It's hiking season again, and although it's been way too long since I last wrote, knowing that I'm spending that time working exploring my surroundings should be of comfort.
No?
Fine. Let me start again by saying that I'm going to attempt to write up some of these fine adventures, including the random small ones without pictures, very soon and that one of said tellings will be a demonstrated view of our home, since I've yet to showcase that since we moved out of American on-base housing.
After the weather began to warm, but before the nasty necessity of rainy season, Hub and I shuffled through the pages of directions and maps I accumulated last year to select a destination for a day trip. While I offered up the Nagasaki Prefectural Forest he thought seeing a waterfall might be more interesting and so off we drove.
Unlike most of the instructions that we normally have, the directions to Senryu Falls had vague details like "take a sharp curve to the right" and "go over a bridge" (here in Japan, with mountains and coastline everywhere, we're always making a turn or going over a bridge, so neither would seem to offer up much guidance), but I blinked at one line which advised that we turn "just after the large, white building shaped to resemble a seashell." With a detail like that, I figured we would have no issues finding our turn while imagining a giant oyster-esque or conch-like convention center and wondering where the door to such a marvel might be located.
Our drive took us out of the city and into the countryside, taking the sharp curve and crossing the bridge as promised. The seashell turned out to be one of the more imaginative descriptions I've heard while living here (as in, there was nothing seashell about it to my un-art-trained eye), but the small, one-lane-that's-really-two-way road we turned down just beside the building promised to lead us away from civilization. Our guide said we'd see a bridge that would take us across to the parking lot but that it was one-way only. Around us seemed to be private property, which left Hub and I mildly uneasy, but as the road opened up into a larger area, we spotted a sign. Assured we were heading in the right direction, we found ourselves stopping quickly as we saw what was meant by a "one-way bridge." While our car isn't new or anything to look at, we weren't adventurous enough to chance scraping the sides, threw it in reverse, and parked just to the side of the road, out of the way, to set off on foot.
Just around the turn from the bridge was a smaller parking lot and one of the arched bridges I've come to love and associate with Japan's charm; crossing this led us to two trails, one leading up and into the mountain while the other curved around toward the sound of water. Taking the water path to the left, we climbed steps to a small landing which allowed a view of the bottom of a small set of falls. Stopping to admire, we continued, rejoining what we assumed was the other path at a pair of small wooden temples surrounded by statues of various sizes and a pair of guardian dogs, the air thick with the smell of incense. Stepping between the two buildings quietly so as not to disturb those inside, we continued up the stairs, wondering again if we were disturbing somewhere we should not be.
On our trek, we met a Japanese family with boys whooping as they jumped from step to step. Reassured for the second time that day, we crossed under a weathered torii gate, seemingly placed at random. A few steps further, however, showed us what we had come looking for.
The larger part of Senryu Falls stood 30 feet high easily, with the sounds of the cascade filling our ears. A small pool of water gathered at the bottom, its depth undetermineable but whose water seemed to be freezing by sight alone. Pouring out of that pool, the water continued down the mountain's face, slowing its pace along the way until reaching the point we had stopped at earlier. I watched it for a few minutes until I could not trace its path any longer and then turned to admire the majesty again, happy we had opted for Hub's suggestion over mine.
Climbing down more quickly than we'd come up and choosing the other path led us down older, well-worn, narrow-but-deep stairs in the Japanese fashion. Our mission complete, our feet, and our car, pointed us back toward Sasebo and our home.
On the way, just as a side, I thought I'd share two pictures which made me laugh and which seem so typical of other advertisements and warnings I've seen while visiting this nation (and which will undoubtedly be some of the more random tidbits that I miss when we return): the helpless ant and don't dig me!
Last February, a new-to-Sasebo couple we're all now quite familiar with (read: the Hub and I), dreamed of going to Nagasaki to take part in some sort of lamp party but were thwarted by "come-with-us" friends who bailed on them the day of the planned trip. Heartbroken, but determined, they swore that in the next year, nothing would prevent them from finding that lamp shindig.
Fast forward a year, and Hub and I are now professionals at the travelling business, although we still like the handiness of letting other people plan things for us from time to time. Knowing that February was approaching, we stalked the employees watched carefully for the announcement and pounced as soon as we saw it: an overnight trip to the Nagasaki Lantern Festival. We knew, vaguely, that the celebration was in honor of the Chinese New Year, but otherwise, we were rather clueless as to what the fuss was all about (but were told multiple times to make sure we didn't miss it).
On a clear, and extremely cold, Sunday morning, we met the bus with a small suitcase of essentials, a messenger bag of snacks and electrical gadgets (the necessary mp3s, DS games, and camera), and grins for the two-hour trip to downtown Nagasaki. Our guide explained she'd be taking us to a garden dedicated to a famous shipbuilder and a rebuilt church; after exchanging quick glances, we explained we'd already visited those places (total lie, but forgive me for that little one) and asked if we could go straight to the festival itself. Our guide handed off our maps with her blessings and instructions for meeting up the next day. Excited, we stashed our luggage upstairs in our cute, European-esque room and dashed out onto the streets in search of Minato Park, said to be just a few minutes away.
Following a trail of pumpkin-shaped lanterns said to guide the route between park festivities, we came across the tail-end of the Emperor's Parade, with a float "borne" as if it were a rickshaw by painted characters and guarded by a fierce warrior. Cheering, we allowed ourselves to be swept by the enamoured crowd through a gate guarded by a regal phoenix and into Minato Park. Hailing as one of the two central locations for the festival, we found ourselves surrounded by lanterns of all shapes and sizes, not yet glowing in the daylight, and a stage where a group of beautiful Japanese ladies dressed in ceremonial fineries waltzed across to the introduction of their pageant-esque titles ("Ms. Saga!" "Ms. Okinawa!"). In the center of it all stood a mammoth lantern proudly displaying this year's astrological host: the Rat. A sign of new beginnings, I found it very apt for the start of a year where we have so many new adventures planned and blessings prayed for.
Squealing delightedly, we snapped pictures of dancing lions, flying koi, and gigantic, peaceful pandas, following our nose to a vendor who smilingly exchanged our yen for two steamed buns filled with fatty, shredded barbeque pork. We stopped, watching the parade of "festival ladies," and polished off our treats before continuing down the lantern-lined street.
