A Belated Conclusion

I’m feeling bad that I never finished journaling my last visit to Japan. The last few days of the trip were too busy to write and when I got home, I just forgot to pick it up, I guess. There’s not much left to tell, but I feel incomplete without this blog’s conclusion. And conclusion, I’m afraid it is. As two out of my last six months have been spent exploring the hidden corners of Miyakonojo and the great wonders of Southern Japan, I feel that it’s time to pursue travel elsewhere. (I must admit, I say this only half-heartedly, as in searching for a ticket to Bangkok earlier today, I researched a stopover in Miyazaki to see Luke before we head to the beaches of Thailand.)

Conclusion of my visits to Nippon or not, I will at least reveal the details of the end of this most recent trip . . .

Following the somewhat ill-fated kyudo lesson (ill-fated in that I remain an undiscovered talent), Luke and I made plans to hike the local volcano, Kirishima. Hiking great peaks always spikes some anxiety in me, thanks to all the perils that accompany mountaineering in Colorado. But, in this area of Japan, this time of year, there are no weather concerns, and as it’s a popular hike, there’s no route finding, scrambling or technical sections, so I was free to enjoy the wander. Except for one tiny thing – the smoking crater and certainly impending eruption.

It turns out it’s not so scary after all. A little crowded, yes (it looked like a line of ants moving up the trail ahead), but not scary. In fact, it was quite pleasant. We made our way out of the parking lot, which actually reminded me of the visitor center on Trail Ridge Road, thanks to the gift shops and tourists with no intention of hiking beyond the Torii gate, and up the trail bordered on each side by lush greenery. Not too far up, the trees and foliage disappear. I’m not sure why – I think it has something to do with the volcanic activity, because common sense would dictate that the latitude and elevation wouldn’t prevent growth. But anyway, from here on out, it’s just scree fields of lava rock. So cool! It’s actually kind of slippery, especially on the way down, but we made excellent time, reaching the summit in just over an hour, I think.

There’s an elaborate shrine at the top, not to mention amazing 360-degree views. And, I totally forgot to share the geological marvels that can be seen on the way to the top. Really, words don’t do this molten mountain justice. For a more vivid description of the layers of brilliantly colored exposed bedrock and bubbling cauldron of a crater, click on the link at the top right to see photos.

We concluded our hike with a visit to Yupopo Onsen, a fabulous, geothermically-powered bath, where I, once again, had to bare all in the presence of curious Japanese women. This time, however, I was much better equipped to handle the stares of those shocked to see a foreigner, much less a tattooed and pierced foreigner, marching into their hot springs, and the ogling of children who had maybe seen just a handful of only clothed Americans ever!


With just a few days remaining before I returned home, Luke and I decided a trip to the beach was in order. When I was in Miyakonojo during the summer, we spent many days on the beach, but because the weather was cooler this time, we weren’t as quick to make it to the sand and waves. Though, it’s no less beautiful in the fall.

We took the long way to the coast, winding through rice paddies and forests still not tinged by autumn’s chill. On the way, we stopped near Obijo castle to buy some beautifully hand-forged knives. It was a bit chilly and windy on the beach, but I still managed to dip my toes in the water and collect a few shells.

The way home lead us through a festival and parade in Nichinan. Looking back on my photos, I realize that the last picture I took was of a parade group gathering in front of the Lawson convenience store. This is probably appropriate and reflective of the time I spent there, as festivals were always my favorite for their food and revelry, and the Lawson, well, I could go on for pages. I admit, sadly, that it’s the equivalent of 7-11, but I just love it so much – they have delicious seaweed-wrapped rice, ice cream and Hello Kitty fans. I couldn’t be more delighted by any other small pleasures.

Kyudo Lessons

I’ll admit, I had this little fantasy that I was an undiscovered archery prodigy. I imagined that I would go to my archery lesson and the teacher would be astounded by my uncanny ability to hit the target on my first try. Humbled, he would ask me to move to Japan and become his star student.

