Tokaido Day 25 – Sunday, 3 December: Kusatsu to Sanjo-Ohashi (Kyoto) (29 km)

As I mentioned in the previous update, I’d finished Saturday’s walk feeling tired and not entirely confident of getting all the way to Kyoto today. As it turned out, I reached Sanjo-Ohashi – the bridge in Kyoto that marks the western end of the Tokaido – with energy to spare, but I didn’t know that as I set off early to walk the kilometre or so from the hotel to Zeze station to catch a train to Kusatsu.

Once back on the Tokaido, not far from Kusatsu station I passed Tachiki shrine, looking gorgeous in the morning light, and I stopped to pay my respects and hope for a successful final day. Note the deer either side of the steps leading up to the main building.

A little further on, at Inari shrine, was another example of a row of torii gates, of which I’d seen many on the road from Tokyo. Getting closer to Kyoto as I was, I couldn’t help but think of the much more famous (and, to be fair, much larger and more beautiful) rows of torii at the namesake shrine in the south of the city, which draws hundreds of thousands of visitors each year. All the ones I’d seen, ranging from the long and well-kept to the short and almost derelict, I’d had to myself. 

A couple of kilometres further on, at a small lake, a narrow bridge connected to a little island…

… on which sat a tiny shrine.

The flowers were artificial, but as always, what was most striking was the care and attention to detail that is devoted to even the smallest place of special meaning.

Eventually the Tokaido crossed the Seta River, the main outflow from Lake Biwa at its southernmost point. The bridge in the background carries the Tokaido Shinkansen.

There was a festive atmosphere around the bridge I was crossing, created partly by a small army of volunteers in orange bibs who were evidently on a litter-eradication mission. One of them handed me a package of what are apparently “city designated garbage bags”, with a label carrying a warning that violating the Shiga Prefecture Garbage Prevention Ordinance can result in a fine of up to 20,000 yen (about $200).

I still have the bags, and as I don’t want to add to Japan’s already considerable plastic waste problem, I suppose I’ll take them back to Australia. Strange sort of souvenir.

From the bridge the Tokaido turned north and headed towards central Otsu, roughly following the western shore of the lake. In fact it passed within a few blocks of my hotel, which from ground level looks like this:

I’m on the left-hand side, about two-thirds of the way up.

At the other end of Otsu the route took a left turn and climbed away from the lake towards the hills that separate the city from Kyoto.

A couple of days ago I wrote that Suzuka Pass is the last one on the road to Kyoto. Turns out that wasn’t actually true, as the route over these hills in front of me is officially known as a pass, although it’s barely a pimple compared to, say, Hakone Pass. The other significant thing about this spot is that it was, as far as I could remember, the first time ‘Kyoto’ had appeared as a destination on a road sign.

Towards the top of the pass I rejoined Route 1 (ah, such fond memories…) and I took one last distance-from-Nihombashi photo:

In my dreams, the road crested the pass and the glittering city of Kyoto lay spread beneath me, ancient temples and shrines sparkling in the autumn sunlight. In reality, the road winds up the narrow valley on one side … and then it winds down the valley on the other, passing through a few towns on the way.

By now I was pretty hungry, and a little noodle shop had a picture menu outside that I knew I could fall back on if needed. Once inside and studying the printed menu, I recognised the kanji for ‘meat’ and took a punt on that. What emerged from the kitchen probably wouldn’t win any awards for fine dining, but it was meaty and fatty and hot and delicious, and exactly what I needed just then.

Nearby, a house had an amazing display of chrysanthemums and other flowers outside:

Just past here, the Tokaido veered away from Route 1 and (unexpectedly, as far as I was concerned) up a hill along the by-now very familiar narrow back streets. 

Round about here, I turned onto the very last map page of my Japanese Tokaido book, which I’d bought through Amazon ages ago in preparation for what was then nothing more than a dream, and which (along with Google and Apple Maps) had been my guide all the way from Nihombashi. The orange line is the Tokaido, and the point where it ends as it crosses a river is Sanjo-Ohashi, my destination.

Apparently, the stretch of the Tokaido between Otsu and Kyoto was one of the few where wheeled vehicles were permitted, as they were used to transport huge quantities of rice into the imperial capital. The carts were drawn by oxen, and there’s a replica of one of them where the Tokaido rejoins Route 1 for the final time.

Down the hill, past the romantic highlight of the Kyoto City Water Filtration Plant (not on many tourist lists) … and suddenly Western faces everywhere. Having seen barely a handful of Westerners since leaving Tokyo, now I was surrounded by them. I wanted a sign: “I’m not like them. I’m not just another gaijin tourist. I walked here.”

The Tokaido had one last bubble to burst. For some reason, I’d pictured Sanjo-Ohashi as being on the eastern edge of Kyoto: on one side, the hills; on the other, the city. I suppose once upon a time it probably was the city’s eastern boundary, which is why it was the end of the road. Nowadays, having entered Kyoto proper just past the Water Filtration Plant, there’s a good kilometre or so of city walking until you reach the fabled bridge.

And there it was … thronged with people. Finding time and space to stand still long enough for a selfie wasn’t easy, but I was determined to record the occasion.

I paused to send a message to my family to let them know I’d arrived, and noticed I’d received a message from Jun-san, who I’d walked with on Day 22, telling me he’d arrived at Sanjo-Ohashi not 15 minutes earlier. “Me too!” I replied. Fortunately, his hotel was not far from the bridge, and he very kindly made the effort to come out and meet me for a celebratory coffee and and chance to compare notes from our last few days’ of walking. I was so glad I was able to share the sense of achievement at having completed the trek with someone who’d experienced exactly the same thing. Jun-san said again that he plans to visit Australia next year, and I hope we’ll get the chance to meet up again so I can show him some of the sights of Sydney we talked about as we were walking that day.

While I was waiting for Jun-san, I took the opportunity to use Google Translate to read some of the signboards at the western end of the bridge. One of them (with the usual caveat for possible mistranslation) reads in part:

Prayer for safety on the road.

The journey is a journey, and the world is full of compassion. Hoping for safety along the way.

It’s fun to touch

How the journey began.

Such a clunky translation, yet I found it quite moving in the circumstances.

After bidding Jun-san a fond farewell and with much mutual congratulation, I caught a couple of trains back to Otsu and the high-rise hotel.

I’ve completed the journey four days ahead of schedule, and feeling fitter (and a little lighter) than I have in years. Aches and pains have come and gone and come back again, but never to such a point that they’ve become debilitating. As I hoped, I’ve seen the Japan that tourists rarely see: the mundane back streets and anonymous malls where Westerners are enough of a rarity to warrant second glances. I’ve also visited temples and shrines that will never feature in a tourist guide, but that have possessed a quiet serenity and beauty that at times almost moved me to tears.

And although I wish my Japanese had been good enough to allow me to interact better with people along the way, I’ve been constantly touched by the generosity and heartfelt encouragement of those I’ve met and who have been kind enough to listen to (or read) my story.

Would I recommend walking the Tokaido to anyone else? Probably not. Most of it is not particularly scenic; much of it is, in fact, pretty ugly (Route 1, I’m talking about you). It was very much a personal quest, born out of a trip to Japan several years ago and a desire to learn more about the country. And I’m very glad I did it.

 

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