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.)
