Off the beaten track in Japan
Justine Tyerman becomes immersed in the Japanese way of life on a hiking tour of the remote, mountainous Izu Peninsula, a region formed by a collision millions of years ago.
Igreeted my husband with a deep bow when I arrived home from Japan. I’d only been away 10 days but the impeccable manners of the Japanese people had rubbed off on me even in that time. The gracious bow had become instinctive and felt entirely natural.
Chris was delighted with his polite new wife, though a bit mystified as to why I wouldn’t enter the house without first removing my shoes. He was also puzzled when, after a long hot bath instead of my usual quick shower, I changed into a yukata (robe) and slippers I’d brought back from my travels, instead of my standard evening attire of jeans and a sweatshirt.
He thought that eating our roast lamb dinner with chopsticks was a little eccentric, but when I attempted to pull the mattress off the bed to sleep on the floor, he decided I’d gone too far.
I was missing my futon made up each night on the tatami matting of the beautiful traditional Japanese ryokan (inns) we stayed at. Not to mention the toilets with heated seats and an intriguing repertoire.
When I invited my friends around for our regular Friday night catch-up, they looked at me sideways when I suggested we soak in the spa pool in our ‘‘birthday suits’’, as is the practice in Japanese onsen baths . . . segregated, of course.
It was all part of the total immersion, ‘‘Japaneseification’’ process that took place on the Izu Geo Trail, where the etiquette, manners, evening attire, footwear, food, sleeping, dining, and bathing practices were in accordance with traditional rituals and protocols dating back centuries.
The seven-day, six-night guided hiking tour of the Izu Peninsula with Walk Japan was long enough for me to become familiar and at ease with the customs, and look forward to the moment when my weary feet would slip into soft slippers at the entrance to our ryokan, and my tired muscles would find relief in the hot spring waters of the onsen baths. Sheer bliss at the end of a long day’s hiking.
Walk Japan had fully briefed us on onsen etiquette so I knew to completely strip off in the ladies’ changing room before entering the femalesonly
bath area, sit on a little stool at one of the washing stations, and soap, scrub and thoroughly rinse every inch of my body before dipping even a toe into the spring water. This is a traditional ritual that must be followed to the letter.
I’ve never been so tinglingly clean in my life. No swimsuits allowed, with the exception of a mixedgender pool at the foot of a spectacular waterfall at Amagiso ryokan in Kawazu.
After chatting about the highlights of the day with my nude women friends, there were no timeconsuming decisions about what to wear for dinner. All the ryokan we stayed at supplied lovely yukata for guests to wear in the hotel. This had a wonderful unifying and levelling effect on the guests, and meant you could never get the dress code wrong. Had I known beforehand, I would not have lugged so many clothes with me. All I needed for the whole week was my hiking gear. Most toiletries were also supplied, so you can leave your skin and hair products at home, too.
We stayed in a variety of ryokan, each one a delightful surprise – overlooking the ocean, surrounded by lush green forests, amid beautiful Japanese gardens, or by rivers in picturesque villages. I loved the simplicity of the rooms without large beds dominating the space. My futon and feather duvet were always beautifully laid out when I returned to my room after dinner and, during the day, they were tucked away in a wardrobe. Such a clever space-saver.
Every evening we feasted on 10 to 12 courses of exquisitely-presented cuisine with a predominance of fresh seafood, sashimi, vegetables, and wasabi, the specialty of the region. The flavours and textures were delicate and light. Much of the food was cooked at the table on little burners.
The scene of my ‘‘Japanese-ification’’, the Izu Peninsula, is in southeast Honshu, just two hours by train from Tokyo. One of the most unique geological areas on the planet, the peninsula was designated a Unesco Geopark in April 2018. Izu is the only place in the world where two active volcanic arcs collide, and where the phenomena resulting from these massive tectonic forces can be observed today.
The formation of the peninsula fascinated me. Undersea volcanic activity 20 million years ago created a landmass that was forced into collision with Honshu as the Philippine Sea Plate pushed against the Eurasian Plate. As a result, the Izu Peninsula is bubbling with seismic and geothermal activity, bristling with volcanoes, and gouged by river and sea erosion. It’s a beautiful and aweinspiring geological treasure.
Our group of 12 explored the many gems of the peninsula on foot with private transportation available to whisk us to our ryokan in the late afternoon. Hiking for three to six hours a day with some steep ascents and descents, our excellent tour leader and guide, Yohei, set a moderate pace, but there never seemed to be any time pressure. The landscape took me by surprise. I had not expected to find such a spectacular, remote wilderness, largely untouched by tourism, so close to the world’s biggest city. The drama of the coastline with its massive dark tongues of lava thrusting into the cobalt-blue, sometimes aqua-turquoise Pacific Ocean, filled me with wonder. I was hypnotised by the action of the frothy, lace-edged waves swirling into narrow gashes in the rock and smashing into sea caves with a hollow thunk.
