Tsuruga Castle
Okay, I admit it - my previous post was a bleak one, to say the least. Visiting several sites connected to the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami disaster 東日本大震災 (and don't forget about Fukushima Dai-ichi 福島第一原子力発電所) was far from an enjoyable day out, but it was something that I felt I needed to see for myself. The remainder of this most recent Japan trip (and with the increase in stress levels at the office since my triumphant return to Guangzhou 广州, the visit already feels like it happened eons ago) quickly reverted to the usual pattern of exploring new places, seeing historic and scenic locales, and consuming alcoholic beverages with many of my meals.
A case in point was day number eight, which began with an early boarding of a Tōhoku Shinkansen 東北新幹線 train at Sendai Station 仙台駅 at 08:20. On the way there I walked through the Hapina Nakakechō shopping arcade ハピナ名掛丁商店街, where the path was lined with banners of players of the hometown Tōhoku Rakuten Golden Eagles 東北楽天ゴールデンイーグルス baseball team (whom I once saw play at the then-named Kleenex Stadium Miyagi クリネックススタジアム宮城 in September of 2013):
It was a quick ride on the bullet train, delivering me punctually and safely as usual to Kōriyama Station 郡山駅 at 08:55, where I had to wait 20 minutese for a Ban'etsu West Line 磐越西線 local train that would drop me off at my final destination that morning:
Far, far back in the mists of ancient history, a girlfriend and I had spent a night at a
pension ペンション in Inawashiro 猪苗代. The following day we would walk the Goshiki-numa trail (see below). In the present day, I arrived at Inawashiro Station 猪苗代駅 shortly before ten in the morning from the opposite direction. There I waited for a bus to take me to the trailhead. Also on that ride were two sisters (pictured below as our bus arrives) from New Taipei City 新北市 in Taiwan, who were also traveling by themselves through the Tōhoku region 東北地方. And I know this because I would chat with them in my broken
Taiwanese Mandarin 中華民國國語 later that afternoon while waiting for a train to take me from Inawashiro:
The
Goshiki-numa 五色沼 trail is a 3.7 kilometer/2.3 mile-long hiking route that takes visitors past a dozen or so bodies of water. The name translates as "Five Colors Lakes", the result of mineral desposits from the massive
1888 eruption of Bandai-san 磐梯山 (1816 meters/5958 feet), an event so huge the mountain's elevation was lowered by 600 meters/1969 feet . Depending on the weather, the pools can be cobalt-blue, emerald-green or reddish-brown. Ayumi and I walked the trail 35 years ago, but surprisingly I remember very little of it. Which is why on this trip I decided to do it again, hopefully wiser and more appreciative, and less distracted by the presence of an attractive woman. My walk began at the Goshiki-numa Iriguchi 五色沼入口 trailhead:
I tried to note the names of all the ponds I passed but I wasn't always successful, so just sit back and enjoy the photos. The first one, one of the largest and the one with the most visitors as it's very close to the trailhead, visitor center and parking lot, was Bishamon-numa 毘沙門沼. I believe it's also the only one where its possible to rent a rowboat and go out on the water:
Moving on from Bishamon-numa:
As I've noted in earlier posts Japan in recent years has been facing a
serious bear problem, one caused by climate change and the decline in the number of hunters (younger people apparently aren't much interested in shooting critters). As a result the trail was lined with these bear bells for hikers to ring, though many of my fellow walkers came equipped their own bells on their packs:
Benten-numa Pond 弁天沼 had the most striking background of all the pools:
Looking proud in my yellow
Baishatun Mazu Pilgrimage 白沙屯媽祖進香 shirt (a gift from the wife from one of her frequent Taiwan visits):
It took me nearly an hour and a half to reach the other end of the trail, where the Bandai-kōgen 磐梯高原 bus stop was waiting to take me back to Inawashiro Station. However, I had some time to wait before the next bus. Unfortunately the only lunch option available was rāmen ラーメン. The reaon why I was reluctant to order any will be evident in the next post, but eventually I gave in to the hunger pangs:
Another Ban'etsu West Line train would take me to my last stop of the day, Aizu-Wakamatsu Station 会津若松駅:
