kyoto

      So from the farthest point on our trip we retraced our route as far as Kyoto. The station features a vast concourse matching Grand Central or Milan in scale, a futurist edifice designed by Hiroshi Mara and opened in 1997 with a 15 storey high barrel vault, and escalators going up and up to the sky. Like most of these Japanese rail hubs, the building incorporates a department store, shopping mall, restuarants and much more. We stayed in the 500 room Granvia Hotel there (we also stayed in station hotels in Nagasaki and Hiroshima, much the best way as these are also subway/tram/bus hubs so easy on arrival and for getting around the city). The hotel has all the self-confidcne and busy-ness of the best city hotels, with bellhops buzzing around, endless bowing functionaries (although their only function seemed to be bowing) and visitors from around the world coming and going.

     Kyoto was a city that grew on us over the days we spent there. There are wide boulevards but also a grid of narrow lanes, full of overhead wires and tiny businesses, and even tinier houses, all individual in design (you never see a terrace of identical units) and crammed in cheek by jowl, often with another house built on the land behind and accessed by a tiny passage. You could call it ugly, but it felt lived-in and even cute. The tiny houses mostly have a tiny car space with a tiny boxy car. These almost cartoonish vehicles are unique to Japan and very popular. The Nissan N-box is the country's best selling car. To the east of the city, particularly the Gion district, the houses are older, traditional timber stuctures. We wandered around after dark and although it's now rather touristy, its narrow dimly lit lanes, busy, gleaming Shinto shrines, and Japanese visitors in hired kimonos made gave a flavour of old Kyoto.

     As the former capital, until the 1860s, Kyoto has plenty of historic sites and we visited some of the most famous. The Higashi (eastern) Hongan-ji temple of a Buddhist sect is one of the world's biggest timber buildings and really is on a massive scale, with a calm, hushed interior that contrasts to the hubbub of Shinto shrines. The Imperial palace gardens are also huge, with wide gravel walkways, friendly herons and the forbidding walls of the palace itself. It contrasts with Nijo-jo, the double moated castle of the Shoguns. Here we visited the lavish audience chambers, splendid but fragile, all wood and paper sliding screens with wonderful wall paintings of tigers and wild landscapes; and numbing to our bare feet on this brilliantly sunny but chilly day.

     Further afield we visited the Fushimi Inari-taisha shrine – at the foot of the mountain, it features thousands of torii gates framing the paths up the hillside and through bamboo forests. We were also lucky enough to visit the Katsura imperial villa, a modest retreat designed for moon-viewing, with elaborate gardens and tea houses for each season.

     Finally, we went to the railway museum. Although not train buffs we found this fascinating. Early steam trains through to the first shinkansen are on display, and it has what must be the world's biggest model train set.

hiroshima and nagasaki

    

Now a prosperous modern city resting on the ashes of the fallen, Hiroshima carefully reminds us of the horrors of war, and stands as a champion for peace. The memorial museum lets the personal testimonies of survivors stand for themselves when describing the sudden erasure of an entire civilian population one sunny August day in 1945. The familiar shell of the 'A-bomb building' stands as a gaunt reminder. The museum at Nagasaki is perhaps even more impressive. It stands on a rise overlooking the bomb's ground zero. We are told that no-one survived within 1 km of this spot, and there are stories of the creeping radiation sickness that followed, spreading wider and wider each day. Some even more harrowing stories are told here.

     Hiroshima has since rebuilt and is now a prosperous city, established 500 years ago in a river delta as a defensive stronghold. The branches of the river, now concreted in place, provide an attractive relief from the urban sprawl. There is a shogun's castle (a reconstruction of the buildings destroyed in 1945) with massive defences and a five storey wooden keep. We preferred Nagasaki, set on either side of a steep sided valley, with mountains visible beyond. In the days of isolationist Japan, this was the only place that Europeans were allowed to stay. A small artificial island was a trading base for the Portuguese – until they were thrown out for attempting to convert the locals to Christianity – and then the Dutch. The site has now been reconstructed to show the strange mix of Japanese and western design that resulted. 

