Fall in Japan is
an amazing time. My favorite so far. Persimmons and chestnuts are in season. The
weather finally cools down. But most of all, the leaves change color. Growing
up in Texas, I am no stranger to reds, yellows, and oranges, but Japan takes
fall to a whole new level of amazing. Avenues and boulevards are flaming strips
stretching through the city. Parks and gardens are transformed. And
the mountains are spotted with garnet and yellow gems that blaze in the
afternoon sun.
To really soak
in the beauty, I decided to take a trip to Minoh no Mori Quasi National Park. This
is an easy one kilometer hike in the town of Minoh, just north of Osaka. I had
been this summer, but fall is really the best time to wander the maple lined
paths.
The day started
out according to plan. I made it to Minoh without any of the problems I had
encountered last time. The ride was less crowded since it was mid-day on a
Tuesday so I was able to enjoy sitting in the sun as the train left the
concrete towers of downtown for the shorter, more open space of the suburbs.
The hike to the waterfall starts off at the train station and snakes through
town for a little ways. As I walked, I made a note of the small stores I wanted
to stop at on my way back down. No sense dragging gifts all the way up the
mountain just to go right back by the place I bought them at the end of the day.
There were trinkets, potter, pastries, and of course the tempura maple leaves
Minoh is famous for. There were also produces stalls full of the orange, brown,
and red bounty of autumn.
I finally
reached the end of town and the start of the actual walk. I was still a little
early for the best fall color, but in a way, it was so amazing to see the
progression from green to red to yellow to brown. The fall colors were
brilliant in the early afternoon sun. The path was not empty, but there were a
lot fewer hikers this time. The overwhelming quiet of the mountains and trees
soon brought tranquility. There was a fall chill in the air, enough to keep me
from sweating, but not enough to keep my long sleeves pulled down. All in all,
it was a glorious afternoon after a week of cold, gloomy weather.
As soon as I
stepped on the path, I had my camera in hand, snapping away like the Japanese
hikers around me. I have never seen so many shutter bugs in one country! I fit right in. I continued slowly up the
walk, soaking it all in. See the colors through both natural and artificial
lenses. I was just starting to believe Anata was right when he said I was more
of an introvert than I liked to admit, when my afternoon took a drastic change.
Instead of a peaceful, relaxing hike, alone with my thoughts in a river of
people, I was treated to an amazing cross-cultural adventure where I made new
friends, tried local sake, and realized just how alike Japanese and Americans
can be.
About a third of
the way up to the waterfall, my destination, I was approached by another
solitary hiker. She was a Japanese woman. In perfect English she asked me where
I was from and what I did. This was not that strange. I have had many people
approach me and speak to me with various levels of English proficiency. However,
it doesn't usually happen on hikes. Even in America, hiking is a pretty
reflective and silent activity. If you are with friends, that's one thing, but
I can't remember another hiker ever speaking to me. So this should have been my
first clue this was not going to be a normal day. For ten minutes we walked up
the semi-crowded path conversing. I was shocked at being approached at first,
but I soon found out she was a Japanese teacher interested in helping the local
gaijin learn her language. Talking with someone in my own language was
refreshing, but it made stopping and enjoying the foliage difficult. Soon,
though, our paths diverged and I wished her luck with her teaching endeavors
(unfortunately I am not local enough and attending would be too much of a
strain on my time) and I moved off to take photographs of an interesting shrine
on one of the spurs.
Soon I was back
on the main path and nearing my destination. The walk through Minoh is a very
easy one. Most of it is on an asphalt road that gently climbs up the mountain. I
remembered several restaurants near the falls that were sandwiched between the
black ribbon of asphalt and the sparkling, tumbling river. As I had not eaten
lunch before leaving home, I decided to stop at one of these before finishing
up my adventure. I chose a cozy looking place with plastic noodle bowls in the
window. They also had a selection of oden (stewed eggs and root vegetables) and
beer, sake, and soda. It looked really good. I pushed aside the noren and
entered the single dining room.