As we moved closer to Chinatown, the air directly above us filled completely with more of the pumpkin lanterns, and our noses were treated to all manners of delicacies--steamed pork buns, mochi balls, roasted chestnuts, and a sweet bread braided and twisted into a thick rope and stacked into minature temples. We laughed and moved along, following our lantern guides across the bridge and around the corner until we crossed Tetsu-bashi Bridge and found our way into Cyuo (Central) Park. We paused to have our picture taken by a magnificent horse and another of a gorgeous koi before going to the stage and watching a magic show. Looking at our schedule, we ducked into a coffee shop to warm up and wait out the quickly approaching sunset. As the sunlight faded, we crossed the bridge again, and while waiting for the crossing light, we heard gongs and cheers behind us. Turning, a brightly-dressed stream of Japanese people flooded onto the bridge pushing large gongs, hoisting drums, and supporting two dragons whose bodies easily flowed 20 feet behind the heads. When the light turned green, we raced ahead, running to get to the Park before they did so we could see the dance. Though the pictures didn't turn out well that showed the dance movements, the red dragon, hosted entirely by a female troupe, stopped directly in front of us, almost as if inviting a snapshot. Following our cheer-leaders into a rousing chorus of chants meant to draw the dragons out of hiding, we shouted and danced as the night closed around and the cold grew sharper teeth. Afterwards, we walked back to the hotel so we could start the next morning again.
Seemingly before the rest of the group awoke, we were out the door in the morning, making our way into the local shopping arcade which served as another party path. Along the way, I got to indulge in my Pokemon fandom while the Hub and I took turns taking pictures with the characters from one of our favorite Japanese movies, Our Neighbor Totoro. We continued through, looking at the different shops and enjoying the area. We stopped so Hub could take a picture with his favorite gorilla lantern (yep--that's a lantern too), visited a pet store where we ooh-ed and aah-ed at the puppies, and then moved on to another section of the city. Where different lanterns displayed all of the Chinese astrological signs in order. I found my horse while Hub found the ram, and we found ourselves in a more historical side of Nagasaki with stone bridges crossing the stream where people once washed clothes and drew water in ancient times for the nearby line of temples. Stopping at one bridge, named Spectacles Bridge because of the shadow it throws across the water, a local man pointed the routes to find the 5 nearest holy Japanese temples peppered the landscape with 2 Chinese holy sites scattered in between. We bowed and thanked him, making the decision to visit those at a later time; our trip was quickly coming to a close, and we still needed to return to the hotel. Moving quickly down the now-familiar path, we took last looks at the lanterns, bought a few snacks and gifts along the way, and reboarded the bus headed for home until next year when the festival returns again with its new host, the Ox.
Perhaps a strange title, to begin, but it jumps to the heart of this edition of blogliness.
As seen previously, the Hub and I had already spent some time in a private Japanese bath, but, as explained by my Japanese friends at work, an onsen is a completely separate experience altogether. While both boast of relaxation and meditation, the onsen is fueled from natural hot springs bubbling just below the surface of the islands of Japan which are strewn with active volcanos. Since Kyushu is a fairly small island and has a very active volcano just a few hours away (Mt. Aso), there is an abudance of onsen in this area which we had never taken advantage of. For the long weekend, MWR offered a "romantic" getaway to the Ureshino Spa and Ryokan.
Having visited the baths, Hub and I knew that the actual time in the water was spent naked, but we were hoping to find a private facility where we could be alone. At one point, one of my supervisors at work was going on the trip, and the thought of being naked with coworkers seemed a bit odd, although something I was determined to move beyond. When she had to cancel and when no one else I knew stepped forward as a co-visitor, I eased up and told Hub that, according to a friend who had visited in the past, there were no private baths to be found but that at least we would be split by gender. He was torn between hoping there would be no other guys on the trip (the ships were supposed to be gone at the time) so he wouldn't be naked in front of someone he might know and hoping there would be other guys there so he wasn't naked alone with Japanese men he knew for sure he wouldn't know, all of which I found humorous.
So, the morning of the trip, we packed a backpack apiece with a few snacks, a big towel, flip flops, and not much else, assuming that nothing much was needed for a bath visit. Loading the bus, we said hello to the three people we knew (from church and work, no less), and took our seats in the back, settling in for the distant journey. To our surprise, 30 minutes and 2 highway exits later, we were slowing on the exit ramp to a giant sign bearing our onsen's name. Following the signs led us down a couple of back streets to a large hotel building with the beginnings of a garden peeking around the corner. Upon our entrance, we were greeted by both the hotel's friendly, welcoming cat (present in all Japanese businesses and often in people's homes to welcome and to bring well wishes to the guests) and by hosts of a more human nature.
Into a larger room we were led, removing our shoes before we entered, and seated around a low, traditional Japanese table for green tea and a cookie which served as a light snack from the trip. When our guide announced we could attend to the baths whenever we liked, nervous glances were swapped around the room between some while others coolly tried to play that they needed another cup of tea at just that exact moment, which forced me to bite my lip before a giggle could escape. Standing, I resolutely decided I would not be cowered, grabbed the hand of Hub (yes, I'll not be cowered...with an accomplice!), and asked where we should go to change. Snagging towels and robes, we followed the only two of our group to begin before we did around a corner, separating into our own "locker rooms." To say it was a locker room is to be accurate, as there were lockers to place your belongings into, but that is, by no means, to insinuate that the smells and the memories of high school gym flooded back to me. Instead, I found tatami mats carefully placed to cover the floor with foot massagers in one corner, and baskets ready to hold your essentials placed on shelves in the middle. Finding a cubby hole-d basket, I began stripping down, carefully not looking around the room and determinedly not covering myself with a towel immediately after taking off my socks (exaggeration, but you can understand how this situation might lead to extreme modesty where one normally might not have any or as much). Loading everything into the basket, I snagged my washcloth, which, in its defense, was nearly as long as an American handtowel, and walked out as casually as my pink face could muster.
(Here, I suppose, I really should state that any pictures taken from this point on are from the guys' perspective as Hub was the camera holder of the day. I realized this after stripping and hoped he would remember to take them; once we rejoined and settled in our house after the trip, I was surprised by how comfortable he became with his fellow bathers, though I do not know all the stories. Needless to say, I'll insert them as best I can but acknowledge that all might not make the best of sense. Carry on.)
Leaving the locker room by way of a glass door at the opposite corner of the entrance, I found myself surrounded by steam and stone, in a room where tiny, sit-down showers lined three of the walls while the fourth was solid glass, overlooking a garden outside. In the center of all the showers was an indoor bath where several older Japanese ladies relaxed, looking up curiously at my entrance. Shuffling slowly to a shower, I sat on the low stool, adjusting the spray to a warmer temperature in order to ease the shivers whose origin came from either the brisk air, my nerves, or a combination thereof. Trying to sneak a peek at my neighbor who seemed to know better what to do, I grabbed the provided washcloth, lathered up a sweet, but mild, smelling soap from the first pump of three, and began scrubbing myself clean. Knowing I was expected to be clean before entering the bath, I continued for about 15 minutes before deciding I was as fresh and pink as possible without removing a second layer of skin then, dumping my washtowel into the provided bucket, I dipped into the indoor bath to relax.
