Monday, 5 November 2012
It's presence had, up to this point on the trip, been more or less inevitable. We had a week on the road, heading up into the cold country, with no idea how much warm clothing was going to constitute enough, and an understandable degree of caution as far as wet weather was concerned.
Having passed Kobe on the southward leg the day before we were back in territory where it was theoretically going to be warmer, so it made sense to take all the cold weather gear and despatch it, along with everything else deemed surplus to requirements, off to The Mother's place.
Despatching that material, of course, requires a container, and since the Black Monster is the only one on hand that's going to be big enough it's a case of Bye Bye Monster, see you on the final day, when we'll be resorting the possessions into two suitcases and loading Madam's suitcase with Japanese comestibles and reading matter.
There's a certain amount of economic sense in the move as well. Over the next two days we'd probably have been looking to stow the Monster in a coin locker at ¥600/day, thank you very much, so at an anticipated cost of ¥1600 to ship it back to Kobe, we're actually ahead if a third day in a coin locker had turned out to be necessary.
As it turned out, we got change out of ¥1500, so we were slightly further ahead, and a quick squiz at the coin lockers at Okayama Station suggested the Monster may have been too wide to fit in anyway.
Of course, having made that decision and bundled things up, Madam checks the weather and finds what looks like an extremely nasty cold front heading in our direction, having just killed two Japanese tourists on the Great Wall of China.
The day's agenda this time around involves a train ride over the Seto-ohashi Bridge to Shikoku, followed by a couple of hours in Okayama before heading down through Hiroshima to an overnight stop on the doorstep of Miyajima, so we're back in history and geography lesson time again.
Officially they might refer to the Seto-ohashi Bridge, but there are actually six bridges spanning five islands that connect Kojima in Okayama Prefecture on the main island of Honshu with Sakaide in Shikoku's Kagawa Prefecture. Built between 1978 and 1988, the thirteen kilometre stretch connecting Hitsuishi-jima, Iwaguro-jima, Wasa-jima, Yo-shima and Mitsugo-jima in the Seto Inland Sea and the larger islands on either side operates on two levels.
The upper level carries the Seto-Chuo Expressway with two lanes of traffic in each direction, while the JR Seto-ohashi Line and a lesser road share the lower level, with room to eventually accommodate a Shinkansen line in each direction. Of the six bridges, three are suspension bridges, two are oblique suspension bridges, and there’s one truss bridge.
The statistics associated with the ten-year US$ 7 billion project are impressive. The construction needed over three and a half million cubic metres of concrete and almost three-quarters of a million tons of steel before the bridge opened on 10 April 1988. Today, the bridge is one of three routes connecting Honshu and Shikoku, though it’s the only way to get to Shikoku by rail.
Having breakfasted and handed over the Monster it was time to light out for the station, where we were booked into the prime seats on the prime train that crosses over to Shikoku, but that was strictly a one way arrangement. Japanese trains, in an economy where space is at a premium and efficiency is prized (at least in some areas) can usually be driven from either end, and when they arrive at the terminus it's simply a case of the driver changing ends, and they're set to go on the return journey.
The same thing operates on services in Australia like the Gold Coast line, but we still, from what I can gather, do the old switcheroo bit with something like the Sunlander, taking the locomotive down to the other end of the train for the return journey.
The astute observer will note the Shinkansen invariably have a power unit at either end, and, more often than not, one more somewhere in the middle, which explains why Car 1 is always at that end of the train, regardless of the actual direction of travel. If you're in the right place at the turn around point you'll see something more interesting.
We all like to travel looking forward in the direction we're going, don't we?
So what happens when it's turnaround time for the Shinkansen? Well, you have the seats turned to face the new direction, don't you?
These factors hadn't registered until I sat down to ponder the return journey across the bridge. We'd been told there was no point in holding the same seats for the return journey because they'd be looking backwards.
Until the train itself pulled in, I'd thought we'd be in some sort of sightseeing bubble, up above the body of the train, which meant, when you look at it that way, that the foregoing bit makes a certain amount of sense. We got to the platform just as the train arrived, disgorging the usual morning crowd of salarymen, office workers another individuals, and once the flood had passed, set off to find ours eats, which were tucked way just behind the driver's compartment at the very front of the train.
There are four seats, predictably tagged 1 A, B, C and D. Presumably there's a similar compartment at the other end of the train where the seat labels start with a 2. They are, by the way, seemingly the only reserved seats on the whole train.
