Wow Place #361:  Mt. Aso, Kyushu, Japan

 

A friend of mine, the great social network expert Harald Katzmair, once explained to me that very little energy arises from water at rest on a flat plain.  To generate energy, water needs to flow from a position of high to a position of low.  It needs a gradient.  In short, you need imbalance and contrast to energize a system.

 

This is as true for groups of people as it is for water.  On a team, homogeneity often fails to breed innovation; to succeed, groups need a diversity of skills, experience and personality types.  They need some degree of contrast, conflict or disagreement.

 

I think this phenomenon is true, as well, when it comes to travel.   For a country to attract me, I need to see a wide variation in food, architecture and landscape — three qualities that can be rare in a country like Japan which prides itself on its homogeneity.   To be fair, a local would point out subtle differences in cuisine, character and language from region to region. But for a foreigner like me, Japan all tends to look and feel fairly similar,  ie. a long series of big cities and rice paddies, one succeeding the other.

 

Perhaps that’s why I’m so fascinated by Mt. Aso in the southwest part of the country.  When you plan a trip to Japan, you probably imagine tea gardens, bullet trains and castles; but who thinks about volcanoes?!!

 

A highly active volcano in the center of Kyoto, Mount Aso (Aso-san to the locals) most recently erupted in 2021 and 2016.   Its caldera ranks among the world’s largest, with a diameter of up to 25 kilometers (15 miles) and a circumference of over 100 kilometers (62 miles).  In my mind, Aso looks like nowhere else in Japan.  Think Haleakala in Maui, Hawaii. Or Krakatoa East of Java.

Within the Aso park area, there are two sites that present a particular contrast:  Kusasenri and Sunasenri.  While Kusasenri translates to “a thousand leagues of grass,” Sunasenri’s central word is “suna” or “sand.”  Where Kusasenri is famous for its rolling green meadows, ponds and grazing horses, Sunasenri is a stark, barren plain covered in black volcanic ash.

 

The first location reminds me of the American Midwest in springtime. The other feels like the surface of the moon.  Best of all, the two plains are only 10 minutes away from each other (but worlds apart).  Now that’s a contrast I can get behind!

 

Kusasenri overwhelms you with the color green.  Walking the verdant, grassy loop around the plain takes about an hour, with an optional horse ride at the end.  The more ambitious can climb up the nearby Mount Eboshi and extend their hike by an hour or so.  Either way, It’s a lovely stroll, with volcanic peaks all around. Even better, the parking lot is just a minute away across the street, offering ample food and drink options.

 

Reaching Sunasenri takes a bit more time and effort.  Reaching the ash fields requires a brisk, 45-60 minute climb from the parking lot, huffing and puffing up a steep roadway, then another 20 minutes across the sand on a rickety wooden walkway.  Although the caldera was closed when were there due to continuing clean up after a recent helicopter crash, the hike was well worth it.  This truly is an otherworldly landscape—all greys and blacks, not a sign of life for miles.  A stark contrast both to the grasslands of Kusasenri and to the rest of Japan in general, it’s a fascinating place.

 

In my opinion, Mount Aso (and its two contrasting planes) is one of the best sights in all of Japan.  But I would certainly welcome an energetic, contrasting debate on the topic.

 

(A friend of mine is doing the dating apps.  What he keeps discovering in potential partners’ profiles are people looking for someone just like them: same interests, same hobbies, same diet, same income level.   I can understand this. For years, I thought the perfect romantic partner for me would be easy-going, laid back, chill—just like me. And you know what—when I met those women, I was bored! We were too similar.  I’m so grateful now for my wife, Donica, who is quite different from me in many, many ways.  Occasionally we struggle to express our differing world views. But is never ever boring!

Are you surrounding yourself with safe, comfortable clones of yourself?  Don’t forget the energy of the gradient!)

 

Wow Place #360:  Ukiha Inari Shrine, Kyushu, Japan

 

The Japanese word “hyouban” translates roughly to “fame, reputation or popularity” as well as “rumor or talk.”

If you visit Japan, no doubt the hyouban of certain sites will precede them.

Mt. Fuji has a reputation as the most beautiful mountain in the country.  Himeji is widely considered the nation’s greatest castle.   And Fushimi Inari Taisha, with its 5,000 torii gates, is the sight every tourist wants to see in Kyoto.

But are hyoubans always accurate?

In the case of the locations above, yes, the reputations absolutely hold true.  All three are spectacular, not-to-be-missed sites.

But along with a hyouban inevitably comes mobs and mobs of tourists, especially at Fushimi Inari shrine.  If you don’t arrive there by 6am (or earlier), a walk up the hillside through the gorgeous, red-gate tunnel will be like taking an escalator at Heathrow airport during high travel season.  Don’t expect a serene, solitary experience with an abundance of elbow room!

That’s why I much prefer Ukiha Inari Shrine in Kyushu, about an hour by car from Fukuoka.

 

 

Like its cousin in Kyoto, Ukiha is an “Inari” shrine.  That means it’s dedicated to Inari Ikami, the Japanese god or spirit of rice, agriculture, commerce, industry and general prosperity.

