After staying at home for three months, I finally saw a glimmer of light. Given that the pandemic situation across various regions was flattening out, I resumed my “Wandering in Japan” journey in late June 2020. For this trip, I chose to first fly to Wajima (輪島) in Hokuriku, then take trains vertically through Central Japan to reach the Nagoya area, and finally return via the Tokaido route.
Wajima to Toyama
I woke up early in the morning and rushed to the fifth floor of Shibuya Mark City to catch the airport bus. I was the only person on the bus, but it departed on time. Since there were almost no cars on the road, traffic was smooth, and it took only a little over twenty minutes to reach Haneda Airport. This was much faster than the train, though the price was correspondingly higher at 1050 yen.
Returning to Haneda Airport after several months, I had a strong sense that things had changed. Although the state of emergency had been lifted, the passenger volume at the airport was significantly lower than before, and most flights were still marked as “cancelled.” Half of the ANA terminal was even closed, with all planes concentrated in the North Wing. I wonder how long it will take for Haneda Airport to return to its former hustle and bustle.
After a flight of less than an hour, the plane arrived at Noto Satoyama Airport (能登里山空港) on the Noto Peninsula. The plane descended from the bay in the east, offering beautiful scenery. Currently, Noto Satoyama Airport has only a meager one flight per day, but even so, the airport’s tourist information center was open as usual, and there was even staff who could speak English. Once the passengers from this flight left, the shops packed up. It is evident how much rural Japan hopes for the tourism industry to recover quickly, as tourism is the economic lifeline for many places.
At the airport, I bought an “Airport Connection Ticket,” which included the bus from the airport to Anamizu Station (穴水站) and the train fare from Anamizu to Nanao (七尾). Experiencing the Noto Railway (能登鐵道) was one of the reasons I flew to Noto Satoyama Airport. Local railway companies in Japan are gradually disappearing, and in the future, they might cease to exist after a single natural disaster. It takes forty minutes from Anamizu Station to Nanao Station, with scenic views of rice paddies and the bay along the way. After a short stop in Nanao, I transferred to the JR West Nanao Line to head to Kanazawa (金澤). Actually, the Nanao Line only runs from Nanao to Tsubata (津幡), after which the train connects to the IR Ishikawa Railway (石川鐵道) to continue its run. This kind of through-service between different companies is very common in Japan, especially on the Tokyo Metro, where almost every line connects with other companies.
After arriving in Kanazawa, I did not stay but immediately headed to Toyama (富山). From Kanazawa to Toyama, I took the Hokuriku Shinkansen Tsurugi (劍) train, which takes only 22 minutes. The Hokuriku Shinkansen is still under construction; currently, the section from Tokyo to Kanazawa is open, operated by JR East and JR West with the boundary at Joetsu-Myoko. The Tsurugi train only runs the section between Kanazawa and Toyama, with only three stations including Shin-Takaoka in the middle, yet there are 18 round trips daily. The train has 12 cars, and after boarding, I found that all the cars were empty; I was the only passenger. Even without the virus hitting the tourism industry, it would be hard to have many people on such a short-distance, high-density Shinkansen, especially since neither Kanazawa nor Toyama can be considered a metropolis. JR West’s reason for operating the Tsurugi train is truly puzzling. If it doesn’t make economic sense, then it is most likely a political compromise, after all, the Hokuriku Shinkansen is a government-funded “Seibi Shinkansen” (整備新幹線 - Planned Shinkansen). I suspect that perhaps the Shinkansen is intended to replace the past limited express trains with the same frequency, because ordinary trains ceased operation after the Shinkansen opened. Previously, the limited express train from Osaka to Niigata was called Tsurugi.
Hida
After arriving at Toyama Station, I changed to a local train on the Takayama Main Line (高山本線) and arrived at Inotani (豬谷) after an hour of slow travel. This is the boundary point for the Takayama Main Line operated by JR West and JR Central (東海旅客鐵道). Looking at the topographic map, one can see that this is where two valleys meet; guarding Inotani allows control over the vital route entering and exiting Etchu Province (越中國 - Toyama) from Hida Province (飛驒國).
After transferring to a JR Central local train, I traveled another hour and finally reached my destination, Hida Furukawa (飛驒古川). Hida Furukawa is a small town nestled in the middle of a valley. The most famous attraction here is the Seto River and White-walled Storehouse Street (瀬戸川と白壁土蔵街). In this modest town, there are three large temples and several Japanese sake breweries, as well as a canal running through the town. The water in the canal is crystal clear and contains hundreds of koi fish.
On the way, I saw a beauty salon named “Corona” which had closed down.