    By the mid 19^th century the Americans and British arrived and pretty soon Japan was open to free trade and an industrial revolution. Nagasaki became the first centre of shipbuilding and manufacturing. The houses of Dutch and British merchant colonies are preserved on hillsides above the port, deveoped as Japan opened up to free trade. The view from the Glover House is said to have inspired Puccini's Madame Butterfly.     
     There were some extraordinary chancers who fetched up here and made a fortune at the start of Japan's opening up. What's curious is how quickly Japan's psyche moved from complete isolation to wanting to control half of Asia.

    

     There was also a Chinese community here, with its own isolated walled compound, and the temples, streets and restaurants in this part of the city still have a Chinese flavour. Lots of scurrying about with loaded hand trolleys, and mysterious shops selling very little. Preparations were being made for the elaborate annual lantern festival. We did the other big tourist thing here, a trip by cable car (Ian managed to brave it) to a high western lookout with an eagle's eye view of the entire city.

     The last part of the rail journey to get to Nagasaki was spectacular. We transferred from a shinkansen to a limited express train. The route has to fight its way through difficult terrain, with dozens of tunnels and sharp bends, and viaducts across sea facing gorges, to the terminus at the far south eastern end of Japan's main islands.

     Close to Hiroshima is the island known as Miyajima, one of Japan's most famous shrines. We took the tram and ferry there. This is a very old sacred location, dedicated to the sea-god patrons of a local war lord. Though rebuilt many times, the form is supposed to be as it was in the 12^th century – a series of walkways and inner shrines over water, with a huge torii gate indicating the entrance, out to sea – one of Japan's most celebrated views.

hakone

     Time to move on to experience a little of rural Japan. Cloase to Tokyo is the hot-springs area of Hakone. We arrived there via the high speed Shinkansen and then two little local trains, taking us up into the mountains on 8% grades to 700m, to Gora. This little village sits high on the side of a gorge and is a popular weekend resort. We stayed in the very stylish Hyatt Regency with a huge lobby providing a generous happy hour round the wood burning stove. We also tried the onsen, the Japanese style hot soaking bath fed by natural hot spring waters, and ate at the sushi restaurant, where the food was even better than the posh Tokyo place, prepared by two jolly old cooks with great skill and showmanship.

     

Nearby is a world class sculpture park, on an extensive wooded hillside, and filled with work by the famous and not so famous. Several Moores, a Hepworth, and some interesting kinetic pieces. There is also a pavilion dedicated to Picasso with work in every possible medium. The classic thing to do is a round trip to Lake Ashinoko. We did this, first going by bus to Choan-ji temple at Sengokuhara, a charming local shrine with hundreds of quirky little statues of Buddha disciples all over the wooded hillside, and a cemetery behind: the wind catches wooden grave markers and makes them clatter eerily. From there to the lake where you cruise around on ferries disguised (who knows why?) as pirate ships. Then back, up and over the mountains by cable car across a hellish volcanic landscape of sulphurous rocks and steam vents, wailing like a possessed kettle; and finally deescending by stately funicular to Gora.

tokyo - january 2019

      Japan in winter. This is a long anticipated trip, a rail tour starting in Tokyo and then south and east. The depth of winter seems like an odd time to choose, but the weather then is supposed to be cool, dry and often sunny. So it proved, with mostly clear blue skies throughout our first week – in fact, exceptionally good for the great amount of walking we hoped to do in the capital. First task after the train from Narita airport was to find our way out of the sprawling Tokyo station. I had done my homework though, and soon we were on the streets of Ginza, a hotel and business district just by the station. First impressions were of a prosperous working environment. Tall modern blocks shaded the narrow streets, lined with many small bars and restaurants. Our hotel was well located and the staff helpfully gave us a local map highlighting good local places to eat.

