Skyring
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Tokyo to Nikko on the quick
I originally fed all my reservations and emails into Claude Cowork and asked it to produce a PDF document for in interesting, entertaining, educational, and practical itinerary.
The Japan Odyssey Master Document has been my bible for the trip. I have attached the Saturday program, the day before boarding.
I had been looking forward to notching up a Japanese parkrun. These free 5K events take place around the world every Saturday morning. The “run” in the name is a little misleading; one can stroll the whole distance and it still counts as a finish.
Nevertheless, my asthma – a present from the 2019 bushfires when Canberra was covered in thick smoke for days and weeks on end – had been flaring up and I felt disinclined to travel an hour to exert myself if I was feeling marginal. It’s nice to have travel insurance but on the whole I prefer it to be money wasted.
So, no parkrun. South Korea doesn’t do parkrun at all, but I have a second bite of the cherry blossom in Tokyo, the morning before we fly out. In fact I had specifically requested an extra day in Japan so that I could do this.
The second half of the plan looked doable. Even more so without the time needed to travel an hour there, do the run, and an hour back.
Train to Ueno, catch the Shinkansen up to Utsonomiya, transfer to a local train to Nikko, stroll around the heritage area, maybe catch a bus up to the mountains and lake.
Getting back could be problematic. There was a Limited Express all the way back to Shinjuku, but it didn’t necessarily run in the afternoon on a Sunday.
There was a JR Information Office at Ueno, where all our travel could be arranged.
So, first step, walk down to Shinjuku, find a train to Ueno.
I won’t say that this was difficult, but it wasn’t easy, either. I’d been watching the trains outside our window for some time now, and they were frequent, they stopped for a minute, and then off again, leaving the platform for another just moments behind.
Even on a Sunday, the action doesn’t stop or even slow.
We may not have been efficient, but Shinjuku Station is well signed, and the signs are subtitled in English. Here is where having two sets of eyes comes in handy. Spot a sign that looks useful, call it out, and then apply our combined brainpower to the task.
We got to the right platform for Ueno trains, there was a train standing at the platform, doors open, we had bare seconds to make a decision.
I looked at the destination list. Yup, Ueno. Jump aboard and then deal with the complicated question of who gets a seat, especially if nobody wants to sit beside the two foreigners, especially the grumpy-looking hairy giant.
I’ll happily give up my seat, or in this case, the chance of a seat, to someone who looks closer to eternity than I, or who has a cane or a broken leg or an obvious pregnancy, or whatever, but as a senior citizen myself, I feel I have some entitlement over someone born this century.
Ueno was a fair hike and my strap-holding arm was getting weary, so it was a relief to arrive and set about looking for the information office.
I found one office, manned by a young lady whose eyes turned to panic when I explained my complicated requirements in stream of consciousness English in an Australian accent.
“This is ticket office,” she let me know, and pointed toward the information office.
I gave up on organising a return ticket. I figured that once we had arrived in Nikko, we’d rock up to the train station, see what was running, and fit our plans around the possible.
Getting two seats together on the Shinkansen wasn’t possible. Not for the next train, nor the one after, but if we wanted to wait an hour …
Fair enough. It was morning tea time, or close enough. We bought the Shinkansen ticket and the one for the local train on from Utsonomiya. No specific local train, any time within the next two hours.
Oh, and be aware that Nikko has two train stations, only a short distance apart. The express train from Nikko to Shinjuku leaves from the other one.
Right, all sorted. The Shinkansen was relatively expensive, but we’d only be making the one trip.
Plenty of time. We went off, found a cafe, and, once we had worked out the ordering process, sat down and killed some time in comfort.
With ten minutes to go, we rose, looked around for a public toilet, used that, and followed the signs for the Shinkansen platform.
Hmmm. There was a Shinkansen transfer gate, but none of the lines listed Utsonomiya as a destination. More information required.
I was beginning to get worried now. Our train was leaving in a few minutes, but from where?
I headed back into the information office, waited in line, and was told that the Shinkansen platforms were downstairs, just feed our tickets into the gate.