While heavenly, I knew this wasn't what I had come for and left soon afterwards via a door that blended well with the wall of glass in the front. Just outside, I discovered the full version of the beautiful garden I glimpsed from indoors, complete with a hot springs bath. From the side, steaming water poured out of an immense stone teapot over a giant bag filled with green tea leaves, turning the bath into one giant steaming cup of tea! Off to the side of the teapot sat a basket full of smaller tea bags, which I grabbed two of, dipped them in the water in emulation of the pair of Japanese ladies in the back, then placed them over my closed eyes, gently rubbing them across my face, hoping the antioxidants would soak in and erase all of the lines that have insistently appeared with time.
My relaxation was slightly marred by the incessant chatter of one of the women on the trip, but for the most part, I was able to just stretch out in the hot water, tea bags on my eyes, all the unease of being naked slowly draining with the tension from my muscles. Approximating that an hour had passed, I eased myself out of the bath, smiling, and again stepped up to the mini-showers, rinsing the tea away, and re-robed in the locker room. A quick poll among the women found us all putting our underwear back on under the robes before making our way back to the original room, now transformed with multiple pallets strewn around the room, one for each of us. Selecting our own mat, we lay as gracefully as we could, careful of our robes, as a different masseuse was assigned to each of us in turn. Our guide came by, asking if the pressure should be increased, decreased, or maintained, and I sighed my contentment to the words of, "It's perfect," before she left.
And then I almost cried. After she walked away, my masseuse seemed to take it a personal offense when my body did not immediately let go of the tautness of muscle to the degree he felt it should when he thought it should. From that point on, the massage was an experience of pain (when he "massaged"), of relief (when he paused), of whimpers (from me), and of grunts (from him). When he tapped me to say he was finished, I swear I saw a ghost of a triumphant grin pass his face before the stoic mask dropped again, and he stood, bowed low, and walked away. It is less important, although humorous to those not in my condition, to note that I rose much more slowly and hobbled over to my bag where I changed behind the painted screens, feeling like I was some sort of shadow-dancer who had been at the gig years beyond my prime. My track record now with Japanese massages is as follows: Hillary-zero, Japan-two.
After everyone changed, we spent a little time wandering through the gift shop, taking a few pictures, and sipping on tea before bowing in exchange with our lovely hosts, boarding the bus, and waving happily as we drove back the short distance that seemed a lifetime away from this tiny, quiet corner.
(Note, again: I did feel better later on, and Hub laughed at me for being a pansy with regards to my massages. That continued until the next day when a gigantic bruise erupted from my skin, to which I pointed in pained joy as proof of the over-zealousness of my tormenter from before. Still, we loved and enjoyed it and plan to return another time soon.)
I've probably mentioned this once or twice, but just next door to the housing area where I live in Hario is a Dutch "theme park" named Huis Ten Bosch. Now, putting theme park in quotations is a little deceiving. Huis Ten Bosch (hereafter called HTB) is a themed park, meaning it is a completely Dutch-themed park in the middle of Japan, but that definition doesn't fit with what most Americans' vision would encompass--roller coasters, lots of junk food, character mascots roaming around for children to snuggle and take pictures with, and lots of Disney-esque shows of fantastic design.
Well, maybe HTB does fit a bit of all that, but I might just be getting a bit ahead of myself.
Our friend, Natalie, had asked us to go to HTB once before for a festival of sorts, and we hemmed and hawed our way out of it. However, when she mentioned a tasting event of over 120 wines from around the globe, I nudged (shoved) the Hub into meeting up with her the next day so we could get our annual pass. Determined to be as health-observant as possible, we walked the mile and a half from our home to the entrance, completed our forms for a Navy pass which would allow us in for twelve months, and set off to explore on our own for a few hours before Natalie could meet up with us after work. Immediately, we spotted one of the traditional symbols of the Netherlands, the windmill, and got swept away (HAHAHA--I kill myself with the puns) with the beauty of the carefully-arranged flowers surrounding the towering giants. We crossed over a large stream leading to the ocean nearby to enter the castle which guards the only path leading into the majority of the park. Just inside, we spotted a teddy bear museum and decided to have a gander.
We really shouldn't have. Thousands upon thousands of very expertly and fancifully dressed bears surrounded us in a myriad of poses while signs all around boasted of the history of the teddy bear (which led to the most disturbing bear of them all--a teddy with a bear's body and Teddy Roosevelt's face; may I never see that again). All-in-all, even my strong, brave, military man of a Hub was a bit put off by the creepiness of the place, and we found ourselves tangled in the displays unable to find an exit. By the time we got out, we wondered if perhaps there would not be enough in the park to hold our interest (excepting the wine and the vistas, of course).
Oh, were we ever wrong.
The next corner led to the greatest place I might have found in any of my travels--The House of Cheese. Now, had we walked in only to find a history of cheese with transplanted faces of long-ago cheese makers plastered on the plastic busts of cheese wheels, I probably would have left crying, scared and scarred. However, what we discovered was a shop filled with locally-made cheeses of all varieties: robust blues, hard hunks of parmesan, tiny morsels of cream cheese topped with a delicate jam, smoked slices of herb-filled cheddars and goudas. The combination of it all was enough to make me cry for other reasons. Undoubtedly, we probably spent 20 minutes browsing through the cheeses before the Hub nudged (shoved) me out the door with promises of returning when we were ready to leave. At first, I was a bit upset, but the direction in which he gently guided me (PUSHED) led to a tiny path around the corner of the shop where we found a stand selling Cheese Shakes.
I love cheese, as the previous paragraph would likely convey, but even I was a bit hesitant to try a milkshake of cheese. Imagining a mix of disgust and intrigue a liquid drink of nacho goodness, I convinced the Hub to split one with me. We noticed the couple in front of us requesting blueberries to be added, but the thought could not break into the image I already had invented of nacho-ness, so I chose a plain cheese shake. Hesitantly, I took the first sip before passing it off to Hub...and then immediately grabbing it back and claiming it for my own. This reaction, however, was my downfall as he realized it must be good and demanded it be returned for his own test. Instead of the nacho cheese I had pictured, we had stumbled upon a cheeseCAKE milkshake, which has now become an instant favorite. We forced ourselves not to order another one, but only because we convinced ourselves that the teddy bear museum must have been the park's way of scaring off the faint at heart from the treasures within.
Every street we wandered was filled with fun and interesting shops or displays; all the buildings were modeled after an early European design, while the service was exquisitely Japanese. The entire effect was breathtaking, and we found ourselves running in and out of stores and museums, giggling like all of the Japanese tourists around us. Down from the House of Cheese was a cheese restraunt, which bordered the Chocolate House. Across from both of those was a candy shop, selling a mixture of Dutch and Japanese sweet treats. Our favorite area, other than the cheese place, of course, was a museum of eye-benders. We could not read the signs, but watching those around us led to such perfect photo opportunities as Hub versus King Kong and Hub falling from the sky.
