THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXV, Issue 56, 5 March 1904, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN.

(By Florence Balgarnie.' No. 11. Probably most New Zealanders hav< heard of the Cockney who, on his iirsl trip to Paris, forgetting the name oi his hotel, and failing to summoi enough French to make himself under stood, was compelled to recross the channel in order to ascertain his Paris ian address. Your corespondent nar rowly escaped a similar fate the othei day on arrival at Kajika-zawa, the starting point of the famous trip dowr the rapids of the Fujikawa. After arriving at the new railway terminus oJ Kopu, I crossed the vine and mulberrj planted plains of Kishu in a one-horse apology for a tram-car, and after a twelve miles' drive reached the flourishing town of Kajika-zawa. Selecting the first inn named in Murray's guidebook. I requested the conductor to call mc a rickshaw, and I was driven, as I believed, to my desired destination. But the rascal had taken advantage of my inability to read Japanese signboards, and had landed mc at an inn unknown to fame—Le., to Murray. It was all that could be desired, and I was assigned two spacious rooms and a balcony commanding a splendid view of Fiiji, while the maids and menservants (with that ceremony against which my lemocratic soul revolts) came on bend;d knees, bowing until they fairly kissed the floor. Presently I sallied forth to the river bank to secure a place in the boat for the morrow, and as I was followed by a crowd of more or less (usually more) naked boys, the boat manager very kindly took mc a short trip down the liver to visit a temple and escape my pursuers. On our return he escorted mc to the hotel at which I believed myself to be staying, and Japanese country inns being all so much alike, for the first few minutes I believed myself to have re-entered by the back door. But wlien conducted upstairs I discovered the mistake, and a maid was told off to escort mc to the second inn named in Murray's guide. By this time a fresh crowd had gathered, and when in a few minutes I reemerged, amidst the laughter of the hotel people, from the second hotel, the crowd increased to a mob,-and eventually a policeman had to intervene. jSTo doubt not.el people and populace alike thought mc an escaped lunatic, for I had no dictionary, and Murray's vocabulary, though excellent up to a point, does not lay itself out for emergencies. Night was coming on, and I had but one clue to assist mc out of that maze of streets, and to my delight I discovered the word for it, "tesudabasha" ("tramway") in the vocabulary, and on mentioning it a kindly peasant woman came forward and led mc to the tramway station. She seemed bitterly disappointed to find that was not my ultimate goal, and turned round inquiringly to the policeman, who was still dogging my steps. Who shall say what might have been my fate?—prison! or lunatic asylum! had it not been that uiy host, seeing the crowd, had by this time hurried down the street. He at once claimed mc as his missing guest, and marched mc back to the hotel. But after that I kept within doors, behind closed shoj s ., to escape the prying eyes of groups of people who kept silent watch below my balcony. Meantime, I doubt not that the author of this strange dilemma was enjoying himself over a glass of saki from the pro- , ; ceeds received for bringing a foreign guest to the hotel. This was my first experience off beaten tracks, and in blissful ignorance I had started equipped merely with the remains of a. lunch box, about one ounce of Ceylon tea', and a bottle of saccharine lozenges. Let future travellers learn from my mistake and not attempt a week up country, and in purely Japanese inns, without a good supply of bread and other Europeau food, a dictionary, and, if the purse permits, a Japanese guide-interpreter. The railway line to Kofu has only been open a few weeks, and, judging from the sensation my appearance caused there as well, I must be the first European tourist who has made the trip by train. In my attempts to disperse the crowd I levelled my camera at them, but their grins merely grew broader as they posed themselves for my snapshot. But when they are sober (as is usually the ease) there is nothing more good-natur-ed and inoffensive than a Japanese crowd. On the other hand, when they have freely indulged in saki at the New Year, or some religious festival, they can be highly dangerous. Only the other day I met a young Englishman who, surrounded by a mob last New Year, declares he must inevitably have been killed but for his faithful horse, which kicked and bit a way through the demented people. But to return to Kofu, or rather to the magnificent railway line which runs between the capital and that flourishing city of the high plains. From Tokio to Kofu is exactly 762 miles, but the last 53;- takes four hours to traverse, by reason of the great height to which the train climbs. It is indeed a more difficult route, I imagine, than the projected one from Greymouth to Springfield, by way of the Otira Gorge. It :s a Government line, and, when completed, will go fiftyfive miles beyond Kofu to Shimonosua, making the end of a great trunk line for the West of Japan. With the exception of the Italian Swiss Alpine lines I have never been over a more picturesque mountain line. The province of Koshu being encircled by a barrier of lofty mountains (7000 to 10,000 feet), an extraordinary amount of tunnelling has had to be resorted to, and there are no fewer than forty-two tunnels in all, in twelve miles. The longest tunnel in Japan is on this line. It is nearly three miles in length, and leads under the Sasago-toje, a pass 3500 feet above the sea. On emerging from it, one passes through a shorter one, and then, entering the province of Koshu, suddenly obtains views of hitherto unsuspected granite ranges, with Fuji dominating the scene. The line, which up to this y£ar was thought to be the crowning achievement of Japanese railway enterprise (and perhaps still is from an.engineering standpoint) runs between Tokio and Karuijawa, the great missionary holiday settlement in the mountains. The line is an ordinary one, except for the seven miles which lead over the Usui pass 4050 feet above sea level. Mr Chamberlain (in Murray) shows up the history of this line "as follows: "The construction of the seven miles of railway leading to tjtafcuijawa over the Usui Pass, presenlfed"'great difficulties, which, however, *were overcome in 1893 by the introduction of the Abt system—cog-wheels working on jack-rails. The gradient is one in 15, and almost the whole way a succession of bridges and tunnels, the total tun-

nelling aggregating two" miles and three-quarters. There ar* twenty-six

tunnels altogether.