      We really did walk, encouraged by that brilliantly clear weather – 58km in our four days there – and walking is always the best way to get a feel for a city. And it's easy there. Good pavements, clear crossings (pedestrian lights strictly obeyed) and no mad cyclists, with clear maps and signs everywhere. The subway is also easy to navigate and we used this to go between districts. Signs in fact are almost the dominant feature of Tokyo. Every building seems to be covered in them, and at night they glow and trhob with life. This is perhaps the biggest surprise to me about Japan. In the west we regarded Japan as the source of good modernist taste: clean lines, minimalist, restrained design. And you can still find some of that, but for the most part the buildings are banal and plastered with ugly advertising. Hardly any old buildings survive (except the few set piece palaces and shrines), but that can largely be blamed on the war, earthquakes and fires.

      We visited some of Tokyo's other well known centres (like London, it has developed from a series of separate villages and some of them retain their own character. Shibuya and Shinjuku are major hubs with vast crowds thronging the pavements at all hours. We saw the famous Shibuya crossing and the louche back lanes of Shinjuku's nightlife areas. Other highlights:

      Asakusa and the Senso-ji shrine. This is Tokyo's oldest and most revered temple. But little sign of reverence here. It is surrounded by curio shops and markets and thronged with giggling school parties, as well as family groups in traditional dress taking selfies. A spectator's dream: theatre of the street. There are lucky charm stalls and methods of establishing whether you are in for good or bad luck – and you can leave the bad luck behind (for a fee). The temple itself, its pagoda and entrance gate, are impressive, with vast paper lanterns and swirling clouds of incense, and a lot of enjoyment: a far cry from the dour restraint of other religions.

      A very different experience, and spectacular building, is to be found at the Tsukiji Hongwanji temple in Ginza. Built of stone, in ancient Indian style, it is much more church-like and belongs to a Buddhist sect, Jodoshinshu, whose view of a redemptive Buddha seems to chime with Christian thought. Nearby is the sprawling fish market, which is gradually moving over into tourism but still retains a feeling of a living market, with every kind of seafood and little stalls and snack bars selling steaming skewers of fish or, of course, sushi and sashimi.

      The National Garden at Shinjuku, Tokyo's Kew, was originally a private garden of the Emperor and features tradiitonal Japanese style sections with tea houses and shady rest areas, as well as English and French landscapes and a big glasshouse with tropical displays. It has many beautiful prospects across water, and although largely muted winter sienna shades after a prologed dry spell, there were harbingers of spring with daffodils, camelias and even some early blossom. We also visited the Hama-Rikyu gardens, formerly the site of an Edo stronghold by the waterfront looking over (now largely reclaimed with massive tower blocks) Tokyo Bay*. Ueno's park was disappointing, poorly maintained and overbuilt with museums and a Starbuck's, though there is a good shrine.

      As a special treat we had dinner in a 10 seat, highly rated restaurant where we could watch the young chef prepare our 11 course tasting menu, Ian bravely sampling the many fish dishes, including potentially poisonous blowfish. The accompanying sake pairings to each course – a real education this – perhaps made it easier. Many restaurants and bars here are tiny, seating no more than about 10, who normally squeeze in to sit at the bar to drink and eat. Most specialise in one particular type of food or drink. The economics of this is mystifying. A far cry from London's stultifying takeover by bland chains.

*Footnote for birders: In Hama-Rikyu garden we found a gaggle of excited bird fanciers focusing their huge camouflaged cameras on a particular tree.  There was what we later found out was a Blakiston's fish owl (Bubo blakistoni), of which only a few hundred pairs survive in Hokkaido, Japan's remote norhtern island.  This is a type of eagle owl, and the largest owl in the world.  It sat on a low branch over the ornamental pond, well stocked with carp too big even for its big talons, staring back at us, in a rather cross eyed fashion, and occasionally preening itself.  What it was doing hundreds of miles south in a busy urban park in one of the world's busiest cities was anyone's guess.

2018 08 berlin and points north

      At the end of a long, hot summer, we were off to middle Europe. As is usual with our holiday plans, 'scope creep' led us from an initial few days in Berlin for the European athletics championships in Berlin, into a royal progress overland northwards by train, ferry and car to the northenmost point of Denmark.