Luckily there was a chap to help us do this. Both tickets, for the Shinkansen and the local train, had to be fed in together.
We took the escalator downstairs and a chance that the sleek-looking strain standing at the platform was ours, with seconds remaining. Right, which carriage?
The one at the other end of the train, of course.
I wasn’t sure that we were on the right train at all, but the seat numbers reserved for us were empty, and we sank into them with something approaching relief.
Turns out, it was the right train. Utsonomiya was just one of the many stops along the way. We wanted the Tōhoku train to Shin-Aomori.
I need to do more homework about train networks, I suppose.
Anyway, panic over, we enjoyed the ride. I pulled out my TomTom app and discovered that we were trundling along at 250 kmh, give or take.
A comfortable trip but before too long (the whole point of it, I guess) we were pulling into our stop.
Helped along by some friendly guides wearing the same green hi-viz vests as those in Tokyo yesterday, we found the right platform. The guides here insisted on photographing us, presumably as trophies. Next time I’m in Japan, presumably with my limited mental faculties declining further, I’ll seek out these people.
Some of the trains on this line are in some sort of retro livery, but ours wasn’t. Oh well. It was comfortable enough and we didn’t have to stand, so that was a bonus. TomTom showed a top speed of about 75 kmh.
Nikko, when we finally arrived and I wonder if I still have any readers, turned out to be a touristy little town, full of hotels and restaurants and souvenir shops.
We went on up the hill for a bit. Only a couple of minutes to the next station, where we managed to get two tickets, seated together, for that afternoon’s train to Shinjuku, where we were supposed to meet Paula and Michael at six, who were organising a shared van to the ship. One problem was that we needed cash to pay for the tickets and we had to go outside and hunt down an ATM a few paces away before returning to settle the deal.
By now it was time for lunch. A hot day and we had a hike up the hill to get to the temple precinct. Naturally, there were restaurants aplenty nearby. Along with the souvenir and snack shops.
We found one, with plastic sample display dishes in the windows downstairs and the real thing upstairs. A great meal with beer for me and a Japanese whisky for my wife, who has a palate for these things.
The day was still hot and the temple was still uphill, so we jumped on the “World Heritage Bus” for a short but not entirely cheap ride along the main street. We were dropped off at the forest edge, near some historic red bridge which required an entrance fee to cross.
Inside the forest, it was more uphill. The temple had been situated at the top of a local eminence to be closer to heaven, or something, and the pilgrims had to walk. Or ride the bus.
But a very pleasant walk. The paths were smooth, the stone steps were sturdy, there were flowers and ferns along the way, and there was plenty of shade from the sun. We had bought an umbrella in one of the souvenir stalls in the town to cover the open bits but once in the forest, shade was easy – and welcome – to find.
The temple buildings were old and impressive, with golden spires, old stone monuments, trees that had seen centuries, and sprawling grounds full of stalls, activities, pilgrims and tourists.
I loved it.
Finally, we retraced our steps along forested paths down to the town, where a bus awaited us.
We took the main street ride to our station. A bit less than an hour to go and we nursed it along with some matcha drink in a pleasant teahouse.
Then into the waiting room until our train arrived. We could have spent more time walking amongst the trees, but I was still smarting from our near miss in the morning and I was taking no chances.
We had reserved seats all the way home. Tray tables, even. I got some more writing done.
A couple of bento boxes at Shinjuku Station to save time for dinner, or possibly breakfast, but it had been a solid and filling lunch and they were there for emergency hunger.
And down to the bar, where we met our fellow travellers. Malcom from the north of England offered to buy the drinks and a little imprecision was seized upon by the scoundrelly barkeep, who charged nearly a hundred bucks for two beers, a white wine, and a glass of sparkling. I suspect he opened some good champagne, figuring that people who pay six hundred a night for a hotel room have some spare cash.
Nice place, but I’m glad it was a package deal with hotel stay included. I won’t be staying there unless I win the lottery and I’ll most likely have to buy a ticket first.