After spending a peaceful afternoon in Hida Furukawa, I returned to the train station and continued to Takayama (高山), the final destination of the day. Takayama is a renowned sightseeing town that attracted a large number of foreign tourists in the past. I had been here once before and remembered the small streets were weaving with tourists; combined with the quaint wooden houses and stone-paved roads, the atmosphere was very much like Kyoto. Coming here again this time, the streets and alleys were almost empty. I walked through the streets of Takayama and arrived again at the gate of the Takayama Jinya (高山陣屋), only to find the doors locked tight. Crossing the small bridge to the most famous Sanmachi (三町) old street, there were merely a few people. I followed a small path up the mountain to see the ruins of Takayama Castle (高山城), but when I reached the Ninomaru (二之丸), I saw a warning about bears in the area and decided to head back down. Nearing the summer solstice, the sun had not yet set at six in the evening, but the light was already soft, making the forest look exceptionally bright and beautiful.
Walking slowly down the mountain, I found that the Hida Takayama Museum of History and Art (飛驒高山まちの博物館) was surprisingly still open, which was quite a pleasant surprise. It is rare for museums in Japan to operate past 5:30 PM. The museum is not small, with over a dozen exhibition rooms across two floors to visit. Each hall has a theme covering various aspects of Takayama’s history and culture, among which the reconstruction model of Takayama Castle is quite exquisite.
It was nearly seven o’clock by the time I finished viewing the museum. Before the sun went down, I walked to Hida Kokubunji (飛驒國分寺). Kokubunji (provincial temples) were built during the Nara period, and few remain well-preserved today; Hida Kokubunji is no exception, with the current three-story pagoda in the temple being a reconstruction from the late Edo period. However, this is the only pagoda in Hida Province. Japan almost ceased building Buddhist pagodas after the Heian period, focusing instead on the construction of Buddha halls and statues. This reflects a shift in the object of worship in East Asian Buddhism from the Dharma (represented by the pagoda) to the pagoda itself, and finally to the Buddha statue.
In the afterglow of the sunset, I returned to Takayama Station. The pool and lighting in front of the entrance made this modern-style building appear dreamy and charming.
Okazaki
At seven in the morning, the sunlight was already dazzling. Such weather is rare during Japan’s gloomy rainy season. I immediately rushed to the train station and took the Takayama Line Limited Express Hida to continue south. I bought a non-reserved seat ticket and, upon boarding, found I was the only passenger on the train starting from Takayama. The train headed south, weaving through river valleys, with constantly changing streams and lakes outside the window. An hour and a half later, the train drove out of the valley and entered the flat Nobi Plain (濃尾平原), where I got off at Mino-Ota (美濃太田). The Nobi Plain is Japan’s third-largest plain and the location of Greater Nagoya; its name is derived from Mino Province (美濃國) and Owari Province (尾張國). From Mino-Ota, I continued on the Taita Line (太多線) via Tajimi (多治見), changed to the Chuo West Line (中央西線) to Kozoji (高藏寺), and then changed to the Aichi Loop Railway (愛知環狀鐵道) to reach Okazaki (岡崎).
The Aichi Loop Railway does not belong to JR Central, but it allows for cross-platform transfers with JR Central trains. Generally speaking, the fare calculation method for Japanese railways is based on the route. However, if using a transit IC card, it calculates the shortest path from entry to exit and charges based on the lines traversed. This is not a problem within the railway network of a single company, but problems can arise involving cross-platform transfers or through-service with other companies, because the shortest path between two points is not necessarily the cheapest, and considering revenue sharing between different companies, the exact route becomes necessary. The journey from Kozoji to Okazaki is an example of this, as between these two stations one can either change trains via JR Central or go directly via the Aichi Loop Railway. Okazaki Station’s solution is to set up extra card readers on the platform; provided you swipe once on these machines and swipe again upon exiting, the fare can be calculated correctly. Even so, many people still get it wrong, and such cases can only be resolved manually. This automated fare system of Japanese railways has developed slowly since the 1970s and could be said to have been world-leading both then and in recent years. However, with the rise of electronic means, Japan has begun to slowly fall behind the times. An example is that almost all Japanese railways barely support electronic tickets, and online ticket reservation is particularly difficult for foreign tourists.
Although Okazaki is not far from Nagoya and counts as a satellite city of Nagoya, the entire city is very spread out, and public transport is poor. Among the large metropolises in Japan, Nagoya has the worst public transport, the highest private vehicle ownership, and the most dispersed facilities; it could be called the Los Angeles of Japan. Since Los Angeles has been mentioned, one cannot help but think of that conspiracy theory; I wonder if Nagoya’s situation is related to being the location of Toyota’s headquarters. Of course, even if public transport here is poor compared to the Japanese average, it is still far better than in the United States.