We met up with Natalie just outside of the eye-bending displays, bragging and showing off our pictures when we noticed an older Japanese woman attempting to take a picture of the street we were blocking. We bowed then scurried to the side of the street to get out of her way, throwing in a "Sumimasen!" for good measure. To our surprise, she looked rather embarassed, but we went back to examining our own shots. A few moments later, looking up, we realized she had moved with us; turning around to see what she could possibly be taking a picture of that we were blocking this time, we saw that another woman was standing just a couple of feet behind us and to the side, flashing a grin and a peace sign. Blinking, we turned back to the first lady, felt the blast of her flash bulb, before the two of them ran away giggling at THEIR perfect photo opportunities--Americans on display! Natalie, Hub, and I looked at each other, bewildered, then back at the ladies who turned to give us a quick bow before scampering away, laughing again. I don't think I've been a Kodak moment since my old days of Smokey-the-Bear-dom (aka National Park Service work)!
The day was a gorgeous one filled with beautiful weather, delicious wines (which led to me meeting a very helpful barista who taught me the words for "sweet" and "dry," as well as running into a friend from work, Tateishi-san, who volunteers for HTB on the weekends), good food (a delicate pizza of Japanese bacon and potatoes--yes, it was delicate with those toppings, I promise!--and cheese, of course), and outrageous picture moments like me and the giant wooden shoes. I considered buying a smaller, slightly better-fitting pair before I admitted that even in my most adventurous moments of shoe-shopping I'd be very unlikely to ever wear true wooden shoes.
Finally, at the end of the day, laden down with cheese and wine, we hailed a taxi for the return home. Even a mile and a half can be killer when hauling 3 gorgeous bottles and a small investment in dairy goodness!
As an update, recently, we returned with our friend Natalie (along with her husband, Nate, this time) to enjoy the Christmas decorations that Huis Ten Bosch displays. This time, we enjoyed a feast of Chinese food including golden potstickers, fried rice, and some sort of sweet-and-savory pork before meeting at the center of the park for the Christmas dance show, with a hot cup of caramel milk to warm our hands. Sparked with the holiday spirit, Nate insisted on leading us all in Christmas carols while we waited for the evening fireworks (every night at 8:45), which led to Japanese people curiously watching us, attempting to determine whether we were a mismatched display or just crazy Americans out for an evening. Of course, we all know the latter answer is a given, so while we giggled our way through "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire," we had to appreciate the night for what it was, nonetheless.
Too long, too long, but I don't want to dwell on that because the story I have to tell you about one of our prior destinations is just too interesting to focus on the lapse in writing (plus, well, I just like covering my tracks and stuff).
The Hub and I had made our goal, this first year, to visit our local areas in Kyushu via the MWR tours we had access to so we could then start rippling our traveling our further and further from our tiny home in Sasebo. We had signed up for the Kumamoto trip once before but was thwarted in our attempts to visit by a mistake on the tour company's part, which led to our exploring post from before about Jusco and the wonderful appliances found there for sale.
At any rate, we headed out on our typical bus with my coworker, Eriko-san, as our guide. After stopping for lunch at a mall called You-Me where we had a strange, cheesy pseudo-Italian breadbowl, we continued on with the history lesson I am about to relate as given to us by our adept speaker (settle in and get comfy, okay?).
In the 1500s, the Samurai class was very powerful but often fought among themselves. One Samurai named Nobunaga was extremely ambitious and very crafty, enlisting the people he thought would help him to the top most quickly, even if they were not of the traditional sort. His second-in-command, for example, was a Shogun named Hideyoshi who was nicknamed the "Monkey," both for his wisdom as well as his reported 2 thumbs on his right hand, which led to foolhardiness in his youth as a skilled tree-climber. Hideyoshi was born to a servent family, but his ability to understand the desires of the common man combined with his ability to quickly analyze and respond earned him much respect until Nobunaga promoted him to a Samurai after he defeated one of Nobunaga's enemies and a powerful warlord of the time.
When Nobunaga was assassinated by Katsuie, his other advisor, Hideyoshi and Katsuie fought for control of the territory, and although Hideyoshi was miles away from the castle, he marched his army day and night to fight, and defeat, Katsuie. Once he began rule, he determined that no longer would the samurai be only warlord but instead should be skilled in all forms of war and of art. His belief was that every person should be balanced, and because of this, he crafted the castle we stopped at later, while his advisor, Hosokawa, who was extremely crafty and later placed his own kin as the leader of the samurai class, began the garden we stopped at first. Japan, he believed, was comprised of 54 distinct areas, and his tribute was to create 54 corresponding areas within the garden.
Walking up to the entrance, we could spy a huge lake just beyond where a solitary white crane rested perfectly on one of the islands. Arched bridges connected the islands and led to a path that circled the lake entirely and invited each person to meander pleasantly, allowing the calm of the gardens to soak in while stresses melted away softly. Rounding the first corner, we found two Japanese women drinking from a fountain before a shrine; Eriko-san explained that the Japanese believe this to be the fountain of life and that one could not die soon after drinking from it. I took my chances and strayed away towards a picturesque group of torii gates that caught my attention a short distance from the fountain. So reminiscent of a scene from one of my favorite movies, Memoirs of a Geisha, I had to stop and admire. Coming up behind me, Eriko-san said that the red torii gates, when set so closely together, symbolized the entrance to a shrine dedicated to business or to money. Upon closer inspection, each of the gates had family kanji inscribed, which she then explained was a gift. The benefactor likely hoped it would bring extra blessings to give to such a place.
Hosakawa also believed that the samurai should be knowledgeable of the most ancient art of the tea ceremony and had a tearoom built to his specifications where he hosted other samurai, officials, and local citizens together. During the ceremony, all were of equal status, and blades were not allowed in, so just to the side, we found a spot where each samurai were forced to relinquish their blades or else not fit through the small door where one would have to crawl through to get into the tearoom. Although the side is open, as you can see in the picture, it was impolite to come through the area and thus block the view of the guests, so each person had to bend in half and crawl through. With a sword attached at the waist, a samurai would never have squeezed through, and thus Hosakawa ensured no one would be armed when coming to the ceremony.