On the east coast, the rapid cooling action of the sea on the lava flow has created columnar jointed rocks that are so symmetrical, they look as if they have been carefully chiselled into shape rather than fashioned by the forces of nature.
Perpendicular pewter cliffs like rows of organ pipes, are relentlessly harassed by the sea, sending curtains of spray high into the air, creating rainbow fragments in the sky.
Offshore, low-lying, coal-black rock outcrops, arranged in neat hexagons, are washed by the ebb and flow of the tide. Wedged between gnarled headlands are deserted white sand beaches with palm trees, snatched from postcards of tropical islands.
We ventured deep inland to the Amagi Highland, part of a mountain range that forms a spine along the length of the Izu Peninsula. The hillsides are like crumpled paper, screwed up and tossed aside by the force of the tectonic plates as they collided millions of years ago.
Our local guide, Dan, led us up a forest track through beautiful beech and maple forests to Hatchoike, the crater lake of Mt Amagi. Misty rain enhanced the colours and added an ethereal atmosphere to the landscape. We walked through the historic 445-metre Amagi Tunnel, completed in 1904, which features in Nobel Prize-winning author Yasunari Kawabata’s moving short story, The Izu Dancer.
Torrential rain forced the cancellation of our hike to Kawazu’s seven waterfalls, but the everresourceful Yohei arranged a visit to the Uehara Museum of Art near Shimoda instead. The museum has two magnificent galleries displaying precious Buddhist art and sculptures dating to the 8th century, and modern art including paintings by Monet, Renoir and Picasso. Such a surprise, so understated.
Doing a fine job of making it up as we went along, Yohei found an excellent little restaurant for lunch that served soba buckwheat noodle dishes similar to the one on our itinerary. We also got to grate our own wasabi to add to our noodles. It was absolutely delicious, especially with a glass or two of Kirin beer.
Under clearing skies, we travelled south to the 1200-year-old Shirahama shrine with its 2000-yearold tree and bright red torii gate, a dramatic landmark on an exposed promontory facing the sea.
Izu has witnessed pivotal moments in history. In 1853, US Commodore Matthew C Perry and his Black Ships sailed into Shimoda on Izu’s southeast coast, threatening to use force if the Japanese government did not open up to foreign trade.
Perry returned in 1854 and negotiated a treaty that ended Japan’s 220-year seclusion from the world by opening Shimoda and Hakodate to American vessels. This event set in motion the fall of the shogun in 1868, and launched Japan on its path of modernisation and industrialisation.
Strolling around Shimoda, we visited Gyokusen-ji, a small 16th-century Zen temple that became the residence of Townsend Harris, the first American consul to Japan. An ancient shrine clings to the southern-most tip of the peninsula at Cape Irozaki, where believers offer thanks to the deities for the abundant harvest of the seas and seek protection against the forces of nature that are so fierce in this land.
The west coast is even more remote and unpopulated. Local guide John led us on the Nishiizu trail where glimpses of Mt Fuji in the hazy distance sparked a frenzy of photographs. The mountain appeared a few times, tantalisinglyshrouded in mist, but the best view came completely unexpectedly on the day of our departure, filling the entire front window of our taxi to Mishima Station.
Under blue skies, with a calm, shimmering ocean, the west coast seascape was breathtaking. Deeply-eroded, jagged headlands; sheer cliffs undercut by sea caves; strings of rocky, bushtopped islands rising abruptly from the sea, some joined by necklaces of sand; pretty fishing villages hiding behind tall, tsunami protection walls; and bobbing boats moored in sheltered coves.
At Futo Beach, volcanic necks – former magma pathways in the vents of what were once ancient submarine volcanos – stand in a row along the seashore like teeth riddled with cavities. At Dogashima, we were blessed with a spectacular sunset, and views of a great chasm in the Earth where a sea cave roof has collapsed.
Nearby, we visited a family-run business that produces the dried bonito fish flakes used extensively in Japanese cuisine. There, we met Yasuhisa Serizawa, the fifth generation owner of the Kanesa Dried Bonito Store, founded in 1882, and learnt the history of bonito processing, which dates back centuries.
In the western highlands, we scaled the extinct volcano, Mt Daruma, and were rewarded with another view of Mt Fuji’s iconic cone floating like a mirage above the clouds.
The tour ended at Shuzenji, a picturesque town in the central northwest hills of the peninsula, renowned for its ancient thermal hot springs.
After the eye-popping terrain of Izu’s volcanic coast, Shuzenji’s graceful old temple, arched bridges over a river, tall spindly bamboo forest, and pretty boutiques, was tranquil and restful, a perfect way to finish the tour. And the historic 140-year-old Arai Ryokan was divine.
Yohei accompanied us to Mishima Station where he helped us buy train tickets to our various destinations. Our group had bonded so well, I had a sense our paths would cross again sometime. As we bowed to each other, I realised my ‘‘Japaneseification’’ was complete.
The etiquette, manners, evening attire, footwear, food, sleeping, dining, and bathing practices were in accordance with traditional rituals and protocols dating back centuries.