Poetry
It's easy to understand how do Japanese people get so poetic about everything, once you hit rural Japan. Our trip brought us to the small village of Ainokura, part of the Gokayama heritage village triangle. A rustic local tourism attraction with villagers keeping true to the Japanese tradition.
Yomoshiro seemed to be the secret code. It is the name of the local Ryokan where we intended to stay. Obviously showing up without reservation, made us miss the fine detail that the joint is closed...
The name Yomoshiro however, made the guard at the gate bow deep and let us through the pedestrian street, on the bike, without pay.
Once we found Mr Yomoshiro's place, a small village gathering helped explain to us that we are out of luck. With help of the iPhone, we asked for alternate accommodation, and found a less prominent but all the same comfortable alternative Ryokan, across the street.
An hour into our stay, an eclectic group of Japanese youth and an older man, joined us and took over the rest of the house. Things were awkward for a short while and when the ice broke, we had newly found friends.
The fact that we had iPad's with us took the friendship to new heights.
Food was served at 6:30 promptly. It was as elaborate as with the previous Ryokan, but not as expensive in ingredients. Collection of plates on a small tray. My favorite assortment of Daikon, Bamboo shoots and Cucumber pickles included. All crunchy and slightly sour. Just right.
One plate had a grilled Char that has been prepared while we were waiting, on a fire pit in the middle of the room.
The Inn owner artfully laced them on a bamboo skewer and arranged in a circle around the flaming hot charcoal.
The food was delicious. The house treated us to a delicacy, a large soup bowl filled with warm Sake and the last grilled Char, that has been passed around for people to sip from. A communal sake .Bowl with BBQ fish? What a concept.
Back to Poetry talk. Oos an Aahs were expressed with every bite from our Japanese friends. The fragrance of the rice, the taste of the soup and delicious fish where all acknowledged and discussed. After dinner, the older guest, a journalist for a Tokyo paper who rode in on a Honda CBR, invited us all to a stroll along the main drag of the village. There again, the reflection of the houses in the rice fields and moon shining through the clouds, were discussed and admired.
The group didn't know each other before today. They gathered through a tweet of one of them, saying they ad going to Gokayama for the night, and if anyone wanted to join. We were just bystanders.
Off to a good tatami and Futon night. We were so tired, we went to bed at 9.
