We are just back from a splendid trip into the Kiso valley through the central alps. This part of Japan used to be the main route between Tokyo and Kyoto. In the Edo period, there were a succession of post towns along the Nakesendo road, where the barons and their retinues could lodge en route to pay homage to the Shogon. Some of these have been reasonably well preserved and are now tourist attractions.
Linda thought the Nakesendo trail sounded quite fun, so off we went Saturday morning; just as well, since apart from a storm the first night and snow crossing on the first pass, we had brilliant weather; now all turned to custard. But we walked in bright sunshine through tiny villages, bamboo and cedar forests, past temples and carp ponds. Stayed in an old Ryokan Saturday night and at an Onsen (hot spring spa) on Sunday, futons and Kotatsu (table with a heater under) 10 course banquets of pickled fish stuffed with bean paste, boiled ferns, wild boar, tofu, and various unidentified blobs of things that might have been fish or fowl, but we can’t be really certain, noodles and rice, and nabe pots where you boil your vegetables at the table over stock and much laughter as us two gaijin struggle to sit cross legged with and not mess up with chopsticks.
Walked out on Monday through two neat towns called Tsumago and Magome. Wonderful time photographs here.

I got to play with the Paris Opera Ballet. Cendrillon (Nureyev choreography Prokoviev score). Only eight extras this time; I was Cinderella’s chaffeur, to drive her pumpkin to the ball. Said pumpkin consists of a giant inflatable bag. I sit inside and the whole thing gets dragged on stage by the clowns. At bar 64, I pull a snap shackle, the pumpkin splits, a noddy car inflates, the prima ballerina leaps in, and we depart for the ball pulled by clowns.
Alas not all clowns were on stage. This pumpkin was well past its use by date, (first used in 1996), the fans sound like a 747 on take off so inside, there was fat chance of hearing the cue and some off stage clown had left a box of talcum powder in the fan housing. At the first dress rehearsal, I climbed in, the stage hands started the fans, the inside filled with dense white talcum powder, I couldn’t pull the release, until so much powder poured out through the leaks and punctures, they thought I’d caught fire, when someone finally managed to pull the shackle, I emerged coughing and spluttering coated head to toe in white. That, I suppose, is what dress rehearsals are for, to sort out the obvious blunders before the big night. I wouldn’t want to meet the prima ballerina looking like a mouse through icing sugar. Photographs here.