There’s an old expression in Japanese that I find quite intriguing:  “Ataru mo hakke, ataranu mo hakke.”  It literally means “fortune-telling misses as often as it hits.”

 

The phrase suggests several things:  1) fortune-telling is a serious practice  2) Sometimes its predictions actually come true  3)  Sometimes they don’t.

 

Implied, as well, in the expression is: fortune-telling (and religion in general) can both hit and miss simultaneously.  In other words, although you shouldn’t dismiss spirituality out of hand as a fake practice, nor should you necessarily reject it.  The two opposing beliefs can be true at the same time.  Maybe it’s real, maybe it’s not. Why choose?

 

I have this heady, almost quantum concept in mind as I approach Wat Phra Si Rattana Mahathat in Phitsanulok, Thailand.   Referred colloquially as Wat Yai or Wat-Phra-Sri, the “Temple of the Great Jeweled Reliquary” is located on the east bank of the Nan River, about 200 miles from Bangkok.

 

It is quite simply one of the most-lovely temples I’ve ever seen.

 

Founded in 1357 by King Lithai of Sukkothai and remarkably elegant, Wat Yai is most famous for its amazing, golden Buddha image (“Phra Phuttah Chinnarat” – “King of Victory”), considered by many Thais as the most beautiful Buddha image in the country.

 

Approaching Phra Phuttah Chinnarat is a dazzling experience. The reflective floor-tiling of the temple picks up the rich, golden hue from the Buddha’s flanking columns and sends it bouncing all around the temple, up, up, up to the ornate ceiling, glowing in yellow and red.  The Buddha, itself, is a tranquil dream, an oasis of ornate, shimmering gold designed both to be admired and worshipped.

 

And worshipped it is.  At all times of day, local Thai people dressed in colorful saris kneel and pray before the Buddha… hands clasped and bowing…applying gold leaf… burning incense. The statue is at once a holy pilgrimage site and a tourist attraction.

 

How it can be both of these things at once is the epitome of “Ataru mo hakke, ataranu mo hakke.”

 

What’s fascinating about Buddhism in general is how it holds a space for ambiguity, encompassing both prayer and personal meditation as paths to enlightenment.  At Wat Yai, thousands come every year to pray to a Buddha image for healing and good fortune, then go home to sit in their private meditation practices.

 

So, is Buddhism a practice or a religion?  Is the historic Buddha a teacher to learn from or a god to worship?   Can praying to a statue actually fulfill your hopes and wishes?

 

Like fortune telling, Buddhism seems to be a quantum state, simultaneously a practice and a religion.  Practitioners can both pray to gods AND follow a meditative path to enlightenment.   There’s no need to be absolutist about it.

 

And who knows? Perhaps praying to a statue will hit. Perhaps it will miss.  It never hurts to hedge your bets.

 

(If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that people don’t necessarily argue from a place of logic.  And I’m not just talking about religion or politics.   It seems like when it comes to just about everything, people argue from gut, instinct, and values.  How frustrating!   What has become of Socratic thinking?  In a perfect world, we could persuade people to think “correctly” (ie. OUR way) through the strength of our superior, logical arguments!   But that’s not how it works, is it?   People debate from their fear…they argue from their hurt and trauma…they dispute from a need for community (and the terror of being kicked out of the tribe).

The next time you’re in a heated discussion that just isn’t moving towards a resolution, stop debating and start listening.  Show your partner that you’re not the villain—you’re a friend who cares enough to hear their anger, hear their fear, hear their needs.  By listening, you demonstrate that you’re interested in their viewpoint, even if you don’t necessarily share it.  You’re not the enemy, because enemies don’t listen!

 

If only our religious and political leaders would shut up and listen—even occasionally—what a more peaceful world it would be.)

 

Over the years, I’ve been continually bothered by a key contradiction of travel:  Is tourism “good” or “bad’ for a place?   On the one hand, visitors bring much-needed tourism dollars to cities and towns that might struggle to support themselves otherwise.  On the other hand, along with the tourist hordes often comes overcrowding, disrespectful behavior and “corruption” of the local culture.

