A Tale of Two Islands, Sherkin and Cape Clear

June 19, 2025 Marie Noonanadventure, beaches, Cape Clear, hiking, ireland, islands, nature, Sherkin, travel, West Cork3 Comments

There’s something appealing about visiting islands. Maybe it’s the isolation, the idea of ‘getting away from it all’, the rugged beauty of most islands or the desire to experience a simpler rhythm of life based on sea and tide. Ireland has a plethora of islands scattered about its coast, more than eighty in total with about twenty of them inhabited.

A few years ago, we pledged to visit all of them, or at least the inhabited ones, and we have been slowly ticking them off our list. Last year, we visited Tory, Ireland’s most northerly, inhabited island and last week, we went in the opposite direction towards Sherkin Island and Cape Clear, Ireland’s southernmost inhabited island.

The carpark near the pier in Baltimore was surprisingly full, mainly of small elderly cars. The crew member on the Ferry to Sherkin explained that many islanders keep a car on the pier so that the car park is packed even in the depths of winter when there isn’t a visitor to be seen. The ferries to both islands depart from Baltimore (and during the summer months, there are also sailings from Schull to Cape Clear).

Baltimore is a picturesque village facing a sheltered harbour with pubs, a grocery store, a Michelin restaurant, spotless public toilets and shower facilities but it has a terrifying history. In 1631, Algerian pirates raided this quiet village and carried off about one hundred and forty inhabitants, dragging them from their beds. These poor unfortunates were sold into slavery in the Ottoman Empire. The survivors were so traumatized and frightened that they fled upriver to establish the town of Skibbereen. ( Rte did a fabulous radio documentary on this years ago, From Baltimore to Barbary: The Village that Disappeared). Sipping drinks in glorious sunshine outside Bushe’s pub, this event seems unimaginable.

The roll on, roll off cargo ferry to Sherkin was old and rusty but the journey wasn’t long, merely a ten minute trip from Baltimore. The cost was relatively expensive at €15 a head for a return journey and we discovered later that the price of ferrying a vehicle was an eye-watering €100 with prior booking essential as there is only space for one vehicle at a time. Apart from us, there was three British sisters and a brother (all in their sixties) who were holidaying in Ireland and visiting a friend on the island for the day, a few other day trippers and two island women with bulging shopping bags, obviously returning from a grocery shop on the mainland as there’s no shops on the island.

Arriving in Sherkin, we were met by the imposing landmark of the well-preserved ruins of the Franciscan Friary rising out of the mists. It sits on a slight incline overlooking the harbour and was built back in 1460 by local chieftain Fineen (Florence) O’Driscoll and seems to whisper tales of a bygone era of prayers and bloodshed. In 1537 the citizens of Waterford burned the building in retaliation for acts of piracy (intercepting and stealing boatloads of wine) by the O’Driscolls. Despite the damage, it continued to function until 1650, when it was confiscated by Cromwellian soldiers. The friary then passed into the hands of the Beecher family, prominent landlords of the island until it was handed over to the OPW in 1895. But the graveyard has remained the traditional burial ground of the island with recent additions among the moss-covered headstones. Quite a few Florence O’Driscoll’s, descendants of the original chieftain, have found their resting place here.

A small bus meets all the ferries at the pier and we availed of it to take us to our accommodation in North Shore which was only about a forty minute walk away but we were carrying bags for our two-night stay. Sherkin is a small, relatively flat island of narrow, winding roads with verges filled with colourful wildflowers, foxglove, ferns, purple loosestrife and fuchsia. We drove past isolated houses dotted along the landscape, a few herds of cows, a tidal lake with a ‘Free Palestine’ banner, fluttering in the middle and a community centre which housed an impressive art exhibition.

We were welcomed in North Shore with gorgeous sea-views, coffee and delicious homemade brownies by Daniel. The North Shore complex has a huge variety of accommodation – camping, bell tents, glamping pods and cabins. There’s a sauna and a well-equipped communal kitchen. We stayed in an ensuite room with a bunk bed and a single bed which was quite basic and a shower with scalding hot water, so hot it was almost impossible to stand under. Apart from a few Airbnb, North Shore is the main place to stay on the island and is the venue for an annual Electronic music festival. For the last few years, the island hotel has been occupied by Ukrainians who have been welcomed into the community, swelling the island population from about 110 to 165.

As we hadn’t brought any food supplies with us and there was nowhere to buy anything on the island, we ate our evening meals in North Shore on both evenings. These homecooked meals were generous, plentiful and delicious. Heaped platters of food were passed around a table we shared with an American woman travelling around Ireland and a couple of tradesmen from Cork who were doing insulation work on an old island house. Desserts were made by a Ukrainian pastry chef , mouth-watering lemon drizzle cake and baked cheesecake. North Shore does not sell alcohol and as the only pub on the island called the Jolly Rodger, was closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, we watched in envy as the Cork tradesmen drank beer with their dinner. They had gone over to Baltimore for some cans having endured a ‘dry’ night the evening before. So take note if you like to have a drink and bring your own.

Breakfast was equally enjoyable – bowls of fruit, yogurt, smoothies, pancakes, homemade bread and sausages and rashers, enough to fuel us until dinner time. We spent our days on the island walking and wandering in mild misty conditions, sometimes the sea disappeared completely, hiding in the greyness. The beaches on Sherkin were gorgeous, especially Silver Strand which was sandy, clear-watered and completely deserted. Everywhere there was the sound of lapping of water and occasionally the hum of the ferry in the distance. A dog on a little rocky inlet wanted us to throw stones into the water for him to fetch. In some ways, it was not really like being on an island because the mainland was so near and there was a myriad of small islands in every direction.

On our third morning, we awoke to blue skies, birdsong and sunshine. All the greys of the previous days had transformed to bright blues. The waters of Roaring Water Bay were tranquil and quiet as we travelled back to Baltimore to catch a ferry to Cape Clear Island. It isn’t possible to travel directly from Sherkin to Cape Clear.

The Cape Clear boat was bigger, newer and shinier than the Sherkin ferry. The thirteen kilometer journey takes about 45 minutes, depending on weather and tide and costs €20 return. Cape Clear Island is slightly larger than Sherkin and although they are alike in many respects and have a similar population, they are also very different – more like cousins than sisters. Cape Clear, or Oileán Chléire is a Gaeltacht area with an Irish College which brings lots of young students during the summer months. It is mountainous with dramatic cliffs and walks that wind through hillsides of gorse and bracken, giving dramatic views of the rocky coastline and the seemingly unending and restless sea. We could see the white surf swirling around the iconic Fastnet Rock in the distance and would have liked to take a Fastnet Tour but there is a restricted schedule in operation in June and the times didn’t suit us. A little away from the harbour on Cape Clear stood a stone memorial, etched with eighteen names, the victims of the Fastnet Yacht Race in 1979 which ended in such tragic loss of life.