Also like Fushimi Inari Shrine, Ukiha is characterized by a series of bright, orange-red torii gates, lined up in a dense, continuous tunnel.

But unlike its Kyoto cousin, Ukiha is virtually devoid of tourists.  While we were there, my buddy Cenzo and I saw at most three other people, and they were locals, not foreigners.

Built in 1957, the shrine is known for its blessings of prosperity in business, good harvest, sake production and health, longevity, and academics. Located on the top of a mountain, Ukiha Inari boasts a waterfall of torii cascading down the hillside, heading first straight, then left, then bending right.  That’s 92 torii gates and 300 steps, all affording a stunning view of the town of Ukiha and the area’s rolling green hills and rice paddies in the background.

If the air is clear, you can even see as far as Fukuoka City in the distance.

The shrine does, however, throw a sucker punch. When we arrive at Ukiha Inara, it appears evident that we should park our car at the bottom of the torii tunnel and walk up the nearly-100 steps to visit the shrine.  That’s what the other tourists are doing.

It’s a hot, sweaty walk to the top of the stairs on uneven, rocky steps.  When we finally arrive at the summit, exhilarated but fairly exhausted, we notice a path to the right leading to the shrine’s parking lot!   The guidebook never mentioned we could have driven to the top and spared ourselves the climb.

I guess that’s what happens when someplace doesn’t have a hyouban; it may not come with a crowd-sourced instruction manual either!

 

(The thing about reputations is that the object, person or location rarely lives up to the hype.  How many times have you rushed to a highly-touted restaurant, only to discover that the food is pretty meh?  Or a house painter comes to you with pages of testimonials and then proceeds to paint your walls the wrong color!  Reputations are tricky.  They create an expectation of competence, superiority and trustworthiness. In the end, you have to judge everything by your own experience, with the faith that the reputation (and the often-heavy price tag) is appropriate. Do your research and trust your gut!)

Wow Place #359:  Onta Pottery Village, Kyushu, Japan

 

When choosing a place to travel, nature lovers are likely to seek out a beautiful landscape.  If you’re drawn to the ocean, you might well pursue a lovely seascape. And urban aficionados will certainly point themselves in the direction of a dazzling cityscape.

But who, among us, would actively hunt for a world-class “soundscape?”

Look no further, soundscape fans—in 1996, Japan’s Ministry of the Environment created a national list of “The 100 Soundscapes of Japan.”  The goal was to combat noise pollution by designating 100 iconic natural, cultural, and industrial sounds representing communities across all 47 prefectures.

The selections are divided into three categories:  1) Sounds of Nature; 2) Sounds of Living Things; 3) Sounds of Daily Life and Culture.  In the first category you would find the Bamboo Forest in Kyoto or Nachi Falls in Wakayama Prefecture.  In the second category, you find the Cicadas of Yamadera Temple in Yamagata Prefecture or the Deer of Nara Prefecture.  In the third category is the Bell of the Sapporo Clock Tower in Hokkaido or the Isobue whistling of female divers (Ama) in Ise-Shima (Mie Prefecture).

If I ever win the lottery, I would happily travel the length and width of the country, dropping in on ALL of Japan’s brilliant soundscape locations.  But as it is, I only have time on a recent trip to Kyushu (the second-largest of Japan’s four major islands) to visit ONE of these sites.

 

That location is Onta Pottery Village, tucked into the mountains roughly half way between Fukuoka and Beppu.  Designated as an “Important National Intangible Cultural Property,” Onta has been creating pottery since 1705. It’s a lovely little town with a very interesting sound.

So what kind of noise does a pottery town produce?  Surprisingly, it’s the rhythmic “Thump, thump, thump” of a water-powered hammer, called a “karausa.”  Let me explain.

Running directly through the center of town is a narrow, steeply-pitched river. As you walk along the banks, you notice a series of wooden sluices (or mills) mounted on a kind of seesaw contraption, jutting out from the back of the potteries. As the “karausa” fills with water from a side channel of the river, it dips down towards the creek.  When it reaches its nadir, the “hammer” dumps out its water, causing its river side to rise rapidly and its back side to drop precipitously into a clay deposit.

In other words, the collecting and dumping of water on the river side causes clay to be hammered on the opposite side, dissolving the material into a fine powder that will eventually be used for pottery making.

Interestingly, there are only ten families in Onta producing pottery.  As a result, the “thumping” of the karausa is fairly subtle; this is clearly a very small-scale pottery operation.

It should also be noted that Onta pottery is not particularly flashy or refined.  Known for its rustic charm and warmth, Onta “yaki” –with its simple, geometric patterns — has become beloved as practical tableware for everyday use.

How apt is that.  Like its pottery, Onta is an unassuming town with an exceedingly unassuming “soundscape.”   Less of a WOW and more of a wow.   Now shhhhhh!  Listen!

 

(One of my favorite meditation teachers once suggested that before turning attention to my body or my breath, I should first just sit and listen.  What am I hearing?  Street noise? Electrical humming?  My cat snoring?  I really enjoy this practice, not only because it centers me in the present, but also because it reminds me to use my sometimes-neglected aural senses.

