Hit the Road, Hillary...to the spa, among other things

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.

Banshoro!

  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.