This weekend I went to a resort town called Onikobe (sp?), which is famous for its hot springs. Our group wanted to go hiking, so we went. It was hiking in the loosest sense. I kept looking for my crampons. The hike was damn-near vertical, and certainly harder than anything I encountered back home (Saddle Mountain included).
Our group was comprised of about six middle-aged men and women, in various degrees of fitness ranging from fit to horribly out of shape. As usual, some people were sucking back cigs the whole way. And yet every single person finished, and in respectable time too. These mountain-dwellers are fantastic natural hikers.
Here are some pictures of my epic weekend:
Here's one of the many sections where you had to use a rope to get up the incline, since it was so steep and littered with loose, muddy stones.
This was the pay-off after the grueling 90 minute hike:
"Use your imagination!" was one fellow climber's suggestion.
The house we stayed at is located in a neighborhood built around a hot spring. When you buy land, you also pay for a spigot that shoots out steaming hot springs water 24 hours a day. This is a picture of the neighborhood's gutters, which have water from the hot springs running through them constantly.
My Kanji lesson for the evening. "Kanji is easy! Look. This means mouth. This is a mouth. They look the same! What could be easier?"
East meets West.
Demon cat is watching you eat dinner...
6 comments:
Your gap in postings is totally understandable after the immense amount of time and effort you had to spend to dig up and report on the underground "collon" conspiracy.
So, what were you supposed to see from the top of the mountain?
BTW, I was in Chinatown yesterday and found some "Collons" though the writing was all Chinese. If they made it here, it is just a matter of time before they conquer the US market....
Wow, all this talk about "digging up" "underground" "collon conspiracies" is making my 14-year-old male sense of humor overload.
Damn, and I had a really good post all lined up about how the kind of chocolate I like here has a little dot that changes color to tell you when you have the candy at the perfect temperature.
Unfortunately, I can't type the phrase "chocolate thermometer" without snorting milk out of my nose and thinking of more horrible prison slang.
I for one was astounded that you managed to post a picture of a long, greasy Japanese wiener without an adjoining caption that was filthier than Lindsay Lohan's ladyparts. It kind of gave me double-entendre blueballs. If you're going to stand in the yard and toss softballs up in the air to yourself, you ought to at least take a swing at them.
softballs...
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