A journey through time on the Tokaido Road
A man, wearing straw sandals and a conical straw hat, carefully wraps his belongings in a reddish-orange cloth decorated with white swirls. He ties the ends into a handle, which he loops over his head and sets off up the hill. His mission? To walk part of the way along the historic Tokaido Road.
With a combination of walking and public transport, I too am about to experience sections of the Tokaido Road. Also known as the Eastern Sea Route, the road linked Edo (modern Tokyo), the center of power during the Tokugawa Shogunate (The Edo cultural period from 1603–1867) and Kyoto (the Imperial capital).
By referring to Hiroshige’s prints and visiting some of the remaining and restored buildings, I can clearly imagine life on the road at that time as we follow the trail.
Last night, as we stood on Nihonbashi bridge, our Walk Japan guide, Kristina, showed us the first print in Utagawa Hiroshige’s Fifty-three Stations of the Tokaido Road – a series of Japanese woodblock prints that document the artist’s first journey on the Eastern Sea Road. It depicts a procession starting their journey along the Tokaido as they cross the wooden bridge. On a clear day, a castle is visible on one side of the bridge and Mount Fuji on the other.
Today, the bridge is a major traffic thoroughfare surrounded by skyscrapers, and a dual carriageway crosses above it. I can vaguely see a plaque embedded in the center of the bridge. Distances from Tokyo are measured from this point, which also marks the start of the Tokaido Road.
During the Edo period, commoners, who were only allowed to travel the road during a religious journey to shrines or temples, either walked or were carried on horseback. High-ranking daimyos (feudal lords) sat in palanquins carried by porters. They were accompanied by up to 20,000 attendants and foot soldiers. The shogun banned wheeled traffic.
Retracing an ancient route
Having no such restrictions, we leave Tokyo on the high-speed Tokaido Shinkansen (bullet train) for the start of our journey.
The Tokaido Main railway line, built over sections of the Tokaido Road, opened in 1872, and the Shinkansen opened almost 100 years later in 1964. Towns along the route were modernized, and many traditional homes and buildings were demolished.
Nevertheless, by referring to Hiroshige’s prints and visiting some of the remaining and restored buildings, I can clearly imagine life on the road at that time as we follow the trail.
Mount Fuji features in many of Hiroshige’s prints, and I feel that I am walking in the shadow of the iconic mountain. "Mount Fuji is tricky," Kristina tells us. "She can be hiding even in clear weather."
Mount Fuji features in many of Hiroshige’s prints, and I feel that I am walking in the shadow of the iconic mountain.
One morning, I open the curtain and there she is. The jagged edges of her snowcapped crater are clearly visible against the grey sky.
Another day, Mount Fuji pokes her head up between two grassy peaks behind Okitsu Station. We glimpse at her through the back window of our bus and see fingers of snow trailing down her slopes from Satta Pass. On a wet and rainy day, surrounded by swirling fog, we imagine her towering presence, but she remains hidden.
Taking care not to slip on wet, moss-covered ishidatami or ‘paving stones’, we trudge through bamboo groves, the smooth green poles towering overhead. We walk along roads, pick our way along a path crisscrossed with thick brown roots and wrap our arms around a 400-year-old cedar tree.
We pass orange trees laden with large globes of ripened fruit, clinging to impossibly steep slopes and stroll past tea plantations, their bright green leaves sparkling in the rain.
A tough ascent and exploring post towns
Puffing up what is known as one of the toughest climbs on the Tokaido Road, I wonder how the man in his straw sandals is doing. Since passing him, we’ve only seen one local hiker whose brass bell tied to his pack jangled annoyingly to scare bears away.
With no other hikers, we walk silently, lost in thought. Kristina warns us to expect tourists at our rest stop at the top of the climb.
Instead of joining the tourists in the thatch-roofed Amazake-chaya Tea House, we sit at outside tables on low wooden stumps. The tea house is known for its amazake, a thick warm drink. The sweet non-alcoholic rice wine reminds me of the malted milk drink my mother used to make on cold winter nights.
Post towns provided travelers, who were prohibited from traveling at night, with accommodation and refreshment.
Refreshed, we follow a steep path down to Hakone, the 10th of the 53 post towns along the Tokaido. We visit the reconstructed checkpoint where Edo travelers had to present their travel documents for inspection. Three conical hats and three raincoats made from straw hang on a wall.
Post towns provided travelers, who were prohibited from traveling at night, with accommodation and refreshment. We pass through several, stopping to visit a Shinto shrine in one, a Buddhist temple in another and sample local specialties in others.
At Mariko Post Town, we join locals at the bustling Chojiya. Run by the same family for 14 generations, the restaurant is famous for its yam soup.
A taste of Japan’s hospitality
I spoon the thick glutinous soup over my rice. It’s supposed to provide energy for this afternoon’s walk. The mochi-covered ice-cream filled with yam bean paste that ends our lunch is more to my taste.
After a visit to the Hiroshige Art Museum to see how Hiroshige created his multi-layered woodblock prints, we have a lunch of crispy tempura balls of Sakura (cherry blossom) shrimp. The small pink shrimps, up to 40mm long, are harvested from the nearby bay in spring and autumn.
In the evenings, we enjoy traditional Japanese hospitality in different types of accommodation. We bathe in a traditional cedar bath in a simple inn and sleep on tatami mats in an upmarket Ryokan. Soaking in a steaming onsen (bathing facilities) soothes our tired muscles after walking all day in the rain.
An attendant lights the flame beneath the grid. Soon, the inviting scent of freshly cooked fish fills the room.
Wearing a simple cotton yukata, the left side wrapped over the right (the other way is for dead people!), I sit at a low table laden with a variety of carefully placed, delicate dishes and bowls filled with pickles, sashimi, rice, miso soup and other delicacies.
One night, we cook slices of marbled wagyu on individual blackened metal plates. The meat melts in my mouth. Another time, a small Japanese horse mackerel rests on a foil-covered grid. An attendant lights the flame beneath the grid. Soon, the inviting scent of freshly cooked fish fills the room.
Each morning, I pulled on my sturdy hiking boots and strode off with my hiking poles. The one day when it rained consistently, my rain gear kept me more or less dry. I wonder how I would have fared with straw sandals, a conical hat and a straw raincoat.
At the end of the walk, I settle into my comfortable seat on the Shinkansen bound for Tokyo. Looking out the window to my left, I see Mount Fuji. It’s as if she’s bidding me farewell.