Tokushima-ken

Now at the mercy of the bus timetable, Jonathan and I had to reevaluate our plans for the Iya Valley. I had so wanted to drive to Mt. Tsurgi, a hikeable mountain with unspoiled vistas of the surrounding peaks and valleys. There was a bus that was supposed to go there. But, yep, you guessed it...that bus was not running the week we were there. We learned very quickly that when it's low tourist season in Tokyo, that means there is NO ONE out in the Iya Valley. lol.
So, no bus to the mountain I wanted to see. The running buses were limited and spaced far apart so that if you missed yours back to your hotel, you would likely be staying overnight wherever you happened to be. So, "let's go exploring!", we said enthusiastically ignoring what might happen if we didn't understand the bus schedule or it was not running for some reason.

We decided to take the bus to what was touted as an authentic hillside village that has roots going back in history over a thousand years, the Ochiai Village. Tour groups apparently offer tours of this little village, but the map and internet assured us that exploring it on foot was doable. In fact, that was part of the beauty the blogs and reviews said...."use the traditional footpaths etched throughout the mountainside that locals have used for centuries to traverse up and down the steep hillside". Excellent. There are paths.

We catch the bus and journey even further into the Iya Valley. Meeting vehicles along the way and sending them in reverse to eek over to a spot wide enough for our bus to pass. Again, we were the only 2 people on the entire, full-sized bus. It turns out that we were, apparently, touristing alone in Japan. lololol.

Forty minutes later we reach a nondescript spot on the road near a cluster of buildings. This is our bus stop. I search for a bus sign so I can find this unmarked "bus stop" for our return. There is a rusty sign that marks our spot. There are no sidewalks. The homes are right against the single lane road. It is dead as disco. For once, there are no maps or signs in Japan. We stand together, swiveling our heads around, looking completely like the ill-informed, lost tourists that we are. My kind of travel.....where are we? where do we go? where is this so-called "traditional village"?

I read it was up the mountain so I figured we should try to go "up the mountain". Jonathan was less impressed with this plan. But, given that there were no signs or depots for lost travelers like ourselves, I figured we had nothing to lose. I mean, you can't get lost.....just head back down the hill. lol. As we started walking along the road, trying to decide on the best point of entry to "up the mountain", I saw a clear stone path leading up, between two homes. This was it! The traditional paths! Jonathan then explained that this could also be the path to the two homes...which were nestled a foot from either side of the path. The "path" definitely didn't look like a path for the foreign visitors. I conceded that he could be right, but hey, why not try it! Maybe we'll end up in someone's kitchen and they will feed us! Wouldn't that be awesome?! To me, it was a win-win.

We embarked on the uneven, rock path and soon discovered a plaque that confirmed we were, indeed, on the traditional paths! Ha! I knew it! And, yet again, Japan didn't let me down with their signs! lolol.

We continued on but the "path" deteriorated and even I wasn't sure if we were on the path or in someone's yard. As we zig-zagged our way "up the mountain", there was no doubt that we entered people's yards because when you have to step on their back porch to travel "the path", you're pretty certain you're not on "the path" anymore. We scurried across the private property like cockroaches aiming for the dark. I employed the "keep your head down so that if you can't see them, they can't see you scientific strategy".

Every once in a while we'd see a little plaque somewhere and we'd beeline toward it so that we could be sure we got back on "the path".

Our exploration was basically us walking through people's daily lives. It was like a living heritage museum, but the people in the museum were not paid actors. We saw how subsistence farming and cultivation was occurring on these silly steep hills. We saw the fireplaces and cooking areas. We saw the people tending their flowers, their wash, and their gardens. Scattered throughout were old, restored thatch-roof houses that appeared to serve as rest areas. We sat at these and let the humidity envelope us, silently begging for the clouds to open up and give us some reprieve. We were walking up this mountain, in the heat of the day, with the air heavy with humid moisture. I am no longer accustomed to that. It was like stepping back to Tennessee. Poor Jonathan has no tolerance of heat, and more importantly, sweating. Even when I was working in arid, dry Idaho and he visited, he could barely stand the sweating. At the first moment of sweating, his desire is to stop and cool down. Summer in Japan means the humidity makes it feel like you've taken a shower, not dried yourself, and then put all your clothes back on. So, any time we stopped, Jonathan quickly began pulling off all the clothes he could...shoes, socks, shirts....anything to alleviate the sweating. The only two things I've seen ruffle the man are: sweating and having his legs crushed by the reclined seat in front of him on a long-haul flight.

After we'd absorbed all the culture we could stand, we started heading back down. That was our day. Up the mountain and back down. No other tourists. No lines. No urban sounds besides the occasional vehicle making its way up or down the mountain on the single road. (We took that road back down in accordance with Jonathan not having the desire to wade through knee-high grass and slippery slopes. I think he was over "the path". lolol).

We arrived back to the bus sign and sat waiting, alone. We saw the school bus come, drop its kid cargo, and other tides of life occurring around us the little village. While it wasn't Mt. Tsurgi, it was awesome to see untouched Japanese life and culture operating without perturbation.

When the bus came, we climbed aboard wearily, and again, had our private bus shuttle take us back to Kazurabashi stop, the only 2 people aboard.

We had another evening of incredible food at the ryokan. Another 4000 course meal replete with our fried whole fish that I decimated, again, with chopsticks. We arranged to have the hotelier take us to the bus stop in the morning as we get set to begin the marathon journey from Shikoku island to Hokkaido island in the north. Most people fly there, but we have this sweet bullet train pass so why not spend the next 18 hours on a train??!Baca lagi