Trying unsuccessfuly to capture some of the scenery rolling by. On the left is what appears to be a largish statue of
Kannon 観音, the Buddhist deity of compassion and mercy:
Back in that long-ago summer of 1991 the girlfriend I keep alluding to and I arrived at Aizu-Wakamatsu Station on a slow but hella scenic train ride from Niigata 新潟. As we had some time to kill before our connecting train to Inawashiro Station (see above) we went to a cafe near the station. And until this day that had been the extent of the time I had spent in the former feudal capital of Aizu-Wakamatsu 会津若松:
Instead of seeking out the cafe (which for some reason I can recall it had a
Key Coffee sign out front), I took a snack break at the Mister Donut next to the station:
This is an
akabeko 赤べこ. This hippo-like creature grew out of a folktale involving a red cow. Sometime in the 17th century said cow came out of the woods to help locals repair a temple. It's now a symbol of good luck and strength, and its image can be seen all over town. A pair of high school girls was happy to take a picture of me with it:
Dinner presented a challenge. There were plenty of
izakaya 居酒屋 in the immediate area, along with several rāmen joints. But
izakaya in the evening aren't very enjoyable to visit as a solo traveler (I almost considered asking a Western couple standing outside the hotel and looking lost if they wanted to join me in going to one, but I quickly recovered by good senses), and I'd already had rāmen for lunch that day. So in the end I walked 18 minutes to a
Coco's Restaurant ココス for my evening meal:
Returning to my room that night:
The view from the hotel's breakfast restaurant the following morning:
And the view from the window next to the elevator on my floor:
This day would be a wet one, though nowhere near resembling the
typhoon that had welcomed me a week earlier in Tōkyō's 東京 Shinjuku 新宿 district. Fortunately Aizu-Wakamatsu has an excellent sightseeing bus called the Haikara-san and Akabe ハイカラさん・あかべぇ Town Bus. A one-day pass is ¥700 ($4.50), but I invested ¥2100 ($13.40) in the bus/sightseeing combo ticket, which combines bus fare and entry to three of the locations I was planning to visit. It would pay for itself.
My first stop that day was at
Iimori-yama 飯盛山. During the
Edo period 江戸時代 Aizu-Wakamatsu was the capital of the
Aizu clan. The clan chose the wrong side in the
Bōshin Civil War 防振戦争 of 1868, when the
Tokugawa shōgunate 徳川幕府 was defeated by the imperial faction forces. As the fighting was raging a group of teenage samurai called the
Byakkotai 白虎隊 (White Tigers) gathered at the Iimori-yama mountain. In the distance they saw what they thought was Tsuruga-jō 鶴ヶ城 covered in smoke, and assumed the castle had fallen. In reality, it was the surrounding area that was burning, and it would be weeks before the fortress would finally be captured by the anti-Tokugawa forces. Being passionate young men they decided to commit
seppuku 切腹 (ritual disembowelment). Their deaths would be celebrated as examples of loyalty and fraternity long after the fighting had ended and the
Meiji era 明治時代 started. These days you can visit the graves of these 19 young men (one was saved before he died):
Before getting too excited by this demonstration of samurai bravery and loyalty, nearby are two disturbing monuments gifted by fascist Italy and Nazi Germany. Below is Mussolini's gift; the German one has worn down to the point where the Iron Cross is now difficult to make out, so I opted not to include it here:
The rainy view looking out over the city from Iimori-yama:
Nearby the graves is the Sazae-dō さざえ堂, a unique-looking Buddhist building. The hexagonal wooden structure was built in 1796. Admission was included in the aforementioned pass; once inside you follow a spiral staircase that allows you to go up and then back down without having to retrace your steps:
My next stop was the
Aizu Bukeyashiki 会津武家屋敷 historic building, which is also covered by the pass. It's a reconstruction of the
yashiki 屋敷 (residence) of one
Saigō Tanomo 西郷頼母, the chief retainer of the Aizu clan. Once inside visitors follow a route (as is common in Japan) that passes by the villa's 38 rooms:
The Shikidai Genkan 式台玄関, the "gateway for formalities" and the manor's front entrance:
A pair of late Edo period
