Heavenly Dragon River to Toilet Flush Water

From the Tenryu River to the Oi River, along the Tokaido Old Road

The night had been comfortable. A damp almost-rain and a cool breeze blowing up the river valley had been enough to alleviate the stifling heat of a summer night. Broken cloud hid the sun as I crossed the long truss bridge over the Tenryu River. On the far side of the river, the Tokaido ran through rural suburbs - 1970s housing or older chequered with finely tilled postage stamp fields. A cold-canned “American Size” coffee to give me a boost. I doubt they sell coffee in cans in America, but hey.

Early morning at the Tenryu River with Hamamatsu City in the background

In the town centre of Iwata, it was still zombie-quiet, the remnants of last night’s drinking staggering off the first train. A boyfriend stopped his car to let his girlfriend vomit by the roadside.

Ichi-ri zuka Tokaido distance marker in a residential area

A climbed over a small hill topped with a shrine advertised views of Mount Fuji. I was excited to see it - but it was nowhere to be seen - lost in the heat haze. Just beyond the hill a footbridge over a busy road led fortuitously to a McDonald’s. Perfect for second breakfast - Frodo would have been proud.

I dropped down through a “green tunnel”, a road lined with trees that arched over the sunken lane. At the end of the tunnel - a love hotel. Appropriate really.

Wide open rice fields, a startling praying mantis green, after the dull greys and beiges of suburbia surrounded the Ota River. The Tokaido was as straight as a roman road across Gaul, instead of cypress or plane, it was lined with pine trees. In the distance, the low grey and white buildings of Yamaha Motors and Musical instruments were visible. Yamaha is another Japanese company that has been performing well over the last few years, with a rising income from flat sales. Dull but good would be a reasonable summary of its performance.

The Tokaido crossing rice fields, lined with pine trees for shade

At a corner in the town of Fukuroi, a group of elderly female volunteers were manning a small Tokaido tea-room and rest area. Sweating heavily, I dumped my rucksack and sat in the shade of a hackberry tree, taking the green tea proffered by one of the volunteers.

“Atsui desu-ne” It’s hot isn’t it. (Yes, this is the same opening gambit as in my last post, it’s the Japanese equivalent of “How are you?” and is adjusted according to the season. There is though, no Goldilocks temperature in Japan, it’s either too hot or to cold for the purposes of making conversation)

“So desu-ne, honto-ni atsui desu” Yes, it really is hot.

Was I walking the Tokaido?

Yes, I was. Only, I was doing it backwards.

Had any other Tokaido-walkers been here today?

Not so far, but a group of old people were supposed to be coming later, but with the heat… maybe they wouldn’t come.

After tea and a rest, I was ready to go. I felt I needed to donate some money. I dropped the 500 yen coin carefully in the collection box as it seemed likely to drop right through it as there was a grille in the bottom.

Back on the road. Stopping anywhere there was a bench. It was midday, time for a long break, a siesta, I needed a park. A ginger ale addiction had crept over me. I now knew exactly which brand of vending machine sold it - Dydo. I was constantly on the lookout now for Dydo vending machines. I gulped it down and burped up the gas before slotting the empty can into the recycling bin next to the vending machine.

On another pine-lined section of the Tokaido, I rested on a bus stop bench. Behind me was a Daiwa House factory, making the pre-fabricated parts for commercial buildings. Again, Daiwa House seems pretty successful. It’s Japan’s largest homebuilder and has expanded into logistics centres. Growth in the housing market may be limited in Japan, but with the rise of internet shopping, logistics centres are sure to be profitable.

Somthing was going wrong with my feet. Despite investing in merino wool socks (to wick the sweat away faster) the bottom of my feet had become too damp and were starting to blister. I found a convenience store, bought lunch, then found a park and attempted surgery on my foot.

Blisters on the bottom of your foot are going to burst in one of two ways - controlled, or uncontrolled. Learning from previous experience walking along the Tokaido, I now came equipped with a foot repair kit. Consisting of various plasters, alcohol swabs and disinfectant, gauze, baby powder and the all important needle for puncturing the blisters. Controlled bursting would be the order of the day.

First, I wiped the bottom of my feet with the alcohol swabs. Carefully, I disinfected the needle, then drained the developing blisters with the help of the gauze. Next, I covered the whole area including the inside of the socks with baby powder. Finally I left my feet uncovered to make sure they dried out properly. I was pleased with myself, the operation had gone smoothly - I should become a podiatrist.

But my feet kept getting worse. It felt like new blisters were developing, huge ones across the whole of the bottom of my foot. I limped through Kakegawa and up, past a Philippine food store and Brazilian families crowded in a lay-by. I was entering a range of low tea-plantation-covered mountains. The Tokaido ran through an old village, Route One passing overhead on concrete pillars. Then, abruptly, I was met with a country lane of such steepness I couldn’t believe it was the Tokaido. Was this really it? I consulted the guidebook, and Google maps. Yes, this really was the Tokaido. It should have been obvious really, the place was called Nisaka (sun slope), and Hiroshige’s print shows an abruptly steep roller-coaster climb.

Nisaka slope - a brutal climb before reaching the Oi River (Wikimedia Commons)

I girded my loins (with hindsight, it should have been my groin) and set off up the slope, ignoring the pain in my feet. Up, up and up, then it levelled out, relief, but then another rise, surely this was the peak? No, another rise, and another. I was aware the views over the tea plantations were stunning, but I had to force myself to stop and take photos. A Dydo vending machine - o blessed ginger ale! The sun was sinking, I had to push hard if I wanted to reach the Oi River before dark. On and on through tea plantations. There was an original old section of the Tokaido with its ishi-tatami stone paving leading down, but it was too dark to use. I stuck to the road.

Across the tea plantations

“Michi wakaru no?” Do you know the way? a concerned middle-aged man asked as the light was failing.

“Hai, daijoubu desu” Yes, I’m OK. I laughed.

“Ki-o-tsukete ne!” Take care!

“Hai” Yes, I will.

Finally, I crested the last mountain before the Oi River. Below me, the lights of Kanaya and Shimada towns sparkled. In the distance, lightning flickered in a distant storm somewhere towards Fuji.

Through the gathering darkness I dropped down to the river. In the dark, I could see the town looked very Showa-era, 1970s shops and houses. By the Oi River there was an Indian restaurant. It was my only choice of food. Not only were my feet hurting, now for some reason my crotch was on fire too. Had the big deodorizing wet-wipes I had used to clean myself in the morning caused some kind of reaction? Or possibly just the sudden huge sweatiness of that final climb over the mountains had chafed me in new places.

The Indian restaurant had no washlet on the toilet, and the sink was in a shared area, so no washing myself there. In the end, I had to stoop (literally) to get water from the flush of the toilet to wash my nether regions. Oh, how the mighty have fallen!