 

If you’re praying to your personal deity at a church, mosque, shrine or temple and a group of loud, 20-somethings from Decatur, Georgia stomp up and snap a selfie with you—without asking—is this okay?  Is this what you bargained for when you said yes to tourism?

 

Although I always try to be respectful wherever I go, I, too, sometimes fall into the trap of “exoticism hunting.”  It all started when I was 10 years old and viewed the slides my grandparents took on their journey to China and Hong Kong.  Slide after slide presented a magical world I had never dreamed existed – colorful lanterns, majestic dragon boats, elegant temples gleaming in red and gold.

 

I yearned to visit those place, snap photos, and exult in the rush of exoticism.  Just imagine the stories I could one day share with my friends and family!   By visiting such special places, I hoped I would become special too.   The magic dust would somehow rub off on me.

 

And to be honest, that kind of magical transmutation DOES happen sometimes, especially at a strikingly foreign place like Boudhanath, Nepal.

 

One of the world’s largest spherical stupas and a premier UNESCO World Heritage site, Boudhanath sits just a few miles outside of Kathmandu.  A central hub for Tibetan Buddhism, this classic, whitewashed monument (the holiest Tibetan Buddhist site outside of Tibet) is renowned for its massive mandala design, all-seeing Buddha eyes and surrounding monasteries.

 

An active spiritual site, Boudhanath draws droves of pilgrims practicing “kora” (clockwise circumambulation around the stupa), lighting butter lamps and spinning prayer wheels.   The monument stands on a massive, nine-level base representing Mount Meru, the center of the cosmos, and is crowned by the watchful eyes of the Buddha.

 

While the original structure dates back to the 5^th century, the current building only became a major refuge for Tibetan practitioners in the 1950s.  The site is particularly beautiful in the evening, when hundreds of lamps illuminate its dome.

 

What traveler wouldn’t want to experience an exotic place like that!

 

And yet—I have to ask myself, doesn’t my secular visit to this site disrupt the faithful who have traveled miles to quietly pray and make religious offerings?   Even if my tourist dollars fund maintenance of the stupa and support the local businesses?

 

There’s no easy answer to my cognitive dissonance except to draw on the expression “hanshin hangi,” the Japanese belief in “half belief, half disbelief.”  In other words, sometimes you just have to embrace paradox—the notion that contradictions can coexist side by side.  Left/right, up/down, correct/incorrect – life throws a lot of paradoxes at us;  we don’t have to stress when we confronted with conflicting opinions about something.  We can hold differing perceptions and still be a-okay.

 

Tourism is bad. Tourism is good.  It’s something in between.  It’s all of that!  Hanshin-hangi!

 

(There’s a pivotal scene near the end of Les Miserables where the inspector, Javert, is saved from certain death by Jean Valjean, the criminal turned businessman/philanthropist who Javert has been chasing throughout the story.  Unable to hold conflicting notions that a “bad” man can also be “good,” Javert throws himself into a river and perishes.

 

I hope that a paradox never drives you to such a state of consternation!   The next time you’re faced with diametrically-opposed judgments about someone or something, remember Hanshin-hangi!  Contradictions can co-exist.  No need to stress.  No need to throw yourself off a bridge.  Embrace the paradox!)

For every big, famous city you pin on your itinerary — teeming with tourist sites — there’s always a quaint, little-discussed town nearby that preserves the local culture as a living time capsule.   In Italy, it’s possibly Verona.   In Spain, it’s most likely Ronda.  In France, my vote is for Bologna.

 

In Nepal, it’s gotta be Tukuche.

 

Also spelled Tukche, the village is situated in the Mustang District of northern Nepal. With a population of just 652 individuals residing in 166 households, this is a fly speck of a settlement—a two-street town known for its Thakkali culture, catering mostly to trekkers making their way around the Annapurna Circuit hiking route.

 

Along with food and a few places to stay, Tukuche is all about the vibe.

