The Great Buddha of Kamakura sits in the open. Its temple hall washed away by a tsunami centuries ago and never rebuilt, so the bronze has weathered green under the sky. The little seaside town an hour from Tokyo trades skyscrapers for surf shops and hydrangea lanes. A quiet day out.

Fuji showed itself clean over Lake Ashi the morning we crossed it at Hakone. The ropeway runs over the sulphur vents at Owakudani, where they boil the black eggs in the springs. The mountain decides whether you get the view. We were lucky, and stopped talking when it appeared.

Fushimi Inari's torii climb the hill in endless vermilion; we went early and had the lower shrines almost to ourselves. Kinkaku-ji doubled in its pond, the bamboo at Arashiyama hissing overhead. Kyoto keeps the old country, and a single day there only sharpens the wish for more.

Kobe was a half-day, and mostly about lunch. The beef seared at the counter in front of you, marbled to the point of melting, served in small portions because more would be too much. The port city itself is calm and modern, rebuilt after the '95 quake. The steak is the memory.