Up to this
point, my adventure had been pretty typical. I smiled, ignored the stares from
children (and some adults), and went about my business as unobtrusively as
possible. Aside from my brief conversation with the Japanese teacher, it was
like any other solo adventure I have had in Japan. But as I entered this cozy
restaurant on the mountain, things went from nice, good, peaceful, to and epic
adventure.
As I stepped
through the open doorway, applause erupted from the back corner of the room
where an old man, ojiichan ichi and an older lady were sitting. A gasp of
excitement followed by please come in, welcome, hello came from the table in
the center where three ruddy faced ojiichans were sitting, ojiichan ni, ojiichan san, and ojiichan yon. My face was already burning as I shuffled around the chairs in tables to a seat along the far back wall near Ojiichan Ichi, who was
still clapping and saying "Arigato" as I passed. I told him I hadn’t
even done anything yet.
I sat down and
was immediately bombarded with questions in broken English from the center
table.
Where from?
Texas.
Texas! Cowboys, Texas Rangers, Darvish.
Hai, hai.
There is an
interesting tradition in Japan on sharing tables with strangers, so I was a
little relieved when a twenty something Japanese girls asked to sit with me. Maybe
she would take some of the attention away from me.
Japanese flew at
me from all directions - from the table behind me, Ojiichan Ichi and Kanojo (it
is what he kept calling her. It literally means her in Japanese), to the young
girl sitting across from me, to ojiichans ni through yon sitting at the center
to my left. Sometimes they were questions, sometimes statements, but either way
I smiled, laughed, and nodded. Eventually we were able to communicate a little.
They asked questions about my job. Where I was staying. What I liked about
Japan. Halloween came up and I was forced to pull out my phone and show
pictures to the girl, a huge Gintama fan.
What was meant
to be a quiet meal turned into a boisterous two hours. At one point, Ojiichan Ichi stopped on his way to the bathroom and held out his hand for a handshake. I
gave mine and he held it for a good two minutes as he smiled and spoke in
Japanese. I gathered he was talking about my rosy cheeks (it was quite warm in
the restaurant and all the attention was getting to me) or he was talking about
his own red cheeks. Ojiichan yon, from the center table remembered the word
rattlesnake after about ten minutes and then kept repeating it. He was also the
one welcoming every other patron after me with "Please come in." and
"Please have a seat." I quickly realized that all the ojiichans had
been drinking. And I made the mistake of asking, in horrible Japanese, if the
sake they were drinking was local. I had been practicing possessives. Well this
simple, grammatically incorrect sentence, resulted in my getting my own cup and
saucer to drink the local sake from. My table companion was also given a cup.
The sake was delicious, dry with just a hint of sweet. The food was delicious -
I ordered soba with egg. My new companions were beyond friendly. But it was
getting dark outside and I had still not made it to the waterfall.
After a second
cup of sake I was finally about to get back outside. The air was refreshingly
cool, but the shadows were fairly deep - even though it was only three thirty. I
finished the rest of my hike quickly, before I lost more daylight. The falls
were much less crowded this time and they really sparkled in the late afternoon
sun. A kind Japanese man offered to take my picture. He even showed me how to
pose for the touristy shot where you look like you are drinking from the
waterfall. I thanked him profusely, since it was so much better than the
selfies I took last time. And with that it was time to head home.
I hesitated in choosing
my path back, though. I had hoped to stick to the main trial. It was faster and
I still needed to get to the shops at the start of the trial. But the road also
ran by the restaurant. I decided to take the side path. I walked quickly along
the uneven, spongy path. I held my breath as I passed by the restaurant on the
opposite side of the river. But there were no calls, no clapping. I breathed a
sigh of relief. Part of me was sad not to have the chance to say goodbye to my
new friends from the safety of the river's far bank, but I was also pretty
excited to regain the quiet, introspective, peaceful aspects of my hike. That's
why I had come.