 

Set in the dry and dusty Kali Gandaki Gorge, with several 20,000-foot peaks towering overhead, Tukuche feels like a land lost in time.   Upon stepping into town, you notice the white-plastered wooden houses, the orange prayer wheels, and the waving, multi-colored prayer flags so popular in the Himalayas (and Berkeley import/export shops).   Donkeys laden with bags of goods wander freely in the street, seeking stray bits of grass growing out of cracks in the walls.

 

In Tukuche, you know you’re in Nepal, alleged home of the fabled Shangri-La…at the top of the world.  The people living here are not cosplaying Eastern spirituality—they’re the real thing.

 

During my day in Tukuche, I don’t see a single temple.  I don’t visit a single museum.  I don’t get a tourist booklet stamped.   All I do there is wander around –slowly— soaking up the Himalayan vibe and hoping that maybe, just maybe, I’ll run into a yak (or a yeti).

 

It’s not a flashy place, but Tukuche sure is atmospheric.  And that is more than enough.

 

(What if, the next time you planned a trip, you skipped every single big-name sight in the guidebook? You just skip them!   Instead, you choose an area at random in your country of choice and just drive—or better yet, bike or walk.   No itineraries, no agendas, no recommendations from Facebook forums and Reddit.   Literally, you just let yourself get lost. Soak up the atmosphere of traditional towns that have nothing to see but their architecture.  Have a drink in a local bar and try to communicate with your bar-stool mates.  Get off the beaten track and let yourself imagine all the people who have lived and died in this placed, all the stories they must have to tell.

 

Traveling in this way is the only functioning time machine yet proven to exist—and it’s yours to access — if only you have the courage to take the road less traveled.)

When you think about Japan, a few stereotypical experiences come to mind, like:   taking part in a tea ceremony, attending a sumo match, catching sight of a geisha, walking under cherry blossoms or eating excellent raw fish at a sushi bar.

 

Myself, I’m always hoping in Japan to run into ninjas or photograph a kaiju (a giant monster like Godzilla) in action.  But that’s just me.

 

For the more spiritually minded, however, the ultimate Japan experience would no doubt be meditating in an authentic Zen rock garden. Nowhere captures that Zen vibe more than Ryoanji Temple in Kyoto, perhaps the best, classical Buddhist rock garden in the country—and the most touristed.

 

Originally an aristocrat’s villa during Japan’s Heian Period, the site was converted into a Zen temple in 1450.  Interestingly, the garden’s exact date of construction is unknown and speculation abounds regarding its designer.

 

The “garden” consists of a rectangular plot of pebbles surrounded by low earthen walls, with 15 rocks laid out in small groups on patches of moss. By design, at least one of the rocks is always hidden from the viewer.

 

Ryoanji is a special place to visit. Even after hundreds of years, the rock garden is perfectly maintained, landscaped and manicured—an act of devotion. The placement of the rocks gives a sense of islands floating in a wide ocean. Or if you prefer, cliffs poking out from a carpet of fog.

 

Some believe that the garden represents a tiger carrying cubs across a pond.  Others claim that the garden represents an abstract concept like infinity. Because the garden’s meaning has not been made explicit, it is up to you to find the meaning for yourself.

 

Ryoanji is a calm and spiritual place, a spot to sit, watch your breath and contemplate the impermanence of life.

 

It’s also a wildly touristy site, on everyone’s list of “must-see-in-Kyoto” locations. Loudspeakers (with an emphasis on LOUD) blare incessantly, directing you where to sit, how to behave and when to leave.  To appreciate Ryoanji, you need to arrive early in the morning, right when the garden opens, before the tourist hordes descend.

 

I like Ryoanji and think everyone should visit it.  I also think there are other Zen rock gardens in Japan that are just as nice and a whole lot less touristy.

 

Little-known gardens where you might just see a ninja – or a kaiju.

 

(Ryoanji is a bit like a Rorschach test, where you receive a series of ink blots and ascribe your own meaning to them.  What does Ryoanji mean? It’s up to you to determine, and don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.  Isn’t this true in all aspects of our lives, particularly in this online age where experts, pundits and influencers are incessantly telling us how to think.   I’m reminded of the lessons of the Indian spiritual teacher Krishnamurti, who essentially taught, “Don’t let any guru tell you the meaning of life.  Find it for yourself through meditation.”  Ryoanji might well be islands, tigers or infinity itself.   Go early, center yourself, and make your own judgment, in this as in all things.)