      We have always had a fondness for Berlin, going way back to partition days, and today it’s a comfortable, prosperous city. Now it’s knitted back together, but still the scars of the Wall are visible here and there. As we walked the streets, memories of the cold war scenes we saw in the early 80s played like a faded black and white movie superimposed on this shiny new city.

      Scars too of earlier conflict: the plaques on the streets showing where people were dragged away to oblivion; the rubble site of Gestapo HQ, the old Soviet war memorial … But for all that, Berlin today is a buzzing, lively and very green city. We hit the tail end of Europe's long hot summer there, but temperatures started to fall away after the first day.

      The games were held in the stadium built for the 1936 Olympics, an exercise in stripped down classicism recently modernised and a fine setting on a summer's evening (despite its history) for some thrilling events. Memorable were a record breaking high jump contest and the men's and women's 100m relays, which were both won by the UK. I must admit to a slight chill when Germany won a gold medal and 60,000 people stood for their national anthem. Surrounded by those shaved-sides-and quiff hairstyles that seem to be compulsory for youths these days, warmly lit by the setting sun, it felt like we were in a Leni Riefenstahl movie.

      But the feeling soon passed. Wandering through the Tiergarten and the city's spacious boulevards and squares – filled with leisurely families on bikes, groups enjoying a beer in shady pavement cafes, and lovers just taking in the sun – all seemed right with this city.

      We also went to the Konzerthaus for a performance and a fine hall it is: its gorgeous interior has been beautifully reconstructed since reunification, like many a building here. And we walked for miles, through areas rich and poor – along the canal and to Charlottenburg, and to Kreuzberg, and the museum district. I was reading Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood, and many familiar streets and names provided another layer of history to overlay the present.

      Next, we followed Christopher and went north, passing close to the Polish border, through an endless vista of flat arable land. Each village has neat red and white gabled houses, a couple of abandoned factories by the station, an area of allotments filled with ramshackle dachas, a water tower, a steepled church and a wind farm. Proceeding by smaller and smaller, more and more local trains we finally reached our destination: Ruegen Island. Isherwood stayed here in the early 30s, and his description of Sellin, “almost entirely of boarding-houses, in various styles of seaside architecture – sham Moorish, old Bavarian, Taj Mahal, and the rococo doll's house, with white fretwork balconies” is just as true today. The woods are still there, too, and we had a lovely walk through pine trees and beech hangers, from Binz, where we were staying. We even encountered the “little train” that took Otto back to Berlin, a narrow gauge steam train that still threads its way through the woods.

      Both resorts are surprisingly calm and upmarket. Binz has a long, carless promenade and an established clientele. The resorts here front the gentle arc of sandy beaches facing the “tepid shallow Baltic” of the Ostsee, where people came for a sea-bathing cure.      There is a fine Kurhaus and many villas from the turn of the 19^th century. We saw a surprising number of grandparents with young children: we speculated that this was a favoured spot for the East Berlin elite in the soviet era. Just out of town is an extraordinary 4.5km long hulk, Prora, built in the 1930s as holiday apartments for workers, but never completed due to the war. It just goes on and on: the nearer end is now being modernised, though the grounds are still almost derelict. We couldn't imagine who would want to live there.

      Continuing our northward journey we took the ferry to Trelleborg in Sweden, and then to Malmö, where we found ourselves in the middle of a huge street festival, the squares filled with stages, loud music and fast food stalls: quite a shock after the peaceful days on Ruegen Island. But we immediately moved on, crossing The Bridge (no dead bodies spotted!) to København and our train further north: a very comfortable, spacious train (and cheap) sped us across Denmark's islands and up the Jutland peninsular.

Aarhus is a big (by Danish standards) port city, and still very active, with an attractive centre. There is a brick cathedral, part romanesque, part gothic, with a huge tower, and a school that has operated continuously since at least 1195. Aarhus also has perhaps the most amazing modern public library anywhere, Dokk 1, by the harbour. We stayed a bit out of town in a classic 60s Nordic brick modernist hotel across the bay. Unfortunately, the management have filled it with bog-standard hotel furniture, ghastly carpets and crude paintings of pirates rather than mid-century classics. But it was still great to sit on the terrace watching the evenings draw in; the food was excellent (the Danes are particularly good at breakfasts); and there were lovely walks through the woods and along the beaches nearby.

