Seeking Beauty and Delight
- At April 27, 2021
- By admin
- In Annes Letters
0
Dear Family and Friends、
Writing about myself seems so small, even petty, in this day of global concerns. Even in my own world, I have friends in the hospital for knee replacements, brain surgery, and an unknown illness that causes severe swelling and robs the face of flexibility. I have another friend suffering from depression as she claws her way through her Dark Night of the Soul, and another rigid with anxiety arising from ugly abuses in her past.
With one disturbing incident after another, I finally decided to shift focus. I wanted to see beauty and delight in my daily life. Or rather, let them blossom, in both my outer and inner worlds. Curiously, just as I made that decision, both of my physical therapists encouraged me to go to a spa for a few days. “Despite Corona, if you take necessary precautions, you will be fine,” they promised. “And it will be really good for your broken arm. Go!”
So, I did. I need not have worried about Corona. There were about five people on the trains and in both hotels, I was the only guest. The first place, Naruko, was delightfully shabby, despite being a famous spa town with a history extending over 1000 years. People come from as far away as Tokyo to enjoy the soothing waters, and to enjoy the rural atmosphere still very much in tact in the region. No doubt it is the Sulphur in the water that causes the corrosion everywhere.
I love the practical nature of Japanese rural folk, even as they have a high regard for aesthetics. I mean, why not use a metal kitchen rack against a Shinto Shrine to block out rodents? How about drying rubber gloves over the heater in the hotel entranceway?
Yet, even in yards full of farm equipment and the day’s laundry, there will be a cluster of bright flowers to brighten the soul and give charm to the home.
When I left that town for another, on one of the rare trains passing through, I ended up chatting with another lone traveler as we waited. We were very involved in our conversation when suddenly a round man in uniform came running to us. “Aren’t you ladies going to Shinjo? This is the train. I am the conductor and I don’t want you to miss it. Please hurry and climb aboard.” Later he drove the train very slowly through a stunning gorge and announced, “OK, everyone, go to the right side of the train and get some good photos.” This, by the way, was a regular train, not one for tourists.
The second spa town was high in the mountains. It was called “Hiji-Ori Onsen”. That translates as “Bent Elbow Spa”. For centuries samurai and oldsters have gone there with broken bones that beg for healing. It was cold. And had snow. In fact, both days I was there, intermittent rain and snow, plus sharp winds, were constant companions. Of course, we used heat. And took deliciously warm baths.
The owners of my Meiji Era hotel were fifth generation. They were delightful and very welcoming. The stairs were like a ladder in steepness, so they brought me dinner in my room, fearing I might fall and break another bone if I climbed them too often. The day I left, I walked down the only street of the charming village, full of traditional inns, savoring the atmosphere one last time. Then, to my surprise and delight, as the bus tooted past the hotel, I saw the owner and his wife outside waving to me. “Please come back. Please come back,” their warm smiles seemed to be saying.
Given a chance, I surely will.
Love,
Anne
Writing about myself seems so small, even petty, in this day of global concerns. Even in my own world, I have friends in the hospital for knee replacements, brain surgery, and an unknown illness that causes severe swelling and robs the face of flexibility. I have another friend suffering from depression as she claws her way through her Dark Night of the Soul, and another rigid with anxiety arising from ugly abuses in her past.
With one disturbing incident after another, I finally decided to shift focus. I wanted to see beauty and delight in my daily life. Or rather, let them blossom, in both my outer and inner worlds. Curiously, just as I made that decision, both of my physical therapists encouraged me to go to a spa for a few days. “Despite Corona, if you take necessary precautions, you will be fine,” they promised. “And it will be really good for your broken arm. Go!”
So, I did. I need not have worried about Corona. There were about five people on the trains and in both hotels, I was the only guest. The first place, Naruko, was delightfully shabby, despite being a famous spa town with a history extending over 1000 years. People come from as far away as Tokyo to enjoy the soothing waters, and to enjoy the rural atmosphere still very much in tact in the region. No doubt it is the Sulphur in the water that causes the corrosion everywhere.
I love the practical nature of Japanese rural folk, even as they have a high regard for aesthetics. I mean, why not use a metal kitchen rack against a Shinto Shrine to block out rodents? How about drying rubber gloves over the heater in the hotel entranceway?
Masking tape works well to mend a broken window of a nice inn.
And don’t forget blue tarps work wonders on leaking roofs or in gardens to protect seedlings as they move into spring.
Yet, even in yards full of farm equipment and the day’s laundry, there will be a cluster of bright flowers to brighten the soul and give charm to the home.
When I left that town for another, on one of the rare trains passing through, I ended up chatting with another lone traveler as we waited. We were very involved in our conversation when suddenly a round man in uniform came running to us. “Aren’t you ladies going to Shinjo? This is the train. I am the conductor and I don’t want you to miss it. Please hurry and climb aboard.” Later he drove the train very slowly through a stunning gorge and announced, “OK, everyone, go to the right side of the train and get some good photos.” This, by the way, was a regular train, not one for tourists.
The second spa town was high in the mountains. It was called “Hiji-Ori Onsen”. That translates as “Bent Elbow Spa”. For centuries samurai and oldsters have gone there with broken bones that beg for healing. It was cold. And had snow. In fact, both days I was there, intermittent rain and snow, plus sharp winds, were constant companions. Of course, we used heat. And took deliciously warm baths.
The food in both places was plentiful and fresh. Spring mountain vegetables, fish, and miso soup, all in abundance. The rice was beyond words delicious.
Every morning in “Hiji-Ori Onsen” old women came from neighboring farms to sell their homegrown produce and homemade sauces. They came early and only stayed an hour, which made the event all the more special.
The owners of my Meiji Era hotel were fifth generation. They were delightful and very welcoming. The stairs were like a ladder in steepness, so they brought me dinner in my room, fearing I might fall and break another bone if I climbed them too often. The day I left, I walked down the only street of the charming village, full of traditional inns, savoring the atmosphere one last time. Then, to my surprise and delight, as the bus tooted past the hotel, I saw the owner and his wife outside waving to me. “Please come back. Please come back,” their warm smiles seemed to be saying.
Given a chance, I surely will.
Love,
Anne