So, it was a huge disappointment when we arrived at the dojo only to have the sensei frown on me – you see, it was unfathomable to him that I was not there to begin years of study. He confirmed with Luke several times that I would only be there once, shaking his head each time and asking again just to make sure, because to him, we sounded crazy. Crazy gaijin girl who just wants to “try” archery.

After his overcame his initial dismay, I was given a plastic handle with an elastic loop for practicing. Obviously, I was nervous – intimidated by the Zen Master, as it were – not to mention a tad disappointed. The bows were sitting right there, why couldn’t I use one of them?

As it turns out, most students practice with the plastic thingy for weeks before they’re allowed to use a real bow, so I guess I was fortunate that I was allowed to even set foot in the dojo.

As we practiced (minus the endless praise I had expected) other students arrived to pursue their study. They, of course, all used bows, bowing before the target each time they set up to shoot their arrows.

The sensei finally reconciled himself to the fact that I would only be there once, and decided that it would be okay if I practiced with a bow. I was very excited, seeing this as an indication that he believed me to be a fast learner, worthy of practicing with a bow my first try. Not really, though, I think he was just warming up to us and decided that it was his only chance to pass along this Zen art to an eager foreigner.

I was so excited, but my excitement was soon replaced by anxiety, as I could not seem to perform the movements correctly. The sensei kept talking to me and adjusting me while Luke rapidly translated – I was a bit overwhelmed. It’s an extremely difficult sport and I can now see why it takes years to learn and lifetimes to master. The only thing I can compare it to is golf. Everything has to be done perfectly and even if it feels like you’re doing it perfectly you never are. Very frustrating.

However, I continued to practice, as awkward and frustrated as I was. The sensei kept coming over and fixing my posture, lifting my elbow, drawing the bow further, etc. – a few times Luke was conversing with someone else and I had to respond to his instructions by myself. I think he was as frustrated as I was, because he knew I didn’t understand and he had no other way of explaining.

After a couple of hours, I was ready to leave, but it was clear we had to stay and finish the class. The other students were very nice, chatting with Luke while I fiddled with the bow. They even encouraged me to study archery back home. When I explained to them that there wasn’t anywhere to study where I lived, they suggested I go to New York, figuring it’s probably only an hour from my house.

I never did get to shoot an arrow, but it was good I got to try it – kyudo, that is. That’s the Japanese name. I think I forgot to mention that before.

At the end of the class, we joined the other students as they finished their practice, bowing to the small shrine on the wall and clapping their hands. I think if I lived in Japan, I would probably study archery – it was a good challenge, despite the Zen intimidation factor.

P.S. There’s no picture for this posting. Luke wanted to snap some photos, but I completely objected, fearing a scolding from the sensei.

Japanese Weekend, Part II

I don’t know that I’ve made all that much progress with my GMAT study – I still can’t remember how to divide fractions – but, I figure there’s plenty of time for that next week, during layovers and sleepless flights on my way home. So, for now, I will continue to spin this tale of the perfect Japanese weekend. Let’s see, where was I . . .

Oh, yes, the matsuri . . . so we watched the parade and the sumo, and stuffed ourselves full of nutritious festival food before getting back on the road. We decided to take the long way to Sakurajima on some back roads that wind through mountains before spilling out onto the coastal highway. These foothills, albeit small, are quite lovely. Everything here is still so lush and green thanks to what I’m told is unseasonably warm weather and a late fall. Some leaves were getting their first tinge of color, but for the most part, the hillsides are still covered in blankets of thick, ripe foliage.

As soon as we reached the coast and turned north, we could see Sakurajima, its imposing figure rising out of the bay, smoke swirling around the summit. Last time I was here, the weather was cloudy, and since Sakurajima is always shrouded in its own smoke, it was impossible to get a clear view of this massive volcano. So, we were very lucky to be able to see it like this.