There’s more industry on Cape Clear with three pubs, a grocery shop, a gift shop and a gin factory. A goat farm on an almost vertical hillside sells ice cream and goat burgers while a herd of goats and kids scampered into an open sided shed when the sunshine disappeared and it started to rain.

Our visit to Cape Clear was short, only a day-trip so we didn’t experience any of the accommodation but there were signs for BnB’s, the pub advertised rooms and a hillside was dotted with yurts. We met a retired British couple who were spending their summers sailing around Europe and a weathered Scottish man from the Hebrides who was sailing a tiny boat. Apparently there is no charge for mooring craft on the island which naturally attracts sailors.

We have really enjoyed ‘our few days of getting away from it all’ and would love to return and do a Fastnet tour sometime. It really was a gorgeous experience, exploring both islands.

Mexico: Highlights

March 21, 2025May 3, 2025 Marie Noonanadventure, art, food, photography, roadtrip, travelLeave a comment

Mexico is beautiful, an enormous country (about 23 times the size of Ireland) with something to enchant every visitor – palm-fringed beaches, red-sand deserts, lush jungles, mountain ranges, coastlines along the turquoise Caribbean Sea, the blue Pacific Ocean and of course the Gulf of Mexico as well as a plethora of archaeological ruins, colourful colonial towns and world-renowned holiday resorts.

Despite all that, the question that we were asked most often about Mexico, and especially when we said that we were hiring a car and driving around was ‘Is it safe?’

In our five weeks of meandering around the Southern part of Mexico in a big loop through the flat Yucatan Peninsula, mountainous Chiapas and Oaxaca and back along the Gulf Of Mexico to return to Cancun, we never felt unsafe. Along the way, we met three German woman in their seventies who were driving around and their only ‘trouble’ was a puncture when they hit a speed bump. We chatted to a Dutch retired couple, who were doing a similar loop to ourselves, who told us that one late afternoon, just before dark, their car broke down on a lonely road. They had run out of petrol but they didn’t realise that at first because the petrol gauge was faulty. Locals stopped to help them, figured out what was wrong and refused to take the money as payment for their help.

Mexico was such a riot of colour, sounds and smells that we came away with a dizzying kaleidoscope of images and memories. It’s difficult to whittle down our experiences to a few highlights but here is a selection of the highs…… and lows.

Hiking in the Villages above the Clouds. This was our stand-out experience, partly because of the stunning, high-altitude scenery in the Sierra Norte with caves, canyons and forests of fragrant pine but also because of the friendliness and enterprising nature of the Zapotec, an indigenous people who live there. The villagers came together to form a successful eco-tourism company, Expediciones Sierra Norte, which specialises in guiding visitors along the trails that link these mountain villages. It was a true lesson on the power of community. The villages, although remote, were more prosperous than many others that we have seen in Mexico.

**Above the Clouds, Sierra Norte, Oaxaca**

Swimming in Cenotes in the Yucatan. We had never heard of cenotes until we arrived in Mexico. They are natural pools formed by the dissolving of the limestone bedrock over time to form a series of caves and sinkholes. The ancient Maya regarded them not only as a source of water but as sacred portals to the underworld. There was certainly something otherworldly about Cenote 7 Bocas (The Seven Mouths) which was our first experience of a cenote. This cenote was a series of underground pools with seven different access points. We swam from cave to cave as the first five caves were connected by tunnels. The water was the most mesmerising shades of jade and turquoise, especially when the sunshine poured in from above, creating rippling shadows on the surface of the water, the roofs of the caves and the many stalagmites and stalactites. Magical.

The Warmth of the Weather in February and the first week of March in Southern Mexico was glorious. We got one heavy thunderstorm that lasted about 30 minutes in our first week but apart from that it was wall-to-wall sunshine with daytime temperature of between 30 and 35C and nighttime temperature between 22C and 29C (cooler in the mountains). These are ‘wintertime’ temperatures in Mexico which can begin to climb in April to 40C or more. The rain during the summer months usually increases the humidity making it feel hot, sticky and uncomfortable. Flying to Mexico via Toronto, we went from cool drizzle at home to a snowy, freezing Toronto onto ‘shorts and T-shirts’ Mexico with blindingly blue skies, lush jungle and the warm turquoise waters of the Caribbean.

Palenque. In a country where all roads lead to ruin, at least to archaeological ruins, Palenque was our favourite. We walked around the Mayan site in sunshine listening to the howler monkeys (living up to their name in the surrounding jungle), and tried to imagine the building complexes as they would have been fifteen hundred years ago when they were painted a blood-red colour with elaborate red and blue stucco details.

In the excellent museum, we saw a replica of the sarcophagus of the Red Queen which was only discovered in 1994. The Red Queen got her name because of the bright red dust made of cinnabar (a red mineral made of mercury and sulphur) that covered her skeleton when she was discovered. She was also buried with two servants and copious amounts of jade and pearls.

Despite all the grandeur, the site was abandoned, possibly due to deforestation and feuds with neighbouring tribes, and soon swallowed by the jungle and concealed for centuries.

The Birds along the Gulf of Mexico. Driving along by the Gulf, we were accompanied by flocks of pelicans, ducking and diving or sometimes just sitting on the timber poles of jetties, their wings folded and their eyes never still or flying in formation at dusk.

Celestun was mainly a sleepy, sunbaked fishing village, sandwiched between a large lagoon and the turquoise waters of the Gulf of Mexico but it had one great attraction. The combination of salt water from the Gulf and fresh water from the estuary made it a perfect habitat for flamingos and waterfowl. The flamingos were beautiful blobs of colour, wadding and feeding in the shallow waters. The birds get pinker with age as their plumage turned a bright rose-orange colour from their diet of shrimp, tiny crustaceans and seeds. Their only predators were the alligators which were plentiful, snoozing at the water’s edge near the mangroves and doing a great imitation of fallen logs.

The Food especially the Tacos. Mexico’s cuisine is as vibrant as its scenery, with bold and spicy flavours, the use of fresh ingredients such as avocado, tomatoes, chillies and corn. There was liberal garnishes of coriander (cilantro) and wedges of lime came with everything. We loved the tacos which were cheap , plentiful and widely available and the black bean pastes which were usually accompanied by a crumbly white cheese. In Oaxaca, baskets of roasted grasshoppers were for sale on every street corner, a source of protein since the time of the Aztecs.

