Slow Travel

I started the day intending to follow the plan devised the day before. Select a random chapter from Deep Kyoto Walks. Do a cursory read. Review the map in the Appendix. Identify one destination among several. And head out. Across Purple Fields sounded intriguing, with the Hanjō Shrine the first stop.

It’s easy to linger at the Hibari Hostel, so I got a slow start, leaving shortly before noon. It wasn’t long and a mild hunger set in. Nothing urgent, but it likely would need to be addressed on the way to the Shrine.

As fortune would have it, a little place appeared on the right,

one that looked like where locals might dine.

At other times I might say that “I took a chance” but I’ve had nothing but delicious meals in Japan so I entered without hesitation.

I didn’t realize until I had a menu in hand that it was Chinese and almost everything offered was some variation of noodle soup. Having had the Chinese soup more than once, I ordered the large (大盛) for 950yen.

It wasn’t a particularly busy place,

in fact “hurry” is most likely a foreign word there. I liked that. It gave me the opportunity to observe the chef,

who moved with an ease that belied his expertise.

I admired him,

though we never exchanged a word,

or even a glance.

I have no idea how long I waited, as it wasn’t a wait at all. But out of nowhere it seemed, the bowl appeared,

and I soon discovered it to be the best soup of any I’ve had since leaving home. In fact to call it a soup does it an injustice. Had I been sick, it would have cured me.

And the little woman who did everything but cook,

they don’t make them like her anymore, at least not back home.

There was even something about the way she handled my money and gave me change,

accepting it as though I had made an offering

Back on the street,

it was was an easy afternoon,

no urgency among anyone I saw.

It carried over to the side streets,

and the little houses.

my gait slowing to the rhythm of my surroundings.

I observed a woman sweeping

in front of what appeared to be a shrine.

It was,

and I gladly left an offering of coins.

Behind it was the Buddha,

and to his right,

where the ancestors reside,

close to the living.

Back on the street I took more notice of the dwelling places,

how they are shrines in their own right,

constructed

and landscaped

in accordance with Shinto aesthetic.

By the time I emerged

I no longer felt the need to visit the Hanjō Shrine.

Turning the corner, I pulled out the map that Yusuke at the hostel had given me. It had a list of nearby onsens. An hour or two in the waters of a hot spring seemed like just the right thing.

Immersed in my map, a woman came up behind me to see if I needed help. We talked for a while, during which I learned about the Japanese character system, how it’s merged over the years with the Chinese, and how there are three related but distinct systems, all three which she learned in school.

After the instruction, she took hold of my map, selected an onsen she thought I’d like, gave me directions, and was on her way.

Her name, by the way, is Hide (He Day).

Her directions were right on and within ten minutes I was there,

and in ten more had showered and was bathing.

On the way back, I was attracted to a little restaurant.

I entered, and while waiting to make a reservation, I studied the painting on the wall.

It seems that the Japanese have always traveled slowly.