There is a curious

arrangement to prevent inconvenience from heat and smoke in the larger tunnels; the engine is placed behind, and as soon as the train has entered a curtain is drawn at the lower end. which prevents the smoke from being sucked up along the tunnel and shades of the underground railway. Has not England something to learn from her new allies? It was indeed an experience as novel as delightful to ?o through forty-two tunnels, with windows wide open, and enjoying the vault-like coolness after the torrid plains. The Japanese are great travellers, and nearly every train is crowded. As a rule there is only one first-class and one secondclass ear on a train (sometimes not even one first), for the majority of Japanese travellers go third-class, at a cost of one and two-third farthings a mile. First-class costs rataer less than a penny a mile, and second two and a half farthings. The gauge is narrow, and the third-class cars are inferior to the New Zealand second, while the second are equal to the New Zealand first. Except in occasional saloon cars there is little to choose between first and second, and only the Japanese aristocracy and foreign tourists patronise the first. Trains are fitted up with lavatories, and there are dining and' sleeping ears on long-distance trains. The fact that the name of every station is written up in English as well as in Japanese characters proves a great convenience, also that on the same board the distances by road to different places of interest in the neighbourhood is also indicated. The first line opened was engineered by an English firm, and many of the coaches are still labelled '-Birmingham.' 3 Railway rolling stock is now made by Japanese firms, but I am informed that locomotives are imported, except an odd one or two at Kobe. Indeed, in the case of the rolling stock, all the wheels and gear are imported, woodwork only being made in Japan, 'x'he Government has iron foundries in different parts of the country. The growth of railways may- be judged by comparison of the mifeage open to traffic. In the year 1883-4 there were only 125 miles of btate railways, and 63 miles of private railways. In | 1902 there were 1192 miles of State railways, and 3000 of private railways. 'Lhe capital invested in the twelve pVivate railways is 155,267.472 yen (2/). The net profit of the railways in 1900 was 24,381,820 yen, of which amount 8,819,277 was netted by the Government railways. The number of passengers carried by the State railways in 1883-4 was only 5,123,719; by private lines, 601,559. In 1900-1 the State railways carried no fewer than 31,944,856 passengers, and the private railways 81,760.015.

The Tokaido. or "Eastern Sea Road," •which runs from Tokio to Kobe, is 377 A miles long. It was begun in 1872. and finished in 1839. It is now doubled for a considerable distance. The Tokaido High Road was from earliest days the great high-way up and down -which the daimios used to travel with their retinues. The etiquette of the road was so rigid that encounters bet-ween the armed followers constantly took place. The journey used to take twelve or thirteen days on foot; by train it is 13£ hours. The Sanyo, a private line which shows considerable more enterprise than the Government lines, runs further south along the shore of the beautiful inland sea, and accepts the ship tickets of the ISTippon Yusen Kaisha. On the whole, travelling is slow, and connections are bad^. J b. < ut_ much is done to make travel eass •JuuTpieasant. At any station red-cooped blue-knickerboekered porters await "-the trains, and for a few sen relieve passengers of all hand baggage. The larger luggage is checked, or may be sent on if the traveller makes a detour, for a very small cost. Beer and saki are sold on some station platforms, but special prominence is given to milk, sold in sealed bottles for. five farthings, lemonade at two and a-half farthings, and tea at three and a-half farthings. The tea boy appears upon the platform with a tea tray slung over his shoulders, and a big kettle in his hand, out of which he fills up teapots. | Each passenger receives a teapot and cup, which he may carry on to his destination. Drinking water taps and rows of washing basins are seen on all the larger stations. They are flicst acceptable, and while the train halts and the people wash, porters enter the carriages and sweep and dust them. Thus one never sees a Japanese carriage otherwise than neat and clean. "Bento," or lunch boxes, made of thin wood and tied with coloured cord, may be had for five pence. They contain rice made up in a variety of shapes and with many flavourings. Another favourite lunch is stewed eels and rice brought to the carriage door. Fruit and cakes are sold in abundance, the former generally unripe, the other flavourless. The pilgrim traveller, dressed in white, men and women alike in tight trousers and short coats, throng every train. They wear sun hats like reversed wash basins, and on their return journey their clothes are stamped all over like convicts' garb, with the names of, the sacred places they have visited. Beyond the railway the people travel in electric or horse trams, in "kazas," low basket chairs, on packhorses, often two adults in patiniers on one unfortunate pony, their baggage travelling on top; also in primitive river boats, and largely on foot. But a Japanese,>as a rule, carries little luggage; but there is one thing, however, which lie never omits to carry, and that is his towel (thin rag we should call it) ; when not in use it is tied round the head as a turban.

Kobe, September 22, 1903,