What do you think this post will be about? Maybe you’re well read on cuisine and are thinking about the crime that is natto; sticky, slimy, and stinky. Or perhaps you know about the intense work-related drinking culture, which regularly ends with poor office workers spending their night on a curb by the station. Often they wake up inside a stone henge built with water bottles left by strangers. Plenty of other strange ideas, but I will keep it simple.

Spending half a year travelling around this lovely country, I have encountered some quite confusing creations. Back in the eighties, when the economy was booming, when land prices were so high that the imperial grounds in Tokyo equalled the total land value of California, and when the Belgian prime minister even sold off the Belgian embassy’s lot, to substantially help pay off the national debt, back when the country was awash with money, plenty of peculiar investments were made.

Unfortunately the economic miracle wore off, leaving Japan scattered with abandoned resorts and theme parks. If you’ve seen Spirited Away, you’ll have an idea of what I mean. Some of these moribund communities give off eerie vibes, perhaps better explored by someone more sinister. Yet while the numbers of tourist arrivals break records year after year, most of these people bounce between Tokyo, Kyoto, and Osaka, leaving lots of local, hidden places left to continue on crumbling.

Not so in Niigata’s countryside, one warm late-summer day in September. The region’s young families with happy kids had gathered around the holy grounds of Yahiko Shrine, celebrating the harvest. Or, more honestly, enjoying the fried rice, thick noodles, and refreshing beers those recently reaped grains had provided. It was a good day.

It is atop Mount Yahiko, backdrop to the shrine, that I found my favourite of these bizarre Japanese inventions. First, though, I had to get to the peak. A swift ropeway did the trick, over a chirping forest starting to turn red. Once there, ready for part two, I confusedly descended about ten metres again, through a diagonal elevator, transporting two or three people at a time. Finally I stood before a massive concrete pillar, tall and featureless. But appearances can be deceiving, because after a minute of wait, the ancient staff, perhaps unchanged for nearly five decades, allowed me to board the softly spinning cabin, reaching the top of the concrete viewpoint, showing me Sado Island across the strait, the busy metropolis of Niigata City, the golden fields in the valley to the South, and the jagged peaks beyond.

Trust the Japanese to confuse and surprise you. Usually in the best of ways.