast as well, was shaped like a ship. There was a small market that sold fresh grilled hotaruika. They were so tiny, that you had to eat all of them in one bite. I grabbed one, apprehension twisting my face.
“It’s okay,” one of the clerks said in a half-chuckle.
I put it in my mouth. Immediate regret.
It was so gross, that I couldn’t even chew it. The clerks were all staring at me and laughing. I kept apologizing while the squid was still in my mouth, until they handed me a tissue to spit it out. One of my most embarrassing and offensive moments in Japan.
Still tasting the squid on my tongue, I entered the museum. It was small and not too crowded. But it held the distinction of being the only place in the world where one could see (and touch!) live firefly squids.
I felt kind of bad about the whole thing. These were animals taken from their natural habitat, for the sake of food and entertainment.
But then I attended the theatre show, which provided detailed explanations about the squid, its three bioluminescent organs, and reason for coming in spring to Toyama Bay. Most of the squids were females who had laid off their eggs near the coast after reproducing in the ocean. Thus, they only had a couple of days left to live.
Every night, around 3:00, museum staff sailed on a boat to fish them. It was possible (yet expensive) to join this cruise. One of the Aussies had mentioned this as the only way to see the squids glow in the ocean.
But inside the theatre, the instructor turned off all the lights. The room grew pitch-dark. And in a small pool, firefly squids began to glow.
“This year few squids had come to the bay,” the instructor said, “but last night many were caught for today.”
After the show, I noticed another white guy in his twenties. He was an American expat who had come to Toyama to teach English. We shared a lot in common – writing blogs about Japan, wanting to settle here for good – and explored the museum together.
We touched firefly squids. They were small and delicate, and the freezing water, intended to mimic their habitat, made my fingers hurt within seconds.
There were a few other marine creatures inside water tanks, such as a giant isopod and lanterneyes (glowing, alien-like fish in dark rooms). Finally, we headed outside.
Toyama’s weather was like climate change on acids. Raining cats and dogs for a minute, then sunny. My companion said this region had always enjoyed such a rapidly-changing climate.
The gales made us wonder if firefly squids would be washed ashore. I considered looking for them on Toyama’s beaches tonight, yet the staff at the museum said firefly squid stranding was so extraordinary, that they have never seen it, either. This phenomenon was too rare and complicated, time-wise, for me to attempt it and return to my hostel by 21:00 (latest check in time). At least I got to see and touch them up close.
The American expat and I walked back to the station. A few middle graders greeted us enthusiastically in English. I jouzu’d them the same way Japanese people jouzu’d me.
We only had like an hour and a half together, but once again, I found myself partaking in another premature farewell.
He was someone I could see myself becoming friends with. Which was, what, the third time this week I’d felt this? It was almost like the universe was playing tricks on me. “Here, meet all these fantastic people at a dazzling rate, only to kiss tell them goodbye.”
I never expected for this sort of thing to happen over and over again. Travel was a double-edged sword: it led you to marvelous places, only to pull the rug from under your feet.
After the expat boarded the eastbound train, I crossed to the westbound platform, when I noticed something just as miraculous as those squids.
A rainbow. I could see where it started and where it ended. Suddenly, I appreciated Toyama’s flippant weather.
Toyama Castle
Back at Toyama station, I bought a box of masu-no-sushi, per the expat’s recommendation. A local specialty, it was the oldest form of a bento box in Japan: a pressed sushi with salted trout, wrapped in bamboo leaves inside a wooden box.
On the way to the hostel, I made a detour through the castle grounds and river. I appreciated Toyama better after this scenery. A crane was flying as far away from me as possible, no matter how stealthily I tried to approach it.
Outside the small castle, a symphony (or cacophony?) of crows and cranes. Ducks, too. The castle had closed by now, and regardless, I didn’t wish to enter it.
Finally, I checked into my hostel. It was run by local students, so the atmosphere was great. It was also traditional – tatami mats, a common area with one giant kotatsu. Even the dormitory had tatami, and when one of the staff members put my suitcase on it, I exclaimed my horror. It was a well-known fact that luggage did not belong on tatami. Maybe here they didn’t care.
I got two complimentary tickets for the tram (neat, considering the price for a bed was already low). There was only one other guest at the hostel, a middle-aged Russian expat who’d been staying here for almost two months.
We all socialised in the living room around the kotatsu. They prepared dinner for themselves and for a couple of friends who’d come from Tokyo. I shared my masu-no-sushi with everyone and went out to the Lawson across the street to buy some snacks to share as well, leaving my laptop and charger on the table. Where else in the world would I feel comfortable enough to do that? Leave my valuables near strangers I’d just met?
Upon my return, they’d set the table with their food, and invited me to join their meal.
Salad, sashimi, soup, okonomiyaki… tons of bottles of sake. They put on J-Pop and asked many questions about Israel (having never met a Jewish or Israeli person) and my trip.
“Is it like this every night here?” I asked the Russian.
“This is the first time,” he replied.
He went upstairs soon thereafter. He could speak very little Japanese (and English).
