You probably know that these days the word “Shinkansen” is used to generically describe a number of different types of Japanese high speed train. My train today is another Hikari Super Express, this time the 464, bound for Tokyo. The fastest, with the least number of stops is the “Nozumi”. You cannot use these trains with a JR rail pass, but you can use the second tier of trains (same type of train, more stops) called the “Hikari”.

Kyoto’s main station is a very modern place, integrated with shopping malls and hotels. The whole place smells of popcorn and freshly baked cookies. The soundtrack is a blend of indecipherable Japanese tannoy announcements mixed with the rumble of trains overhead as you emerge upwards towards the platforms.

On the platform a train arrives every five minutes or so and takes off after a loud electronic beeping noise warns anyone in any doubt on the platform. The trains themselves seem almost silent and so aerodynamic that they cut their own hole in the air ahead of them.

Time to put my feet up for the three hour journey. The snow slowly disappears even though we are heading north. The slopes of Mount Fuji glisten in the winter sun. The windows seem too big, but that’s because your mind confuses the cabin with that of an aircraft. There are no digital indicators of the train’s speed. The Japanese must just take it for granted that as its a Shinkansen train, it’s going to be travelling at Shinkansen speed. A lady greets each new passenger with a hot towel. There is a trolley service selling basic snacks, but surprisingly to me, no proper food is served on the train.

All too soon we pull into Yokohama and ten minutes later we are at Tokyo’s central station. I have forgotten that I’m actually staying near Shinjuku station and not this station, so my taxi costs a small fortune..

Time for what Louis Theroux would call a “weird weekend” in Tokyo.

I seem to have crossed that fine line, and it takes 48 hours to get my body fully fit for operations again. For the first day I can’t stop groaning with amazement every time my body rests on a soft bed in a cool and quiet room that does not move with the rails or the waves. I can’t believe my appetite for sleep. And then on the third day I feel like the title of this blog post, reborn, not as a British secret agent, but as a Trans-Siberian explorer.

Kyoto is massively busy. It’s an extended public holiday and a time for local families to vist the shrines. I feel like I just can’t move in some places and the recent snow is slowing us all down even more. Oh well, it’s my own fault for arriving at such a special time.

It’s a great couple of days to adjust to the Japanese way and join in the purification and luck making rituals of the New Year. Russia and Japan are probably polar opposites when it comes to visible etiquette, manners and the friendliness of public servants. I don’t know if this level of kindness and support ever wears off, but for my short stay it’s nothing short of a wonder.

Eventually I get an escort to my platform and shown where the “non reserved” carriage will stop. There is a long queue already and it’s clearly going to be rammed full as its a public holiday today. Let’s hope I even get on it.

The train looks to me like a mad Gerry Anderson take on a British 1960’s “Deltic” train. The drivers cab is on top, looking down like the cockpit of a 747. I’m happy just to be able to squeeze on, and my home for the next couple of hours is the corridor washroom outside the toilet of second class carriage no 5. Perhaps not the image of tourist friendly image that you have in mind of the Japanese rail network!

The problem of being here is two fold. Firstly, there is no view of the outside world, and like being in a cabin without windows on a ship, this leads to travel sickness as the train bounces around on its way across rural Japan. Secondly, the toilet is locked and the corridor is full of sick or desperate people about to seemingly have an accident over my luggage, including one poor little girl who I’m convinced is going to be ill right over my carry on bag.

If I had a seat this train would be like any Inter-City train back in the UK. As I don’t, if you imagine getting a train from Kings Cross when the reservations system has failed and you have no seat and the air condititioning isn’t working, it’s very similar.

But it’s only two hours and I manage to do some writing and editing, so time passes relatively quickly. I’m perched next to a punk rocker who helps me work out where to get off – quite important when you can’t see the platforms outside and don’t speak Japanese.

We pull into Okayama on time and I’m relieved to make it off. Now I have to find my Shinkansen connection to Kyoto.