Nikko

          The wide avenue slopes gently uphill towards the shrine of Toshogu. It is dimly lit and in places shrouded in complete darkness. Great sugi, or cryptomeria, trees soar above ancient-looking stone walls on either side of the broad path, and crystalline mountain water flows lazily downhill through narrow channels at their feet. 

          The silence is profound, the only sounds coming from the resounding crunch of my feet on the carpet of tiny stones and the soft lapping of the water on its stony beds. Except for me, the approach to what may be Japan’s greatest sight is utterly deserted. 

          I arrive at a set of shallow steps, then a torii gate. Beyond, the entrance to the shrine is shut. As I stand in the pitch blackness, I imagine I’m hundreds of steps above, in front of the two grinning, hellish hounds with blazing eyes: the guardians of Tokugawa Ieyasu’s seventeenth century tomb. The mere thought of it is spine-tingling. 

          For I have been to Nikko before. Four years ago, on a morning of almost unbearable humidity, I saw the wondrous gold-leafed Yomeimon Gate, the storehouses adorned with three monkeys and gold-tusked elephants, and finally Ieyasu’s understated mausoleum. But I didn’t get the chance to wander its empty paths after sundown. 

          Narrow paths fork off to the left and right of the entrance, flanking the borders of the shrine complex. I turn left and espy a seemingly limitless row of tall and antiquated stone lanterns that extend along the outer wall. In the darkness they look alarmingly human. 

          More immense cryptomeria trees stand upon the inner side of the wall, rising far above the weather-beaten stone parapet and the newer vermilion fence. The eaves of an ornate hall just inside the compound almost overhang the boundary, its vibrant colours and cylindrical roof tiles hidden by the night. 

          I walk back down the great avenue to the Daiya River, where the water crashes into huge rocks on the riverbed and soon arrive at my hotel, the Turtle Inn. I feel a tinge of sadness, for I know that this may be the last time I ever experience the electrifying atmosphere of Nikko at night. 

          Tomorrow morning I will return to the shrine but I know the magic will have departed. Swarms of tourists, mostly Japanese but also many gaikoku-jin, or foreigners, will have assumed temporary control of the spellbinding approach to Toshogu.