When it comes to travel, there are two kinds of sights:  1) planned & 2) unplanned.

 

Planned sights include landmarks you find in a guidebook as well as ones you hear about from friends, family and online forums.  You “plan” to visit these kind of locations because, more often than not, they’re pretty darn great!   Why would anyone travel all the way to India and skip the Taj Mahal?  Why would you miss the Roman Colosseum? The Great Wall of China?  The Parthenon?  These are all sites you definitely must plan to visit.

 

The Pig Memorial of Bangkok, Thailand is definitely not in this category.

 

Located in Bangkok’s inner city, its historic area, the Pig Memorial was built in 1913—the year of Queen Saovabha Phongsri’s 50^th birthday.   Its official name is “Sahachart Memorial,” in celebration of all people born in the same year—the year of the pig.  Made of gilded cast metal, the sculpture initially rested on large stone pillars, since replaced by a higher, mountain-shaped concrete base.  Nearby is the “Saphan Mu” bridge, built in 1911. Its name refers to “The Bridge of the Year of the Pig.”  Interestingly, the bridge has four decorative posts symbolizing birthday candles.

 

Although I’m telling you about it today, I wouldn’t necessarily advise you to “plan” your next Bangkok trip around the Pig Memorial.  But if you do somehow stumble upon it (as I did), it’s pretty great in its own right.

 

My friend Ted and I happened upon the Pig Memorial during a fairly-pedestrian stroll in the Thai capital. Or maybe we were trying to reach somewhere else. I can’t recall.  But then, suddenly, there he was:  The king of pigs, towering over us majestically, with smaller, porcine-shaped offerings scattered around his base.  Think pig pinatas.

 

“Hey Dave, is that a giant pig?”

“You know, Ted, I think it is.”

 

What a delightful, unplanned monument to stumble upon.  You won’t find it in most guidebooks.  I’d be hard pressed to find it again, to be honest.   But I’m sure glad I did.

 

If only there had been a BBQ place nearby, the magic would’ve been complete.

 

(Although you can’t, necessarily, plan to stumble on little-known treasures, you CAN plan to have no plan.  In other words, you can leave time in your schedule for unstructured wandering, for getting lost.  One of my best travel days was when my wife and I roamed the streets of Osaka, Japan, in search of pastries.  (Spoiler alert:  we found a LOT of it!)  The next time you discover yourself on the road in an interesting city, why not designate one day for “random walking?”   You can even choose a famous landmark to walk towards—but take your time!   Give yourself a whole afternoon or, better yet, a whole day to get there—and if an amazing café, or bench, or river view presents itself, be willing to skip the final destination completely.  The same kind of “plan” can apply to this upcoming weekend in your own hometown.  Go find a neighborhood and get lost!  You can thank me later.)

 

As long as there’s been a Japan, there’s been sake.  At least that’s the message I receive as I wander through the three-story history museum at Otokoyama Sake Brewery near Arashiyama, Hokkaido.

 

If ever there was a cathedral to the production and consumption of Japanese rice wine, this is it.

 

Here you find room after room of sake utensils, sake tools, and sake barrels, along with Ukiyo-e woodblock prints depicting samurais and geishas from days long past, getting sloshed on the local brew.  Video displays and dioramas abound, introducing the ancient sake-making process that dates from the Edo-era (1603 – 1868).

 

Although exceedingly informative and interesting, the museum displays are but a prelude to what we visitors have all been waiting for:  the sake tasting!   Because that’s what breweries are all about, right?

 

To access the tasting room, I first need to leave the museum building, cross the circular Ochoko Plaza (said to be shaped like a sake cup), and pass the 12-meter-long children’s slide in the shape of a sake bottle.  Although innocent enough, the metaphor doesn’t escape me:   Japanese children tumbling in delight out of the most-fun place in the world – a container of alcohol.

 

Japanese Sake—generational fun for the whole family!

