Shokugawa Go

A man was yelling to the hotel.

He was speaking over a tannoy system that I hadn’t heard before. He didn’t sound like the sleepy man from the day before, he sounded like a drill sergeant. “506 has gone, 208 has gone,” he called out. He didn’t call my number but he nearly did, “402, no, 403.” I was safe.

It sounded a bit like a TV show. Perhaps this hotel was so cheap because there was a ravenous monster capable of jumping through walls and devouring guests at whim. The room numbers being read out were the ones whose occupants hadn’t made it through the night. Well anyway, I felt bullied by the voice and the cleaners who barge in. I got dressed and left.

I was planning to finish the walk I started yesterday, but before that go to see Shokugawa Go, a rural village further into the mountains with a Unesco World Heritage collection of old farmhouses.

It cost £20 to get there and I was immediately disappointed. The place was not that scenic, I was hoping it would be high up in the mountains but no, it was in a valley like Takayama. I guess that’s not surprising when you see how steep the mountains are in Japan.

There was a long bridge leading into the village.


The whole place was jam packed with tourists. I crossed the bridge and bought an ice cream, I wandered to the back of the village where a narrow road led into the mountain.


Licking my ice cream I walked slowly up the road and into the welcome shade of tall cedar trees. Within seconds there were no tourists in sight, barely any sound too besides the birds and insects.


I turned back to look at the World Heritage site I had walked straight through.


Apart from the threat of speedy cars coming around the tree lined bends and killing me, it was a peaceful walk. It was still not what I wanted; I wanted to walk up, amongst the trees, rather than along roads. I found a path into the forest, or as near as I was going to get - it was just tyre tracks. They rose steeply up the slope and I rose wearily with them.

As I got deeper into the trees the screeching of insects seemed more insidious. The heat was getting to me and I could feel my checks turning a fiery red, the kind that takes at least an hour in an air-conditioned room to bring back to my natural pale.

I sat on the grass to rest. My romantic notions about a walk in the forest were fading into shadows: this was not like a Ghibli film, or the forests of Rashomon. This was more like a forest that wanted you to get out, owned by the invisible with their screeches and clicks as loud as cars but all around.

Still, it was a unique atmosphere for me. I considered taking a photograph but it wouldn’t have expressed the place. I made a recording instead and here it is.



I headed back to the road.

It got even narrower, still a road rather than a footpath but if a car came I would have a hard time giving it right of way.

The road/path began to slope upwards and bend around the edge of the mountain. The view through the trees was improving and I was surprised to see how far I had come.

A few abandoned tractors sat amongst the trees and every now and then a driveway to a house would bud off from my road, but I didn’t see anyone at all. I did see lots of mosquitoes though; one in particular seemed to catch up with me whenever I stopped walking. Invisible spider webs broke around my arms but they may have just been paranoia and my arm hairs tickling each other

Another path led prettily up into a grassy area of the mountain and I started treading that way. Then I remember that Japan has snakes and suddenly the tarmac road seemed again more inviting.

The road ended, literally, next to some paddy fields.


It was a pretty idyllic setting and made a good end to the walk.


I headed back to the Unesco World Heritage site that I had ignored and caught the bus back to Takayama.

Some time later I was back in my hotel room, and asleep. Some time after that and I was waking up and looking at my watch in surprise. Again I had slept longer than intended, again I set out to finish the Hida Takayama walk in the fading light.

The dog that had barked at me so ravenously was sitting quietly this time as if it were not on duty yet.

With a fast pace I entered the trees and was immediately confronted by another confusing two directional sign.

I went one way, which felt wrong and so turned back and found the right way. The path went up through a temple where there was no one about. It pointed up some steps and then pow, a vague sign if ever there was one. The arrow pointed downwards but it made sense to be either backwards or forwards. I tried backwards but that seemed to be wrong so I went forwards, that seemed to be wrong too. I went backwards and little further and found a signpost. The next destination of my map seemed to be an Amusement Park and thankfully the signpost mentioned this place too.

The walked seemed even more Zen now, like a lesson being whispered in my ear by the wind and the trees, “you can only know the right way once you walked the wrong.”

The “amusement park” was a run down kids’ play area. Amusement park was a bad translation, amusing park would have been better as you could laugh at its lameness. Still I played on the climbing frame to vent my frustration with who ever designed this walk.


I found some steps that I will never know if they were the right way or not. It seemed that the people who so eagerly filled the first part of the walk with signs could not be bothered to walk up the hill and continue there.

A choice of left or right confronted me, both seemed wrong. I chose right and ran along the forest path, racing the fading sunlight.

It soon came to a clearing with a big map. Every single one of the place names on the map was different to those on my tourist map, it was aggravating. But, one patch of green on my map looked a lot like a patch of green on the other. “Honmaru,” it said and there were signs pointing the way.

There was also a public toilet, which according to its sign was either unisex or for some man-woman half creature. Anyway, the toilet had everything: air conditioning, a sink, mirrors, a light but no light switch. I looked around trying to find it, I even tried clapping and something scuttled in response.

Perhaps there was a reason not to use the light.

I ran towards Honmaru, stopping every hundred metres or so to check the next sign, it felt like the Crystal Maze.

Eventually I was there, the end of the walk. The lights of Takayama were below me and finally I saw another friendly two arrowed walk sign. “Where were you when I needed you,” I shouted.

Feeling at ease now I looked around the area a bit. I found a place called Ohte Mon. Mon means gateway and there were two huge stone walls with a grassy patch between them where a gate used to be.

It was eerie in the near dark, the walls looked like the clenched fists of some dead giant. It was stone quiet now but I felt as though I should be able to hear the clinks of past swords and the murmurs of the people who once travelled through this place. I didn’t stay long.

Back in the city I was in a different part of Takayama, a more pretty part with old houses and the main temple. A full moon shone over the river and stone lanterns stood at the side of the road.


At that moment I realised that I really wanted to get out of Takayama. Sure the stone lanterns were nice but they somehow reminded me of how much I disliked the place. It was hot, full of tourists, the walks were confusing, the restaurants unfriendly and the hotel people mean.

I was leaving the next day, and looking forward to it.