And a word to the wise, if you're looking to do the bridge trip. Japanese engine drivers sit in consoles on the left hand side, so if you're in 1 A or B on the outward leg your panoramic view to the front will feature the back of the driver's head. Presumably the same thing applies to C and D on the way back.
In any case, with a clear view to the front and away to the south, and a pretty clear view over to the left we set off, starting off with a sharpish left hand turn out of the station, and heading off through the usual edge of a large Japanese landscape of residential development, light industrial activity and scattered paddy fields you'll find all across the archipelago, with the rice paddies gradually gaining the upper hand as you head away from the city.
The eager bridge-crosser will, predictably, be scanning the horizon for signs of bridges, which are singularly lacking for the early part of the journey. Then you hit a series of tunnels, predictably expecting you'll emerge from this one with a sight of the sea, and, hopefully, a bridge, but you don't sight the water until Kojima, the last station before Shikoku, and still comfortably short of the bridge itself.
Given the weather conditions we were expecting to be at least a tad disappointed, but as we made our way onto the first bridge it was obvious we were getting a magnificent sight on a less than optimal day, and while the spectacle could have been better everything was, under the circumstances, rather more than merely satisfactory.
Given the research I'd done I was expecting a series of bridges, since the material was careful to enumerate and identify the half dozen components, more than likely (or so I theorized) touching down on the intervening islands before launching off and upwards onto the next. That might be the way we'd approach thee matters in Australia or elsewhere, but the Japanese seem to like big statements when it comes to technology and engineering so the individual components merge into a contiguous whole.
A couple of times on the way across you'll register the presence of an island as you pass. There's one spot where you can actually see trees around eye level, but apart from that there's no way of telling where one of the component bridges ends and the next begins.
And it wouldn't be a good idea to try. Looking down to spot islands and identify starts and finishes would draw your attention away from what was, even on a day when the conditions were less than optimal, quite magnificent. It was something that had me pencilling in a return trip at some point in the future, hopefully in better conditions and more than likely as part of a longer exploration of Shikoku.
Under such circumstances (assuming there's a rail pass involved) you'd get two bites of the cherry a couple of days apart because there might be three bridges connecting Honshu and Shikoku but only one carries rail traffic.
Once we'd crossed and alighted at Sakaide there was a twenty minute wait before we made our way back on a common or garden commuter train, not that it diminished the view in too many ways.
Back in Okayama the big question was what to do for the next couple of hours. My own preference was to head for Okayama Korakuen, rated as one of the three best traditional landscape gardens in Japan alongside Kenrokuen in Kanazawa and Kairakuen in Mito, an option that would give us a good sight of nearby Okayama Castle.
Bearing the weather, and particularly the threat of rain, in mind, Madam was inclined to opt for the nearby town of Kurashiki, so we set off in search of the Tourist Information Centre in the station complex to check whether there were further options and sort out the issue.
The woman we spoke to was fairly insistent that Korakuen was the way to go, and a glance at the leaflet about Kurashiki suggested we'd be spending a bit of time in the open there, so there wasn't a great deal of advantage in that direction, so, forced to choose I went for the garden and the castle rather than the neighboring town.
After all, if things got too bad we could always retreat to the station complex.
Once outside, it was a case of umbrellas up, and a choice between a walk down the main street, Motomaro-odori, named after the city's legendary Peach Boy, a character who'd been the subject of some discussion over the preceding day or two, or taking the tram along the same route.
Given the weather, you could easily have opted for the tram, based on the fact that you'd get there quicker and wouldn't be walking through the drizzling mizzle.
As it turned out, that was the way to go. We arrived at the point where both garden and castle were visible as the sun threatened to break through the clouds, and though the umbrellas were unfurled for most of the next hour and a half the weather was better than you would have expected starting out from the station with a forecast of rain developing.
With the weather looking like it might be starting to clear we paused long enough Okayama Castle to gather photographic evidence that we'd been there.
Popularly known as Crow Castle (U-jō), Okayama Castle acquired the nickname due to its black exterior. Japanese castles, like neighbouring Himeji-jō tend to be white). Originally completed in 1597 in the style of the Azuchi-Momoyama Period, destroyed in a bombing raid in 1945 and replicated in concrete in 1966 (except for a single turret which survived the bombing) the reconstruction is much more accurate than most Japanese replicas, since it was rebuilt from the original blueprints.