 

Sticking with the family-friendly theme, the tasting area is more entertainment complex and gift shop than saloon.  For example, there’s a section where you can take selfies dressed in a traditional sake-making jacket.  There’s a café where the drinks are all made from water used for brewing sake.  You can even purchase a “rice latte” or a “rice latte soft-serve ice cream.”  I opt for a hot coffee laced with “Otokoyama’s special super sweet syrup made only from rice.”  When in Hokkaido…

 

At last, I arrive at the tasting area, both staffed and self-serve.  I opt for the latter option, paying a few bucks for a handful of drink tokens which I promptly insert into one of three sake dispensers: essentially dry sake, drier sake, and drier sake still.  It’s all pretty delicious, I must say, and mighty strong!   I force myself to stop as I feel my tipsiness rising.

 

Not to worry. This is safety-conscious Japan!  The drinkers in your group are prohibited from driving afterwards.   Upon paying for my drink tokens, a stern staffer asks point blank: “Who is your driver? I need to see his license. It cannot be you!”

 

Strict admonitions aside, the Otokoyama Sake Brewery is a fun place to visit.  I learned a lot about the sake-making process.  I tasted their local specialty.  I enjoyed some “grainy” coffee.  Next time, I’ll have to try the slide.

 

(The Otokoyama Sake Brewery wasn’t a planned stop on our trip.  Before setting out, we had made a list of all our “must-visits” in the area.   Sake breweries weren’t on our itinerary.  Nevertheless, as we drove by, I said to my friend, “Hey, that looks like an interesting experience. Whadya say we stop?”

 

How often do we get caught up in our plans and agendas, failing to leave room for serendipity and happenstance?  As John Lennon said, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” A good reminder the next time you’re sitting with your friends or family, talking about the schedule for the day, when perhaps you should be noticing what’s going on in the room, what’s going on with your relationships, what’s going on in your own heart.)

Wouldn’t it great to have a secret lair?   Good guys like Batman and Superman have one.  Bad guys like the Penguin or Gru (the evil villain in Despicable Me) also have one.  It seems like everyone has a lair these days, a secluded place where you can hide out, make plans and train your Minions.

 

The Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut definitely has a lair-like feeling going on.

 

Dating from the mid-15^th century B.C.E, the complex nestles at the foot of cliffs in a natural bowl on the West Bank of Luxor, Egypt.  With its back to the wall, so to speak, the temple is protected from posterior attack – a key ingredient of a lair.  With cliffs at your back, you can also dig tunnels and caves – all the better to hide your explosives, your secret labs, and your giant, planet-killing laser.

 

I doubt Hatshepsut had such modern considerations in mind.  A female pharoah who had herself represented pictorially as a male – including the wearing of a false beard — (the world’s first cross dresser?), Hatshepsut served as co-regent with her nephew Thutmose III (c. 1479-1425 B.C.E).

 

By all accounts, she was pretty good at her job.  During her 20 years as pharaoh, the country experienced immense prosperity, peace and prolific building.

 

Evidence suggests she died of cancer around 1458 BC, in her late 40s or early 50s.  It wasn’t until the 19th-century that Egyptologists identified her and began restoring her legacy, uncovering thousands of statues in hidden pits.

 

Visiting Hatshepsut’s temple is a cool experience.  Approaching from a stone walkway, you come upon the main temple complex via a long, broad ramp.  The temple itself consists of series of pale columns and porticoes, cut directly into the cliff walls. Inside you discover all variety of figures, hieroglyphics and inscriptions—so well-preserved that they look like they were done yesterday.

 

I half expect Hatshepsut, herself, to appear from a tunnel in a cloud of dramatic smoke, stroking her fake beard, of course, and exclaiming, “So you have made it my secret lair, Mr. Bond.  I have been expecting you. Come in, come in, have a drink—then prepare to die.”

 

There are worse ways to go, I suppose. But not today, Madame Hatshepsut!