The last time Sakurajima erupted, just after the turn of the last century, the lava flow created a small bridge between the island and the mainland, which is why it is now possible to drive to the onsens and other tourist destinations. We crossed the bridge and drove about a quarter of the way around the island before we arrived at the ryokan.

Staying in a ryokan was on my list of things to do on this visit to Japan, so I was pleasantly surprised when Luke told me he had planned a stay at one of these traditional inns, no less at the base of a volcano!

When you arrive, they serve you green tea and let you relax in the lobby for a moment before a kimono-clad woman comes to take you to your room. We were greeted by an older lady dressed in a green kimono who was quite eager to share ryokan tradition with a couple of gaijin. She took us upstairs and opened our door to reveal a tiny foyer that led into a giant tatami room overlooking the bay. It was awesome! Definitely the coolest hotel room I have ever stayed in. She showed us where everything was, made sure that we had the right size yukatas and asked us what time we wanted to have breakfast and dinner before she left us to get settled.

Our room was set up with a large table – they come in while you’re at dinner to lay out your futons – and there were a couple of chairs by the balcony where you could sit and look at the view. There was a TV, too, which I didn’t expect, but everything in the room seemed really traditional, at least to me.

When you stay in the ryokan, you wear a yukata everywhere. It’s super relaxing to just chill out in this bathrobe-type garb. We changed into our purple yukatas and headed for the onsen. This particular onsen is coed, which is quite unusual. So, it’s obviously not nude, you get another yukata to wear in the bath.

We descended several flights of stairs and a funky sideways moving elevator to get down to the onsen. It’s right on the water, at the base of the cliffs, so you have to go down quite a ways to get to it.

This is, by far, the prettiest onsen I have ever been to – it’s a relaxing hot pool right in the bay, really, and it’s surrounded by big rocks and a huge tree that hangs over one side, creating a little grotto that houses a small shrine. We were down there at sunset, and the light was amazing! Not to mention, totally relaxing. We stayed in the pool for about an hour before heading upstairs for dinner.

Dinner is served in a big tatami dining room. We shuffled down there in our yukatas and slippers for a traditional Japanese meal. I have never really had a formal Japanese meal, so this was quite a surprise, and I got to try all kinds of things I’ve never had before.

The meal is served in several courses. There are a few things you would expect – pieces of sashimi, miso soup, rice, stuff like that – and lots of things that are kind of unusual. There was raw chicken, which I stayed away from, but I tried pretty much everything else. My favorite was the egg custard – it’s served hot in a little cup and it’s filled with vegetables and seafood. The shabu-shabu was good as well. I’d tried it before in Tokyo – it’s kind of like fondue. We also had some snails and a clam served on the half shell with this amazing sweet, buttery sauce. I think the last thing we got was a tempura dish. It was basically lots of little tastes of different things. I would guess that we were eating for about two or three hours. It goes on for a while.

We returned, totally full, to our room, which was laid out for sleeping. It was honestly a great night of sleep – the futons were so comfortable on the tatami and the duvets were so cozy. I was completely refreshed the next morning.

When we woke up, we headed down to the onsen again for an early morning soak. It was great because it was a little bit chilly and no one was really down there. Then it was time for breakfast, which was also totally traditional – rice, fish, miso, tea, egg and this funny little salad. I actually really like the breakfasts here. I think they’re pretty healthy and they keep you full for a little while anyway – at least as far as the next Lawson.

After breakfast, we packed up and headed out for a drive around the island. It was a beautiful day and we had amazing views of the volcano all the way around. We stopped at the visitor center to learn more about the volcano’s history and find out if they could predict the next explosion. I guess they can’t – personally I think it would be kind of stressful to live under that thing while it constantly rumbles. But, I guess people just sort of deal with it. And realistically, if it did erupt, it’s not like I would be much safer in Miyakonojo anyway.

