I feel my way along the tunnel; it’s pitch black and narrow, and all I can do as I inch forward is grope for the spot. Hidden below the altar of the Zenkoji Temple’s main hall is, so legend has it, the key to enlightenment. Those who feel it achieve satori. My hand glides over some­thing on the wall; it is smooth, long and cylindrical, and made of metal.

Outside, snow is steadily falling on Nagano city, tempering the incense-filled air. If enlightenment means having discovered, as a non-skier, the delights of Nagano prefecture in winter, then it doesn’t really matter whether I’ve just touched the elusive key or not.