The kids were finally getting back to a normal waking time, and we rose to the sound of a peaceful, soothing morning rain.
Oh, wait.
The entire reason we came to the mountains to begin with was to walk through the Kimikochi area of Chubu Sangaku National Park.
As the sleep fog cleared I realized – there was literally nothing else to do in the surrounding area.
Porcelain room, mallet gloves… off we go.
There was a majestic nature to the cloud-draped mountains, even if it wasn’t the snow capped images we’d seen online. We forged on ahead, even when the rain intensified/walking paths were flooded/Thing 1 kept asking “where is the taxi?” cause he wanted to get the fuck out of the rain.
At our destination, Myojin Pond, we found a haven – dry, covered seating and hot soup! Kyle broke and had some dashi-broth soba, I had soba that (apparently) came with a wholly-intact steamed fish, and Thing One had smoked cheese with some snacks we brought along. It was basically a far-northern ski lodge, smelling of hearthstone-fire and smoked meat.
There are panchos hanging outside the shop, and we decided w/e let’s buy one for “Mack” so he can have some freedom and walk. Oops… they are not for sale (should have been obvious), but belong to the patrons inside who are not amused by our confusion (they are Austrailan and understand us perfectly, for what it’s worth). Seriously, I realize you are super-fucking-hardcore and pissed that I touched your precious pancho, but really… no humor?
Oh well, back we go – double speed this time now that the rain is really coming down and flooding the path.
We make our way back to the visitor center, get McQueen some hot chocolate while we re-combobulate, and hop in a cab. Turns out it is about 4, so hey! – we managed to have an adventure instead of destroy the tiny room we would have been stuck in.
Knowing how complex shoe-etiquette is, I have a plastic bag out and ready for when we remove our soaked shoes at the Ryokan. We need to take them back to the room and get them dry before packing for tomorrow’s transfer, rather than leave them at the front in the cubby. Amidst a flurry of bows, rapid Japanese, and some newspaper(?), our shoes are confiscated as we make our way past the entrance.
Onward, we pour into the room and Kyle graciously sends me out for a proper Japanese dinner while she feeds the kids from the room. It is not lost on me, how very lucky I am.
After two hours of mealtime bliss, I return just in time for bed. Goodnight, Sawando.
Travels with Larson and Co 