Today the castle houses a museum documenting the history and development of the castle which might have sounded like a handy wet weather venue, but I already knew English explanations of the contents were few and far between, and, in any case, I'm not overly keen on reconstructions, regardless of how accurately they've been done.
With the photographic evidence gathered we headed across a bridge that took us to the south gate of Korakuen, paused to considering whether to use that entrance, and then heading for the main entrance, which turned out to be much further around than we'd thought.
The regular admission charge is ¥400, but Madam had picked up a leaflet at the tourist information place that delivered a twenty per cent discount, which, coincidentally, was the reduction offered to groups. I'm not sure that a duo counts as a group within the meaning of the act, but there you go.
We'd only just made our way inside and were paused considering the right direction to head in when we were approached by a woman who was obviously canvassing for candidates for something or other. I suspected a tea ceremony, and was attempting to politely decline when she turned to Madam.
I suspect that if it had been a tea ceremony she would have declined as well, but as it turned out a group of enthusiasts were demonstrating a traditional game involving a fan and a target, and Madam was inclined to give it a go.
The object of the exercise was to project the open fan in such a manner that it knocked over the little target on top of the stand. They'd tried to get me involved as well, but my experience with tatami mats in Unazuki suggested there'd be issues with the appropriate seated posture, so I politely declined, using dodgy knees as an excuse.
Back outside, Madam said she'd enjoyed the exercise, so that was fine, and we spent the next little while strolling around the gardens in a clockwise direction, snapping away and admiring the layout of something that is, as you'd expect from the reputation, something special.
One of the three most beautiful traditional gardens in Japan, Okayama Korakuen was constructed on local feudal lord, Ikeda Tsunamasa’s orders between 1687 and 1700. There have been a few changes over three centuries since then, but the garden is still pretty much the way it was in the days when it served as a venue to entertain the ruling family and a location for receiving important guests.
Korakuen, however, wasn’t the original name. It was originally called Koen (later garden) since it was built after Okayama Castle but since it was built in the spirit of sen-yu-koraku (grieve earlier than others, enjoy later than others, a famous Confucian quote stating that a wise ruler must attend to his subjects' needs first and only then attend to his own) the name changed to Korakuen in 1871.
The garden was designed in the Chisan Kaiyu (scenic promenade landscaped around a large pond) style which presents visitors with a new view at every turn of the path which connects the lawns, ponds, hills, tea houses, and streams. The garden suffered flood damage in 1934 and was bombed during World War II, but has always been restored to its original state thanks to accurate records kept by the garden's designers, Edo Period paintings and Ikeda family records and documents.
It’s a spacious, but fairly typical Japanese landscape garden, with a hill that serves as a lookout point. Unlike most gardens of this type, however, it also features spacious lawns (18,500 square metres out of a total area of 133,000 square metres), groves of plum, cherry and maple trees, tea and rice fields, an archery range and a crane aviary.
Having taken our time strolling through the gardens, we wandered back out the main entrance, crossed the bridge and looped back t'other tram stop nearest the Castle and Garden combination. A tram back down to the station seemed like the way to go, since we hadn't booked seats for the next short leg to Hiroshima. Time in these matters can be of the essence, and efficiency of movement is a key factor, so we headed back to the hotel first, grabbed the Little Red Travelling Bag and Madam's backpack from the cloakroom, arriving to discover that the reserved seats on the train we'd been planning to catch had all been sold.
That might seem like a hassle, but there was a Kodama about to depart, an eight car Shinkansen where six cars are non-reserved seats, so we dived downstairs, snaffled a couple of seats in a mostly empty Car Seven and arrived in Hiroshima a good hour earlier than planned.
Having been caught once, the first move when we arrived was to set in concrete the remaining unbooked sectors, and it was lucky we did. The final rail leg, a long haul from Kagoshima back to Osaka couldn't provide two adjoining seats, so we had to settle for either side of the aisle. That's not a major problem, but it's a timely reminder that window seats are highly prized, not so much for the view as for the presence of an electric outlet to recharge your laptop, iPad or whatever.
In any case, more than likely those window seats won't both be occupied for the entire duration of the haul from Kagoshima to Osaka.
With those details looked after we headed for the local line that would take us two stations past the ferry port that delivers passengers to the next day's destination, Miyajima, and alighted at Onoura, where a courtesy bus was waiting to deliver us to the onsen hotel where we were spending the night.
I don't know how I formed the impression but I was expecting a boutique operation, possibly with a handful of rooms and was slightly alarmed to note the presence of a tour bus in the car park.