After leaving the gardens, Eriko-san passed out newspapers to everyone so we might make our own samurai hats in preparation for our next stop at the Samurai Castle. Giggling, Hub and I posed for a picture that I'm very sure he never thought would make it online but which I could not pass up. He, however, refused to take the hat into the castle, and I opted to go au naturel (well, not-hatted, anyway!) as well, so as the driver parked our bus, we stashed our hats to the side and shuffled out the door to Kumamoto Castle, home of Hideyoshi and his Samurai. Though the castle is not the original (the original castle and most of the walls were destroyed in a fire and rebuilt in the 1970s), one of the turrets and part of the walls are and date back over 400 years in age. Opting to climb the original turret rather than the rebuilt castle (we didn't have time for both, really), Hub and I set off, removing our shoes at the door at the insistence of a small Japanese guide, placing them in plastic bags, and walking sock-footed up very narrow flights of stairs with no handrail made of 400 year old wood. Nerve-wracking? To say the least, yes! Climbing consisted of watching first for Japanese tourists who insisted upon coming down the stairs regardless of who might be coming up or of the fact that only one person could go at a time, shifting to the side to allow others to pass while gripping (anything--the walls if you could reach them, the ceiling, or the Hub!) with fingernails dug in as deeply as possible, and attempting to not slide on the well-worn wood which I imagine the guards likely braved with something more than socks. Still, climbing to the top to look out arrow-slits built four centuries ago to see the fortress grounds made impregnable by the high walls, slick with no handholds, and the moat. It was said even ninjas would not attempt to raid or to kill anyone staying within the castle, and patrons of the grounds could close the gates and live, comfortably, for weeks at a time via deep wells that led to fresh water supplies and tunnels to the neighboring farms for food.
This year, 2007, celebrates the 400th anniversary of Kumamoto Castle, so while we were there, we stopped a passing "samurai" warrior to snap a quick shot before loading back into the bus, stopping briefly at an old Samurai home, and then on to the house where we gladly rested our tired legs after climbing so many stairs!
To continue on our travels, but to make them separate entries so no one's eyes cross too badly...
Now, Hub and I have taken so many trips since we've been in Sasebo that the women working at the MWR office know us by name, which always makes me (proudly) think of myself as the travel-addicted version of Cliff from Cheers! on television. Knowing that near us is the world's largest indoor beach (the OceanDome), Hub went in to inquire about a tour there several months back and was pleased to find that one of our favorite travel agents recommended an upcoming, not-yet-released trip to a nearby island. Calling me for confirmation, he booked us the first seats on the bus, and I began relishing the thought of getting in some great board time, possibly a bit of cancerous tanning, before reporting to work the following week. We even managed to persuade other friends to join along after leaking out the good news to a few others.
Early Saturday morning, we boarded a bus, bound for a ferry port a couple of hours away; again, I have absolutely no clue where we actually picked up the ferry at. I tend to spend bus rides huddled in my own corner, praying desperately for the Dramamine to kick in, and hopelessly attempting to look as if the shade of green my skin has turned is completely normal and enviously flattering.
Once on the ferry, I found it easier to settle down, even snapping a quick shot with Hub while chatting with Andy and Becca who were sitting next to us (Andy trying to catch up on the final Harry Potter book while Hub was attempting to block out any conversations so he wouldn't hear spoilers since he just started the series). Sooner than we thought, we were deboarding the ferry, having arrived at Iki Island, reboarding the bus on our way to the beach.
I really meant to take a picture, as strange as this will sound, of the bathroom/changing room area as I keep forgetting to show everyone what a traditional Japanese toliet is like, but with the gigantic samurai spiders nesting in each corner, it was all I could do to peel off my clothes, slap on my swimsuit, and shuffle quickly out to guard the door for Becca's frantic attempts to do the same. Needless to say, I think we were both happy to walk out through the beach huts out onto the warm sand. Hub and I shared a rueful glance at the completely flat water, realizing a little late that the boards we'd lugged around were completely useless. Still, we swam, playing in the water and getting in enough salt to satisfy us for a solitary day before returning to set out for the hotel within Iki City.
Hub and I showered, dressed, and set out for a restraunt, guided by the maps our guide had thrust into our hands before we checked into our rooms. Spotting a yakiniku on the map, we walked the few blocks, stopping to take a picture of this plaque, obvious throughout the city as some sort of talisman, while a small group of teenage girls attempted to engage us and practice their English, giggling the entire time. We spoke to them for a few minutes before waving and continuing on, the trio following us like chattering puppies for a short time before disappointedly breaking away. Finding our doorway, to climbed to the second floor where we spotted another family from the tour trying to decide if they wanted to chance an all-kanji menu. The owner, a very sweet, older Japanese lady, advised that she knew English and could assist, so Hub and I shrugged and asked to be seated, sure we could figure things out on our own.
Ushered into our little room, sectioned off by sliding doors of the most delicate paper, we (Hub shot a nice pic of yours truly, I think) sat and waited for menus to arrive.
Only then did we realize just how WRONG we had been.
Our server, a young Japanese man, was extremely friendly, but it was obvious from the get-go just how little (to us)English he spoke and just how poor our Japanese was (to him). Our menu had no pictures, just amounts and characters written on 10 different pages. Alarmed, we began the wild gesturing (my favorite was when he pointed at one word, then at his tongue, signaling that we could order an entire round of tongue) that comes along with random, known words (we understood "kalbi;" he understood "beef"); looking fairly desperate, I finally spotted some artwork on the walls and used that to convey what we wanted. Unsure as to whether this yakiniku would supply vegetables, I pointed at a sign just behind Hub's head and noted that we wanted two orders. Feeling more confident, we settled back as he turned on the grill between us, and waited for our meats and veggies to arrive.
Imagine our surprise, a few minutes later, when he showed up with a couple of glasses of what appeared to be tomato juice! Confused, we shook our heads, and he pointed back at the sign of the vegetables I'd kept referring to; laughing, Hub deduced that what we thought was an order of different vegetables was actually fresh-juiced carrots and tomato. Blushing a deep red, I bowed from where I sat and gulpingly took a sip (I hate tomato juice) so as not to be rude.
Worried about what we might have ordered from our "friendly" picture helpers, we were relieved when the usual plate of meats and veggies arrived, and Hub began piling things on the grill with the tongs. Upon closer inspection, I realized that what we thought had been the usual meats actually was a lovely cut of steak, a thinly sliced bit of pork, chicken SKIN, beef KIDNEY and some sort of sausage whose contents I attempted to not think about. Asking for rice led to fish-flavored rice balls held together by a seaweed wrapper, which, thankfully, I manged to bite into before Hub had a chance (allergies and all). Having eaten bits and pieces (yes to the sausage of unknown origin, but a BIG NO to the chicken skin which was the chewiest and most disgusting substance I've ever put in my mouth in all of my years), the owner/host stopped by to see how we managed and to offer us "crawree." Puzzled, we shook our heads, but she seemed to understand that we hadn't grapsed what she meant and, grinning broadly, brought the two tinsiest cups of coffee I've ever spotted. Blushing red for the second time in one night, we tried to graciously accept our cups, sipped, then paid and left, bowing low for all the trouble we'd managed to cause in one sitting.
