Musings From Paradise

As we wind down our journey through Japan, it’s clear that the connections we’ve made at a local level with this intriguing country is in part attributed to us not driving. Longer distances were reduced to a scant 4 hours due to incredibly fast shinkansen trains and their slower siblings, the limited express trains (traveling a measly 120 per hour). When in urban areas, buses, streetcars, local trains, and an occasional taxi had us elbow-to-elbow with principally Japanese travelers and commuters as we navigated, maps in hand, from one side of town to the other.
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This onsen, or Japanese bath, was one not to miss. We’d traveled an hour on local trains to reach Ibutsuki from Kagoshima, and at the train station went immediately to the information desk. Our maps and brochures efficiently communicate our objectives and the wonderful agents provide us with local bus schedules, city maps, and other helpful information. In this case, it was the Ibutsuki Sand Bath onsen, and we had a quarter hour until the city bus arrived.
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Possibly the oldest wooden buildings in the world are not far from Nara, Japan, and are a distant cousin of the wonderful old growth forests of the northwest. From the look of wood used in Japanese home construction, specimen trees from north America are finding their way to Japan in great quantities. Tim read that great stores of the highly desired straight-grained lumber has been literally sunk in secret locations in anticipation for the time when it’ll be unavailable (and prohibitively expensive).
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My barber bowed to me today. Tim and I were walking to the sento for our daily scrub ‘n soak at the public bath and I waved as we passed her shop. She put down her razor, left the poor lathered-up guy reclining in the chair, and rushed to the sliding door to extend a warm smile and a respectful bow.
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We finally awakened to fall, and it’s been a long time coming. The weather had been unpleasantly warm and humid all summer, and a cooling rain, reduced temperatures, and a crisp sunrise combined for an inspired early-morning walk amidst gorgeous Kodachrome colors.

We began our day’s activity at a dealer’s antique show in the Fushimi district south of Kyoto Station. Our plan was to follow yet another “path” in Diane Durston’s book, Kyoto: Seven Paths to the Heart of the City, and Fushimi is renowned for being the center of Kyoto’s sake production (and has been doing so since 1637).
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We have finally found the quintessential example of packaged food—individually-wrapped marshmallows. Or was it the small packet of dried fish served as munchies at the local coffee bar? Japan is the source of innumerable surprises, and we’ve not been disappointed. But why, for goodness sake, are we having such trouble purchasing a simple loaf of good bread? Ah, the anomalies of Japan.
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