San Christobel de Las Casas (San Chris) The drive from Palenque was only about five and a half hours but there were worrying reports online about the safety of the roads leading to the town. The main risk was road closures because the Zapatistas, an indigenous political activist group in the state of Chiapas, sometimes blocked roads to highlight their grievances to the government. Locals reassured us that the journey was quite safe as long as we drove during daylight hours and we gave ourselves plenty of time. It was a beautiful drive with stupendous vistas of mountains, houses dotted in the valleys and pretty villages. Soon we were smelling the pine from the towering forests surrounding San Chris, which sits at an altitude of 2200 metres in the Los Altos region of Chiapas. It was a colonial town of cobbled streets, fresh mountain air, church bells and good restaurants….and it was also festooned with hearts and ribbons for Valentine’s Day. We arrived, entirely by accident, in the most romantic town in the whole of Mexico

Celebration Margaritas. Mexico is also the salty taste of a margarita cocktail. We drank quite a few but the best was in La Estancia, a hotel in San Chris which had a relaxed elegance and was easily the best ‘value for money’ accommodation on our entire trip. We had to celebrate Valentine’s Day with a margarita toast in one of the hotel’s enclosed courtyards, full of flowering plants and fountains.

Sunrise Swims in Mazunte. Mazunte was a small seaside town on the Pacific Coast between two beaches, an east facing one for sunrise and the other with spectacular sunsets. Small hotels, bungalows and thatched cabanas stretched up into the hills, half-hidden among the coconut trees and the flowering shrubs.. We stayed in a very unusual place, an architecturally designed cabana, angled to catch the breeze and stay cool without air-con. It had a series of sliding shutters but was open on all sides so we could hear the squirrels scampering in the trees outside and the sound on the waves breaking on the beach down the road. Usually people ambled around in a heat haze but early morning was the special time when the beach was empty except for a few stray dogs, the air was warm, the water turned rose-gold and whales swam past on the horizon.

Fiesta Time. Although our time in Mexico didn’t coincide with any major festival, there always seemed to be a celebration going on somewhere, usually with drumming bands, car horns blaring, sequined dancers, clapping and shouting. During the parades, many of the people squashed into the back of jeeps, threw sweets, lollipops and fluorescent crisps to the clapping crowds. Mexicans loved to party and the noisier the better.

And for a few lows……

The Roads. Although many roads in the southern part of Mexico were quite good and there was a phenomenal number of roadworks in progress, there were also pot-holes big enough to swallow a car. The biggest danger was the huge number of speed bumps on a lot of roads. Dappled sunlight and shadows made them almost impossible to see during the day and we were airborne a few times. Between the potholes and the speed bumps, driving at night in Mexico is not recommended. In some areas, there can be also at risk of robbery after dark although we did not meet anyone who had been robbed or harmed in any way.

Although there were lots of different cars in Mexico, Volkswagens Beetles were a common sight……the genuinely old ones in all colours and states of repair.

The Snake. Caoimhin had a close encounter with a snake while we were walking in the Sierra Norte. He actually stepped on the snake and I’m not sure which of them got the biggest fright. The snake jumped into the air and disappeared in the scrub, while Caoimhin yelped and also leapt in the air.

The Obesity Problem

It was obvious that Mexico has a severe obesity problem. Ireland has the same issue but it was much worse in Mexico, based on empirical evidence. I don’t know the statistics nor the cause but some parts of Mexico have the distinction of drinking more Cola than anywhere else in the world. It has become so much part of the culture that many life events are celebrated by toasting with Coke Cola and in some of the indigenous ceremonies, it has replaced the original ‘moonshine’ drinks.

There is an attempt to tackle the problem with food labelling, with crisps and sweets carrying nutritional warnings on the front of the packets.

Mexico pulled us in as soon as we arrived with its vibrant intensity, a place with a zest for life and a celebration of death, a place where even the cemeteries are brightly painted and often decorated with flashing fairy lights.

Hasta Luego, Amigos

Thanks for reading🥰🥰🌄

Mexico: Completing the Loop

March 15, 2025March 15, 2025 Marie Noonanchichen-itza, mexico, travel, valladolid, Yucatan1 Comment

**Our Big Loop, starting and ending in Cancun**

Time in Mexico flew by and we found ourselves back in the Yucatan driving away from the Gulf of Mexico (definitely still called that), heading inland towards Cancun to complete the last part of our large loop.

Swallows flew around the quadrangle flanked on all sides by the ruins of ancient monuments. Bats were hanging upside down in the dark recesses of the buildings while giant iguanas snoozed on the hot stones. We were in Uxmal, another archaeological site where most of the buildings dated from the seventh to tenth century AD and were unlike anything that we had seen before now. Many of the buildings were decorated with intricate bas reliefs and were arranged in several quadrangles around immense plazas, some linked by beautiful arched passageways. It had an almost modern feel and was undoubtedly a well-planned city with an orientation along astrological lines.

The massive pyramid, known as the Pyramid of the Magician, was really impressive because of its huge size, considerable height and steep slopes but the myth surrounding it was also pretty interesting. Legend told of a magic dwarf, who hatched from a turtle egg and was raised by a childless witch. Through a series of tasks and challenges, the dwarf outwitted and overthrew the sovereign of Uxmal to become the ruler and used his magic to build the massive pyramid as his palace, building it in one night.

Uxmal is in a dry arid region without rivers or springs so its wasn’t surprising that the most revered god was the rain god, Chaac, often depicted with a human body covered in scales and a fac with protruding fangs, He held both a lightening axe and snakes that he threw at the clouds to bring storm and rain. Apparently he had a voracious appetite but could be appeased in times of drought by human sacrifice. Despite the lurid tales, Uxmal was an interesting and meditative place, relatively quiet with just a few people meandering around.

It was a different story when we visited Chichen Itza the following day. In a country with a plethora of archaeological sites, this is one of the ‘big guns’, an UNESCO heritage sire since 1988 and regarded as one of the world’s best preserved archaeological sites. We had been warned to go early as it was really popular. As we approached the site shortly before eight o clock, we were greeted by the strange sight of a long line of people pushing carts loaded with boxes and bags as if they were refugees, fleeing with all their worldly goods. These were just the stall vendors making their way into Chichen Iza for the 8am opening.

Most of the tour buses hadn’t arrived yet but the queues were long and chaotic and we soon discovered why. The total price was a hefty 671 pesos per person (about €33) but 100 pesos of this was government tax and had to be paid at a separate window which wasn’t clearly marked. Only cash was accepted so people were counting out cash and then leaving the queues to find an ATM when they didn’t have enough.

Chichen Itza was a mixture of fascinating history and commercial tourist trap and definitely the most crowded place that we visited. Hundreds of vendors lined the site selling all sorts of souvenirs, hats, blankets and pyramid replicas as well as jewelry and soft drinks. Just a flicker of an eye in the direction of a stall was enough to make the sellers pounce.