Leaving, we headed to the local RIC shop (convenience store) to stock up on goodies for the next day (my favorite might have been the crustless peanut butter and azuki bean spread sandwich I snagged, although Hub was really fond of the custard-filled biscuits) before throwing our sunburned selves onto the bed, tuckered out.
The next morning, we again checked out of the hotel, boarding the bus headed for a local, natural phenomenon known as "monkey rock." I found myself staring dreamily out at the water, replaying the previous day in my mind while vowing to be more on-top-of my sunscreen applications, only to turn to find that Hub, of course, had managed to find a local ice cream stand. Only him.
After hours of snorkeling among the coral reef (I actually saw a blowfish blow up--a first for me!), relaxing on the sand, we were ready for the journey home, snoozing along the way. I'm unsure if we'll ever visit Iki Island again, but our time was absolutely a refreshing point before the craziness of work descended. I can only hope we find a few more of those spots while here.
I seem to be backtracking in my ability to get out timely posts about our trips and our adventures here in the Land of the Rising Sun, so on this long Labor Day Weekend, my goal is to relate our latest little excursions for the masses (read: enjoy the pictures, cause I know that's what keeps most of you coming back).
Now, I've said before that Sasebo, while being 250,000 people strong, is actually considered a farming town; because of this, we lack a lot of the 'big city" resources--malls (or even multiple shopping arcades), a large selection of non-Japanese restraunts, and, most importantly to travelers, an airport. For those considering a visit, take note that the two nearest airports to my home are Fukuoka and Nagasaki, both equidistant really. Our friend, Kelly, was flying back to the States, and rather than deal with a train or wait for the Navy bus to come by, she asked us to pick her up at Fukuoka; thinking it a perfect time to explore more of the city we'd only really seen at two previous points (when we flew in and then when we went to the baseball game), the Hub and I readily agreed.
Knowing her flight came in late, we headed up after church, marveling at the signs along the way (most of which we couldn't read but enjoyed nonetheless)--every single town had its own small highway sign with a small, drawn picture depicting what they felt most important about their home. One had a traditional shrine gate, and another a temple doorway, but I was more surprised to see things like watermelons, strawberries, and rodents in other places! We would also see large, yellow flags warning us of the chance for rodents (or wild boars in SOME cases) potentially crossing the tollway. I kept trying to get a picture of one of those, as I nearly cracked up as much as I did the illegal immigrant sign in San Diego everytime I saw it, but alas, I failed.
Reaching Fukuoka, we parked at the airport's day lot and walked confidently into the subway, sure that if we could conquer Tokyo's lines, Fuk should be a snap. To our dismay, however, none of the signs were translated into English but were in full kanji, which we cannot read. Seeing our nervous faces, a friendly guard pointed out where we needed to stop once we explained where we hoped to go. Counting the stops from where we stopped til we disboarded, we made the transition, walked a few blocks, and came upon the Fukuoka Yahoo! Dome, which we'd visited earlier for the game. Snapping a quick shot of the giant Asahi can painted just outside, we wandered around the giant mall (easily remembered as Hawks Town) just next door where we languished for hours in the American-ness that was the Gap, Toys R Us, and, finally, Hard Rock Cafe.
Laugh all you want, folks; after enough time with only McDonalds, Mister Donuts, and KFC as your links to any American cuisine not of your own device, you'll run towards something familiar as well. :) Needless to say, I don't think I've ever tasted a Southwestern egg roll that was quite as divine, nor a pulled pork sandwich that I've enjoyed as much (not to say it was better than yours, Dad, but man--it's been a LONG time for some bbq).
Moving towards the train station again, we cruised over to the underground shopping area known as Tenjin (literally in meaning "underground'--the entire mall is underground), where I had to snap this picture of a movie playing at their local theater, just for you Harry Potter buffs back home. After that, we again rode to a stop that made the Hub break into a fit of very unmanly giggles: Eeny Meeny Miny Mo. Actually, it was another shopping area, but he couldn't get over the name and laughed everytime he saw it.
Opting to not run around in the mall, we strolled through the Kawabata Shopping Arcade, which wasn't as long as the one in Sasebo but definitely had different shops and lots of decorations for the passerby. At the end was, yet, another mall, Canal City (can you tell I have a shopping problem?), but I wanted to spend a bit of time near the Kushida Shrine, which, as you can see, was completely surrounded by the urban sprawl. Having been an extremely humid, sunny, and hot day, we were surprised to find that the wind picked up and large raindrops started coming down as we walked into the Shrine. Undeterred, I insisted upon visitng the actual Shrine to pay homeage, but was eventually pulled away by a superstitious Hub who believes that we might not be as welcome. He contends his astuteness at sensing these vibes with the knowledge that as soon as we exited through the entrance gate, the rain ceased, the wind slowed, and the sun came back out. I'll leave it to you to make your own determinations.
After that, we had just enough time to return to the airport, find Kelly, and then drive back home (where I promptly told the Hub to take the wrong tollway so we ended up several hours away and had to backtrack--oops); our goal is to spend a weekend in Fukuoka so we can explore the rest of the city which is one of the largest in Japan.
No major adventures lately, due to a combination of rain and softball that leans heavily on the wet side. Still, we try to get out and about, and I walk on the dry days, so I wanted to share a few of the more picturesque moments in the past few weeks with all of you.
First up, as I've explained before, I tend to go out to lunch or to dinner with a group of girlfriends, exploring new options or sometimes revisiting old favorites. One person had expressed interest in a restraunt named MK where servings of raw food are brought out, but rather than grilled like at Sho, you boil the food on little burners placed flush in the middle of the table. Carolie had brought a friend of hers along, Miyuki, to translate for us and to enjoy her company, and she ordered several rounds of vegetables, meats, meatballs, and dumplings for us to sample, which we dumped into the bowls of boiling water and scooped out with chopsticks or slotted ladles.
When our stomachs were pleasantly full, we ordered dessert: a steamed bun filled with a purple sweet bean called an azuki bean. Popular in Japan, they fill everything from the steamed buns to little pies to even a new azuki bean frappucino from the only Starbucks in town (which, by the way, I tried and absolutely loved; the sweetness isn't too much to enjoy, and little pieces of the bean float throughout the drink--delicious). The Hub absolute despises the desserts made with azuki, but I can't seem to get enough. At MK, they'd even used edible paint to decorate the buns to look like lucious peaches--a definite delight to most of the girls in the group.
As promised, I want to keep everyone (read: Dad, mostly) abreast on the growing rice fields near the house. With all of the rain, I've missed being able to walk as often as usual and was afraid I'd missed quite a bit of the growing season, but when I returned last week, I found the plants had shot up, flourishing in the sodden ground. I snapped a few shots of the nearest fields so I could visit with them upclose before continuing on my normal "off the beaten path" route.
