May 14th, 2019
Magome
I’ve awoken in a cloud. Everything is wet with a rain not quite formed. The light is diffuse and directionless and beautiful. The green of the trees is extra green-y. Is this a dream?
I arrived in Magome yesterday at dusk - a quiet community on a steep section of the Nakasendo Trail. The town was sleepy, with a definite bedtime that was…well, sometime before I checked in. My host left a light on to guide my way, but otherwise all the doors along the main drag were shuttered.
As a result, dinner was makeshift: a random assortment of convenience store snacks washed down with a dram of Japanese whiskey. It sufficed and I slept well, but this morning I am hungry. Lucky for me, my host has a breakfast laid out for guests to help themselves. This will be a theme on this leg of the trip; as one of many post towns, Magome is a community that popped up along the old walking highway from Kyoto to Tokyo to provide food and shelter for the travellers passing through - that includes me!
My pace for the day matches that of the town: slow and meandering. It is a rest day. I will be staying here one more night, and I’m grateful to have the time to dance with the rhythms of the inclement weather.
Spotting a gap between the rain clouds, I wander outside to breathe in the fresh air of the surrounding hills. Walking up the steep path, I come across a small grove of bamboo trees. Wet with rain, their bright verdant trunks make the perfect backdrop for listening to the birds (which you can listen to here).
As I retrace my steps back towards town, the avian symphony is replaced by the sound of water. Alongside the main walking path are two gutters, each channelling little streams; a reminder of nature’s gift around us. Residents simply need to funnel off a small channel to their homes and effectively have an unending source of running water at their fingertips. It’s powered by nothing but gravity - which is plentiful in these hilly mountain towns.
When the clouds get heavier and the rain stronger, I duck back into my room. My bones are glad to rest and soak up the day (and yet not get soaked). Dinner this evening will be at a restaurant down the street, which specializes in tempura. With the patter of rain as a lullaby, a pre-dinner doze feels like the perfect way to pass the afternoon.
I unfold my futon on the tatami mat and snuggle in. Even though I have only been in Japan for a week, the transition into the local ways of living has felt easy and seamless. Perhaps it is because my lodgings thus far have been comfortable and well designed (yes, including the aggressive bidets); plus, sleeping on the floor means there is no bed for my feet to hang over (oh, the curse of being a tall traveller).
Drowsy but not quite asleep, I hear in the distance a simple tune: every evening at 5pm a calm song is broadcast loudly through the valley, a nationwide warning system for emergencies that also serves as a reminder that it’s time to wind down for the day.
Almost time for dinner. Then, a slow walk back home. I am good with an early bedtime. Tomorrow will be an early rise.
A haiku:
Shrouded in high clouds
Wet with a rain not quite formed
The street becomes slick
D