Todoroki Valley

It’s shaping up to be a mild, sunny day, and I’m keen to do some walking without straying too far from Tokyo. So I set off in the early afternoon for Todoroki Valley. Head for Shibuya and take the Toyoko line to Yokohama. I’ll get off at Jiyugaoka and change to the Oimachi line to Futakotamagawa. I get off at Todoroki, my final station. The journey takes less than thirty minutes, a godsend for such a peaceful spot just outside Tokyo. The trail starts about 350 meters from the station, at the south exit. I turn right after the tracks before passing the Seijo Ishii supermarket, which I can see in the distance. I stop to buy a couple of things. I then pass the store and enter the valley a little further on the right.





The sound of birdsong and a babbling brook stands in stark contrast to the frenetic pace of Shibuya, which I left a short while ago. Ducks swim in the stream and turtle-doves forage in the fallen leaves. There are few walkers on the path, and it’s really pleasant to stroll along.





I climb out of the valley to make a detour to a small park. I find myself in an urban atmosphere that I really appreciate in Japan. Sloping streets, far-seeing eyes, surprises on street corners and electricity grids criss-crossing the sky. Epochs blend and buildings adapt. There’s a sort of unfinished feeling that gives me the impression of a Japan in perpetual evolution.





I like to lose myself in these streets to discover new vantage points where the eye reaches out to the horizon. It opens up new perspectives.



Once at the park, I contemplate the life of the neighborhood. Down below, children are playing baseball. Buildings loom in the distance, temperatures are almost spring- like and the sky is clear in December. Opposites coexist.





Back to the valley. The last autumn colors are still on display, to the delight of photographers. The moods and seasons come together.





Japanese folklore is populated by spirits of all kinds, sometimes benevolent, sometimes malicious. Could a yokai be hiding in this tree?





On the way back, I stop off at a teahouse to enjoy some pastries. At the entrance, koi carp swim in a pond, illuminated by autumn lights.





I make my way back to the station. Night is falling fast and so are the temperatures. I witness a ritual. A man is chanting under a small waterfall, which I imagine to be very cold, flowing from the mouth of a dragon. I’m drawn in by his prayers and contemplate his practice until it’s over, enjoying the benefits of his effort and rigor.