Travel was more difficult in Basho's time: His journey on foot and horseback over unpaved roads and paths without signs took five months. The 45-year-old poet wanted to go to Aomori in northern Honshu but got only as far as Hiraizumi and Kisakata before returning south along the Sea of Japan.

Today, we travel faster and farther, on wider roads. We rented a car for three weeks and drove as far north as we could, to the end of Honshu and then on to the northern tip of Hokkaido island and back, stopping at Basho's utamakura and park lands along the way.

Nikko to Hiraizumi

glorious!
green leaves, young leaves
in Nikko

We arrived in late May, when Nikko is still bright green-gold with new leaves and rice shoots sprouting in mirror-like ponds. We visited the Nikko National Park's most famous sites, Lake Chuzenji, Kegon Waterfall, and Toshogu Shrine, built in 1617 as a mausoleum for Tokugawa Ieyasu (1543-1616), the shogun who established a unified nation and a dynasty that ruled for two- and-a-half centuries.

We also hiked up to see Urami no Taki ("view from behind falls") which still appears as it did in Basho's time: "a waterfall ... came pouring out of a hollow in the ridge into a dark green pool a hundred feet below. The rocks behind the waterfall were so carved out that we could enter behind the falls and see out from it, hence its name."

Over breakfast, our innkeeper praised his hometown for its clean air and abundant water. He told us about a third waterfall, Kirifuri ("Falling Mist"), a

5-minute drive from the inn. A walk through a forest with blossoming azaleas took us to a lookout below which Kirifuri tumbled down a sun-lit mountainside.

From Nikko, Basho descended to the plain of Ibaraki and headed for Sendai and Matsushima. We took a less-traveled road through the mountains, lakes and marshes of Bandai-Asahi National Park and Yamagata, where the poet visited Risshaku ("Standing Rock") Temple, perched on a rocky hill dotted with caves. Basho describes the temple as quiet, remote and lonely:

tranquil hush —
a cicada's voice
permeates the cliff

When we arrived at 3 p.m., Risshaku was bustling; no cicadas, just the chirping of visitors (some of cell phones) going up and down the 1,100 stone steps leading up to the temple. But the tourist day was nearly over, and by the time we reached the top, the crowd had thinned, leaving a peaceful view from an observation platform.

That afternoon, we drove Route 286 over the mountains to the city of Sendai, hoping to see the moon over nearby Matsushima, as the poet had. This bay with 263 pine-covered islands was (and still is) considered the most scenic spot in Japan.

Instead, we saw the moon over Sendai Station above an avenue filled with cars and sidewalks crowded with businessmen and young shoppers garbed in a 60s fashion-warp. Our car was on an elevated platform in a vertical car park, which was what the hotel meant by "parking available." O little Tokyo of the north!

Early the next morning, we drove to Matsushima. In spite of the millions that have described and photographed it, it appeared fresh and beautiful to our eyes, as it did to Basho.

We found the former site of Taga Castle, with an excellent archaeological and historical museum nearby. The castle, actually an administrative outpost, was built during the Nara period (circa 800 A.D.) to bring the northern frontier peoples called Emishi under the control of the imperial court. Today the site is a park for morning exercise and walking.

The stone monument whose ancient inscription brought "joyous tears" to Basho's eyes was harder to find. We almost gave up but noticed a photo of it on an overhead sign and asked an elderly man on his morning walk where it was. He said he would take us there, jumped into the back seat, and directed us a few hundred yards and several turns away.

North of Matsushima is Hiraizumi, where in the 12th century the heroic warrior Yoshitsune hid from his rivalrous brother Yorimoto, Japan's first shogun, and committed suicide rather than allow himself and his family to be killed when his brother attacked. For a hundred years, Hiraizumi had been the cultural and economic center of northern Japan under the Fujiwara clan. It never recovered from Yoritomo's attack. When Basho visited the area in the 17th century, fields of grass grew where mansions once stood:

summer grasses —
all that's left
of warriors' dreams

This area is now Motsuji Temple Gardens, where historical re-enactments are held for tourists. The day we were there, a Heian poetry festival was in progress.

What remains from Basho's time, a little north of the park, is Chusonji, a temple complex established in 850. Inside a protective outer hall is the Konjikido, or Golden Hall, a beautifully gilded mausoleum inlaid with mother of pearl and jewels, housing the mummified remains of three generations of Fujiwara rulers.

