When I arrived, the proprietor advised that all other guests had just left. I would have the whole bath to myself. After walking along a little carpeted path amid the trees, a wooden steam room with an open doorway, billowing out steam, appeared.
Behind the steam shed were two pools, one very hot, and one milder. On the far side of the pools was a waterfall, running down over and cascading off rocks. It was wonderful. The whole setting was snuggled into a hillside, surrounded by trees, and overlooking the town, ocean and neighbouring islands. And I had it all to myself. This, I thought to myself, was worth the effort of coming to Japan.
In the nuddy, Japanse bathing style, I stood in the doorway of the shed with hot spring steam billowing past me, looking out on the view. Then I alternated between luxuriating in the mild pool, sweating it out in the hot pool, and drenching myself under the shocking fresh rainwater flowing from the waterfall to help me recover. I must have spent over an hour there.
When I'd had my fill of the views and trees and temperature shocks, I made my way back to the homestead's restaurant and pressed the intercom inside to request my lunch. The lovely woman running the place actually ran around, getting me this and that.
I was served a lovely little tray of those mystery Japanese foods, all novel and delicious, and a bowl of vegetables and thick, broad, chewy noodles in broth. Along with my green tea, I ordered some sake. I've tried it in Melbourne and thought it was pretty hideous, a cross between vodka and metho. This was still sharp, yet subtly sweet. And I thought it would be a little, but I was brought a TUMBLER of it. I tried some of it at room temperature, then she ran around to heat it up for me. She explained it was less intoxicating warm. I found out that was because the alcohol evaporates quite fiercely, right up your nose as you drink from the cup, and into your lungs as you sip. It's a toughy.
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