May 18th, 2019
Matsumoto -> Narai
I wake with a start - the tatami floors in my room are shaking - is that an earthquake!? Snapping out of my waking dream, giggles of children float - no, cut - through the thin walls from the hallway. I sneeze, and hear / feel them scurry back to their room where mom and dad are packing for an early departure.
What lovely little bundles of energy.
Glancing at my watch, it’s 6:30am. I may as well get moving too - back to the train station and trail for one last stretch. But first, breakfast.
Groggy, I walk the streets trying to sniff out a caffeine boost. It takes a few tries to find a cafe that is open; it seems coffee is more of an afternoon indulgence here in Japan. As they say: the third time’s a charm, and I finally settle into a seat at the Hop Frog Cafe.
It’s 10:30am now, and I’m drinking an 11% beer with the owner. I had started with coffee - promise! - but my chat with the friendly lady working behind the bar draws out a bad influence from the back room: a fellow named Kazu-Hei. He is the co-proprietor of this hip establishment, their coffee bean roaster, and curator of the other libations on tap.
We settle in; Kazu’s English is very good and he is eager to speak it. Our conversation drifts from the appreciation of the finer things in life to the politics of nuclear power, racism, and the ups and downs of big-city life in Japan. Him and his wife had moved from Tokyo to Matsumoto some four years ago, drawn in by the lower cost of living, slower pace of life, and proximity to nature. Their enthusiasm for the place hasn’t wavered yet.
With a bunch of recommendations and phone numbers scribbled on the back of a napkin, Kazu sees me off as I dart out the door to catch my train to leave town.
Looking out the window at the rural communities blurring past, I wonder about the people that fill them. During my walk through Japan’s countryside thus far, I’ve noticed a clear trend: young people have flocked to the big cities and are nowhere to be found in the aging communities. And when the remaining elders leave (for good, if you know what I mean), their houses are left empty. It results in an uncertain future for the overall health of these places.
Kazu had echoed a similar observation, but with one hopeful exception: Matsumoto. The small city of 240,000 is drawing young people like him back. Walking through the streets yesterday on a Friday evening, there was a definite rising energy to the place; a movement that felt near a positive tipping point. It is a nice reminder that the future is not yet certain, and that can be a good thing.
Back on the trail, I’m cresting the top of the Torii Pass and my stomach is gurgling - not out of hunger, but out of distress. Did the stint of city life ruin me? Was it something I ate? All the food has been incredible lately, but the portions have been overflowing and my digestive system is having a tough time keeping up. How can something that tastes so good be so bad?
Three uneasy downhill kilometres later, I arrive at the last ryokan on this stretch of the trip. It is the gem at the end of my walk, and a splurge that I booked to cap it all off with a bang.
The building is a piece of multi-generational history and a proud fixture in the one kilometre stretch of houses that is the Post Town of Narai. A kind young man greets me at the door. He asks me eagerly about my trip, but with specific interest in Tokyo. Even he has eyes for the big city.
Everyone is attentive, noticing my ashy complexion and asking about my health. A package of mountain medicine is politely thrust toward me - little black pellets that I’m told are sure to help whatever ails me. I swallow a few of them. Unsure of their potency, I go out and buy a much larger package - just in case.
It is important to note that when you stay at a ryokan, dinner and breakfast are included in the experience. This is based off of tradition, as historically the travellers walking this route would have carried few supplies and needed sustenance for continuing on in their journey. My hosts insist that a proper meal is only necessary.
Let me emphasize: they insist.
I’m guided to a table where my last name precludes my presence, penned beautifully on a calligraphy centrepiece. Polite manners are important: I sit down, carefully tucking my robe under the table. It’s a good thing that this table has thick legs, because set before me is a mind-and-stomach-boggling 15 plate dinner. I take tentative bites with a stoic face, nibbling a little bit off of each plate, sneaking fistfuls of mountain medicine as prayers in moments between. I can’t say no.
Their kindness breaks me - the unending rich food has added up to more than my belly can take. Full system flush initiated.
Tonight will be…interesting.
A haiku:
Ripples on ripples
There is a change in the air
Which wind will prevail?
D