The site was occupied for thousands of years but was a major power between 800 and 1200 AD. The giant pyramid, El Castilla, a huge stepped pyramid dominated the site. At sunrise at the spring and autumn equinox, an interplay of light and shadow gives the impression of the body of a rattlesnake slithering down the giant balustrades of the pyramids, becoming reunited with the stone serpent’s head at the bottom. That must be an extraordinary sight. The Maya were really in tune with the skies, with an extremely accurate solar calendar and their ability to integrate astronomy into the architecture of their temples and monuments.

**Chichen Itza and the Slithering Rattlesnakes**

Sweat was dripping down my back and my left arm was turning a tomato shade of red from the sun as we made our way towards the exit after our three hour visit. My right arm ached from carrying an umbrella for shade. A small umbrella is one of the most useful things I pack when we go away, good for sun or rain but the strong sun in Chichen Itza required the shade of a giant parasol. Pushing against the throngs of people arriving, we were glad we had gone there but absolutely delighted to leave this hot, overcrowded World Heritage site.

We spent our last few nights in Valladolid, a colonial town of churches and history, about a forty-five minute drive from the madness of Chichen Itza, staying on the outskirts of town, in a hacienda which had a swimming pool and even its own chapel on the grounds. This was a perfect place to escape the heat and relax. We tried not to complain too much about the 35C temperatures as we would soon be at home.

**Church on the grounds of the Hacienda**

The walking tour of the Valladolid took us from the church in the main plaza to the Convent of San Bernadino, an imposing structure and one of the oldest examples of colonial heritage in the Yucatan. We sat on the stone wall on a balmy evening watching a sound and light show recreate the history of the building and town in a series of images on the stout walls.

**Convento de San Bernadino, Vallodolid**

Our last night was spent in downtown Cancun. Although we had flown into Cancun almost five weeks previously on a late flight, we had stayed near the airport, which is south of the city, and then continued on further south the following morning. So this was our first visit to Cancun. It was unlike any other place that we had been in Mexico. It was large and sprawling with two distinct areas. A wide six-lane boulevard connected the more traditional downtown with the hotel area (Zona Hotelera,) which looked as if it had been built – or at least expanded – in the last ten years. A long row of palm trees ran down the middle of the boulevard with enormous hotels nestling among trees and flowering bushes on either side. Driving over a causeway, we caught a glimpse of the Caribbean sea and some beaches and understood why it was such a popular destination. The water was a sparkling turquoise and the sand was talcum-powder pale. Rows of gleaming yachts were moored at a jetty. It was a place made for holidaymakers. We stayed in a comfortable but slightly shabby apartment in the downtown area with parking on the street outside and some nice restaurants nearby.

We meet up with a Mexican friend, Diana, who we first met in Colombia this time last year and who visited us in Waterford last July for a few days. It was a lovely evening. Drinking our margaritas and eating our shrimp and veg tacos which were garnished with succulent avocados and sharp limes, in a buzzy local bar, full of noise and music, we knew we were going to miss Mexico.

Our last morning was bright and sunny, another beautiful day. Dropping back the car, we hoped that all would be well. When we had picked up the car, we had gone for the basic mandatory insurance despite the efforts of the person in the Alamo Car Rental Office to persuade us to get a lot more cover. It had been airborne over the dreaded ‘invisible’ speed-bumps a couple of times and it was covered in a fine layer of dust but it passed all checks and our deposit was returned. The cost for thirty-three days was €555 which was pretty good value. We opted for the ‘mystery’ compact model when reserving online and mystery turned out to be a very roomy Nissan X-Trail

The flight from Cancun to Washington was short, less than three hours on United Airways followed by an overnight flight to Dublin, which took about seven hours, arriving on a sunny but cold morning. Five degrees was a shock to our systems.

Thanks to all who came along with us, or dipped in and out….we enjoyed your company.

When we’ve had a chance to think about our dizzying kaleidoscope of memories, I will do another post on the highlights …and low lights ….of our roadtrip around just a small part of this fabulous, energetic country

Chichen Itza Pillars

Mexico: Then and Now

March 1, 2025March 1, 2025 Marie Noonancommunity, eco tourism, hiking, indigenous people, mexico, oaxaca, retirement, scenery, sierre norte, south America, travel, Zapotec2 Comments

**Village of Cuajimoloyas, Sierra Norte @ 3200m**

Inhaling clear air, we felt slightly dizzy from the altitude at 3100m and the breathtaking scenery of pine-clad forests. The distant tinkling of bells, worn around the necks of goats and sheep, drifted upwards on a light breeze. We could have been in some Alpine town in Switzerland but this wasn’t Europe, it was the Sierre Norte, a mountain range in the Oaxaca region of Southern Mexico. The idea to visit this remote village was planted in our minds only two days before when we visited Mount Alban, an impressive archaeological site which overlooked the colonial city of Oaxaca.

Mexico is full of history. There are archeological sites everywhere especially in the southern part of the country in the states of Oaxaca, Chiapas and the Yucatan. Most of these went through the same cycle of growth, decline and abandonment, many becoming ‘lost’ for centuries.

We wondered what happened to the people who built these fabulous monuments as we strolled around the sunbaked ruins of the Zapotec capital at Mount Alban. These were built on the Hill of the Jaguar, a mountaintop that was deliberately flattened to create room for the vast site which kept unfolding and becoming more impressive as we walked. The temple complexes, the enormous Gran Plaza, the mysterious carvings and the extraordinary astronomical observatory told of great wealth, prestige and domination over a huge area but it was abandoned in about 800AD after about 1300 years of occupation.

The Zapotec people hadn’t completely disappeared. The descendants of those who built the metropolis of Mount Alban were living in mountain villages, less than a two hour drive from Oaxaca and so we decided to visit. Travelling into the cloud-forested mountains of the Sierra Norte on a bright sunny morning, we reached the high altitude pueblo of Cuajimoloyas (I still have difficulty pronouncing it) where we were supposed to pick up a guide for a hike in the mountains.

‘You have arrived’ said Goggle. Looking around, we got that sinking feeling. We were outside a boarded up house with no sign of a guide or anyone else and no phone signal to make contact with anyone. The village was larger than expected, sprawling up a hillside with well-kept houses, trimmed verges, flowers and virtually no rubbish . We drove in circles until we spotted an elderly man, leaning on a walking stick who pointed his stick towards the office of Expediciones Sierra Norte, an eco-tourism company which is entirely Zapotec owned and operated. A smiling Andres, a thirty year old who has lived in the village all his life, was sitting on a bench outside the office, not in the least perturbed by our late arrival.

