Japan Day 5: Train Rides and Snow Fall

It was time to leave Tokyo and venture out into the wilds of Japan. This necessitated learning new skills like getting my JR rail pass and booking a Limited Express ticket, all of which took quite some time because I was (un)lucky enough to line up right behind a Spanish tour group who spent a large amount of time debating how many people were in their group. At least it gave me a chance to practice my Spanish eavesdropping skills, which confirmed that I don't know much Spanish outside of questionably useful words like 'because' and 'morning' which will doubtless be handy if I'm ever in Spain and need to clarify the time of day.

Japan provides rooms into which smokers and vapers must cluster to indulge their habit with the doors shut while contemplating the nicotine scum collecting on the inside of the windows. This makes life very pleasant for those outside but does make me feel as I've visited a zoo with a rare and self-destructive varient on display.

The Limited Express was quite luxurious, with a fold down table on which I could have rested my bento box had I been clever enough to buy one in the station. There was even a nifty little fold down holder for my waterbottle and a hook for my umbrella should I have had an old fashioned umbrella and not a folding one.  An elderly Japanese gentleman was quite flummoxed at having been allocated the seat next to me, to the point that his wife in exasperation swapped seats with him and then proceeded to sniff and sneeze for the whole journey. I put on my mask and looked out the window.

Tokyo's suburbs rattled past and Mt Fuji made a brief cameo appearance, dressed in cloud camouflage. The train ground through tunnels and up mountains covered with bare winter trees. Every valley held a village, every available patch of  flat land tilled and planted ready for spring. 

The mountains got closer and higher.

The valleys got narrower, the road on the opposite side protected by an avalanche roof, suggesting heavy winter snowfall.

At Kabuchiwaza I said goodbye to the Limited Express. I'd discovered that I could catch a slow local train over the mountain and the trip was rated as one of Japan's most scenic train rides if you were willing to trundle along at local train pace. I had an hour to spend in Kabuchiwaza between trains but any fond thoughts of delightful strolls through quaint Japanese streets were swiftly disabused by freezing cold and rain. I swiftly retreated to the heated train station where I put on extra layers and found something hot to eat by the expedient of choosing a random menu item at a hole in the wall noodle shop. Then I had to practice my chopstick skills in a train station waiting room, without benefit of a table or a bib. I'll leave the rest of that to your imagination. There was even dinner entertainment: in a corner of the station a man played the piano while outside a few stray snowflakes mixed with thin, cold rain.

I made it onto the local train in a fluster, having chosen the wrong platform and done a last minute dash up and down stairs with a suitcase.  No matter, as the train pulled out of the station snow flakes fluttered lazily to the ground and I settled in for the ride.

It was beautiful. 

It was even more beautiful because all the snow I've seen before has been on the ground already and this was the first time I ever saw an actual snowfall. And I was in a heated train carriage, which helped.

I oohed, I aahed, I took lots of photos and the locals, bless their little winter-weary hearts, ignored me.

As we came down the other side of the mountain the snowfall eased and I decided to get off at Otome Station and walk the slightly more than 1 km to Hirohara to catch the final local train to my destination.  Otome was a quiet little country station: once the train rattled away there was no one there but me. I walked up a steep hill with a fine view over the town and overlooking mountains. Snow fell again, ever so lightly.

Hirohara was an even more rural station all on its own at the end of a path that wound through fallow farmland and across small waterways. It was silent apart from the rattle of my suitcase wheels. I could have stopped and taken a million photos but I didn't want to miss my train and have to spend an hour in Hirohara in the cold, waiting for the next one.

Hirohara had nowhere to swipe my Suica card and no ticket machine to buy a ticket. What to do? I engaged in pantomime and Google translate with two farm workers, also waiting for a train and quite flabbergasted to see me there. I don't think many foreigners come walking across the paddocks to catch a train at Hirohara.  

Eventually I realised that all I had to do was push a button on a red box and lo and behold a little paper ticket popped into my hand. As to payment, this was not possible despite signs sternly asserting that one must buy one's ticket.

The train duly arrived, all three of us boarded, and off we went.  I clutched my ticket and determined that I should pay at arrival and would follow everyone else to do so. I watched the mountains go by, delicately laced with ski trails. I had entered resort territory.

Karuizawa was quite a grand station, especially in contrast to humble little Hirohara. I followed the crowd (all three of us) with my paper ticket. We dropped our tickets into a little metal box and walked free into Karuizawa.  If you're watching, Japanese Rail, I truly wanted to pay, I just didn't know how and you can blame the other passengers because if they'd jumped off a cliff I would probably have done so too.

Snow started falling again as I trundled my suitcase to my hotel, passing a Lawson where I bought a cheap and nasty dinner.  The hotel was warm and my room was double the size of my Tokyo digs. I settled in for the night, periodically peeping out my window at the snow accumulating like *fairy dust in the carpark as I tucked myself into bed.

Home for a couple of nights: Hotel Rosso.

*I know, I know, snow is wet and gluggy and gets mushy and icy and melty and someone has to shovel it. But it was pretty and I stand by fairy dust as a literary metaphor.