What if you made this a habit as well?  The next time you arrive in a new place, whether urban or natural, close your eyes and notice what you hear.  Are there birds about?  Or insects? Or jack hammers?  If you’re lucky, you’ll find that perfect place where you hear nothing at all!   Call in the ultimate Soundscape — #101 on the list!)

 

 

(Dave Blum is the creator of Dr. Clue Treasure Hunts, www.drclue.com, a teambuilding company featuring over 150 treasure hunt locations worldwide. He has visited over 40 countries in his 60+ years of life and plans to keep traveling until he gives up the ghost. Dave lives in Northern California with his wife, Donica, and their now 20-year-old Maine Coon, Ava — an indoor cat who dreams of one day escaping captivity and exploring her own neighborhood Wow Places.)

 

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Wow Place #358:  Broad Wall, Jerusalem, Israel

 

“Not all those who wander are lost.” — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

 

I’ve taken to getting lost.

It a feeling that’s built in me over time.

It started with my dedicating one day of every vacation to unstructured wandering. Over time, that sole, non-planned day became two days, then 4, then a week … And now, all I want to do is amble around new towns and cities, with no destination in mind.

Getting lost has become the point.

I’m not stupid, however.  Or reckless. I don’t wander down dark alleys at night, or barge into sketchy bars with money hanging out of my pocket.  I don’t have a death wish.  I limit my idle wandering to the daytime, and I DO try to keep my wits about me, at least most of the time.

I tend to miss a LOT of tourist attractions this way, which sometimes pushes against my FOMO (Fear of Missing Out).

But all in all, the benefits outweigh the advantages, I think.  While other folks are seeing the very-busy Roman Colosseum, I’m stumbling upon a rarely-visited, 1500-year-old column in a quiet neighborhood just a mile away.  While others are jostling for selfies in front of the Taj Mahal in Agra, I’m chowing down on the longest masala dosa you’ve ever seen in a tiny café I’ve happened upon on the other side of town.

And while the tourist hordes are descending on the Western Wall or the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the Old City of Jerusalem, I’m ambling around the mostly-residential Jewish Quarter, chancing upon the amazing Broad Wall.

A massive defensive structure 7 meters (22 feet) thick, the Broad Wall dates back to the reign of King Uzziah (who reigned from 791–750 BC).  Popular lore attributes it to the famed King Hezekiah (716-687 BC), who would have ordered its construction in anticipation of a massive Assyrian attack.

But no, carbon dating says otherwise.  It’s all Uzziah’s wall – part of his rebuilding effort in the aftermath of damage brought about by a strong earthquake.

As landmarks go, the Broad Wall is not necessarily a sight to write home about.  “Oh, Mom and Dad, you wouldn’t believe the pile of rocks I found today.”  Archaeological sites can be like that—dry and dusty.  What makes the Wall special is the location; it just feels like it just doesn’t belong here.  I mean, this is an apartment complex!  There should be a playground here, perhaps.  Or a lawn.  Not a 3,000-year-old ruin!

The Broad Wall feels like a discovery.  A diamond in the rough.  An unpolished jewel.  The fruits of a gorgeous day of unstructured rambling.

(What does it take to be a world-class wanderer?   Curiosity!  You have to continually ask yourself, “I wonder what treasure will be around the next bend.  Perhaps I’ll just go have a look-see.”  More often than not, you won’t find anything particularly interesting down that next alley.  Or the next one.  It all depends, however, on how you define the word “interesting.”  Perhaps the locals over here have a novel way of hanging their clothes.  Or a door over there boasts a particularly interesting decoration.  Or the neighborhood café across the yard offers an unexpectedly delicious cup of espresso.  Your formless ramblings might not even deliver that level of reward.  Perhaps all you gain from your ambling is a break from the crowds—a bit of peace and quiet in the middle of the tourist chaos. And when you’re not expecting it, an interesting conversation just might break out, often with someone who can’t quite figure out what you’re doing in their neighborhood.

“Why are you here, sir? Are you lost?”

“Well my friend, not all who wander are lost.”)

 

(Dave Blum is the creator of Dr. Clue Treasure Hunts, www.drclue.com, a teambuilding company featuring over 150 treasure hunt locations worldwide. He has visited over 40 countries in his 60+ years of life and plans to keep traveling until he gives up the ghost. Dave lives in Northern California with his wife, Donica, and their 18-year-old Maine Coon, Ava — an indoor cat who dreams of one day escaping captivity and exploring her own neighborhood Wow Places.)

Wow Place #357:  Tower of David, Jerusalem, Israel

 

Growing up in California, my sense of history is significantly skewed.  “Old,” for me, is any ruin, relic or artifact dating back to the 1840s, when gold was first discovered in the mountains east of San Francisco (igniting “The Gold Rush”).   “Wow, that’s an actual pick axe from 1849! Incredible! Amazing!”

 

Exploring the streets of Jerusalem, Israel has put my parochial concept of history to shame.