Arrangements for our 2 day hike were made in Oaxaca in the city-centre office of Expediciones Sierra Norte, housed in a shady colonial building. The office was manned by four young women, all charming but there was little bargaining in terms of price. When we discovered that having an English speaking guide doubled the cost of the two day/ one night trip from roughly €230 to over €400, Caoimhin joked with Janet, who was an English speaking guide that he wanted her job. She protested, saying that she didn’t earn that much but only received a amall portion. There weren’t any English speaking guides available anyway for the days we wanted, so we opted for a Spanish -speaking guide.

To our surprise Andres greeted us in English and welcomed us to the village but we soon discovered that that was almost the extent of his English. The village was remote but certainly not primitive. The toilet block opposite the Expediciones Office was new and had a turnstile to get it that required a five peso coin.

Our hike started in the village of Llanes Grande famous for its flowers, especially an abundance of Red Hot Poker flowers. Andres picked up enormous sandwiches stuffed with cheese, tomatoes, cucumbers and black bean paste at one of the little comedors (restaurants) in the village for a picnic on the way. At the beginning we strolled on a soft carpet of pine needles through forests of towering pines, bordered by huge agave plants. Cattle grazed in open meadows and a couple of lakes were full of flickering trout. Andres stopped to explain the medicinal and culinary uses of many of the plants.

Climbing down into a steep gorge, we were dwarfed by walls of rock until we reached the cave known as the La Cuvee de la Iglesia, a mystical place of legends and phantom horses. Andres led us onwards to Cuajimoloyas where Senora Marlen plied us with so much food that we could hardly walk. We devoured fresh vegetable soup, quesadillas (cheese sandwiches), plates of fried potatoes, chilli mushrooms, green beans, frigoles, and tortillas garnished with limes, sliced avocados and picante sauces. The kitchen was lovely with a range of saucepans that were so colourful, I had kitchen utensil envy.

**Brightly coloured pans on a wood burner stove**

We bumped into Janet, the women from the office in Oaxaca, who lived in the village and discovered that Andres, our guide, was her husband. She persuaded him to guide us knowing that he had a few words of English. She invited us into her home and told us a bit more about the eco tourism company, Expediciones Sierra Norte. It began when eight remote Zapotec villages, (collectively called the Pueblos Mancomunados), came together to protect their land against developers and to provide themselves with a living from ecotourism. All profits are divided between the eight villages who decide individually how the money is spent. The idea of ‘service’ (unpaid voluntary work) is paramount to the success of the operation. One member of each family must do ‘service’, which may involve cleaning, painting or being the rotating president, chairperson and secretary which each of the individual villages have. There are rules and a code of practice and quarterly meetings

The village was a lesson on the power of community or what people can do when they come together. The villages, although remote were more prosperous than many others that we have seen in Mexico. There was an air of industry and friendliness and a palpable sense of pulling together.

The idea of community cooperation was not new to the Zapotec in the region. They had set up a logging company years before when developers were sniffing around the forests. It was moderately profitable but the eco-tourism venture has been spectacularly successful. Nowadays, they do not cut down trees but only use the dead wood or whatever falls naturally in the storms. We probed Janet, trying to get her to tell us stories of greed, jealousy and disharmony but she insisted that all was well and that everybody abided by the rules which benefited the whole community.

Our cabin for the night was a surprise, It was on the hill overlooking the town and exceeded our expectations with a fireplace, a comfortable double bed and some bunk beds. Sitting outside in the late afternoon, with sounds of goats and dogs barking floating up from the village below us, it was incredibly peaceful. A retired couple from New York were staying in the cabin next to us and were also really taken by the sense of community in the area.

It got cold in the mountains when the sun went down, dipping to almost zero. The cabin, though comfortable, was not well insulated. There were huge gaps under and over the door and the sides of the windows. After dinner one of the locals came in with an armful of timber logs and lit a huge wood fire in the fireplace using only a natural firelighter to start it (a piece of Colima bark). It was one of those fires where your front was roasting but your back was freezing but at least the bed was piled high with blankets.

Our second day’s hike was the stunning Canon del Coyote which was even more spectacular than the day before, involving a hike through caves and a scramble up on sheer rock to a mirador (a lookout point) with breathtaking views. We listened to an assortment of birds in the forest, hummingbirds, jays and warblers and at the lower levels passed steep fields of sheep and lambs.

The sensible thing to do after our hike would have been to return to Oaxaca city and use a relatively major roads through the valleys to get over the Sierra Juarez mountain range. Of course we didn’t do that. Instead we drove deeper into the mountains, winding our way on dirt roads in remote countryside. A stunning and grueling drive in equal measure, the dirt roads for the first hour passed through gorgeous villages. In one puebla, two of the most enormous turkeys I have ever seen, gobbled at the side of the road while in another an old woman with long plaited hair and no teeth gave us a cheery wave. For the most part, there was little traffic of any kind. We stopped at a Mirador to admire the view of the fluffy clouds laid out beneath us.

We weren’t quite so enamored when we were driving down through them a short while later. Visibility reduced to almost zero and the world became a thick opaque grey. It was almost impossible to distinguish road from verge on the twisty road. Thankfully the surface was reasonable and there wasn’t a lot of traffic. The mist and fog lightened every so often to reveal gigantic ferns and thick moss covered trees and we were fooled into believing that we almost down, only for it to thicken again and plunge us into grey again. It took almost an hour of white-knuckle crawling, but eventually we were below the clouds although we were still in the mountains and the temperatures rose.

After all that excitement and tension, we needed a place to stay. The town of San Juan Bautiste Valle National sounded like a bit of a mouthful but it was relatively close. It wasn’t the sort of place that had anything on Booking.com but it looked big enough on a map to have some hotels. Stopping for an ice cream and a look around, we found a friendly town, very friendly. Lots of men looked like they had been working hard all week in the fields, hadn’t had a shower in a long time and had been on a bender for a least two days. Two guys staggered out of the shop after shaking our hands, carrying bags of clinking cans. One got into a battered pick-up and the other ambled unsteadily to a motorbike. Both drove off, still waving to us. We decided to push on.

A little outside the town, we spotted a sign for Hotel Hniu Li, pointing down a little track off the highway. It looked good, a double story buildings with a breezy balcony on the edge of a field of maize with a few banana trees in front. There was no reception area but an old woman called to us from the doorway of a little shop on the corner. She told us that the room was 500pesos for the night( less than 25 euros), cash, with no signing registers or checking of passport. The room was small bit adequate, spotlessly clean but the bathroom was jaw-droppingly gorgeous, like something out of an upmarket spa, almost as big as the bedroom with polished stone walls and lashings of high-pressure hot water, It was perfect……just what we needed. A dog called Lala befriended us and the woman in the shop who sold beer but didn’t have any cold ones, put two in the freezer for us.

Cheers

Thanks for reading.

