Yamadera: 1,000-step staircase to

paradise
BY MANDY BARTOK
SPECIAL TO THE JAPAN TIMES
NOV 8, 2014
ARTICLE HISTORY
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Were only a few minutes into our climb up one of Yamagata Prefectures holy
mountains, Mount Hojusan, and already our pace has slowed considerably. Our
destination is Risshakuji Temple, more colloquially known as Yamadera (literally:
mountain temple), a far-north outpost of Tendai Buddhism since 860. To reach the
promised vistas from the mountains peak, however, requires tackling a series of
staircases totaling more than 1,000 steps.

I keep a cadence in my head as we ascend: 37, 38, 39, 40 The branches of the
evergreens above us should provide some respite from the sun, but Tohoku is
abnormally warm this year and waves of heat roll through the forest. My husband shifts
the backpack supporting our young daughter to a better position, yet his efforts do
nothing to stop the sweat from dripping down.

My silent count continues: 82, 83, 84, 85 Theres still a long way to go.

Under the guise of examining some of the mountains cliff carvings, we catch our breath
and mop our brows. A pair of businessmen from Americas Midwest stop to exchange a
few pleasantries with us, but the heat has sapped our strength and our conversational
skills seem to suffer as a result. I feel fortunate to have the clear skies of summer but
cant help wishing we were tackling this mountain under a blanket of snow instead.

The chant keeps going 315, 316 or was that 318? until I finally throw in the
towel on the step count.

The sound of cicadas, so present a few hundred meters below, has begun to fade. Its
replaced by the loud beating of our hearts as we slowly climb higher.
Our 3-year-old daughter thinks this is an exciting adventure, but my husband and I
simply put our heads down and plod on, passing through Niomon Gate and tackling the
last few sets of stairs.

It turns out to be a total of 1,015 stairs to the Okunoin (main hall) of Risshakuji Temple
at the apex of the hill. (Id long stopped counting, but a sign written in Japanese clued
me in.) Despite being the principal building of the temple complex, there are no views
from here. Instead, we backtrack slightly and follow the cement path to the mountains
edge before climbing a few additional steps up to Godaido Hall. From the halls wooden
porch, we have sweeping views of the surrounding mountains, cloaked in thick summer
greenery.

The platform is bustling with breathless tourists, all dripping sweat from the significant
climb, but still trying to look attractive as they pose for obligatory family photos. We
strike up a conversation with a couple from Fukushima, soliciting their advice for
additional destinations during our vacation. They enthusiastically talk up both local
sights and their own prefecture. Despite their glowing reviews, I secretly wonder if I will
ever think of their home region as anything but a buzzword for nuclear disaster.

We retrace our steps to the bottom of the mountain, the descent going significantly
faster than the initial climb. At the bottom, we duck into Mitoya, one of the
many soba (buckwheat noodle) restaurants that line the tiny main street of Yamadera
City. Intrigued by a picture on the restaurants wall, we all order dashi soba a local
specialty. Our portions of noodles come piled high with summer vegetables such as
eggplant, cucumber and okra. We top it off with soba-flour dumplings, stuffed with
pickled vegetables and finish the meal with cold barley tea.
Appetites assuaged, we head back to our rental car. While my husband tracks down a
parking attendant, I am drawn to an octogenarian sitting in the front window of his tiny
shop. Hes occupied with a piece of wood he is spinning on his lathe, so I wander
through the display of kokeshi, Tohokus traditional wooden dolls, while he finishes up
his project.
As it turns out, 85-year-old Kazuo Ishiyama has been crafting kokeshi on that same
lathe or one just like it for nearly 70 years. As World War II drew to a close in 1945,
the teenage Ishiyama noted a dearth of leisure objects among his friends and neighbors
and began using his woodworking skills to produce toys and kokeshi for local children.
Hand-turned lathes may have long been replaced by electric ones, but Ishiyama still
turns out traditional-style kokeshi known as zao takayu just like he did when he
first started. These arent the vivid, gussied-up dolls on display in airport kiosks and gift
shops around the nation. Old-fashioned kokeshi arent much more than an oversized
head attached to a long, cylindrical body, and embellished with designs in muted colors
such as black and red. The common designs are safflowers and chrysanthemums,
though Ishiyama points out a few dolls where he utilized a rape blossom motif in a
bright yellow.
I peruse the shelves stocked with Ishiyamas handiwork selling at ridiculously
reasonable prices and select a mid-size kokeshi as a souvenir of our trip. I ask
Ishiyama how to tell the dolls gender, but the reply is obscured by his soft voice and
regional accent. From what I gather, my doll can be whatever gender I decide an
answer I am more than willing to accept. I leave, grateful to have such a beautiful
product from a master craftsman.

The GPS in our rental car claims it is only 37 km to Ginzan Onsen, a tiny hot-spring
town deep in the mountains north of Yamadera. What it neglects to mention is that the
route will take us on roads that should, by all accounts, be marked as one-way. It also
fails to mention that its best to travel these hairpin curves on an empty stomach.
Despite the low mileage, we spend nearly one hour twisting our way through the interior
of Yamagata, enjoying the views from the drive along a mountain ridge. Despite the
devastation that occurred during the Great East Japan Earthquake and tsunami on the
opposite side of Tohoku in 2011, this corner of Japans northeast feels remarkably
untouched; unmarked by disaster and untrammeled by visitors.

The road eventually leads us back down to the plains and we zip by farmers hawking
local watermelons and baskets of peaches from their little stands. Finally, we arrive at
Ginzan Onsen and park our car just outside the center of town, as required its
pedestrian only before making our way down the hill to the village.

On the surface, Ginzan Onsen feels like a town in a time warp. The historic bathhouses
that front the towns canal date mostly from the Showa Era (1926-89), and even the
bridges and lampposts have a faded, 1920s feel about them.

But Ginzan Onsens history goes deeper than that, stretching back 500 years to the
discovery of a silver mine just outside the town, which gave Ginzan Onsen its name
ginzan means silver mine. In the early Edo Period (1603-1868), more than 20,000
people toiled away underground in the Nobesawa silver mine. But a collapse in 1689
forced the mine to close down and the area fell into obscurity for several centuries.
Today, however, visitors can guide themselves through the dimly lit shafts. After the
short, humid walk out to the mine, we revel in the subterranean coolness. With no silver
to be seen and no information at the site itself, theres not much to hold our attention
and yet we linger, loathe to return to the heat outside.
Back in town, we brave the boiling foot bath and sip local watermelon sodas to
counteract overheating.

Tomorrow, we will head east to Miyagi Prefecture, where the reality of life in a post-
tsunami world will be all too evident. For now, though, we soak in the sulfur springs of
Yamagata, content in this quiet corner of Tohoku.

Getting there: Yamadera Station is a 20-minute train ride from JR Yamagata