Given the Japanese passion for communal hot bathing, I had visions of a packed hot water tub, full of purist connoisseurs of the onsen experience, something that's going to prove rather intimidatory to the average overweight and out of condition Westerner who's not totally up to speed on the correct rituals and protocols when it comes to mass bathing. But I'll return to that point in a minute.
As it turned out (and as I should have figured, given the proximity of Miyajima, a prime venue for flag bearer-led tour parties), the buses were there while the tour party was elsewhere and would shortly head off to collect the party from the pier.
Once we'd checked in we were shown to our room by a young girl who felt obliged to lug Hughesy's backpack and the Little Red Travelling pack while I looked after Madam's backpack. I tried to change the arrangements, but no, she seemed determined to do her duty, regardless of the fact that we'd arrived with a fair bit more luggage than the average Japanese tourist.
We were shown into our room, which had much the same configuration as the one in Unazuki, tatami mats across the floor, table in the middle, two cushions to sit on and a wooden section near the window with a table and two Western chairs, fridge et cetera.
The alcove at the entry provided just enough space to take off the shoes, spaces to stow them, room for a minimal luggage quotient and the toilet facility, with the regulation Washlet which you'd see as a key ingredient in keeping the onsen waters clear of claggy matter.
The Washlet, for those unfamiliar with the concept is the device that sprays water on your hindquarters after you've evacuated the bowel area.
In any case, since Madam's inquiries had revealed the onsen was unlikely to be heavily occupied until some time around five (and it was just after four) I headed off immediately to the enjoyable experience that I wasn't altogether looking forward to.
When I got there the place was deserted, so I doffed the gear and went through the regulation pre-immersion cleansing procedures, probably to an extent that might be labelled as obsessional to a casual Japanese onlooker, and spent a good ten minutes soaking luxuriously in a large open tub looking out towards the island we were headed to in the morning.
So far, so good.
Clambering out of the bath I moved back into the antechamber, where I dried off, and dressed. Then one of those interesting issues of etiquette hit me. You arrive with two pieces of fabric, a towel and a wash cloth that's a key part of the cleansing procedure. There was a container containing a couple of used examples of each near the door. What to do? Leave my two there? Or carry them back to the room?
When in doubt, call, and there was a handy phone, so I did, established that it was OK to carry them back and was almost out of the door when the first of the evening's bath enthusiasts entered.
Madam had ascertained there was free WiFi access in the lobby, so that was where I was bound shortly afterwards, looking to catch up on the email while she took her first extended turn in the onsen. From my seat in the lobby I could see a steady stream of gentlemen headed for the male baths, though there didn't seem to be any irate customers arriving at Reception with complaints about polluted bath water...
We were booked in for a full Japanese banquet from seven o'clock, and, much to my relief it was going to be served in the room rather than in some more formal setting, so we were back upstairs around half an hour beforehand, where I discovered the Free WiFi wasn't limited to the Lobby. That meant I had something to keep me busy in the interim.
Around seven a discreet tap on the door announced the arrival of the first installment of dinner, which was duly laid out on the table and replenished twice as we moved through an almost staggering array of dishes and bits and pieces.
At this point I should take a moment to consider the Hughsoid reaction to Japanese cuisine. I am, and I'm the first to admit it, not a big fan, largely because a lot of the flavours fall outside the parameters my palate is accustomed to, but that's just the first factor.
A second, and it's a very significant second, lies in the fact that my palate, as anyone who's sampled my preferred options in the chilli and curry departments would be all to aware, doesn't do subtle. Strong on chilli, heavy on the garlic with plenty of concentrated flavours is where my palate works best, and that's hardly the flavour profile you get with Japanese cuisine.
When you're looking at something like this, however, the variety and contrast of flavours and textures works a whole lot better than an isolated serve of sashimi or sushi does.
In other words, although I don't do (as in not enamoured of, would prefer not to sample and will go out of my way to avoid a serve of) sushi or sashimi, serve it up in this context and I'll have a go at it.
That's not to suggest, on the other hand, that I liked, or managed to finish everything on offer on this particular occasion. There were a couple of things I tried but couldn't stomach, and the cumulative quantity served up would have defeated anyone who wasn't an extremely dedicated trenchermen.
And, unsurprisingly, having dined extremely well it wasn't long before Hughesy was doing the old carpet snake who's just swallowed a wallaby and slunk off to sleep it out routine.
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