3 posts tagged “hikes”
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!
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.