Waving at the local residents walking their children to school, I continued, jumping when a crab darted out in front of my feet, snapping its claws at me ferociously as it scurried in a sideways manner and continued. I managed to snag a picture of this poor crab, but only because I think it had been injured. Fascinated, I watched for more; Lauryl had warned me once before that they become very noticeable in the summertime, even making their way into the homes of the people on the first floors of every building. Before my walk, I'd kinda squealed with glee when watching them, but as I drew closer to the water, greater quantities of the pinchers appeared, their size growing larger just as the amount had as well. When several larger crabs (whose bodies were easily larger than my palm with oil-slick-rainbow-colored shells) stopped scurrying quickly away and began more of a protest with pinching, I decided to end the little hop-squeal-jump-walk dance I'd been performing to get around them (all the while, the eyebrows of the Japanese people I'd waved to kept jumping higher at the same rhythym of each of my squeals) and head back for the house, learning my lesson most convincingly to wait out that path until the summer crab season is finally finished!
On, yet, another note, I've mentioned to a few of you the concept of "Engrish" before, but I'll try to explain it again. The Japanese are taught English in grade school, but it's very rigid and not conversational; often, the older nationals only understand written English if anything at all, and we're advised that should we have questions, it might be easier to write them down at times than to try to have a spoken conversation. However, when English translation is taken literally, rather than conversationally, odd statements come out, as the sign to the right displays. Hub snapped this shot at work where some construction work is taking place so the need to block one side of traffic is necessary. Hopefully, you all can appreciate it just as much as I did when he brought the picture home!
As a last shot, and just because I selfishly promote the beauty of the kittens, I thought I'd give all of you the chance to see what they do on a daily basis:
Important stuff, huh? Have a great day/night everyone!
Right on time, from my viewpoint of blog-writing, that is. I contemplated two different blog entries for the two subjects I hope to cover but eventually decided that if I'd taken this long in one, two would surely be hopelessly lost in the time warp (not to mention I actually hope to post another blog after this one, but it shall be mostly of pictures and short catch-phrases...meaning the phrases will catch you up on things, not that they're witty in the slightest).
After the warm reception of my last walking entry, I was encouraged to drag the camera with me along my second usual morning route: a trip down the nearest major road (major being a bit of a...err...stretch) running alongside a theme park located next to my home called Huis Ten Bosch. Kyushu, my island, was the most welcoming part of Japan to traders and to missionaries from the exploring continent of Europe; the first such visitors were Dutch and became quite a routine sight until the Emperor and his shogun determined that the spread of Christianity and such ideas might lead to natives questioning the right of their power. As so many have done before, they promptly killed the missionaries (a memorial to them is located in Nagasaki, although we haven't visited that site yet), disallowed the trading to commence, and went back to Kyoto (then the capital of Japan) quite satisfied.
The thoughts freely shared by the traders had quite a lasting effect, however, and eventually, Sasebo created this oddly-placed theme park in their honor. Every night at 8:45 p.m., fireworks and a laser show start up just across the road from us, over the water, as the park winds down. On my daily commute-to-better-health, I am first met by the delicious aroma coming from the local bakery that provides for the attraction; I find when I stumble across the smell that my feet are torn in two directions: the one hopes to run faster to be away from the tempting smell while the other drags behind in dreams of diving into a tray of doughy goodness. All the same, the entrance into the bakery area is marked with this sign, symbolizing the Japanese version of UPS. Notice the mother cat carrying the kitten gently, just as they would your package. (Insert cheesy commercial smile at this juncture--really, I just thought it interesting as it's a sign/flag we see at nearly every business in the area because of the delivery routes)
Along the way, the sidewalk itself is split, as one would also find common to areas like bus stations, train depots, and airports; if you can't guess, the raised portion is a guide to the blind, and at every intersection, a couple of feet before crossing, the raised line races around so that one has to step on it before stepping into the roadway. Ingenious, and everywhere here, although I've yet to meet or to see a blind person in this area. Continuing, we come to the easily noticed ANA Hotel, displaying a compass on the end closest to the water and a clock on the opposite side. At this point, I generally keep going, ignoring the bridge that leads from the hotel to the nearest train station in favor of walking next to the water. Once the bridge is behind me, the area's focus turns away from the park and more to the residential side of the local cho, with plenty of houses, small shops, and convenience stores; my turning point, at the time of this picture (although now I keep going--yay me!), hit at the 2 mile mark, which, conveniently for me, was easily recognizable by a statue on a rock placed by the local fishermen. There truly is more to this walk, the area, and the park, but we hope to actually visit the park some day, so I'll take pictures and post them at that point.
Last month marked the fifth anniversary of Hub putting up with me and my crazy ways in an official format (read: our fifth wedding anniversary recently passed), and as a means of rewarding ourselves for not killing each other or going crazy just yet, we opted to look into recommendations from friends and from MWR for a spa. Kyushu is filled with many hot springs, and the Japanese believe bathing in the springs and in hot springs baths to be therapeutic, relaxing, and life-extending. I don't know about the third, but we were ready for a little relaxing therapy and so made reservations at a local place called Banshoro.
A little zen garden awaited our arrival outside, and while we tried to get into a calm and a confident stance, the tiny, Japanese woman inside instructed us in broken English to remove our shoes and put them away in lockers. Once de-shoed, we climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor where she said our bath would be waiting. Now, as a side note, I should say that most Japanese baths are public affairs, sometimes divided by sex but just as often co-inhabited. For our first trip, we weren't sure about braving the staring eyes upon American-sized flesh and opted to go into hiding with our own bathing room. Ushered into a sitting room area, our guide shut the door and intoned that he would return in an hour. Grinning nervously at each other, Hub locked the door behind us while I explored the little area. In addition to a closet for our clothing, santizers with brushes for our use (no, thank you), hairdryers, cologne, and mirrors to get prepared for normal society again (again, no, thank you; I don't use the cologne or take the mints from a bathroom attendant for the same reasons).
Just into the next room through a sliding door with paper screens, where the hardwood floor transitioned into a smooth, gray stone, was the actual bath. Stepping in, we spotted the shower facilities where one is expected to scrub completely before melting into the hot water that flowed from the bronze fountain into the deepest tub I believe I've ever seen. The tub itself was overflowing, allowing the steaming water to meander through the stones and into the many drains in the room. Just to the right were the stools and buckets used by the staff to scrub the area after we departed.