 

Perhaps nowhere in Jerusalem’s Old City is History more alive-with-a-capital-H than the Tower of David.

Despite its title, the site was NOT originally built by King David.  Old King Dave (my namesake), in fact, lived over 1,000 years before the original citadel was built and had no hand in the construction.  Rather, the driving force behind the Tower of David enclave was none other than King Herod the Great, the same guy who built Masada by the Dead Sea.

 

Back in the first century BC, obsessed with both burnishing his fame as a builder AND fortifying his position before his Roman overlords, King Herod set about constructing a massive fortress at Jerusalem’s western gate.  With its commanding vantage point, the fort would grant its defenders control over the surrounding area and, of course, advertise Herod’s eternal greatness.

 

Over the years, the Tower of David has gained larger and larger historical significance.

 

Many biblical scholars, for example, believe the Tower might very well be the site of the Praetorium, where Pontius Pilate tried Jesus of Nazareth at the behest of the Jewish leadership and condemned Him to crucifixion.

If you were an invading army coming to Jerusalem over the next 2,000 years, chances are your first order of business would be to take over (and leave your mark on) the Tower of David.  That list of “conquerors” includes Romans, Byzantines, Arab Muslims, Crusaders, Mamluks, Turks, the British Empire and finally, Israel.

 

A side note: the “tower” mentioned in the title of the complex refers not to the original Herodian tower in the northeast of the citadel, but to the 17th-century minaret at the opposite side of the citadel.   Since 1967, “Tower of David” officially refers to the entire citadel.

 

Visting the Tower of David is a splendid, enriching experience – not only for its well-preserved ruins, but perhaps mores so for the dazzling audio-visual displays featured inside its 10 distinct galleries.  Thanks to a massive $50 million renovation, the ancient citadel now functions as an amazingly-cool, multi-sensory, storytelling ecosystem.

 

In the first gallery, for instance, you find a series of imposing, 10-foot touch screens representing different eras in the site’s history.  Place your palm on the appropriate spot and up pops an entertaining, animated video of relating the events of that era, mapped to a timeline of what was happening in the rest of the world at the time..

 

In subsequent galleries you might discover:

The Multi-Faith Custom Soundscape: An immersive audio installation that fills the galleries with chants, prayers, and sound rhythms tracking Judaism, Christianity, and Islam across the city’s timeline.

The Digital Fresco Vault: Thousands of historical digital images are sequentially mapped across a medieval vaulted stone ceiling, creating a moving historical tapestry.

The 19th-Century Digital Model: A famous 1873 hand-crafted zinc model of Jerusalem by Stefan Illés, revitalized with interactive, multi-layered video projections and historical photography that act as a digital “timeline.”

 

To top it all off (literally), at the end of your self-guided tour of the Tower of David, you can climb (or elevate) to the top of the walls and look eastward towards the Old City for the best view in town.

 

I originally intended to make a quick stop at the Tour of David museum—maybe get a little history lesson before lunch. I wound up staying 3 hours and could’ve stayed all day.  It’s that interesting.

 

One might say that I came to conquer the Tower of David but, inevitably, it ended up conquering me.

 

(One cannot write about Israel in 2026 without considering whether it’s both “safe” and “right” to visit the country.   My conclusion after a week in Israel is that yes, it’s safe – at least when an enemy isn’t firing missiles at it.  During times of “shooting war,” perhaps you give the region a miss.  The rest of the time, life in the country to go back to normal; shops open, people gather in public places…you could be touring any developed, western country.  During my time there, it felt perfectly safe. As for the question of “right,” I think it’s best to avoid associating a country’s people with its government policies. I might not always support the Chinese government, for example, but I wouldn’t hesitate to visit the Great Wall.  I’d say, if you have an interest in seeing the astonishing historical sights of Israel, don’t let any feelings you might have about the government hold you back.)

Wow Place #356:  Shimabara, Japan

 

When it comes to reputation, there are places that come close to meeting the hype, places that live up to the hype, and places that exceed the hype.

Shimabara is not one of these places.

Nicknamed the “City of Water,” the castle town of Shimabara in Nagasaki Prefecture is renowned for many things: its samurai-era historical district; its reconstructed, five-story castle; its regionally-famous kanzarashi sweets (a traditional dessert of small rice-flour dumplings served in chilled, spring-water syrup), to name a few.

The reason I changed my itinerary to come here, however, was to see the drainage ditches.  You heard that right:  drainage ditches.  Known for its abundant natural freshwater springs, Shimabara is said to be a town full of cool, street-side canals filled with colorful, swimming koi fish.

Now that was something I had to see!

Don’t get me wrong—the main path through the Shinmachi District, called “Koi no oyogu machi (The Town Where Koi Swim) Street,” DOES have drainage ditches, and there ARE koi there.  Just not a lot of them. Maybe ten in total.  And they’re not all over town, like some Far East Venice; they’re crammed into a small, one-block area.

In my humble opinion, this is not a town that merits completing altering one’s plans to visit!  At least not for the eminently underwhelming, fishy drainage ditches.