     Next day we drove out to the gently rolling countryside of Mols Bjerge National Park and to Ebeltoft, a very pretty little fishing village of single storey half-timber houses with hollyhocks round the door. Later we were joined by Marc and Nigel, who joined us for the final part of the trip. We undertook our final northward stage, by car to the farthest point of Jutland, where we were to stay for a week in Skagen.

Pictures here: https://www.flickr.com/photos/keithuk/albums/

 

2018 08 skagen, denmark

      Where the Skagerrak ('Skagen-reach') meets the Kattegat, an expanding sand bar juts out into the sea, extending Denmark to the north and east. This is the site of Skagen (skèy-un). The quality of light and its remoteness led to this becoming a popular area for artists and, after the railway arrived as late as 1890, for tourism. It is now very much a tourist town, with a museum filled with the works of the Skagen Painters, a group that emulated the French impressionists, centred around Anna and Michael Ancher, and also, at the end of his life, Denmark's favourite writer, Holger Drachmann. The houses of the artists and the poet are preserved here as they were, as is the Brøndums Hotel, the social heart of their little society.

      We stayed in a very modern house out by the dunes on the Skagerrak side. We picked up the keys from the lovely people at the tourist office, Toppen af Danmark, and drove out to the house. There it was, like the pictures on the website, all black on the outside, all white and light and warm on the inside with huge windows framing the setting sun as we sat down to dinner. Peter and Mel joined us, having flown in to Aalborg and driven up separately.

      Over the next few days we explored the town and its surroundings. We walked along the beaches near the house, and the heathland further down the coast, where there is a quirky little natural history museum, run by an old couple, filled with stuffed animals and archaeological remains from the area. We went to the lighthouse at Grenen, from where you can walk out to the very tip where the waves of the two seas clash together. Out here is where they celebrate Midsummer's eve with a huge bonfire, and as all over Denmark, they sing Midsommervisen, the song written by Drachmann, who is buried right there out on the dunes. It was surprisingly busy on the Sunday we went, with people keen to stand right out on the final few metres of land with the waves lapping their feet. In the museum, among the many scenes of family life, is a huge painting of one such occasion, with portraits of all the Skagen set standing around the blaze, including the Anchers, and Drachmann himself playing the part of the great literary figure, complete with cloak and wide brimmed hat.

      The town itself is smart, with lots of expensive clothes and craft shops, and a splendid brew house where we spent a couple of boozy afternoons (because, inexplicably, it closes at 7pm): some very good beer and a pleasant stagger home afterwards. On another day, we drove along the north Jutland coast to Hirtshals, turning out to the beach itself where we drove for miles on the hard sand between Skiveren and Tversted.

      Peter, who had seemed rather ill when we arrived, and mostly stayed in the house, started to get worse and after visiting the local doctor, was told to go straight to the hospital, where he stayed for several nights. Luckily, he was well enough to leave the hospital for the last day and, not wanting to miss out, Mel and he drove on the same beach and got stuck in the sand, where friendly locals rallied round and helped to get them out. The hospital at Hjørring was immaculate, newly fitted out, all white surfaces and spotless, and he had a private en suite room with amazing facilities, in the corridor a fridge where patients could help themselves to snacks all day. The staff were friendly and unhurried. This is what the NHS could be like if it wasn't constantly underfunded (the Danish pay 25% more per head than in the UK).

      We finished up with a couple of hygge nights, long lazy home cooked meals with lots of candles and friendly chats. We all took turns cooking during the week and ate splendidly, the local supermarkets being very well provisioned.

So, back home, via Aalborg and Ryanair. On reaching the house, for the first time in months we actually felt cold: it felt good to wear a sweater again. Our slow traverse of central Europe was a great success, and I can imagine revisiting some of these places, particularly northern Denmark, some day.

Pictures here: https://www.flickr.com/photos/keithuk/albums/

italy

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