 

(There’s something “naughty” about international traveling, isn’t there?  Only a hundred or two years ago, if you wanted to visit some place truly exotic, you had to take a boat to get there. Even a hop across the pond to England took weeks on the Queen Mary.  These days, you can fall asleep on your plane after watching a James Bond film or two, and BAM, you wake up in Cairo, or Borneo, or Kathmandu.  This shouldn’t be allowed!  I know for myself, while I was growing up, my family didn’t have the money for such sumptuous, opulent trips.  In our age of inexpensive air travel, though, all sorts of crazy places that once might have felt “off limits” are pretty much wide open –IF you have the courage to overcome your own internal fears and restraints.  What “lair” might you venture to visit if only you believed that you could?)

 

Japan is a land of contradictions.  On the one hand, its people are some of the most easily-embarrassed folks on the planet.  At least once a day, you’ll notice a Japanese person putting a hand over their mouth and exclaiming, “Hazukashii!”  (“I’m so embarrassed!”).  I find it rather charming, actually – especially if it’s a young couple on their first date, giggling and turning red in the cheeks, like school kids.

 

Something entirely different happens, however, when Japanese go to a hot spring (onsen).  Suddenly embarrassment and self-consciousness are thrown out the window.  Walking calmly and confidently from pool to pool, naked as the day is long, everyone seems to be perfectly relaxed and comfortable.  Being unclothed in front of strangers is the most natural thing in the world!

 

I wish I could say the same for myself.

 

Nude public bathing just isn’t something we do here in California, unless it’s a private hot tub. When you jump into a public pool, you’re wearing a swim suit, full stop.  To do otherwise would be highly hazukashii — and quite possibly illegal.

 

And yet here I am at Ikenoyu Hot Spring in eastern Hokkaido, a beautiful, outdoor onsen on Lake Kussharu.  Apart from two Japanese men submerged in the pool who may or may not be naked, I’m completely alone.  Just me and the two dudes.  Nearby a sign reads, “Bathing is mixed-gender, and swimwear is optional.”

 

And here lies my dilemma.  I’ve brought my bathing suit. There’s a small changing room.  I can certainly put my swim trunks on and play it conservative.  When in Japan, though, shouldn’t I do as the Japanese do and get naked?  Heck, I’m an adult – I’m okay with my body.   Why not make like a local and jump on in!

 

“But what if women and children show up?”  What then?

 

 

The Japanese word for pervert is “sukebe.”  Visions of jail cells flash through my head.  I do NOT want to be sukebe in Japan, no siree Bob.

 

In the end, I don my swimsuit.

 

Ikenoyu Onsen (and its nearby sister pool, Kotan Onsen) are part of the Mashu Kussharo Trail.  Free to enter, the two hot pools abut the lake, affording stunning views of both water and nearby mountains.   Slightly alkaline, the mineral-rich water feels silky and smooth to the touch—easing a myriad of aches and pains.

 

This outdoor onsen has a practical application as well. Back in the day, the indigenous people of this area – the Ainu – would use the warm water for soaking Manchurian elm bark.  The extracted fibers from the inner bark were then used for making the thread they used to weave their kimono-like outer tunics.

 

Could I have gone commando at lake Kussharu?   Yeah, probably.  Behavior in Japan is highly fluid. What’s inappropriate in one setting is completely okay in other settings.  “Call it situational morality.”

 

I’m glad I played it safe, though.   I’m much rather be “hazukashii” then “sukebe.”

 

(Whether or not you “go native” on a trip is very much a personal decision.  I’ve eaten whale and raw horse on trips to Japan – actions I never would have taken back at home.  I’ve consumed the infamous blowfish sashimi (fugu), a fish so poisonous that, if prepared incorrectly, it can kill you in minutes.   By and large, my motto has always been – if the locals are doing it, it’s probably okay.  Having grown more conservative over the years, however, I’m not sure if I would do half the crazy stuff I did in my youth.   I will say this:  we should always try to look at foreign customs with non-judgmental eyes.  Things are rarely black or white, right or wrong —they’re just different.  As much as possible, we should try to respect the local traditions and when appropriate, take part. But as adults, as humans, we’re also allowed to express our boundaries and decline participation.   Whatever you decide, do it with grace and respect.   And try not to be “hazukashii.”)