However—like most locations, if you look past the overblown hype (around the waterways and the carp) – I believe Shimabara IS worth a visit for a variety of other reasons.

The tiny Shimeiso Spring Water Garden, for example, just off “the Town Where Koi Swim Street,” is exceedingly lovely.  Built in the 19^th century over a natural spring where 3,000 tons of water pour each day, this traditional-style Japanese villa is a wonderful place to sip a cup of green tea and watch the water bubble up into a variety of water features.  And, unlike the drainage ditches nearby, Shimeiso’s gorgeously-landscaped garden pond boasts 50-100 friendly, active and exceedingly hungry Nishiki koi.

It’s a place I could imagine sitting all day, feeding the carp, eating some traditional sweets, and letting the stress of the modern world melt away.  It has to be one of the most friendly and serene locations in all of Japan (and that’s saying something).

Putting all the water tourism aside, I would also recommend Shimabara for a particularly modest (and delicious!) okonomiyaki restaurant: “Osaka.”  You won’t find this place in a guidebook.  Boasting a few tables and a long bar, the thing to do here is sit on a stool up front and watch the owner cook your meal in front of you.

Okonomiyaki, for the uninitiated, is a Japanese savory cabbage pancake made from flour, eggs, water or dashi stock, and grated mountain yam (nagaimo) or baking powder.  As a filling, diner choose from pork, shrimp, squid or octopus (to taste), then top it off with a Worcestershire-based sauce, mayo, dried seaweed flakes and pickled ginger.

Call it a cabbage, barbeque-sauce, pancake pie.

A quintessential Japanese comfort food not particularly well-known outside of the country, okonomiyaki is said to be best enjoyed in either Osaka, where everything is mixed into the batter, or Hiroshima, where the ingredients are layered over a thin crepe and then yakisoba noodles are added on top.

For me, though, the best okonomiyaki by far is served right here at “Osaka” restaurant in Shimabara, the City of Water.

But don’t believe the hype, go there yourself.  I’m betting that even if you don’t share my opinion, you’ll find something else in town to hype on your own.

 

(There doesn’t appear to be a clear, etymological origin for the word “hype.” It’s most commonly defined as “promotional publicity of an extravagant or contrived kind.”  Something like, “The prelaunch hype for the new cell phone translated into phenomenal sales numbers on release day.”  “This restaurant has the best potstickers IN THE WORLD.”  “You have to see this band in concert—they will CHANGE YOUR LIFE!”

Hype, then, is excessive, overblown praise of something.

It’s probably safe to say that one should probably take most hype with a grain of salt. Hype is a set-up for disappointment.  Better to arrive at a venue with an open mind, ready to discover what ELSE in the locale might, in fact, be worthwhile.   Very often the real treasure in the museum isn’t the crown jewels (with the big line), but the exhibit of subtle star sapphires on the other side of the room.)

Wow Place #355:  Kumano Magaibutsu, Kunisaki Peninsula, Japan

 

When I was a kid, one of my favorite cartoons was “Tennessee Tuxedo.” Its plot was simple: Tennessee, a penguin, and his dimwitted pal Chumley, a walrus, live in Megapolis zoo.  Regularly, the duo escape over the zoo’s wall and get into all manner of trouble on the outside, only to turn, eventually, for help from the “the man with all the answers”: Phineas J. Whoopee.  A bald-headed professor type with a room full of junk, Mr. Whoopee inevitably pulls out his 3-D BB (three-dimensional blackboard) and lectures our heroes about anything from physics to hot air balloons—solving whatever problem they needed solved.

 

Isn’t that always the way it is in adventure stories – to get answers to the biggest questions in life, you need to gain audience with a revered, all-knowing guru – often by overcoming some kind of obstacle, whether it’s hurdling a wall, penetrating a labyrinth, or more commonly, trekking to the top of a mountain. Think Brad Pitt’s character in Seven Years in Tibet climbing the Himalayas to meet the young Dalai Lama. Or Batman, hiking the peaks of Bhutan in search of the League of Shadows.  Or Homer and Apu from the Simpsons, scaling the heights of Shangri-la to reach the First Kwik-E-Mart (note, it doesn’t go well for them).

 

In short, wisdom often resides at the top of a long climb.

 

It’s with a similar goal of enlightenment in mind that I begin scaling the 99 steps to the Kumano Magaibutsu.  Carved directly into a natural rock wall between the 11^th and 12^th centuries, the Magaibutsu are two of Japan’s largest stone Buddha sculptures.  About 7-8 meters (20 feet) each, the statues include a calm figure with spiral patterns on its head and another with a gentle expression, holding a sword.

 

Surrounded by forest, secluded, devilishly difficult to reach – these “Buddhas in the Mist” are definitely a place get some answers about the meaning of life!

 

But first you have to overcome those steep, brutal, 99 steps.

 

So why 99?   This being Japan, there’s a story to it, of course! According to the official Kumano Magaibutsu tourist brochure:

 

“Once upon a time, a red ogre is said to have lived in this district.  One day, this ogre felt an urge to taste human flesh.  The ogre came to a deity named Gongen and begged him for this.  The deity replied, ‘If you can make 100 stone steps in one night, your wish may come true.’  The delighted red ogre started making the stone steps from 8 in the morning.

