Inna and I parted at the Tokyo Central Train Station where she caught the train to Narita Airport and then flew to Khabarovsk, Russia and I took the 200 mph Shinakansen Nozomi bullet train south, past rice paddies and end of season farm fields, to the bustling seaside city of Shizuoka.
I checked into the Hotel Associa Shizuoka, a gleaming, white, modern luxury highrise located right next to the train station. My room was on the upper deck and I had a great view of the city center. I bought a few Asahi tall boy beers, put them in the room fridge, and then roamed around town with no plan and stumbled upon the amazing Sumpujo Park, home of the Sumpu Castle with its white stone Hitsujisaru and Tatsumiyagura Turrets and the Middle Moat. And I ended the day with my first magical view of sacred Mt. Fuji as the sun set on another wild day in Japan.
On Day 2, I decided to get out of my comfort zone and venture way off the beaten track to a place called Miho-No Beach. And I totally succeeded. I never saw a white-skinned person and no one I encountered spoke any English. And still I survived — with great gusto, no less.
I could have taken the easy route by hopping a taxi from my hotel. But it would have cost me $50 each way from Shizuoka to Miho-No Beach. So, I just took the JR Local train to a splendid little town adorned with interesting statues near the sea called Shimizu.
I walked around the lovely downtown and then sat for awhile in an open-air, glass roofed shopping promenade that was totally empty, waiting for a bus that would take me within a half-mile of the beach which was supposedly one of Japan’s loveliest because of it’s spectacular view across the water to Mt. Fuji.
The total round trip cost via train and bus was $12.
The smaller Japanese towns are strangely exotic — nothing like America or Europe. And they are all pretty jam-packed and confusing. But everyone was super friendly.
I think that language is highly overrated. Just carry a map and point to where you want to go. Japanese people are happy to help.
With the help of a sweet young college student and a friendly bus driver I made it to the beach without any trouble.
I adopted the Blanche Dubois method of travel and “depend upon the kindness of strangers” wherever I went in Japan.
After a twenty minute ride along the coastline littered with shipping businesses and marinas I got off the bus and walked through what was clearly a laid back beach side community before coming to a shady boardwalk through a wondrous pine forest that led to Miho-No beach where I encountered quite a few Japanese families enjoying the 80-degree sunny day. There were gift shops and a small onsen (hot spring) where little naked children were bathing with the help of their loving parents.
There is, of course, an old legend that surrounds Miho-No Beach. One day a fisherman found a beautiful orange dress hanging in a pine tree and was going to take the treasure home when a young goddess suddenly appeared and said she wanted her dress back. The fisherman said, “Finders keepers.” The maiden began crying and said she couldn’t return to the heavens without her dress. The fisherman took pity on the lass and said he’d give her back the dress if she would perform the “Celestial Dance” which she happily did and then vanished in a mist. It is unclear exactly what the dance involved.
All the reviews on TripAdvisor claimed that the beach was lovely but you couldn’t swim. And nobody was. But I am a water creature — some say I’m part manatee — so that didn’t stop me. I walked along the black stone beach and dove in several times. I expected the milky-blue water to be cold but it was a very comfortable 70 degrees and very salty.
I have no idea why the people weren’t swimming. No one was even sun bathing. In fact, nobody even took off their shirts or wore a bathing suit other than me. And, boy did I get some very funny looks. There were some men in baggy pantaloons, fishing from the huge limestone breakwater stones that resembled the jacks in a children’s game for giants.
The oddest thing was that I didn’t see a single piece of trash — no plastic anything — just a black lava sand beach and trippy, water polished volcanic and limestone rocks, including an incredible blue stone for my rock garden at home that I found at the edge of Suruga Bay.
As for Mt. Fuji, it remained wreathed in clouds all day, so my original goal was unrealized, but the unexpected surprises along the way — like the Shinto Shrines and the tiny white lighthouse — were far greater rewards.
I decided to spend my last day in enchanting Shizuoka just walking around and checking out the captivating sights and sounds.
I began my little walkabout by heading through the surprisingly large Red Light District and then over to a lovely pedestrian promenade lined with an odd assortment of sculptures, my favorite of which depicted two very large businessmen carrying briefcases, colliding in surprise.
My destination was the expansive Shizuoka Sengen-jinja Shrine Park, snuggled in the volcanic foothills that surround the north side of Shizuoka, remnants of the ancient eruptions that gave birth to sacred Mt. Fuji.
It was a hot (80 degrees) and sunny Tuesday. The shrine and the tree-covered grounds were almost empty.
One of the problems with visiting Japanese shrines is that they all look pretty much alike to the untrained eye and all the maps and interpretive signs are in Japanese. So you just have to wing it and appreciate the beauty for what it is.
Most Japanese are Shinto, a prehistoric pantheistic faith based on spirits, much like the Hopi Kachinas, that inhabit pretty much everything, from the Sun to the wind, to the trees and the flowers, and even to dogs and cows. Buddhism, a faith based on the inner self, came later to Japan. Most of the shrines like Sengen started off as Shinto and then morphed into Buddhist. And the two beliefs are happy to share. Buddhism is the dominant issue these days, so many of the building are occupied by the Buddhists and there was a shining white Buddha statue atop the highest peak in the park where a family was happily picnicking.
When I don’t know where to go, I always head for higher ground, a lesson I learned from my days exploring the canyons of the Southwest. So I climbed some pyramid-steep, moss-covered steps at the back of the hulking wooden pagoda shrine that led to a maze of dirt and stone paths (take your pick), winding ever upward to a “false top” of a hill overlooking the whole city with snow cone Mt. Fugi, shining in the east, it’s base wreathed in a puffy, white cloud necklace drifting slowly south to the sea.
I sat in a grove of wind-bent trees that were just starting to drop their leaves as large black crows did their funny “HAW-HAW-HAW” calls that sounded just like raucous laughter from the tops of some tall red cedars. I love crows and ravens and I took their presence as a good sign from the spirits.
I found it interesting that there were many unmarked trails leading to the top — no doubt a metaphor, like the three false tops, for life.
On may way out of the park I stumbled on the other side of the coin: inevitable death.
Space in Japan — or at least on the big island of Honshu where Shizuoka and Tokyo are located — is quite limited. So when people die they are cremated and their ashes put in urns, often quite elaborate and expensive. The rich can, of course, build fancy altars and monuments, but most folks settle for a carved black or grey-columned urn or mini-monolith.
I was heading for the lush green Johoku Park with its little ponds and waterfalls that I had spotted from Buddha Peak when I came upon a combination funeral home and cemetery nestled into the base of a lush hill. It was a one stop shop for death where you could buy a nice urn to put mom or dad in and some ledge space in the adjacent cramped cemetery. The family urns and monoliths sat crammed together atop stone ledges exposed to the elements forevermore.
Death is a really big deal in Japan and dead family members are worshiped.
Each year in August is the Bon Festival, where people have a grand family reunion — usually traveling back to their home village — at the grave site of their dearly departed. They clean the grave, bring food to the dead, light candles, and do the Bon-Odori Dance.
This is a 500-year-old Buddhist-Confucian custom to honor one’s ancestors. The Japanese do not believe the spirits of their ancestors reside at the family altars, but they do believe they return there for the festival every year, especially if you bring the food they liked best when they were alive. Supposedly, the cemeteries, all glowing with candles at night during the Bon Festival, are quite the heart-warming spectacle.
In Japan, life and death are a never ending trip — the perpetual circle of the dragon eating its tail — so it’s best to just enjoy the ride.