Have you ever arrived in a location and exclaimed, “This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before?”  It’s a magical feeling, isn’t it?   It happened to me at Pagan, Myanmar.  At the Taj Mahal in Agra, India.  At Durbar Square in Kathmandu, Nepal.  Time again, I was unmoored from the familiar, transported to a place beyond my powers of imagining.

 

Although I relish these “wow,” pinch-me moments, they aren’t all that common.  More often than not, you arrive somewhere and say, “Hey, this place reminds me of so-and-so.”  And that’s okay too. Part of the reason I enjoy travel so much is for the discovery of commonalities.

 

Such was my experience at Sounkyo, a beautiful gorge in central Hokkaido that is the spitting image of Yosemite National Park in central California.

 

The gorge, itself, is 12 miles long.   A part of Daisetsuzan National Park, the gorge is known for its towering cliffs, beautiful waterfalls and autumn colors.  It’s a place to hike, to take a dip in a hot spring (onsen), to get away from it all.

 

And my gosh, it looks SO much like Yosemite!   Here you find majestic, granite cliffs with not one but TWO wonderful waterfalls tumbling and rumbling down from on high:  Ginga (Milky Way) Falls and Ryusei (Shooting Star) Falls.  Lush, green trees and bushes abound, while an idyllic, wandering river captures the spray and beckons for a summer swim.

 

In my opinion, the Sounkyo Gorge is one of the most beautiful spots in all of Hokkaido, Japan’s main land mass.  And remarkably, not that many people seem to know about it.

 

Ninety percent of travelers to Japan head for the “Golden Route” on the island of Honshu:  Tokyo, Mt. Fuji, Kyoto and Osaka.  I say, leave the crowds behind and come on up to Hokkaido! In an unfamiliar place like this, you might just find something wonderfully familiar.

 

(I once had a friend who tended to view everything from her own perspective.   In other words, when I’d say, “I went to the library today,” she wouldn’t ask, “Oh, what book did you pick up?” She’d reply, “I’m going to the library tomorrow.”  She wasn’t trying to outdo me; she just processed things from her own experience.   To some extent, I think we all do this.  While many of us try to take an interest in other peoples’ opinions and viewpoints, most of are primarily interested in how WE experience something.   “How is this similar or relevant to my life?”

 

I observe this a lot when traveling with friends.  “Oh, this shop is just like one we have in my hometown.  That statue is exactly like the one in our local museum.  This soup tastes just like the one my mom used to make!”  It used to bother me. “Stop comparing!!!”   But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to respect the drive to find commonalities.  Sure, this shop, this statue, that food are different and unique.  But it’s also important to notice and appreciate that all cultures are part of the human race.  As much as we’re all different in a variety of ways, we’re also bonded by our similarities—our suffering, our impermanence, our humanity.)

 

A fun place to hold a team building activity in Napa

Event Description: During this treasure hunt adventure, you’ll solve clues on the property of the lovely Meritage Resort

Location History:

Opened in July 2006, the Meritage Resort and Spa is a premier, 322-room luxury destination in Napa Valley managed by Pacific Hospitality Group (PHG). Known for its unique underground spa (Spa Terra) and vineyard setting, it underwent a major $25 million renovation in 2022–2024 to modernize rooms and dining. The resort features extensive meeting spaces and the Crush Ultra Lounge.  In short, it’s a beautiful property, with lots of public art and history that make for great treasure hunting!

During your hunt:  Expect to encounter…a birds’ eye view of the nearby vineyards…a picture of the pontiff…a beautiful wine door…a classic guitar….a mural of palm trees and much, much more.

 

Not every corporate team building program is the same.  Depending on your group, your focus may be integrating new people into the team and breaking down personal boundaries and divisions.    Or you may have an existing department where teams could, with a little practice, cooperate and communicate more smoothly across teams and divisions.  Or you might simply have a group that thrives on the use of technology.    Let Dr. Clue customize your hunt program by selecting the content focus that best matches your group and your needs.

 

Itinerary

Gather in or outside the main lobby

Choose from three hunt programs:

• • 90 minutes
  • 2 hours
  • 2.5 hours

See all of our Bay Area corporate team building events.