murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

As soon as I woke at seven o'clock on Monday morning, I washed my
face, shaved, and went straight to the dorm Head's room without
eating breakfast to say that I was going to be gone for two days hiking
in the hills. He was used to my taking short trips when I had free time,
and reacted without surprise. I took a crowded commuter train to
Tokyo Station and bought a bullet-train ticket to Kyoto, literally
jumping onto the first Hikari express to pull out. I made do with
coffee and a sandwich for breakfast and dozed for an hour.
I arrived in Kyoto a few minutes before eleven. Following Naoko's
instructions, I took a city bus to a small terminal serving the northern
suburbs. The next bus to my destination would not be leaving until
11.35, I was told, and the trip would take a little over an hour. I
bought a ticket and went to a bookshop across the street for a map.
Back in the waiting room, I studied the map to see if I could find
exactly where the Ami Hostel was located. It turned out to be much
farther into the mountains than I had imagined. The bus would have to
cross several hills in its trek north, then turn around where the canyon
road dead-ended and return to the city. My stop would be just before
the end of the line. There was a footpath near the bus stop, according
to Naoko, and if I followed it for 20 minutes I would reach Ami
Hostel. No
wonder it was such a quiet place, if it was that deep in the mountains!
The bus pulled out with about 20 passengers aboard, following the
Kamo River through the north end of Kyoto. The tightly packed city
streets gave way to more sparse housing, then fields and vacant land.
Black tile roofs and vinyl-sided greenhouses caught the early autumn
sun and sent it back with a glare. When the bus entered the canyon,
the driver began hauling the steering wheel this way and that to follow
the twists and curves of the road, and I began to feel queasy. I could
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