I got off at Okazaki Station, took a bus to Higashi Okazaki Station (東岡崎站), settled lunch in the basement of a very Showa-style shopping center nearby, and then walked to Okazaki Park. Okazaki Park was once the site of Okazaki Castle (岡崎城); the stone walls (ishigaki) still remain, upon which stands a reconstructed tenshu (keep). The tenshu is a reinforced concrete restoration, with an observation deck on the top floor. There is also a museum in the park introducing the life of Tokugawa Ieyasu (德川家康), the founder of the Edo Shogunate. Tokugawa Ieyasu was born in Okazaki Castle; his original name was Matsudaira Takechiyo, and his father was a local daimyo. Later, as Tokugawa Ieyasu rose to power, the Emperor granted him the surname Tokugawa.
If one does not count the Boshin War during the Meiji Restoration, the Sengoku period (Warring States period) was the most recent “Great Chaos” in Japan, so historical records are detailed and vivid, and it is the history Japanese people delight in talking about the most. Most of the historical ruins like castle walls visible in Japan today are from the Sengoku period or later, and even many thousand-year-old temples underwent major repairs during the Edo period, so today’s Japan was essentially established around that time. Similar to Japan’s Sengoku period is the Three Kingdoms period in China; due to Romance of the Three Kingdoms and subsequent Japanese manga adaptations, the Three Kingdoms is the period of Chinese history Japanese people are most familiar with. The Japanese game company KOEI released two games, Nobunaga’s Ambition and Romance of the Three Kingdoms, with very similar gameplay, both being excellent works.
After viewing Okazaki Castle, I continued eastward. I first took the Nagoya Railroad (Meitetsu) from Higashi Okazaki to Toyohashi (豐橋), then the Tokaido Line to the unassuming station of Shinjohara (新所原), and from there took the Tenryu Hamanako Railroad (天龍濱名湖鐵道). This railway connects Toyohashi and Kakegawa, bypassing Lake Hamana (濱名湖) to the north. It used to be the JNR Futamata Line (二俁線), later abandoned by the breaking-up JNR and established as a third-sector railway (第三部門鐵道) funded by local governments. There are quite a few of these third-sector railway companies, born as successor operators because political resistance prevented the dismantling of unprofitable lines. Strictly speaking, these third-sector railways are private railways aiming for profit, but in reality, the assets they inherited cannot generate profit, so they mainly rely on subsidies. Amtrak in the US is more or less this type of company, just on a larger scale and with more deep-seated problems.
The route and vehicles of the Tenryu Hamanako Railroad are truly dilapidated from years of neglect, and even the cleaning inside the cars was not up to standard. The scenery along the coast was also average.
At Nishi-Kajima Station (西鹿島站), I got off the Hamanako railway and transferred to the Enshu Railway (遠州鐵道). Enshu Railway is a true private railway; besides operating the railway, it also deals in various real estate centered around Hamamatsu (濱松). In fact, most private railways in Japan make money from real estate, with the railway business often serving merely to increase property values, operating via cross-subsidization. I saw Enshu Railway’s real estate advertisements both on the train and inside the station. The name “Enshu Railway” comes from “Totomi Province” (遠江國 - Tōtōmi no Kuni). “Totomi” was originally written as “To-tsu-awa-umi” (遠淡海), meaning “Far Freshwater Sea,” referring to Lake Hamana. Among Japan’s Ritsuryo provinces, there is also “Omi Province” (近江國 - Ōmi no Kuni), where “Omi” (or Chika-tsu-awa-umi, “Near Freshwater Sea”) refers to Lake Biwa. The “Far” and “Near” here are relative to the Kinai region (the area around Nara and Kyoto).
It was already evening when I arrived in Hamamatsu. The Hamamatsu train station building is massive, and the plaza outside has a great sense of design. Connected to the train station via an underground passage is the Bus Center, the lower level of which is a sunken plaza with a unique structure. Unexpectedly, I saw quite a few Indonesians setting up stalls there selling Mie Goreng (Indonesian fried noodles); I didn’t expect Hamamatsu to be somewhat international. Actually, Hamamatsu is a city with a high proportion of foreigners, mainly because there are many factories in the surrounding area. Since the 1990s, it attracted many Japanese-Brazilian and Peruvian immigrants, and in recent years, it has attracted many Southeast Asians.
After a simple dinner in Hamamatsu, I took the Shinkansen back to Tokyo.
Last modified on 2021-02-23