Then the students brought out firefly squids and a crab. Horrifying. The only girl in the bunch was hard at work with the crab right next to me, teasing me with its face. But I tried a little of its flesh. It had a strong taste of sea.
It was slightly ironic (and head-scratching) how I was the only person at the table wearing traditional Japanese garb. Japanese people wore western clothes in their everyday life.
At 23:00, I excused myself and thanked them for tonight. The Russian was snoring like a truck in the dormitory. Earplugs did not help much.
Today’s highlights: the road to Toyama; trying a hotaruika, only to spit it out; Hotaruika Museum (especially touching the squids and seeing them glow in the dark); hanging out with the American expat; beholding a rainbow; and dinner with the Japanese students.
17 April 2023
- 7:05-7:15 Suwanokawara station to Toyama station tram
- Alpine Route ticket office, luggage service, 7/11…
- 8:10-9:20 Dentetsu-Toyama station to Tateyama station train, 9:30-9:38 cable car to Bijodiara, 9:45-10:35 bus to Murodo
- Murodo viewpoint and Snow Corridor (1.5h)
- 12:15-12:22 trolley car to Daikanbo
- Daikanbo viewpoint (20m)
- 12:55-13:00 cable car to Kurobedaira
- Kurobedaira viewpoint + o-yaki (1h)
- 14:20 cable car to Kurobe Dam
- Kurobe Dam (1.5h)
- 16:05-16:15 electric bus to Ogizawa, 16:35-17:05 bus to Shinano Omachi, 18:10-18:50 train to Matsumoto station
Today I woke at 5:40, almost an hour before my alarm.
I tried to doze off, to no avail. At 7:00, I checked out, and took the tram to the station. It was my first day since early March of wearing my winter coat.
Dentesu-Toyama was already full of tourists lining up for same-day tickets. I paid for a luggage service for my medium-sized suitcase, and took my newly-gifted carry-on with me. Sending one was already costly enough.
“SNOW WALL CLOSED TODAY DUE TO BAD WEATHER,” a sign read.
Great. The Snow Wall was the Alpine Route’s focal point before summer, and the reason I’d resolved to spend 15,000 yen in a single day.
Hiking was impossible as well. It was just as the staff at the ticket office had warned. Today was not a good day.
I stocked up at 7/11 (not many food opportunities up the Route) and waited for the first train. I felt too anxious and upset to eat anything. I tried to make conversation with two Israelis my age, but they ignored me.
Tateyama-Kurobe Alpine Route
The Route started with a pack of sardines cable car. I was the only one carrying a luggage. At least it was small and light.
The bus to Murodo went through narrow and winding mountain roads, with spectacular views of valleys and snowy alps. Driving through a forest of cypress trees blanketed in white gave me major Shiretoko vibes. I’d done a snowshoe trek through a forest to a frozen waterfall there on February 12.
Almost as if I was back in Hokkaido. I grew so nostalgic, that I longed to return there in winter.
When the snow became taller than the bus, I recalled Tohoku and the digital detox ryokan, where the bus got stuck on a hill for two hours and I spent half a day with the Japanese guy. February 9-21, 2023 was a magical time in my life. It had its bad moments, but they were all worth it for the things I’d done.
As the bus went uphill and I chatted to an old Japanese woman from Hiroshima, the fog grew so dense, that it was hard to tell where the snow ended and the sky began. Everything was pure white.
It was snowing heavily, but the flakes were tiny. Powdery, like Hokkaido’s.
A TV screen at the front of the bus was showing the exact same road we were crossing in summer. All green, no white. The video explained that the hell valley was closed due to volcanic activity.
Walls of snow heralded our arrival at Murodo, altitude 2,150 metres. The highest hotel in Japan. A blizzard was in full swing, flinging flakes at such a ferocity that made everyone struggle to wander and look around. Nothing was visible, apart from white.
I braved this weather and dragged my luggage up to the Snow Corridor, a shorter alternative to the Snow Wall’s 13-metre high walls. The corridor was nonetheless tall enough, that I forgot my anger at today’s weather.
Rock-hard ice walls and a snowstorm. So magical, that I spent a full hour at this small place, soaking up the atmosphere and taking pictures.
This morning, I was disappointed by the closures along the Route and the fact that I’d paid a heinous amount of money for nothing. Some people would balk at the weather I found myself in, but the truth was, I enjoyed the pure white fog. I enjoyed snowflakes hitting my face. I enjoyed dragging my suitcase on ice. I enjoyed doing snow angels and my butt freezing on the ground, taking a risk by removing a glove for the sake of a photo, only for my fingers to turn red and painful. This was the climate for me – and it would be my last day experiencing it, perhaps for years to come, perhaps forever, if I couldn’t find a way to earn money and leave Israel again. Summer was fast approaching, and even in the East everything would be hot and humid.
I hadn’t had a single bite of food since last night, hadn’t drank more than a few sips of water since waking up, and slept less than six hours. At that moment, I was neither hungry nor exhausted.
Three middle-aged Israelis were happy to take my photo and chat inside the corridor. I wondered what made the couple from this morning blatantly turn their back on my face.