Mexico….Ruins and Ruinous Roads

February 15, 2025March 12, 2025 Marie Noonanadventure, archaeology, mexico, road trip. Chiapas, ruins, travel, Yucatan1 Comment

The first rain came in a violent downpour just after Ireland had beaten Scotland in the rugby match which we watched on the laptop in our little apartment in Bacalar, a little town just shy of the Belize border. It was still midmorning as Mexico is five hours behind Ireland. The morning had been warm, about 28^odegrees, but cloudier than usual so we weren’t too surprised when the heavens opened. The rain didn’t last long but increased the humidity.

We love the temperatures here in the Southern Yucatan. Although it can get a little uncomfortable in the afternoon especially if the sun is out, the evenings are gorgeous, long, balmy and perfect for eating outside. Most of the Mexicans especially in the ‘local’ area away from the lake where we were staying, had hammocks, plastic tables and chairs outside their houses, where they socialised in the evenings, usually with a few beers and some music….loud vibrant tunes.

Bacalar Lake is known as the Lagoon of Seven Colours (La Laguna de Los Siete Colores). It’s almost mandatory to take a boat trip out on the lake to fully appreciate it. We chose the sunset tour which was 3 hours on the lake visiting the pirates path, the island of the birds, and cenotes (underwater sinkholes that dramatically changed the colour of the water depending on the depth.) The sun slipped down behind the town, turning the lake-water golden. On the tour, we met three German women in their early seventies who were driving around Mexico for a couple of weeks and having a ball. The only problem they had encountered was a puncture which they acquired when they hit one of those invisible speed bumps. They spent their time on the boat, giggling and trying to get the perfect photos of each other, almost like far younger Instagram influencers.

Although our apartment was in the non-touristy ‘local’ area and a twenty minute walk away from the lake, it included free access to the Bacalar Tropic Beach Club which was one of a series of lakefront hotels and houses on the southern end of town. There was no ‘beach’ but there was a grassy area in front of the hotel with loungers, hammocks, swings and a multicoloured boardwalk – a great place to enjoy the lake.

Both of us lost our wedding rings years ago, Caoimhin’s in a swimming pool in Peru and mine in the sea in Tramore. We kept meaning to replace them but never got around to it. Wandering around the night market in Bacalar, we spotted rings that appealed to both of us, bands of various woods encased in silver. Although they weren’t typical wedding rings and we bought them from a market stall, Caoimhin says that he feels ‘really’ married again after more than thirty years of married life!!!. Our jeweller who was from Uruguay, but living in Mexico, recommended that we go to Palenque in Chiapas State for the scenery and the archaeological ruins. Our trip seemed to be evolving, based on recommendations from people along the way.

So we travelled across the Yucatan Province almost from coast to coast passing numerous roadworks and not much else. Again the road was long, straight in almost completely flat terrain. It was strange to see so many cherry blossom trees in flower especially as it is so much hotter than home. We stopped for an ice-cream at a garage shop but it melted almost before we could eat it.

Hotel Real Primavera Campeste was relatively expensive (€49 for the night) for a hotel that was really in the middle of nowhere but we needed somewhere to break the journey to Palenque. The hotel avenue was long and lined with trees, the gardens were landscaped and the rooms were spotlessly clean. It was a place that could accommodate a crowd but the only other residents were three men driving from Monterey in California to their home to Belize. They were also breaking their journey at the hotel. Apart from us, a flock of long-tailed Grackles made good use of the pool, dipping and diving at dusk

The countryside was still really flat the following morning until we reached Palenque, with its backdrop of mountains and its hilly streets. This time we booked into a hostel, which had a large pool, an outdoor kitchen and a ramshackle garden. Although everything was a little shabby, Alex, the proprietor and his father were friendly and welcomed us to Villas del Carmen Hostal. It was also pretty cheap at €22 a night for an ensuite room. Security seemed to be an issue in the area. We were a bit perplexed when the shop across the road, one of the Six convenience stores that were so common in Mexico, only served customers through shutters passing out the goods through vertical bars. We walked into town at dusk but the lighting was so bad and the pavements so cracked that we got a taxi back to prevent us from falling down a hole by the side of the road.

The Palenque Ruins opened at 8am and we were in the queue shortly afterwards. We paid a fee for the ruins and another to enter the National Park where the ruins were located. English speaking guides were available, most vying for our attention, especially as the number of visitors was quite low. The prices were fluid and bargaining was expected. We settled on Tito, a young Mayan who had good English and a nice manner teamed up with a French mother and son duo who were also looking for an English speaking tour.

This was our first Mayan site in Mexico and it was really impressive, with several clusters of enormous buildings, most of them with almost vertical stairways. The complex was surrounded by cedar, mahogany and sapodilla trees which provided shade for visitors, the locals selling crafts and the many birds. In the jungle beyond, howler monkeys were living up to their names and creating a racket. The site was all the more impressive because all the structures were built about one thousand, five hundred years ago with human sweat alone and without the use of the wheel or with machinery at all. The settlement flourished in the seventh century under the rule of Pakal, who lived until he was eighty years old which was a phenomenal age at the time. We walked around in sunshine listening to the monkeys, and tried to imagine the buildings as they would have been in Pakal’s time when they were painted a blood-red colour with elaborate red and blue stucco details. Magic mushrooms were reserved for the noble classes and we’re used in many Maya ceremonies as a means of communing with the gods and ‘waking up the mind.’ Mayan idea of beauty was totally different to ours, they favoured an elongated head and cross-eyes.

In the excellent museum, we saw a replica of the sarcophagus of the Red Queen which was only discovered in 1994 in a temple beside the large Temple of the Inscriptions where Pakal was laid to rest. The Red Queen is believed to be Pakal’s wife and she got her name because of the bright red dust made of cinnabar (a red mineral made of mercury and sulphur) that covered her skeleton when she was discovered. She was also buried with two servants and copious amounts of jade and pearls.

Despite all the grandeur, the site was abandoned, possibly due to deforestation and feuds with neighbouring tribes, and soon swallowed by the jungle and concealed for centuries. It is entirely probable that many more buildings are still hidden under the rampant growth. In some places away from the main clusters, fallen walls were covered in moss, just like any abandoned cottage in Ireland.

Our next stop was problematic. We wanted to visit Saint Christobel de las Casas, a beautiful colonial town in the mountains about a five and a half hour drive from Palenque but there were worrying reports about the safety of the roads leading to the town especially the Ruta 199 from Palenque. At the ruins, we met a young German couple who travelled in the opposite direction the day before without any hold-ups. Locals also said that the journey was quite safe as long as we drove during daylight hours and we gave ourselves plenty of time. The main risk was road closures. the Zapatistas, an indigenous political activist group in the state of Chiapas sometimes blocked roads to highlight their grievances to the government.

