March 2 

I got up for another tasty meal at the Kohshinzuka, then packed my things, paid, and left around ten.  A couple headed for Magome arrived at my lodging the same time and for a short while lead the way, until they stopped for a rest at a curve in the path.  They overtook me at the next town, when I again got rid of one layer of clothing.  Hardly a day goes past without somebody commenting on how this winter’s been much too warm in Japan.  That was the last I saw of them, and including them I could count the people I met on the trail on both hands. 

Despite the quiet, my mind wouldn’t stop.  I soon found myself thinking about how to narrate my trip for my blog.  A kind interpretation is that I am a social person and interested in sharing my experiences in an interesting way, or that I strive for literary quality in my blogging.  A less kind interpretation is that I’m far too self-absorbed and, like most bloggers, ascribe far too great an importance to what I feel like uttering into the great world wide void. 

After a while the path bifurcated, and I chose the path down past the Odaki and Medaki waterfalls.  The characters mean Male Waterfall and Female Waterfall.  Odaki tumbles from a greater height and spreads out about four meters across, more imposing than Medaki with its more focused stream, but Medaki falls into rougher, more treacherous ground.  I nearly fell into the creek when climbing on the rocks to get a picture I liked.  Does that mean that males like to impress, but really, females are the dangerous ones? 

Soon I made it to the pass, Magometoge, at 801 meters above sea level.  The pass also separates two prefectures, and I crossed over from Nagano-ken to Gifu-ken.  According to my hosts in Otsumago, not long ago the towns in Japan were reorganized, with smaller towns being integrated into larger ones.  In only one case did a town switch prefectures: the town of Yamaguchi, to which Magome belongs.  So all the internet resources I had read spoke of nothing but Nagano, when now the trail crosses from one to the other.  Even past the pass, trail markers still bore inscriptions saying Nagano-ken.  I suppose the authorities had other priorities after the switch. 

I overexposed the last pictures at Medaki and forgot to switch the setting back.  Now all my pictures of the walk down to Magome and the first few of the town have this bleached look, like in some apocalyptic thriller movie.  I’d noticed them looking too light right away, but always put it down to the LCD display not performing well in the sun. 

The first shop in Magome sells alcohol.  Of course.  And I really wanted to try local nigori-shu, and the local beer that proclaimed itself the best in the world, and the other local oddities.  I will have to return when I’m not abstaining. 

I proceeded as the night before: go to the tourist information center, ask for a minshuku with an irori, reserve.  This time I picked the Tajimaya, where I deposed most my luggage before ambling back to the different shops.  I tried gohei-mochi in one – didn’t hold a candle to that I had the night before.  The walnut mochi I had was good, especially along with the buckwheat tea.  Most of the vendors were glad to see someone, and thus ready to talk.  Several shops were closed, waiting for the season to begin.  I bought wooden items at the Yamashiroya and found other fine craft I didn’t buy in other shops.  Again, I’ll have to return for future purchases. 

Next, I walked downhill with two purposes: scout out the highway bus station and find the local onsen.  After the “wooden” bridge made of concrete I passed an elementary school on the way and who should be picking up his wife and kid but the guy who had just sold me his wooden items, who thanked me again and wished me a safe walk.  Finding the highway bus was easy enough – reservation was impossible, though, until the guy back at the Tajimaya did it for me on internet.  Finding the onsen was a bit harder, because it involved a longer walk downhill, but the directions were simple enough: follow the road, turn left where it makes a T.  And there it was: the Kuarizohto – not something to do with Risotto, but a transliteration of the German “Kur” and the English “Resort.” 

I almost panicked at the entrance when I saw the TV images of what the place was like.  Most of them showed women in bathing suits in a very western-style pool.  No onsen?  But the clerk reassured me there was one, and I headed to pick up my towel.  I don’t know how healthy it is to follow my regimen: get in the hot bath, sit on the edge of the hot bath, get back in, stand underneath the falling water outdoor for a shoulder massage, get in the outdoor hot bath (rotenburo), sit on the edge, get back in, get in the sauna for five minutes, get in the cold water tub and pour cold water over my head and wait until the spots in front of my eyes go away, get in the sauna again, get in the cold water again, get in the outdoor pool again to finish it off.  But sitting in a slightly alkaline rotenburo with a light breeze caressing your skin and the sun flooding the place with golden hues reminds you that while life down here isn’t perfect, it can get close. 

It could have gotten closer if buses ran back to Magome later than they do, but they don’t, so I had to walk back up.  I probably walked a longer distance down to the onsen and back than from Otsumago to Magome. 

I hope I concealed my disappointment well when I arrived in the dinner room.  We ate in a room separated from the irori, which was reduced to decorative purpose, and of the eight guests only one was Japanese.  I had been lonelyplanetized!  At least it’s through Lonely Planet that the quiet English printer opposite me had found the Tajimaya.  Of course, one could argue that the night before was even worse, as there was no Japanese guest…  But the Tajimaya suffered in comparison on nearly all points: ordinary food, impersonal service, and the necessity of having to make my own bed.  The toilet had a single 40-watt bulb for two stalls, both just large enough to sit down and rest my head against the opposite wall.  When I stood up, the dim bulb suddenly seemed frightfully bright as it hung at eye level, barely 20 centimeters in front of me.  The Tajimaya only had one point in its favor compared to the Kohshinzuka: the heater didn’t go out. 

Even so, I wouldn’t mind if someone assigned me to the task of exploring the touristic possibilities in Tsumago and Magome.  Any offers?