Beyond Hiraizumi: Northern Honshu

From Hiraizumi, Basho headed west, to Sakata and Kisakata on the Sea of Japan. We drove northeast instead, to see Rikuchu Coast National Park, which extends 110 miles along the Pacific Ocean. On the day we were there, the rugged coastline of northern Honshu was shrouded in mist and rain.

After a morning hike up and down ridges along the coast, we visited Ryusendo ("dragon spring cave"), 2,500 meters long, with an underground lake and a stream running through it.

That night we stayed in Mutsu, near Oma, from which a car ferry departs for Hokkaido.

Just outside of Mutsu is Osore-zan ("Terrifying Mountain"). This volcanic crater and lake is thought to be a borderland between the living and the dead, where spirits can be contacted through mediums called itako. Scattered over the sulphurous landscape are small shrines dedicated to children who have died before their parents.

Hokkaido

The mysterious Oyu Stone Circle near Towada Hachimantai National Park in northern Honshu appears to be the center of an astronomical site for keeping track of the seasonal passage of the sun and stars. Dennis Kawaharada • Special to The Advertiser

In Basho's time, all of Hokkaido, except the southern end, was not Japan, but the homeland of the indigenous people called Ezo, later Ainu.

To gain control of its forests, farmlands and fisheries, Japan colonized Hokkaido in the 19th century and annexed it in 1879. Today the island is a major food-producing region. Best known for its Sapporo Snow Festival in February, it is also home to six national parks representing the geographic diversity of the island. We drove from Hakodate to all six in a week and a half. (See box, Page E7.)

On the way to Kushiro at the east end of the island, we went up the Saru River valley where Ainu culture originated: Here the god Okikurmikamuy taught the people to build houses, fish, and raise millet. Farms line both sides of the road that follows the river upstream.

The Japanese government's repressive policy of assimilation in the 19th century destroyed the Ainu language and culture. In recent decades, due to a more tolerant policy and the work of Ainu elders and scholars, the language and culture have begun to be preserved and somewhat revived, albeit in a modern context. A reproduction of an Ainu village at Shiraoi has a good museum, but before entering visitors are forced to walk a gantlet of stores selling curios.

Among the more memorable visitor attractions on Hokkaido is the Drift Ice Museum in Abashiri. It documents a winter phenomenon called drift ice: Fresh water from the Amur River in Russia freezes and drifts down the Sea of Okhotsk to northern Hokkaido, eventually covering the sea in a continuous sheet of ice that melts away in the spring.

About halfway through the trip we made it to Cape Soya, the northernmost point in Japan, marked by a monument to the North Star. Twenty-four miles across the Soya Strait is Russia's Sahkalin Island, visible on a clear day.

The seafood was excellent everywhere on Hokkaido. In one small restaurant near our hotel in Hakodate, the crab, abalone, squid, scallops and other seafood are keep alive in tanks and prepared raw or grilled when you place your order.

It was easier to drive on Hokkaido than on Honshu — the roads are wider and straighter, and the streets of Sapporo and Asahikawa are laid out in numbered grids.

One of the oddest road experiences: On two occasions a fox (in Japanese tradition, a forest spirit) stepped out from the roadside brush and walked directly at our car, so that we had to slow down and stop to avoid hitting it. Then it walked up to the side of the car, as if to ask for food. Luckily, we didn't feed it, because we were told later that if you feed a fox, its spirit will follow you home.

The backside of Japan

From Rebun Island, Rishiri Island looks a little like Mount Fuji rising from the sea. Rebun is noted for hiking trails and wildflowers. Dennis Kawaharada • Special to The Advertiser

The area is a preserve for wild monkeys, and a troop appeared in the fog, foraging in the trees, with a couple of them scampering along the electric wires overhead.

After a night in the very attractive small city of Aomori, we headed south for Tsuruoka via the Oyu Stone Circle. This site off the beaten track near Towada Hachimantai National Park was occupied 3,700 years ago during the Jomon period. It's not known what the circle represents, but it appeared to me to be an astronomical site for keeping track of the seasonal passage of the sun and stars.

The Jomon, named for their distinctive cord-patterned pottery, were hunter-gatherers whose ancestors arrived in Japan from South and East Asia and thrived in the rich natural environment for 10,000 years. They were absorbed and/or displaced by rice cultivators from the Korean Peninsula who migrated to Kyushu and southern Honshu around 400 to 300 B.C. and spread gradually to eastern and northern Honshu, developing complex political units and a culture shaped by Confucian, Taoist and Buddhist philosophy. The Ainu are thought to be descendants of the Jomon.