It was a beautiful, sunny morning as we packed up in Palenque and headed for the hills, feeling a little apprehensive. The distance between the towns of Palenque and San Christobell was only 210kms but Goggle Maps was giving us an estimated time of five hours and twenty minutes. At first traffic was heavy and soon we were climbing along winding steeps roads with curving bends in a convoy of trucks, minibuses and motorbikes. There were small herds of cattle grazing in the fields, maize growing everywhere, at the sides of the road and crawling up the vertical mountain sides. Children walked to school and women sat at roadside stalls, selling drums of diesel and petrol as there seemed to be no gas stations. It all seemed very normal, a beautiful drive with stupendous vistas of mountains, houses dotted in the valleys and pretty villages. Soon we relaxed although it was impossible to relax completely…but not because of bandits or protesters.

The biggest danger was the huge number of speed bumps on the roads. The dappled sunlight through the trees cast shadows on the road making it almost impossible to see them and there were very frequent and sometimes on blind bends. It was easier when we were travelling behind a vehicle as we had some warning as they braked.

Soon there was the smell of pine in the air from the towering forests as we approached San Christobel de las Casas. The town sits in a valley in the highlands of Chiapas in the Los Altos region at an altitude of 2200 metres. It was sunny but there was a tinge of coolness in the breeze even in the mid-afternoon which soon had us reaching for our jackets which we haven’t needed since we arrived in Mexico.

San Christobel was entirely different to any other Mexican town we have visited so far with its cobbled streets, pastel coloured houses and refreshing mountain air. There were churches on every corner, a baroque cathedral that was damaged by flood and earthquake, (the most recent earthquake was in 2017). Several long pedestrianised street were full of cafes, restaurants and high-end shops with hardly a broken pavement or litter anywhere.

Chiapas is one of the poorest state in Mexico with the highest concentration of indigenous people, about 40 % of the population being indigenous. Despite their high numbers, they feel marginalized The protests were about inequalities, discriminations, land rights and destruction of the environment . Like most disputes, it was complicated. For example, Coca Cola have a large factory on the outskirts of town but some believe that the production is detrimental to the environment and uses so much water that it changes the natural landscape. But the state of Chiapas drinks more coke than anywhere else on the planet. It is even incorporated into many of the ceremonies and rituals of the indigenous people, taking the place of the local moonshine, a drink called pox (pronounced ‘push’ which means ‘medicine’ in the local language.)

There was no sign of unrest or political activism on Valentine’s day. Love was in the air in the Central Plaza which was festooned with ribbons and hearts to celebrate the day.

We booked into La Estancia, a hotel in a central location. It didn’t look much from the outside, a green door in a low single story building but inside, it opened up into a series of courtyards full of plants, shady sitting areas and lots of rooms with balconies overlooking the courtyards. We were delighted with the luxury, 5 star accommodation at 2 star prices (€40 a night). They also had an offer of 2 cocktails for 140 pesos (about€7) which was something we availed of seeing as it was Valentines Day and we were now wearing matching wedding rings. There are tourists here but many are scared away by the simmering political tensions which probably explains the low prices.

**Our Hotel, San Cristobal de Las Casas**

Our next step will be to the neighbouring region of Oaxaca with beaches, another colonial city and trekking between villages in the mountains, But that’s for tomorrow. In the meantime we are enjoying luxury in the romantic city of San Christobel de las Casas, or San Chris as it’s known locally.

Till next time, thanks for reading.

**Cathedral , San Christobel de Las Casas**

Japan: Highs and Lows

November 30, 2024January 13, 2025 Marie Noonanamami-islands, asia, campervan, couples, hiking, holy mountains, japan, kyoto, kyushu, retirement, shikoku, tokyo, travel, Trekking, unplanned-travel, vanlife4 Comments

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Now that we are back home from our six-week trip in a campervan around fascinating Japan, it’s time to reflect on our experience. We flew into and out of Osaka and in between travelled a circuitous route in South Western Japan through the large islands of Sikoku and Kyushu, often changing course because of the weather. Japan is about five and a half times the size of Ireland but feels much bigger, stretching from within touching distance of Russia in the extreme north to islands in the East China Sea that almost nudge Taiwan.

I’ve included a dozen highlights but I could easily have included a dozen more. So here we go…..

Climbing a Holy Mountain .Japan is a mountainous, heavily-forested country with many sacred mountains but for us, the most special was Mt Hiko in Kyushu, a place where hundreds of years ago, white-clothed monks trained in strenuous physical activity, believing that this was the path to enlightenment. We hiked past countless, moss-shrouded shrines towards misty summits on a glorious Autumn day with the leaves dressed in their burgundy and golden finery. This was truly a spiritual experience especially as we seemed to be the only two people on the mountain. On the way, we also paid homage of the resilience of Onisugi, a huge cedar tree estimated to be around 1,200 years old.

Hell on Earth. Nagasaki could be in the category of lowlights but it belongs here in the highlights. We spent two days here, the first with torrential rain which felt like it might never stop and the second with skies so blue, it almost hurt our eyes. This was almost a metaphor for Nagasaki, a beautiful city which exuded a firm belief in hope and brighter days after tragedy. Visiting the Atomic Bomb Museum was harrowing, so harrowing that I don’t think our minds were able to comprehend the immensity of it all. I will just copy here an inscription on a bridge near the centre of devastation.

At 11,02am on August 9, 1945, an atomic bomb exploded in the skies over Matsuyama. The stream, Shimonakawa, flowing through the eastern part of the neighbourhood, was soon filled with the corpses of victims who died groping for a drink of water, or mortally burned and wounded, collapsed and perished there. A survivor who witnessed the scene the following day described it as follows. ‘I crossed the half destroyed Maysayama Bridge over Shimonakawa. There were so many corpses under it that they formed a dam in the stream. It was like a vision of the Apocalypse, a living hell on earth. Not a speck of cloud tainted the sky above, but the earth below was a panorama of carnage and destruction.’

Getting high on Mount Ishizuchi Mount Ishizuchi, the highest mountain in South Western Japan, was an entirely different experience to our Mt Hiko hike. We trekked on a blue-skied Sunday, it was the Sports Day public holiday weekend which promoted an active lifestyle and we weren’t alone. The climb started on gradual paths that became steeper, much steeper. In some nearly- vertical sections, steel chains were embedded into the rock as an aid to haul ourselves up. It was exhausting but fun, surrounded by many friendly Japanese.

Stairway to Heaven We visited the charming little town of Kotohira, famous for its proximity to the Shinto shrine, Konpira-san, which is dedicated to sea-farers. In a country of islands, this is a very popular shrine, nestling in the forests of Mt Zozu above the town and requiring a climb of a whooping 1340 steps. Arriving in the early morning, there was an air of serenity, broken only by the clattering on each step of a man wearing wooden clogs. Little birds chirped and landed on our outstretched hands looking for seeds. We passed a stable of beautiful white horses which were considered so divine that they could only be ridden by the gods.