Tomorrow, Sunday, we board the ship.
I originally fed all my reservations and emails into Claude Cowork and asked it to produce a PDF document for in interesting, entertaining, educational, and practical itinerary.
The Japan Odyssey Master Document has been my bible for the trip. I have attached the Saturday program, the day before boarding.
I had been looking forward to notching up a Japanese parkrun. These free 5K events take place around the world every Saturday morning. The “run” in the name is a little misleading; one can stroll the whole distance and it still counts as a finish.
Nevertheless, my asthma – a present from the 2019 bushfires when Canberra was covered in thick smoke for days and weeks on end – had been flaring up and I felt disinclined to travel an hour to exert myself if I was feeling marginal. It’s nice to have travel insurance but on the whole I prefer it to be money wasted.
So, no parkrun. South Korea doesn’t do parkrun at all, but I have a second bite of the cherry blossom in Tokyo, the morning before we fly out. In fact I had specifically requested an extra day in Japan so that I could do this.
The second half of the plan looked doable. Even more so without the time needed to travel an hour there, do the run, and an hour back.
Train to Ueno, catch the Shinkansen up to Utsonomiya, transfer to a local train to Nikko, stroll around the heritage area, maybe catch a bus up to the mountains and lake.
Getting back could be problematic. There was a Limited Express all the way back to Shinjuku, but it didn’t necessarily run in the afternoon on a Sunday.
There was a JR Information Office at Ueno, where all our travel could be arranged.
So, first step, walk down to Shinjuku, find a train to Ueno.
I won’t say that this was difficult, but it wasn’t easy, either. I’d been watching the trains outside our window for some time now, and they were frequent, they stopped for a minute, and then off again, leaving the platform for another just moments behind.
Even on a Sunday, the action doesn’t stop or even slow.
We may not have been efficient, but Shinjuku Station is well signed, and the signs are subtitled in English. Here is where having two sets of eyes comes in handy. Spot a sign that looks useful, call it out, and then apply our combined brainpower to the task.
We got to the right platform for Ueno trains, there was a train standing at the platform, doors open, we had bare seconds to make a decision.
I looked at the destination list. Yup, Ueno. Jump aboard and then deal with the complicated question of who gets a seat, especially if nobody wants to sit beside the two foreigners, especially the grumpy-looking hairy giant.
I’ll happily give up my seat, or in this case, the chance of a seat, to someone who looks closer to eternity than I, or who has a cane or a broken leg or an obvious pregnancy, or whatever, but as a senior citizen myself, I feel I have some entitlement over someone born this century.
Ueno was a fair hike and my strap-holding arm was getting weary, so it was a relief to arrive and set about looking for the information office.
I found one office, manned by a young lady whose eyes turned to panic when I explained my complicated requirements in stream of consciousness English in an Australian accent.
“This is ticket office,” she let me know, and pointed toward the information office.
I gave up on organising a return ticket. I figured that once we had arrived in Nikko, we’d rock up to the train station, see what was running, and fit our plans around the possible.
Getting two seats together on the Shinkansen wasn’t possible. Not for the next train, nor the one after, but if we wanted to wait an hour …
Fair enough. It was morning tea time, or close enough. We bought the Shinkansen ticket and the one for the local train on from Utsonomiya. No specific local train, any time within the next two hours.
Oh, and be aware that Nikko has two train stations, only a short distance apart. The express train from Nikko to Shinjuku leaves from the other one.
Right, all sorted. The Shinkansen was relatively expensive, but we’d only be making the one trip.
Plenty of time. We went off, found a cafe, and, once we had worked out the ordering process, sat down and killed some time in comfort.
With ten minutes to go, we rose, looked around for a public toilet, used that, and followed the signs for the Shinkansen platform.
Hmmm. There was a Shinkansen transfer gate, but none of the lines listed Utsonomiya as a destination. More information required.
I was beginning to get worried now. Our train was leaving in a few minutes, but from where?
I headed back into the information office, waited in line, and was told that the Shinkansen platforms were downstairs, just feed our tickets into the gate.