 

“Just before midnight, Gongen got worried and went to see the ogre. At that moment, the red ogre was coming up the stairs with a rock for the 100^th step.  The deity never expected this would happen, so he decided to make the morning come earlier.  That’s why, disguised as a rooster, Gongen cried out “Cock-a-doodle-doo!”  The surprised ogre ran away with the last stone on his back, in fear of being killed by Gongen.”

 

Like so many stone steps in Japan (see Wow Place #348: Mt. Fugen-dake), this is rather difficult climb—a nearly vertical scramble over massive, un-cut boulders.  Absolutely brutal. Entirely worth it!

 

And finally, there I am at the top, sweat streaming down my brow, face to face with the two, famed Buddhas.  Emerging silently from the rock wall, they emanate peace, sacredness and wisdom. Approaching reverently (after catching my breath), I mouth my questions silently to myself, and quietly retreat — keeping a close eye out for the Red Ogre.  After all, Nirvana may be attained at the top of a holy mountain, but that doesn’t mean going back down will be an easy road.  In fact, as the sherpas of Mt. Everest can tell you, it’s never the ascent that kills you; it’s always the descent.

 

And isn’t that a good lesson for all of us wisdom seekers?!!

 

(Although enlightenment can sometimes be reached at the top of a mountain, the reverse can also be said to be true.

“Zen is the spirit of the valley, not the mountaintop. The only Zen you find on the top of mountains is the Zen you bring up there.”  — Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

 

In other words, nirvana/satori/enlightment is easy when you’re by yourself, away from it all, immersed in nature, far away from worldly distractions.  But try to be equanimous here in the valley of our everyday lives, juggling the stresses of work, kids and marriage.  You are you wherever you go.   So yes, climb the wall, scale the mountain, challenge the red ogre. Don’t miss out on those challenges.  But remember that your real practice starts and ends here at home, in the quotidien, the everyday life .

–Today’s lesson from Phineas J. Whoopee and his 3-D BB.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Dave Blum is the creator of Dr. Clue Treasure Hunts, www.drclue.com, a teambuilding company featuring over 150 treasure hunt locations worldwide. He has visited over 40 countries in his 60+ years of life and plans to keep traveling until he gives up the ghost. Dave lives in Northern California with his wife, Donica, and their 18-year-old Maine Coon, Ava — an indoor cat who dreams of one day escaping captivity and exploring her own neighborhood Wow Places.)

Wow Place #354:  Kuju Flower Park, Taketa City, Japan

 

I’m embarrassed to admit that I have a little cellphone problem.

When I’m standing in line, I look at my phone.  When I’m watching a movie or reading a book, my phone is never far away.  If a text arrives (with its enticing ping), I feel obliged to check my messages immediately.  After all, if someone is texting me, it must be important.

And don’t get me started about all those eminently-enticing podcasts, apps and newsfeeds!

Don’t get me wrong; I appreciate all the benefits I receive from my cellphone.  What a modern miracle it is to have a portable computer in your pocket with access to the vast world of the internet!  What I don’t appreciate, however, is how my phone has tampered with my attention span.  Who, for example, has the patience these days to concentrate on one static, non-animated piece of media (ie. a book) for an extended period of time. Heck, there’s no place to click!

Sometimes the only remedy for a cellphone problem like mine is to lock your portable distraction device away and head to a serene, switched-off place like the Kuju Flower Park in Kyushu, Japan.

 

Opened in 1993 and set at an altitude of 850 meters (2,700 feet), Kuju Flower Park is about 15 kilometers east of Kurokawa Onsen inside Aso-Kuju National Park in Japan’s Oita Prefecture.  Established to showcase the region’s natural beauty, the park spans 49 acres and features approximately 5 million blooms from 500 species, offering a rotating seasonal color display set against the lush backdrop of the nearby Kuju Mountains.

Created as a shifting “village of flowers” rather than a single-season garden, the park uses a continuous relay of plantings to maintain vibrant fields from spring through late autumn. In spring, you might see tulips, violas, and poppies brightening the landscape. In summer, lavender and sunflowers take center stage, while autumn features cosmos and salvias in full bloom.

Essentially, it’s a high-altitude botanical garden and entertainment complex all wrapped up into one, offering both a feast of flowers and a wide a variety shops, markets and restaurants to enjoy, many featuring the local taste treat:  lavender ice cream.

Visiting Kuju is a delight.  Around every turn you find another patchwork of colors to explore — a quilt made by giants.  One moment you’re up high on Lavender, Breezing or Moss Phlox Hill, the next you’re down in the valley exploring the Rose Garden, the Hydrangea Grove or the Antilles Greenhouse. The colors are eye-popping, the atmosphere ever-so-serene!

This is a truly a place to unplug – which as I mentioned, is not easy for me.  Because the only camera I carry these days is my smartphone, the best I can do is set my device to airplane mode and use it only for photos.  No Instagram, no FB, no online posting allowed.  The pictures are simply for memories, for reliving later.  The experience of  wandering amidst so much natural beauty in only place is definitely designed for the NOW.