After the corridor, I could’ve walked fifteen minutes to the highest onsen in Japan, but it was all indoor baths. I only cared about rotenburos.
Instead, I continued to the cable car to Daikanbo, which went through a tunnel. The viewpoint was even higher than Murodo – 2,316 metres altitude – but the blizzard made it impossible to see anything.
I ran into a family from Singapore who had witnessed the rainbow with me yesterday at Namerikawa station. Funny how the last few days had included chance encounters like this.
From Daikanbo, I took the ropeway down into a white abyss, smiling like a kid in a candy shop. This was the the longest one-span ropeway in Japan. Comprised of a single span line, it lacked any support towers between the lower and upper stations.
Nothing felt more exciting to me than penetrating the thickest fog without knowing how deep the abyss underneath this precarious ropeway was.
It led to an observation deck with a clear view of the surrounding mountains. What a marvel! What a sight! The Hokkaido déjà vu was out-roaring the blizzard. I didn’t need the Snow Wall and a clear sky to warrant this expensive day. I was on cloud nine.
I asked a solo traveller to take my photo, and before long, realised we were both from Israel. She was in her early twenties, fresh off the army. I’d chatted with several visitors today, from Japan, Hong Kong, Europe, etc., but somehow, ended up partnering with her.
“I met in Kyoto another Israeli guy,” she said. “He’s gonna do the Route tomorrow.”
I asked if he was the same guy from the onsen, who’d told me of the same intention.
“That’s the one,” she said.
We went inside the building for a light meal. This was 14:00, my first bite since last night’s dinner. I bought a vegetables and azuki o-yaki (the same bun I’d had in Takayama – a prefectural specialty – yet not as good).
“Yesterday I went to an onsen and talked to a girl from Amsterdam,” the Israeli tourist said. “She told me she’d met an Israeli guy on this trip.”
I showed her a picture of the Dutch girl I’d hung out with on Yoshino Mountain and in Takayama.
“That’s the one,” the Israeli tourist said.
I could not believe it. After visiting the onsen with the Israeli guy, I recommended it to the Dutch girl, who went there the next day. The Israeli guy recommended it to the Israeli girl, who also went there the next day. Then, the Israeli and Dutch girls met.
After recovering from this coincidence, we took the cable car to Kurobe dam, the Route’s second most famous attraction.
“Wow,” we both exclaimed, not unlike the European tourists and me in Kumano Kodo.
A green river; trees with blankets of white. No fog was there to obstruct the snowy alps.
It was so cold and windy, that pain overtook my face for the first time since Tohoku. Even moving my mouth to speak hurt. But the dam offered the most beautiful scenery I’d seen since Hokkaido.
We entered a warmed rest area with a view of dam before climbing the stairs to an observation deck. Everything was even better up here.
“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m in Japan and seeing all this,” the Israeli girl said. “If I start thinking about it, I’ll cry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over it.”
I was thinking the same thing, yet uttering it aloud would’ve hurt.
This was the last attraction on the Route, and a proper finale. From here, we took the electric bus to Ogizawa, where the mountains were barely covered in snow.
Slightly disappointed with this view, the sight of four monkeys in the parking lot soon changed our minds.
After a long bus ride to Shinano-Omachi station, in which we almost dozed off, we boarded the train, when I realised I’d forgotten to pick up my luggage. The train would depart in a few minutes. She didn’t get off it. So that was farewell.
As I returned to the station with my two suitcases and waited for the next train, I realised how, despite enjoying my time with the four or five Israelis I’d travelled with, none of our farewells had left a bittersweet taste in my mouth.
My phone battery was 4% by this point. No power sockets, nor a working power adaptor to charge it. I rode the slow, local train to Matsumoto, reminiscing over the people from this trip I did miss. The windows grew dark, and so did my mood.
That was when I heard it.
“MA-tsumotoooo! MA-tsumotooooo! MA-tsumotooooo!”
Matsumoto
I had visited many a city in Japan over the past nine weeks. Matsumoto was the only one whose name was sang, rather than announced, at the station. I was about to tear up, when the sea of passengers on the platform forced me to watch my step.
From there, I walked a straight line for 10 minutes to my hostel, my phone battery at 1%. A lot of déjà vu in that moment, both in freaking out for the umpteenth time in attempt to find my accommodation before my battery died, and in recognising the city of Matsumoto. Warm and fuzzy: like reuniting with a fellow tourist.
I made it safe and sound to my accommodation. It was nice, but yesterday’s was really special. The handful of guests didn’t really seem interested in talking, apart from an Austrian guy who shared my habit of journalling. Everyone went to bed early, and after this long yet unforgettable day, so did I.
Today’s highlights: the foggy forest road up to Murodo; the blizzard at the snow corridor; the ropway into the white abyss; chancing upon a tourist who had met the same tourists I had by pure chance; the view from Kurobe Dam; and returning to my favourite city in Japan.
Today’s song might be something only other vets could understand. It is dedicated to Pickles, Berries, and everyone in-between.