Without going into great detail, I will say that we enjoyed our bath very much, although we eventually had to open the window to allow some air in as everything was delightfully hot to the skin for any length of time. As the hour came to a close, we dressed again, met our guide outside the door, and headed down one flight to our waiting massage appointments. I cannot express fully the relaxing nature of having a tiny Japanese woman with steel arms and lobster claw-esque grip clamp upon your muscles, twisting them into directions perpindicular from the way they usually lie, then giggling when you stifle screams of horror into faint squeaks of undignified and painful pleas of mercy. Ahh, yes. Relaxing indeed. The tiny young pup Hub was assigned to must have been much easier than the former samurai-slash-torture-chamber-manager I lucked out on, as I heard barely any squeals, pops, snaps, and bone crunches as came from my table. He insists we revisit and take on hour-long massages next time; I tried to blink away the tears of shame as my friendly massuese laughed gleefully in my wake while agreeing with his wonderful idea.
As we exited, taking the long way to the car so I could stretch what was left of my muscles, I snapped this shot of the gorgeous maze-like cemetary below, wondering vaguely if other massage victims came there to rest after being dragged to the next appointment by an unknowing spouse. I'd love to take a long dip in the bath another time, but maybe we'll find another spot next time, just in case.
Okay, so it's been a bit, but I defend myself by pointing out that I'm working on something of an average; now, I'm not explaining whether that average will be labeled "good" or "bad" by the masses, but it's something I'm working on at a very turtle-ish pace.
At any rate, we've not been on any tours here lately, but I've been trying to experience more of my local area. When I thought about it, I've toured around into other parts of Japan, but when asked if I had visited a certain park or if I knew directions to a specific shop in Sasebo, I had to sheepishly say no more often than not. Spurred by this, along with the Hub's week-long training trip up near Tokyo, softball games, and duty schedules, I decided to start a blog series geared more towards the places I walk on a daily basis but including the random hikes I might try as well.
To start, I guess I should explain that I tend to get up every morning, spend about an hour in basic wake-up mode where I get dressed, check my email, think about writing a blog (err...), and have a cup of yogurt; after all that, I force my friend, Kelly, into repeating the process through a series of very annoyingly persistent telephone calls to join me on a walk off-base and through the surrounding areas. After enough prodding, grumbling, and swear words, she's finally come around to my way of thinking and takes a perverse sort of pleasure in ringing my doorbell repeatedly at earlier and earlier times. It's a friendship built on a competition of irritation, to be sure, but it works for us.
Not wanting to walk the same places everyday, she suggested we visit a park she'd toured earlier on a MWR trip out by Nokado Lake. Along the curvy roads, mingled with the Japanese commuters off to their work, we drove with the windows down, singing tunes, while I tried to snag shots of interesting bits from the road. With the sun just slightly above the horizon, Kelly pulled over so I could admire the way the ocean and the sky merged into a blend of azures that melted into a fine light before darkening again. While I stood, transfixed and watching the fishing boats slice through the image but not through the peace of the morning, Kelly admired the wares of the shop we stopped at.
With the need to turn around limited to one time, we reached Nokado Lake and began our walk across the diameter via a bridge. After braving dead snakes and annoying non-imaginary gnats, we cut back to the original side across the dam, which, in Japanese fashion, was well-disguised and planted to look like a grassy knoll. Finishing at the lodge by the Lake, Kelly pointed out the bus stop, an enormous and well, shall we say, decorated whale; giggling we stopped by a local farmer's market where she had picked strawberries once before, and I snapped a shot of the fish flags, a symbol of the children of the families that owned or operated the business.
After that wonderful experience, I opted to stop by the outdoor adventure center on base to get directions to some of the hikes listed in the MWR advertisements. Determined to be active on our Memorial Day, Hub and I chose a destination at random (meaning we took the piece of paper off the top of the pile) and struck out for Isanoura Park. After a handle-clenching drive consisting of country roads that were wider and marked in most of the curves but one-lane and open in the straight-aways, we found Isanoura Lake and began the search for the trail mentioned in the directions. Never sure if we were going in the correct direction, we took note of our surroundings, of the 0 KM marker closeby, and the laughing Japanese family that passed us on bicycles and opted to follow them, assuming they could read the signs better than either of us. As one of the older females in the family passed us, I nudged Hub and whispered but was drowned out by the smallest member spotting what I had and yelling something that left her blushing and trying to stop without tumbling as she pushed her kickstand out of the sitting position. Stifling our giggles, we grinned back at them as they sped away.
The scenery was gorgeous, filled with vibrant flowers and glades of ferns, and around the curves, little bits of the lake would peek out through the trees; with the family out of sight, the forest led to a sense of calmed silence until a loud trumpeting burp resonated through the air, making the Hub jump, search the area around, startled, and ask, "What the HELL was that?" I tried my best to not fall over in gales of laughter as I explained this introduction to his first bullfrog. For those of you with the knowledge of the bull-red truck story, forgive my Hub for not being a country boy! At our fourth kilometer, sure we were lost, we found the bridge mentioned in the directions and opted for a quick pause to admire the view and snap a quick self-done photo. Finally coming back to the starting point, we high-fived, swigged some water gratefully, and began the less-scary-more-familiar journey back. What a great day!
Today, with Kelly back in the States visiting friends and family, I woke up earlier in the hopes of beating the humidity, strapped on my mp3 player, my id, and my housekey to my arm, and grabbed my camera so I might snap some good pictures from my walk, and headed down one of our two favorites paths. Just outside the base, I grinned and shot this directional sign, just so the folks playing at home might get a better idea of where we lie, distance-wise, from other cities in Japan. My mindset was one of solitude this morning, so I chose the road less travelled in hopes of a quieter, more reflective walk without as many distractions.
At the base of the first hill, just a blink away from the busier traffic, is a rice paddy, which, I was delighted to see, has been recently planted. Up until now, everytime Kelly and I walked by, the stepping stone-esque, over-sized puddles stood empty of everything except mud and footprints. One of my short-term goals is to watch the fields throughout the growing season, as I've had little exposure to rice and even less to steppe-farming which is so common here where usable land is scarce. Further down the road, I found a few fields not yet planted and waved at the farmer in the large conical hat when he seemed to notice me watching his day's activities; not wanting to upset or to be deemed rude for not asking if I could take his picture, I opted to wait until the return trip when he had left the area before snapping a quick shot.
Climbing the rolling hills leads to a view of an ocean inlet with three radio towers in the background; it's said that the transmission delivering the order to bomb Pearl Harbor was sent from these towers. Looking wistfully over the water, I couldn't help but think how odd something so unassuming in look could be lead such a devastating chain of events. Closeby was a small, private Japanese cemetary where I took a snapshot while choosing to not invade the quiet respect that shushed the enclosed glen of trees; turning, I couldn't help but grin at the diochotomy of the reverent cemetary that shared a pull-off for cars with the most seemingly ill-placed refreshment stand ever. Returning my headphones to my ears, I began climbing the hills back to the house, breathing deeply and very aware of how gorgeous MY little corner of Japan is.
