Japan is famous for its trains, and rightly so. In the cities, one can get virtually anywhere by rail and with minimal hassle or cost. Traveling around Tokyo is a lot like exploring NYC, only with four to five times the range. Sure, you still need the occasional cab, but the trains are efficient and cabs always seem to be at hand (unless, just like in NYC, it's raining). And of course there are the remarkable shinkansen (bullet trains) which connect the country north to south and east to west.
The one drawback to all this amazing public transportation is that visitors often overlook Japan's considerable and vibrant car culture. Dispel all notions of the very reliable, but often dull and pedestrian sedans, minivans, and hybrids with which Japan floods our American shores. As with many products the Japanese export - cameras, music, food, phones, electronics, video games - they tend to keep the most exciting and innovative items for themselves. This is especially true when it comes to cars.
The range of cars available here in Japan is as wide, varied, and dynamic as the population is homogeneous. Luxury cars from Toyota, Honda, and Nissan, unavailable in the states, abound on Tokyo streets. In the more remote reaches of the country, the tiny lanes are packed with "Kei" cars. These small cars - limited to an engine displacement of only 600cc - offer basic, inexpensive transportation, cheaper taxes, and a perfect means of navigating the incredibly tight roads of Japan's small towns. Kei cars come in every shape, size and configuration imaginable. From a box on wheels that can fit seven skinny individuals to a two-seat Japanese take on a 1960s french convertible, Kei cars always have personality.
As a car nut, I tend to drive my wife a bit crazy when we're in Japan together. "Look at that! Check that one out! Why the hell didn't Nissan send one of those over to us?!" Walking down the streets in Japan, at least for me, is like an automotive safari. But despite my passion for cars, 11 years had gone by without me getting behind the wheel here in Japan. All that changed when we landed in Yamagata, on the sea of Japan, to visit Sumie's grandmother.
Before we left, Sumie reserved a car and we both picked up our International Drivers' Permits from AAA. A word of warning on this last item. The International Drivers Permit, which basically says "I have a driver's license" in ten different languages, is often confused with an "International License." "International Licenses" don't exist, though there are many companies on the internet that will sell you one for upwards of 30 dollars. Car booked and permit in hand, I was ready to drive.
As you may know, people in Japan drive on the left side of the road, just like in England. This means, of course, that the cars in Japan are right hand drive. So, once we got to Yamagata, not only would I be driving in Japan for the first time, it would also be my first (intentional) attempt at driving on the "wrong" side of the road. I admit that, even as a car lover, I was a little nervous. I didn't want to ruin our vacation or, far worse, do harm to my wife or daughter. But, as a man who had navigated the streets of Manhattan on a daily basis for 10 years without accident, I figured it couldn't be too difficult. We'd be in rural Japan, where the traffic is light and the speeds are slow. How hard could it be?
My first time driving in Japan was, without doubt, the most challenging, nerve-wracking, exciting, aggravating, and ultimately memorable experience I've ever had behind the wheel. It was my own "perfect storm" - driving edition.
Getting used to driving on the left side of the road wasn't that hard. It was awkward at first, and I had to keep reminding myself to keep my left shoulder to the left shoulder, but other than consistently turning on the windshield wipers when I wanted to indicate a turn, it was pretty easy. No, the challenge lay with the insanely narrow country roads and with God. He'd decided I needed snow. A lot of it.
We picked up our Toyota Vitz - a less powerful Japanese version of the American Toyota Yaris and not what I would call a natural off-roader - after sliding into the airport rental counter on more than a foot of packed snow. There, we learned that because of the weather, we needed to have a special safety lecture. After filling out a form detailing our driving experience in harsh conditions, we were then handed the keys to the car. They'd forgotten the lecture in all the excitement of having a cute mixed-race toddler in the office. Would it have made a difference? I can only guess.
Sumie's uncle Goro-ojisan, who had taken the same flight with us up from Tokyo, rode with us, giving directions to his house where we'd take a brief rest before visiting Sumie's grandmother and then heading to the hot springs. Here's a view of several well-plowed streets that I faced. These are the well-plowed examples.
Getting to Goro-ojisan's home, and then to Obachan's (Sumie's Grandmother's) rest home wasn't easy, but still quite manageable despite the snow, narrow roads, and right-hand drive. I found I had to concentrate a lot, like I was driving with a trailer, but other than that, it was pretty straight forward. We had a wonderful visit with Sumie's grandmother (more on that later) and then loaded up the car for our trip to the onsen (Japanese hot springs). I was to drive Sumie, Mimi, Goro-ojisan, and Reiko-obasan (Sumie's aunt) into the mountains just above the sea of Japan in a car with the ground clearance of an obese dachshund. Not only that, we'd heard that the roads up to the onsen were virtually impassible. The perfect storm was coming together nicely.
As we left the town of Tsuruoka and headed into the mountains, an unexpected challenge quickly reared its head: navigation. Though the car was equipped with a navigation system, Goro-ojisan and Reiko-obasan insisted that we didn't need it. Instead, I received turn-by-turn directions from Sumie's aunt and uncle. This was, of course, in Japanese. I'd been fuzzy on "left" and "right" in Japanese before this trip. Let's just say I've got it down now. Our aunt/uncle navi-system, like any in-car navigation system, had its own peculiarities. Often, when coming up to an intersection, the system would recommend two different directions. This was a bit unsettling at first until I learned simply to slow down to a crawl before any intersection and to straddle the turn lane once we got there so I could go left, right, or straight once the system settled on the proper course of action.
A few wrong turns on the main roads were nothing compared to what we faced in the mountains. The roads leading up to the onsen, just wide enough for two-way bicycle traffic on a good day, had not been plowed. As we snaked into the mountains we would invariably run across some well-meaning locals following a giant Kubota tractor. They'd tell us the road was blocked and then send us down a different route. After the fourth time or so this became a bit tiresome, especially given that each story was, in part if not in entirety, contradictory to what we'd already heard.
Eventually we hit upon the right route. Unfortunately, this route was currently being used as a Land Rover test track. Not exactly suitable for a gutless Toyata Vitz/Yaris loaded down with four Japanese and a fat, inexperienced American behind the wheel. Nonetheless, we had to get there, so I blazed on. There was easily a good foot or more of unpacked snow on the road. The only thing keeping us going was that we were headed downhill. Trucks with chains were struggling alongside us, slipping dangerously into our path as we invariably slid well into theirs. There were countless times when going straight required spinning the wheel a full turn to the left and burying my right foot in the accelerator. Sumie later told me it looked like I was flailing, but not flailing in panic. It was a deeply serious, intense, methodical kind of flailing. And it worked. It took over an hour to cover the ten kilometers from town to the onsen, but we made it. Without a single scratch or dent.
I dropped everyone off at the front and then parked the car. As I hit the auto-lock on the key I thought quietly to myself, "Yes, today at least, you are a driving god."
My first experience behind the wheel in Japan was not, shall we say, what I was hoping it would be. And for that, I'm very thankful. The snow, the navigation, and the impossibly impassible roads turned a trip into a genuine adventure. It's not every day that happens. Particularly in a Toyota Vitz.