Once we made it off the island, we plotted our journey home. There’s this restaurant I really like at the base of Kirishima, the volcano by Luke’s house, so we decided to go back to Miyakonojo by way of the cold soba. It is soooo yummy! I would go out of my way anytime to eat there – they have this bread that has a sweet red bean filling that I am absolutely addicted to. It’s delish!

And, so the perfect Japanese weekend came to an end. Between the matsuri and the ryokan and the sightseeing, I would say it was the quintessential Japanese experience. And, we made it home just in time for a nap.

Say No to Forks

I have been eating with a fork my entire life. Nearly every meal – breakfast, lunch and dinner – has required the use of some western eating utensil, be it fork, knife, spoon or whatever. So, how is it that I come to a country where forks are rarely, if ever, used, and the one time I eat with one I bite down on it so hard that I chip my tooth? I find this totally baffling. I mean what are the odds? One would assume that if I were going to chip my tooth on a fork, it would be at home, where I use a fork everyday. But, no! I have to fly all the way to Japan and gorge myself on curry, pork and rice in order for this damage to occur. And though, it’s not a noticeable flaw, I’m afraid my Dad will cringe when he reads this, knowing that if I was going to ruin my teeth anyway, he could have saved on those years of orthodontics and bought a like a private jet or something instead.

Japanese Weekend, Part I

If there ever was a perfect Japanese weekend, this past few days was it for us. After lazing around Luke’s apartment on Saturday morning, we packed up and headed out for our ryokan (a ryokan is a traditional Japanese inn – tatami rooms, futons, yukata, onsens . . . stuff like that) stay on Sakurajima, the smoking volcanic island that rises dramatically out of Kagoshima Bay.

After settling in Luke’s car, getting dialed in with the Eagles football podcast, and stopping for water and snacks at Lawson, we were off. Yasue recommended that we stop at a festival taking place in a small town along the way. She thought it would be a good opportunity for me to have a rural matsuri experience.

So, we headed for Iwagawa, home to an absolutely humongous samurai sculpture – the backdrop of the town, really, and the icon around which the festival is celebrated. The sculpture is modeled after Sekune Takenouchi, who was the chief of the Old Imperial Guard, the leader of the Hyato tribe, which lived in the area from the fourth to the seventh century, A.D.

Every year all the townspeople gather to parade around a giant doll named Yagoro Don that symbolizes this great warrior. This doll wears a kimono and long and short swords and is wheeled through town on a rolling platform every November 3. So, we were really quite lucky to happen upon this matsuri.

And, our timing was perfect. We arrived in Iwagawa just in time to do all things matsuri before the parade rolled through and we headed off to Sakurajima. Our first stop in town was the great statue. It really is enormous. I imagine you can see it from miles away, as it’s perched on a hillside and stands who knows how high. There are several great photos that do much better justice to him than would my elementary descriptions of his robes and swords.

After hanging out at the statue, taking pictures from almost every angle – how very Japanese – and capturing some fairly epic Engrish on film, we headed down the hill to check out the matsuri.

I think this is maybe the third matsuri I have been to in Japan. They all have food and performances and a parade. But, this particular event stands out, one because I ate a really good donut while there, but also because of the variety and quality of the festival fare, not to mention the unusual, but impressive spectacles, and the enthusiasm of the crowd. This was a top-notch matsuri, to say the least.

I mentioned the donut, which was hot and sugary and amazing – definitely rivals any Krispy Kreme I have ever tasted. And of course, there was plenty of octopus on a stick, fried chicken, deep-fried bits of squid and fish, fries, corn on the cob . . . what else? I guess, pretty much your typical Japanese matsuri cuisine. That is, until we happened upon a giant, sizzling hunk of pork that Luke couldn’t walk away from. He debated his purchase for a few minutes, and undeterred by my comment that it could feed a large family, decided he had to experience this greasy delicacy. What can I tell you? He’s from Philly. And, while it appeared to me that most people were wrapping theirs up and taking them home, probably for dinner, Luke dove straight into this fatty brick. I declined his offer for a taste, and after a few satisfying, yet detestable bites later, Luke realized he could not conquer this block of bacon.

