Kamishiro Lines

As soon as the train pulls into the siding and judders to a halt, I can see the difference. This station is where an invisible line bisects Japan and transfers ownership of lines and trains from JR: West to JR: East. The clunking, ancient, bright orange carriage that has brought me through the mountains to here sits and steams, the lights on and the windows fogged. The driver strides through the carriage, reaching up to close the windows and adjust the fans. The train that has just pulled in is silver, and slick, and looks remarkably new for a train that is running straight through the middle of nowhere.

The driver and conductor jump out of this new train and run up the platform, out of sight of the office, and pull out packets of cigarettes. The snow is blowing heavily down the platform and it mixes with their exhaled smoke and covers everything. When they climb back onto the train, they are covered in snow and melting ice drips off the peak of the drivers cap and onto the floor.

Behind me, the only other passenger on the train sits and tries to solve a Rubik’s cube that he’s been playing with for the past 3 hours; we’ve transferred at all the same stations, sat killing time between transfers, and haven’t yet said a word to each other. I can hear the clicking sounds as he adjusts and readjusts the block.

At the front, the uniformed two are quietly gossiping about a friend of a friend, killing time before we set off. Two minutes to go, and a car pulls up in front of the station, its wheels crunching in the fresh snow. Even though it’s only a few metres away, I can barely make out the two high-school age students that jump out and run for the train. The girl almost slips and grabs her boyfriend to steady herself. They pause for a second, arms outstretched, then keep running; if they miss this train they will have to wait nearly two hours for the next one.

Outside, the snow swirls over everything, blowing sideways and up as it sluices around the pillars of the platform. There is a buzz and we edge forwards. The driver complains in a quiet voice that he can hardly see anything and he and the conductor both laugh. For some reason, this makes me feel infinitely more comfortable and I turn up the volume on the iPod, settle back, and watch the huge banks of snow slide past, glowing from the light of the train’s windows.

Posted in Travel on Sunday March 19, 2006.