kago-beya 駕籠部屋, palanquins used by the higher ranks and carried on the shoulders of two servants:
The Saigō-Tanomo-Ichizoku-no-Jijin 西郷頼母一族の自刃. It's a recreation of another tragic scene that took place during the Bōshin War. Saigō had gone off to fight, leaving his wife and two daughters (ages 2 and 16) at home. As the imperial army closed in on the residence, the family decided to commit suicide to prevent their capture. The older girl didn't die immediately but was killed soon after by an enemy soldier, allegedly after she begged him to do so:
Despite being on the losing side the
Hoshina-Matsudaira clan survived the
Meiji Restoration 明治維新 and became members of Japan's newly created nobility. The daughter of one these nouveau nobles was Sutematsu Yamakawa 山川捨松. She would become one of Japan's first female students to study abroad, in her case attending Vassar College:
No samurai residence would be complete without some displays of armor and weapons:
The Onari-no-ma 御成の間, used for entertaining visiting
daimyō 大名 (feudal lords):
The Chashitsu 茶室, a room used for the tea ceremony and tea-making for esteemed guests:
The Jijin-no-ma 自刃の間 is the actual room where Saigō Tanomo's family killed themselves:
The Okuni-no-ma 奥二の間 was used by the female members of the family:
An
Ishi-buro 石風呂, a type of stone bath:
Famished by the end of my tour of the villa, I stopped at the on-site restrestaurant, where I had the Dai Ebi Tendon 大海老天丼 (or large shrimp tempura) set, a bargain at only ¥1320 ($8.40; beer not included):
After lunch I hopped back on the town bus and rode it to
Tsuruga-jō, the last of the three attractions covered by the pass:
The 1384 castle, largely rebuilt after a devastating earthquake in 1611, was badly damaged in the Bōshin War, before being demolished by the new government in 1874. What you see today is a reconstruction completed in 1965:
Some original foundations remain:
The castle now houses a museum with historical artifacts from the feudal era. I snapped this picture of a daimyō helmet for its wild boar motif. The swastika is a Buddhist symbol that is still commonly seen around East Asia. It was corrupted by the Nazis:
The 15 precepts of the Aizu Clan, which makes me wonder if samurai also had to face yearly performance reviews:
A depiction of the Byakkotai on Iimori-yama, looking at what they mistook was a burning Tsuruga-jō:
The highlight of visiting the castle is the view from the 5th-floor lookout:
Encountering another
akabeko:
It was getting late in the afternoon but I took the time to ride the town bus again, this time to the Nanoka-machi-dōri 七日町通り area, which was once Aizu's main commerical street. There's an interesting collection of old buildings, many of which still house shops making and selling traditional crafts:
I took the town bus one last time, completing the loop by alighting at Aizu-Wakamatsu Station. Then it was back to ミスド for a well-deserved coffee break:
For dinner that evening I ended up staying in the hotel and eating at the 10th floor restaurant, where I tucked into a garlic steak:
In the hotel lobby were a pair of, you guessed it,
akabbeko:
Once again, I was surprised by the large number of foreign tourists exploring "off the beaten path" locations. Even along the Goshiki-numa trail there were some Westerners, as well as a group of Chinese tourists defying their government's hilarious advice not to visit a place as "dangerous" as Japan. Obviously I've been well-aware of the ponds and of Aizu-Wakamatsu for at least the past 35 years, and my knowledge was mainly gleaned from a combination of guidebooks and word of mouth, with sprinkles of newspaper/magazine articles and TV travel programs thrown into the mix. All of this knowledge was built up long before social media had taken over our lives. But I'm curious as to how today's gaijin travelers become familiar enough with small cities like Aizu-Wakamatsu (population 120,000 and declining) that they decide to add them to their Japan itineraries. I'm sure those engaged in the local hospitality industries aren't complaining.
See, I told you this post would be much more of a pleasant read (except for the suicides). Next up I leave Aizu-Wakamatsu and the Bandai Plateau 磐梯高原 to reach my last Japanese prefecture and finally realize one of my travel goals.
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