I continued down
the mountain valley, stopping frequently to take pictures of fall foliage
ablaze in the afternoon sun. My cheeks were still burning from the two cups of
sake, but the cool mountain air felt refreshing. I made it about half way down
the mountain when I ran into my new friends again.
Now I don't know
if they were waiting for me. Or if it was just chance, but as I came around the
curve I noticed an older man talking to other walkers and weaving along the
path. He was ahead of me so I did not recognize ojiichan ni at first. But he
recognized me. He motioned me into another small restaurant/shop. Unsure how to
refuse, I followed. I was given another drink, despite protest, sochu this time.
I was encouraged to try this establishment's soba - a delightfully crisp, onion
and what I can only describe as spring green flavor. But my companions had
obviously imbibed too much since the last time I left them (and they had
already had a bit to drink before I even met them). Now the conversation turned
quite bawdy. At least, that is what I assume from the gestures and Kanojo's
constant remonstrations. Ojiichan would say something, she would snap at him,
and he would apologize. Then he would say something else and the process would
repeat itself. When ojiichan yon, who was barely able to keep his head up and
had stopped speaking spilled his drink, Kanojo, thankfully, decided it was time
to go.
Taking me by the
arm, we said our goodbyes and she led me out to the patio. Ojiichan Ichi, her
companion, the man who had clapped and thanked me at restaurant at the top of
the mountain, the man so impressed with someone's rosy cheeks, took my left
hand while she held my right elbow. I can only imagine how ridiculous we looked
as the three of us made our way down the mountain. The walking arrangement forced me into a
contortion act. I was still holding my camera in my right hand. Ojiichan Ichi was holding my left hand. He was
a little drunk so he kept leaning into me.
He was also walking slightly slower than Kanojo, who was still linked
with my right elbow, so I ended up walking at a diagonal. Needless to say, we got quite a few stares.
Eventually I
found an excuse to break free. A beautiful tree with bright crimson
leaves. Ojiichan and I stopped to take
pictures while Kanojo continued down the path.
It was the perfect opportunity to excuse myself, but somehow I could not
do it. I waited for him to take his pictures then continued walking with
him. We walked down the mountain, me
pausing and waiting patiently while he took pictures of everything and everyone
with his cell phone. Kanojo met up with
us further down the path. She had bought some roasted chestnuts, which she
peeled and handed to me and Ojiichan. In my mind, I was reminded of a family - I
was the granddaughter and these two were my ojiichan and obachan. Soon Ojiichan and I stopped to take pictures
of the bridge that crosses the path to the shrine. It was glorious in the
fading light. Kanojo continued on ahead.
As the old man and I moved to catch up, he took my hand again.
"Okasan wa
asoko desu," he said as we passed a graveyard I hadn't noticed on my way
up. My wife is there.
Suddenly I
didn't mind holding his hand. Suddenly I didn't mind the stares as we ambled
down the mountain in an awkward line. I didn't mind the lewd comments and
gestures, or being plied with drinks I did not want. Suddenly I didn't mind any
of it. Because suddenly I realized how fleeting life really is.
And if this were the story would end if this were a movie or novel. But life keeps going, and so did we. We continued our
hike, meeting back up with Kanojo a little way down the path. We were nearing
the bottom of the mountain when we heard English. A pair from San Francisco were quickly absorbed
into our group, much to their surprise.
My Japanese friends bought tempura maple leaves and beautiful
handkerchief with red and gold maple leaves for all three of the Americans they
had just met. Finally, my adventure
ended in a local bar, drinking local sake from a one to barrel, surrounded by
local Japanese people.
I made it home
around eight that night, much later and after drinking much more alcohol than I
had intended. But as I lay down to sleep, I could not help thinking about the
ruddy cheeked old man who held my hand down the mountain. I thought about how I tried to brush him
off. How embarrassed I had been walking
down the mountains with him. And how
with one simple statement he had completely floored me.
You never know
who you will meet on the path. You never know what your presence might mean to
them. It might have been uncomfortable at times, but spending the afternoon
with this old man and his friends was really a special experience. I hope it
was half as memorable for him as it was for me.