(If there’s a full-proof method for weaning oneself off or your smartphone, I haven’t found it yet.  But here are a few ideas (from the internet):

• Buy a physical alarm clock: Keep your phone out of the bedroom entirely to stop night scrolling.
• Establish phone-free zones: Designate areas like the dining table, bathroom, or car as completely screen-free.
• Charge across the room: Place your charger out of arm’s reach during work or study hours.
• Use a smart speaker: Ask voice assistants for the weather or time instead of looking at your screen.
• Impose a “checking interval”: Set a timer and only look at your phone once every 30 or 60 minutes.
• Delete mobile social apps: Force yourself to only check social platforms on a desktop computer.
• Do not save passwords: Manually typing login credentials creates a hurdle against quick scrolling.
• Carry a low-tech alternative: Keep a physical paperback book or a notebook on hand to fill sudden gaps of boredom.
• Utilize habit-breaking apps: Install tools like Forest or Flipd to gamify staying off your device.

You do NOT need to try each of these suggestions all at once.  Start with one at first, do it for a week or two, and see if it works for you. Build up slowly. And keep in mind the bigger picture:  more patience, better relationships, less stress!

And when in doubt, lock away your phone and go to a flower park.)

Wow Place #353: Chichu Museum, Naoshima Island, Japan

 

To my surprise, there have been over 100 James Bond Villains over the course of 25 or so 007 movies.  Some of them I’d call “Bond Thugs” as they were more hired assassins than actual evil masterminds.  I’m talking Odd Job from Goldfinger, Donald “Red” Grant in From Russia with Love, and Jaws from The Spy Who Loved Me/Moonraker.

 

No, true Bond Villains are the guys who call the shots, hold grudges, or simply aspire to taking over the world.  I’m referring, of course, to rogues like Dr. No, Goldfinger, Raoul Silva, Francisco Scaramanga or my all-time favorite:  Ernst Stavro Blofeld (he of the bald head and the white pet cat).

 

What do they all have in common?   An epic Bond-Villain LAIR!  You know, those spare, imposing, tricked-out palace/castles, perched on a cliff, submerged under the ocean or ensconced inside a mountain.

 

Myself, if I were a Bond Villain, I’d want to hide out in the Chichu Museum on Japan’s Naoshima island.

 

This is a complex just made for maniacal plotting!

 

The museum building, designed by world-renowned architect Tadao Ando, is mostly located underground, allowing it to integrate seamlessly with its surroundings and leave the landscape virtually untouched. From a drone’s-eye-view above, all you would see of the structure are a series of squares, triangles and rectangles, deeply cut into a grassy hillside.

 

Just perfect for your geometrically-shaped missiles and lasers!

 

Ando’s go-to building material, inevitably, is cement!  Lots and lots of spare, modernistic cement.  Says one description: “The cement becomes a medium for light modulation, as daylight is choreographed through narrow openings and voids, shifting as the sun moves across the sky. The intersection of walls and passageways creates moments of compression and release, inviting introspection and slowing the visitor’s pace.” (https://archeyes.com/chichu-art-museum-by-tadao-ando-light-and-space/)

 

Interestingly, despite being underground, the Chichu Museum employs no artificial lighting.  In other words, the artwork is lit solely by natural light, filtered down from a variety of light wells, skylights and apertures.   Think stark, modernistic courtyards, gardens and corridors, intermittently opened to the bright, blue sky above.

 

Like I said, a Bond Villain lair!

 

Perhaps the only truly villainous feature of the Chichu Museum is that, for your $16 admission fee, you  only get to see the works of 3 artists:  Claude Monet, James Turrell and Walter De Maria. Turrell gets two rooms—the others only one.  The idea is that, as much as the artwork, it’s the architecture that’s worth the price of admission.

 

As for the art, I can say that all it’s very nice.  One should never pass up a chance to see Monet water lilies.  Turrell’s work is more optical illusion than anything else, but cool.  And a special word should be said about De Maria’s installation: “Time/Timeless/No Time”.  Imagine a vast marble room with a great marble staircase.  Golden porticoes speckle the wall. And on a landing amidst the stairs:  a giant, shiny-black orb, somewhere between an overgrown Magic 8-Ball and that rolling ball from the first Indiana Jones movie.

 

This is a room of mystery and majesty.  A room for a king.  Or perhaps, Ernst Stavro Blofeld and his cat.

 

(I often wonder what makes a villain become a villain.  Surely, they were children once.  They probably had a teddy bear, or a blankie (or a sled named Rosebud).  No one aspires to grow up and become a villain, and yet we most certainly do have villains in the world.  I’m guessing the unifying theme for all villains, evildoers, malefactors, fiends and baddies is a mountain-sized sense of grievance.  In short, the world never appreciated them the way they had yearned for. It never recognized their greatness.  Or worse, someone (like Bond, James Bond) took their fame and status away from them.  And now the world will pay!

