On Korankei

Seasons are a big deal here.

It's a well-known cliché among expats in Japan that Japanese people think theirs is the only country in the world that has four seasons. Japanese people will tell you proudly about the uniqueness of having spring, summer, autumn and winter, and then be thoroughly weirded out when you tell them the exact same meteorological sorcery happens in your country. (And they will be doubly weirded out when you point out that Japan actually has five seasons if you count the rainy season that separates spring and summer). There's a grain of truth to this stereotype, but from my lofty velvet chair of Knowing Just Slightly Above Fuck-All About Japan, I think it's also an oversimplification. Yes, most of the world has four seasons, but there's a certain specificity to the seasons in Japan that the UK's temperate climate just can't compare to.

"It's really bloody hot!" you say to yourself one morning in June. It will proceed to be really bloody hot for the next three months. To someone unused to a stable, predictable, blaringly enthusiastic summer, the next few months seem not like a series of days and nights, but like a single unbearable epoch (especially since you can't sleep, which might otherwise have broken things up a bit). All your clothes that aren't shorts and cotton vests can go in the bin. Then one morning you say to yourself "oh, it's not really bloody hot any more", and it's autumn. Enjoy the next two months before it's really bloody cold. It's almost like someone flips a switch overnight, and it's not really surprising that so much of Japan's culture revolves around these distinct changes when the lines between the seasons feel so crisp and clear, and bring about a noticeable change in environment and mood. (The prevailing mood of summer being "everything can bugger off so I can go home and lie on the floor in my pants forever".) Not only are the physical elements of the seasons quite distinct, but Japan also tends to go in a lot more for seasonal foods, clothing, decorations and activities. This time of year it's all about koyo - the turning of autumn leaves.

The most famous spot around here for koyo is Korankei, a valley in the countryside just outside Toyota (a nice city, but one which failed to live up to my expectations by not being entirely made out of cars). We actually went there twice - actually actually, two-and-a-half times - due to accidentally going too early the first time and ending up viewing the slightly-muddy-but-still-quite-nice colours instead. This first trip was a bit of a palaver: first we wasted an hour hanging out in Toyota's McDonalds trying out the autumn special, which was mushroom risotto balls. (6/10, would not repurchase, but an interesting cultural diversion.) Then we spent another hour wandering around the bus stops trying to crack their mysterious codes. Then we finally got on the right bus, only to find that the driver had a habit of narrating the entire journey on a Madonna-style headset ("we're turning right now....we've had to stop because of a traffic light....okay, the traffic light's changed, let's go.")

It was worth it, though. The air felt fresh, alpine, and the gorge was, um, gorgeous. We arrived about half an hour before sunset and got to see the trees illuminated after dark:

I'd pictured Korankei as some huge national park-type thing, but it's actually a pretty small area, a couple of narrow paths either side of a river maybe a mile or two long before the intensity and variation of the colours dies down and the lines of tourists fade off. I actually prefer this; it made the area feel more special and like something you could peacefully spend time in without feeling a completionist urge to go all over the place.

***

A couple of weeks later we had some time off and decided to visit again, but in the daytime, since the trees were supposed to be in full...bloom? whatever the autumnal equivalent of 'bloom' is. This did not get off to a good start. We spent forty minutes on a tube to Toyota and then discovered that despite being one of the most popular tourist spots in the area, at its most popular time of the year, the buses only went twice in the morning and then not again until close to dark. Having missed the morning buses, we tried to placate ourselves by going to the local art museum instead only to find it was closed. Until November of next year. We went home to nap, muck about on the Internet, and try not to think about how much time we'd wasted.




The next day, we attempted the journey again - and, hoorah! Okay, we did have to take a completely packed bus home, standing for most of the 90-minute journey. But look how pretty:

You can even see the difference two weeks made, if you compare the picture above from the first visit - the oranges and yellows are a lot more vibrant, and the rare sprays of red weren't around at all before. Another sign of the sheer precision the Japanese seasons go in for. A couple of weeks more and they'll be gone.




Now, if you will excuse me, I'm off to build a tent out of blankets. I feel "really bloody cold" season coming on.