Nikko

135km north of Tokyo, nestled in blue mountains and cedar forests, lies Nikko. I had been lured by the JR (Japan Railways) posters dotted about my local station which depicted a monk in a red robe ascending a broad flight of stone steps towards an ornate looking temple at the summit. 'Premium Japan' they read. Furthermore, according to my Lonely Planet guide, this was "a must see spot even for the most whirl-wind tours of Japan." After a little research on the net, my obliging manager found the train times for me. The journey would involve 5 changes and a pricey ride on the shinkansen (5,600 yen or £28.00 each way) if I wanted to get there in under two and a half hours. As a result, my prospective travelling companion backed out and I was forced to make the journey alone. Not that I minded. In fact I was adamant that there was a cheaper way of doing it.

It felt great to be travelling to an unfamiliar destination, despite the horribly early start. Yes, for me, 7am is not a time that I am accustomed to getting up. Apart from my trip to Tsukiji fish market, I hadn't had to get up that early since the morning I caught my flight to Japan from the UK! Anyway, I plugged into my i-pod and watched the vast, almost never ending city-scape ever so slowly meld into paddy fields and hills. By the time I got to Nikko it was almost midday. The journey had taken a little longer than it would have done on the bullet train but it had cost half as much.

The town itself was quiet and grey and unremarkable. The main street led up the hill from the station towards the mountains. It was overcast and a light mist hung in the air. I wasn't sure of the direction I was supposed to take so I just took a chance and headed up the hill. Soon enough I came to the tourist information center where I procured a map and a couple of leaflets about the majestic sights I was soon to see. I was on the right track anyway and after a further 20 minutes I reached the Shinkyo sacred bridge. A few tourists had paid to walk across it but I felt that it looked better from a distance: a perfect red arc over a crystal clear river against a backdrop of forested mountains.

From there I made my way up to the Sannai area which is where the main conglomeration of temples and shrines are situated. There is a saying that goes "See Nikko and die." After seeing this ancient site I came to understand something of the meaning of this peculiar fanfare. The beauty is overwhelming and not something I can really describe in words. There is a seemingly endless network of shrines and torii gates, gold encrusted temples, pathways through giant cedars, stone steps, granite lanterns, a five story scarlet pagoda and of course hundreds of other sightseers all snapping away with their digital cameras. Unfortunately it was a little too early in the year to see the leaves changing colour. I heard that the acer trees are like a blaze of red and orange stars in autumn. It had been a surprisingly long summer so the tide of fire descending from Northern Hokkaido wouldn't reach Nikko until early December.

By the end of the afternoon I was satiated. I had feasted on ancient relics adored every carving and painted warrior, climbed every step, walked in bare feet over red lacquered floors and contemplated every place of meditation. The dull light of day was now drifting into dusk and the mist had turned to drizzle. I wanted to go further up into the mountains in search of the waterfall I had been told about. Apparently there are wild monkeys there. I found myself on a main road and made the decision to walk north for a while, following the asphalt. If I found a sign that indicated that the waterfall was near after 20 minutes, then I would go for it. If not I would turn back and head for the station. Half an hour later at 5.00pm there were still no signs, so I retraced my steps and started the one hour walk back to Nikko station. It was a miserable evening. I hadn't brought a jacket or an umbrella so my fine sweater was feeling rather soggy by this stage.

The town was almost empty except for the odd tourist hurrying back to their snug hotel. I didn't know what time the train left (just another thing I had left up to chance) so I took the time to stop at a souvenir shop en route. Dumplings steamed in the night air, sending up a sweet fog. Inside the little stores were a merry assortment of beautifully wrapped boxes of rice cakes filled with anko, which is a sweet bean paste. On top sat the obligatory box of convincingly real, plastic imitation food for display purposes. Everywhere you go in Japan you see fake food on show. It is quite useful really especially when you can't understand the menu; most restaurants have all their dishes reproduced in plastic in the window.

I was lucky enough to make it just in time for a train departing to Utsunomiya. It took me over three hours to get back to Tokyo but it was worth it. My head was full of impressions: the famous 'no evils' monkeys, roasting corn-on-the-cob, urns from which swirled clouds of burning incense, a zen garden, the peculiar acoustic properties of the Yakushi-Do hall, people clapping on the threshholds of shrines and tossing coins.... In between my recollections, like most of the Japanese, I was asleep for much of the journey. It had been good to have a day out of the city and get a real taste of the utterly contradictory, traditional side of Nippon. There certainly are two opposing worlds in this country and yet interestingly, both hold the same appeal for me.