 

Is there a more powerful emotional catalyst in the human experience than the feeling of “It’s not fair!”  We’ve become a world of victims and blamers, of patsies, suckers and fall guys.  Our plight is always someone else’s fault!  Before you start building your own villain’s lair, ask yourself:  “Is someone else really responsible for my disappointments?  Did I have NO other choices along the way? And does revenge and retribution really solve anything?”  Think about what’s motivating your grievance before you go buying yourself a white villain’s cat.)

 

Wow Place #352: Takachiho Gorge, Miyazaki Prefecture, Japan

 

Time and again, I’ve been tricked into thinking that a famous site isn’t nearly as good as its hype.

 

There was the time I arrived at the main gate of the Taj Mahal in Agra, India, at 7am on a brisk January morning.  Bleary eyed from a long, overnight train ride, I was convinced that the front gate where the taxi dropped me off actually WAS the Taj Mahal.

 

“Geez, this isn’t what I expected.”

 

It wasn’t until I traversed a tunnel in the entry building that I saw it hovering in the distance: the white-washed walls of the Taj Mahal, in all its glory.

 

“Okay, that’s more like it!”

 

Then there was the time in Petra, Jordan, when my tour guide took me up to the ticket gate, paid my entry fee and put me on a horse.  From my saddle, looking around at the fairly-ordinary, reddish-brown cliffs, I thought to myself, “So this is Petra, huh?  Meh!   Definitely not what I was expecting.”

 

It wasn’t until we entered the narrow, winding crevasse leading to The Treasury (Al-Khazneh), a 40-meter-high monument tomb carved directly into the sandstone cliff face, that I concluded, “Okay, now I get it.”

 

In short, many of the great sights in the world tease you a bit before delivering the climax (as it were).

 

And so it was with the Takachiho Gorge.

 

Located in the mountains of northwest Miyazaki Prefecture, the Gorge of Takachiho City is one of the MUST-SEE SIGHTS of any visit to Kyushu, or so the guidebooks say.  Needless to say, my expectations were high.

 

However, the initial stretch of the gorge is a big nothing-burger – essentially a small stream gurgling between non-descript, greyish-white rocks.  Oh, it’s pleasant enough, but certainly nothing to write home about.

 

During my 20-minute, cliff-side walk along the gorge, the elevation increases gradually and the scenery becomes slightly more impressive.  I start to see basalt columns emerging. The water appears to be becoming greener and clearer.

 

“Okay, I admit it, this is a fairly nice nature walk.  But it’s hardly transcendent”

 

It’s not until the final turn that the show-piece view reveals itself.  There, in front of me, is a stunning, V-shaped canyon with a gorgeous, 17-meter waterfall cascading over black, basalt walls directly into the Gokase River.  Below, paddle-boats traverse the tiny passage, edging up close to the waterfall for water-level viewing.

 

It is a scene straight out of Lord of the Rings—Rivendell to be exact, the Elven valley ruled by Lord  Elrond.

 

I half expect to see elves, dwarves and hobbits having a drink on the shore before setting off on a Tolkien-esque quest.

 

Magical pretty much describes the view.

 

Twenty minutes ago, I would’ve written off this place as a major disappointment. But now, I get it.  I see why people flock here in droves – and to be sure, it’s VERY crowded with tourists, especially on this busy Saturday afternoon.  If I had it to do over again, I’d arrive bright and early, at opening time.  Or better yet, I’d rent a boat in the wee hours of the morning and paddle straight up to the waterfall, with no one else around.

 

But even sharing the spot with a mob of other people doesn’t spoil the experience.

 

My point is when it comes to the great world sights, the name of the game is “Be Patient.”  Give a place like Takachiho Gorge some time.  Trust the guidebooks.  Famous places are famous for a reason.   Chances are, the site is going to be spectacular if you manage your expectation and just keep walking along the path.

 

(We humans have never been great with delayed gratification.  Consider the Stanford Marshmallow Experiment, conducted in 1970 by Professor Walter Mischel. Children were given a choice between one immediate marshmallow or two if they waited for 15 minutes.   Hidden cameras recorded the kids trying to cope with the temptation.  Some of them sang.  Others covered their eyes or turned away.  In the end, researchers tracked the children through their teens and adulthood and determined that the kids who delayed gratification had higher SAT scores, lower body mass indexes, better stress management and lower rates of substance abuse.

 

I have to wonder how I would’ve performed in such an experiment.   Back in my childhood, there were no video games. No smart phones. No TikTok.  I’m guessing I would’ve done okay with holding off on the initial marshmallow.  Nowadays, if I see a plate a fresh, hot, chocolate chip cookies, I seriously doubt that I’m waiting 15 minutes to have my second cookie, or my third.  I want that treat now! Technology has ruined me.

 

Although it’s getting harder and harder to be patient, to delay gratification, the benefits are still out there.   Good things still come to those who wait.  Like a second marshmallow.  Or beautiful sights.  Or a healthier body.   Try the 15-minute experiment with your favorite temptation and see how you do, then adjust your life accordingly.  Get off those screens!)