But, who am I to judge? I consumed two giant sno-cones, the size of my head, before we left the tiny town of Iwagawa. And, I get ahead of myself! Between slurps of cherry sno-cone and chews of fatty pork, we visited the shrine, also a central part of the festival, and watched some interesting displays of physical prowess.

Midway through my second sno-cone, we ventured into a dusty arena where several groups were performing various arts. Toward the middle of the grounds on both sides, kids and teenagers were standing in lines for inspection of some kind. I don’t really know what was going on there, because I was distracted one, by the judo contest, and two, by what appeared to be the youth sumo league. That’s right, a bunch of little fat kids sumo wrestling.

I’m not gonna lie, it was kind of shocking to see a bunch of little kids – boys only, of course – strutting around in those diaper-thongs (I realize this is very ignorant, but I don’t know what they’re really called, and while I know I could Google it, I think diaper-thong conveys better this visual). I personally felt like kind of a voyeur watching all of this – it seemed like such an outrageous, and really kind of illicit display, like cockfighting or something. It was weird. But we watched anyway, running frantically from the judo competition as soon as we saw the kids start to fight.

The kids seemed so unevenly matched – some of them were absolutely obese, while others were skinny little rails. And, of course, the fat kids always won.

Seeing that it was nearly time to get back on the road and head for the ryokan, we left the arena, just in time to see the parade go through. It was small, but lively and the performers were incredibly enthusiastic as they pounded on their drums and danced around the big doll. I think festivalgoers and participants alike were impressed to see a couple of gaijin taking part in a festival in their tiny town. And, if I ever find myself back on Kyushu on November 3, I will certainly go back to Iwagawa, if for nothing else than donuts and sumo.

Though this lengthy entry does not conclude the perfect Japanese weekend, part two will have to wait until I’ve studied more material for the GMAT exam.

Bows & Arrows

I am totally fascinated by archery. I don’t really know why, I just think it’s so badass. Last time I was in Miyakonojo, we visited the local history and culture museum, which is housed in what was the estate of a feudal lord, I think. Anyway, they had all these bows on display and I remember being so impressed by, one, their size, and two, their flawless craftsmanship. The Japanese do everything so perfectly and precisely, and the bows are no exception. After a few moments studying the contents of the display, I decided that I had to be an archer.

Archery is no small undertaking. It’s actually a Zen practice, so you don’t just “dabble” in it. But, it’s not like I really have a choice in my time commitment. I don’t live here and from what I know there’s not like an archery master hiding in the Vail Valley. So, I will just have one shot, if I get to do it at all.

I digress – we haven’t even gotten to the lesson part yet. But I got to do something equally as cool the other day – that is, visit the workshop where they make bows and arrows. This place is rad, and unfortunately, my camera battery died just a few minutes into our visit, so I don’t have many pictures. But, take my word for it – it was amazing.

Apparently, and I did not know this before, Miyakonojo is known for archery. So, this guy who makes the bows, as did his father before him, and his father before him and so on and so forth, sells his work all over the world.

His workshop housed an impressive collection of bows, all slightly different sizes, each with their own unique coloring and grip. The bows are quite large – basically my height. And their strength is measured by the tension of the string.

All bows are made with bamboo – the center layer fused on either side with some other kind of wood. It takes nearly half of a year to complete a bow because of the time it takes to bend the wood – it’s very gradual so that it curves and does not crack.

The string, which used to come from natural materials, is now usually synthetic, because the man-made materials are stronger.

Finished bows are stained or lacquered and the grip is fashioned from different colored leather. Sometimes there are tassels on the ends for decoration. They’re really quite beautiful – I think I would actually put mine on display if I had one. But, that’s the kicker. They cost around $1,000. Yikes! You can get cheaper bows, but the really nice competition pieces are pricey.