Luckily there was a chap to help us do this. Both tickets, for the Shinkansen and the local train, had to be fed in together.
We took the escalator downstairs and a chance that the sleek-looking strain standing at the platform was ours, with seconds remaining. Right, which carriage?
The one at the other end of the train, of course.
I wasn’t sure that we were on the right train at all, but the seat numbers reserved for us were empty, and we sank into them with something approaching relief.
Turns out, it was the right train. Utsonomiya was just one of the many stops along the way. We wanted the Tōhoku train to Shin-Aomori.
I need to do more homework about train networks, I suppose.
Anyway, panic over, we enjoyed the ride. I pulled out my TomTom app and discovered that we were trundling along at 250 kmh, give or take.
A comfortable trip but before too long (the whole point of it, I guess) we were pulling into our stop.
Helped along by some friendly guides wearing the same green hi-viz vests as those in Tokyo yesterday, we found the right platform. The guides here insisted on photographing us, presumably as trophies. Next time I’m in Japan, presumably with my limited mental faculties declining further, I’ll seek out these people.
Some of the trains on this line are in some sort of retro livery, but ours wasn’t. Oh well. It was comfortable enough and we didn’t have to stand, so that was a bonus. TomTom showed a top speed of about 75 kmh.
Nikko, when we finally arrived and I wonder if I still have any readers, turned out to be a touristy little town, full of hotels and restaurants and souvenir shops.
We went on up the hill for a bit. Only a couple of minutes to the next station, where we managed to get two tickets, seated together, for that afternoon’s train to Shinjuku, where we were supposed to meet Paula and Michael at six, who were organising a shared van to the ship. One problem was that we needed cash to pay for the tickets and we had to go outside and hunt down an ATM a few paces away before returning to settle the deal.
By now it was time for lunch. A hot day and we had a hike up the hill to get to the temple precinct. Naturally, there were restaurants aplenty nearby. Along with the souvenir and snack shops.
We found one, with plastic sample display dishes in the windows downstairs and the real thing upstairs. A great meal with beer for me and a Japanese whisky for my wife, who has a palate for these things.
The day was still hot and the temple was still uphill, so we jumped on the “World Heritage Bus” for a short but not entirely cheap ride along the main street. We were dropped off at the forest edge, near some historic red bridge which required an entrance fee to cross.
Inside the forest, it was more uphill. The temple had been situated at the top of a local eminence to be closer to heaven, or something, and the pilgrims had to walk. Or ride the bus.
But a very pleasant walk. The paths were smooth, the stone steps were sturdy, there were flowers and ferns along the way, and there was plenty of shade from the sun. We had bought an umbrella in one of the souvenir stalls in the town to cover the open bits but once in the forest, shade was easy – and welcome – to find.
The temple buildings were old and impressive, with golden spires, old stone monuments, trees that had seen centuries, and sprawling grounds full of stalls, activities, pilgrims and tourists.
I loved it.
Finally, we retraced our steps along forested paths down to the town, where a bus awaited us.
We took the main street ride to our station. A bit less than an hour to go and we nursed it along with some matcha drink in a pleasant teahouse.
Then into the waiting room until our train arrived. We could have spent more time walking amongst the trees, but I was still smarting from our near miss in the morning and I was taking no chances.
We had reserved seats all the way home. Tray tables, even. I got some more writing done.
A couple of bento boxes at Shinjuku Station to save time for dinner, or possibly breakfast, but it had been a solid and filling lunch and they were there for emergency hunger.
And down to the bar, where we met our fellow travellers. Malcom from the north of England offered to buy the drinks and a little imprecision was seized upon by the scoundrelly barkeep, who charged nearly a hundred bucks for two beers, a white wine, and a glass of sparkling. I suspect he opened some good champagne, figuring that people who pay six hundred a night for a hotel room have some spare cash.
Nice place, but I’m glad it was a package deal with hotel stay included. I won’t be staying there unless I win the lottery and I’ll most likely have to buy a ticket first.
Tomorrow, Sunday, we board the ship.