Farther south, along the coast, we rejoined Basho's route at Kisakata ("shellfish lagoon"). In his time, Kisakata bay, like Matsushima, was filled with islands covered with pine trees and considered one of the most picturesque bays in Japan. In 1804, an earthquake raised the floor of the lagoon so that what once were islands are now hummocks surrounded by low-lying rice fields.

When Basho got to Kisakata, the weariness of his journey and the muggy, rainy summer began to darken his writing: "Whereas Matsushima seemed to smile, Kisakata droops in dejection. The lonely, melancholy scene suggests a troubled human spirit."

At Sakata, we crossed the Mogami River, where Basho wrote a poem expressing relief at the end of a long hot summer day:

a scorching day
put to rest at sea —
Mogami River

Mount Fuji rises above Lake Sai. During the Tokugawa period, Fuji-san became established as the piko, or navel, of the nation, marking the start and end of journeys for the Edo traveler. Dennis Kawaharada • Special to The Advertiser

In a light mist and drizzle, we climbed the 2,446 stone steps to the temple atop Haguro-san. (The road and trail to Gassan is closed until the end of June.)

The mountainous area around Tsuruoka is one of the traditional centers of Shugendo, a Buddhist-Shinto sect whose mountain priests are known for their asceticism and rituals of self-mortification such as standing under icy waterfalls to develop spiritual powers and free the spirit from the body.

In times past, some Shugendo priests practiced an extreme form of self-mortification: self-mummification through an increasingly restrictive diet and the drinking of a tea and water whose contents killed off bacteria and after death, maggots. The practitioner had himself sealed in a cave before passing on. The practice was outlawed in the 19th century.

The mummified remains of two priests from the 18th and early 19th century are worshiped at temples just south of Dewa Sanzan. Out of curiosity we went to see Tetsumon-kai (1768-1829) at Churenji temple, half wondering if it was a hoax. To my surprise, a mummy was on display, sitting in the lotus position in a glass case on an altar, dressed in a hood-like cap and red cape, his aged skin shiny black, as if lacquered, and clinging closely to his skull and bones, his eyelids drawn over hollow sockets.

I felt awkward not being of the faith. The woman at the shop where Buddhist items are sold, reacted somewhat coldly when we told her we were "just visiting," not there to pay for a worship service. She was somewhat more pleasant after we bought two omamori, or protective amulets. Somehow, I felt our road luck might run out if we didn't.

For a more light-hearted experience, down the hill, there is a tourist center with Yamagata souvenir shops, a bungee-jumping operation, and an Amazon River nature museum. The area is known for its June-July ski season, when the access road to the glacier-based ski area on Gassan opens.

South from Tsuruoka, we traveled the coastal route through Niigata. Twenty miles offshore is Sado Island:

turbulent seas —
and sideways over Sado
   tumbles
the River of Heaven

This was the most difficult part of the poet's journey: "During nine long days we endured heat and rain, which afflicted my spirit. I became ill."

As we drove down the coast in early June, the weather was in the low 70s, though warming. Stopping at sandy beaches lined with pine trees and rocky headlands overlooking coves, we searched the horizon for Sado but couldn't see it in a haze between the calm ocean and the blue sky.

Crossing Japan Alps to Mount Fuji

As the center of population and political power in Japan shifted from western to eastern Japan in Tokugawa times, Fuji-san, a near-perfect volcanic cone and the tallest mountain in Japan, emerged as the piko (navel) of the nation, marking the start and end of journeys for the Edo traveler.

As Basho left for Oku, he noted the faint outline of Fuji-san at the dawn horizon 75 miles southwest of the capital.

The mountain is said to be shy: On the first day we were there, only a small portion of her snowy summit peeped through the clouds. On the next day, the clouds around the summit had disappeared.

At 3 a.m., we drove 18 miles to watch the 4:30 sunrise at the fifth station. When we arrived, no one was there. Some tourists arrived a little before sunrise and departed before us.

Journey's End

Five years after returning from his journey to Oku, Basho set out on another journey; he fell ill and died. His failing health had intensified his awareness of the passage of time: Not only was his own life fleeting, but the ancient sites themselves were changing and disappearing:

"Many utamakura have been passed down to us; but mountains collapse, rivers flow, roads change, stones are buried and hidden beneath the earth ... and the traces of what once was are now uncertain ... "

Driving on Route 16 through the outskirts of Tokyo through the heaviest traffic on the widest roads (six lanes) of our trip, the changes that had occurred since Basho's time were obvious.

Not only is Japan Westernized, industrialized and high-tech, its northern borders have expanded and its past extends into prehistory through archaeological finds like the one at Moyoro and Oyu.