While we were at the workshop, I got to try holding the bow and drawing the string back. (I don’t know if I am even close on the terminology. I mean, “string,” that can’t be right!) It is really hard because you have to hold it up above your shoulders, so you can’t use the core of your body for strength. I’m told that it takes weeks to learn how to do this, but I still can’t wait to give it a try.

Happy Halloween

I remember Halloween parties growing up as involving all sorts of games. Mostly games like bobbing for apples or getting blindfolded and sticking your hands in bags of gross slimy stuff and having to guess if it was brains or guts. And, of course, haunted houses, which if staffed by school kids or church people, usually served to create more laughs than fright. Anyhow, as I got older, Halloween turned from trick-or-treating to something a little more risqué, perhaps. That’s because once you pass a certain age, you can’t just dress up as a witch, you have to be a hot witch. If you want to be a fairy, you have to be a sexy fairy. And if you have any thoughts of dressing up as something cute and furry, it had better be a Playboy Bunny. No haggard, frightful shrews to scare away the boys – just lusty temptresses. I think I prefer the scary to the seductive (I would personally rather intimidate than entice), but my costumes become scantier and scantier every year.

At any rate, I am getting off track. The whole point of this story is to share how my participation in a Halloween game at the age of 26 nearly led to ingestion of a fake nail.

So, we arrived at the Miyakonojo Halloween party. Luke as a boxer and I as a fairy. I was thinking we would have some drinks, mingle, maybe dance a little. But, no. First there was a little talent portion – some singing witches who collectively sounded like the Japanese version of the Chipmunks. Followed by a game called, “Pass the Parcel,” or something like that, where you stand in a circle and pass around gift and when the music stops you get to unwrap it. If you’re the one to unwrap the last layer, you get to keep the present. After that, it was time for, for lack of a better name, “Inhale the Large Cream Puff Before Anyone Else.” I was roped into this messy display against my will, as they were in need of another gaijin (foreigner/outsider/stranger, whichever you prefer) participant. So anyway, I was paired up with a Japanese girl who actually spoke quite a bit of English, and we agreed that I, being the American, would do the eating.

So, it works like this. The person eating sits in the chair with her hands behind her back, while her partner, blindfolded, feeds her the pastry. Fine, I thought, I can do this (see, I forgot about that Japanese hot dog guy who holds the world record, so I thought that as an American, I had the contest on lockdown, except for Luke of course, who would kick my ass at pastry eating in the row behind me). Upon taking my seat and prepping to chow down on this giant, powder-covered, baked good, I suddenly realized that my partner had some very long acrylic nails. Yes, long, long, fake fingernails. And, while long nails really gross me out, I decided to forget about it and forge ahead.

It was all fine and good – except for the fact that I was really a slow eater – until we neared the end of the contest and in my hurried chewing I came across a foreign object. Thinking it was plastic from the pastry box or something, I pulled it out of my mouth only to discover my partner’s fingernail. All, I can say is that it tops the list of grossest things that have ever happened to me. And, the worst part was the ensuing awkwardness. I didn’t know if I should tell her that I almost swallowed her fingernail, and hence make her feel embarrassed for wearing cheap nails, or if I should just pretend like I never came across it. I opted for the latter. Surely, she’s still wondering what happened to her nail, probably assuming that it was swept away in the mounds of cream covering the table at the end of the game. But, I will always have to live with the fact that I almost swallowed an acrylic nail while participating in an eating contest at a Halloween party in Southern Japan. Weird.

The remainder of the party was somewhat lackluster in comparison to what could have turned into a digestive debacle. I spent much of the time pulling filo dough and dried cream off my costume and face, while attempting to communicate, in drunken tones, with partygoers who spoke no English. Tired and sticky we made an abrupt exit, escaping all invitations to continue the revelry in great Japanese fashion at a karaoke bar.