Tea and Shade We were charmed with a visit to Ritsurin Gardens in Takamatsu with it’s beautiful teahouse of bamboo, screens and cushions. The windows framed the outside view like serene paintings and we drank tea to the gentle sound of flowing water from the small waterfall outside. In the coolness of the teahouse, we began to appreciate the Japanese fascination with light, shade and symmetry and to understand the philosophy that ‘less is more’

Island Hopping by Bike The Shimanami Cycleway is an island hopping adventure by bike, traversing several islands in the inland Seto Sea which are linked by magnificent bridges. The 75kms route joins the town of Imbari in Shikoku Island with the town of Onomiche in Honshu. Cycling along the Kurushima Bridge which has a span of almost 5 Kms was a memorable experience. Ships passed in the turbulent waters beneath us while traffic whizzed by on the bridge. There were sublime views in every direction of mountains, islands, sea and the bridge itself.

Glorious Beaches of Amami Amami Oshima is the largest of the Amami Island Group, a sub- tropical, nature-lovers’ paradise in the East China Sea, halfway between Okinawa and mainland Japan. Camping by the white-sand beaches here was truly wonderful, topped only by swimming in the clear turquoise water with lots of colourful, flickering fish.

Food, Glorious Food– the food in Japan was a pleasure, a delight and a taste sensation. We had so many gorgeous meals from simple bowls of noodle soup to trays of tempura with a multitude of side garnishes. Good quality ingredients coupled with attention to detail made it special. The Japanese were very proud and fond of their ice-cream which was delicious. However, we were served raw cabbage and soy sauce to go with own beer 😁. It wasn’t as bad as it sounds but it may be an acquired taste.

Relaxing Baths Onsens are public thermal baths, which are part of daily life in Japan, a place to cleanse and destress, to socialise and relax. The idea of stripping off and sharing a bath with naked strangers was an intimidating prospect at the beginning but we grew to love our immersions and appreciated their therapeutic power. Our favourite onsen was high in the hills outside Nagasaki with an outside section and gorgeous views over the city. It was so relaxing lying up to my chin in hot water, fanned by a cool breeze, watching leaves drifting down from the trees and trying to process all that we had seen in that lovely, vibrant city which has witnessed so much sorrow. (no cameras allowed inside the onsens for obvious reasons)

Path of Philosophy….Kyoto, the ancient city of history and dreams, was full of national treasures, World Heritage Sites, countless shrines and temples ….. and visitors, lots and lots of visitors. We shuffled along in crowds at most of the attractions except one. The Path of Philosophy in the Northern Higashiyama neighbourhood was tranquil and meditative. The path meanders along by a canal carrying murmuring water from Biwa Lake with the occasional family of paddling ducks and temples peeking through the foliage that borders the path. It’s very popular in spring when the overhanging cherry trees are in blossom but for us, it was blissfully quiet on a chilly November morning. Along the way, we chatted with a lovely Australian couple who enquired if they were actually on the path….none of us knew for sure where the path began or ended but maybe that was the true philosophical question.

Temple in the Clouds All over Shikoku, we saw pilgrims on the Pilgrimage Trail of the 88 Buddhist Temples. This is a long route, over twelve hundred kilometres, which circumnavigates the entire island of Shikoku. Most pilgrims do it in sections but we met a few who were devoting six to eight weeks to completing the entire pilgrimage in one go. Many had sore feet as the majority of the route is on hard road surfaces. Although we didn’t do the pilgrim’s trail, we visited several of the temples. Our favourite was Unpen-ji, the highest of the 88 temples and often called The Temple in the Clouds. Hundreds of life-sized statues of Buddha’s disciplines lined the walkways among the cedars. It’s said that if you look hard enough, you will find your likeness among them. Although I searched and searched, I couldn’t find mine

Making Connections ……No matter where you go in the world there are always connections to home. We visited the Lafcadio Hearn Museum in the city of Kumamoto. In the mid 1800’s having an Irish father and a Greek mother, Lafcadio spent many boyhood summers in Tramore, Co Waterford just a few miles from our home. The gorgeous Lafcadio Japanese Gardens in Tramore were established in his memory. He was enthralled by Japan, setting up home there and he is still reversed in his adopted country because of his writings and translations.

We met another man from Tramore, who has also made Japan his home, making fine craft beer in the beautiful Kamiyama area. We can certainly vouch for the quality of his produce. Manus and his Japanese wife, Sayaka, welcomed us, introduced us to some locals and gave us lots of tips, particularly about the etiquette of using the onsens. Strip completely, wash thoroughly before soaking in a bath, no splashing, no swimming, hair tied up, no tattoos.

LOWS

Dramatic Weather –We endured several bouts of torrential rain for days on end each time although it wasn’t the rainy season. Japan is green and gets a lot of rain but this level of rainfall in October and November was unusual. We had numerous phone alerts warning of typhoons, mudslides and flooding.

Packaging The amount of plastic packaging on everything but particularly on food items made us weep. Carrots were individually wrapped in plastic. I know that in Ireland we are guilty of using too much plastic as well but this was a totally different level. All food bought in a convenience store/supermarket/restaurant came with a wet wipe wrapped in plastic and some disposable chopsticks and that’s just for starters.

Disposing of Garbage….The contradiction is that the streets are super-clean with rarely even a scrap of paper on the ground and all this without a trash bin in sight. Getting rid of our rubbish was certainly an issue until we started discarding it in pieces. When we shopped in supermarkets, we disposed of excess packaging before we left the shop. Convenience stores (konbinnis) had some segregated bins (meant for items bought in the shops) which we used. Motorway stops also had some segregated bins.

Campervan Sulks…. Our van wouldn’t start when we were in the queue to board the ferry to leave Amami. The rain was torrential and we didn’t even know how to open the bonnet. After trying several times, we were getting desperate. One last try and the engine turned over and we got on the overnight ferry. We didn’t have any more trouble.

Parking in Kyoto…..Mainly we availed of free wild camping in scenic spots in the countryside but in the cities we parked in city centre carparks which usually cost about €5 to €10 for overnight parking. In Kyoto, we misread the tariff board , and discovered that we could easily have stayed in a nice hotel for the price of the parking charges😲

Encounters of a Small Kind Japan is an extremely hygienic place with a huge emphasis on cleanliness , partial to the liberal use of disinfectants and wearing face masks. Neither of us had any issue with tummy upsets or health concerns. One morning, I woke up in the van feeling like I had a brick over my partially closed left eye. I expected Caoimhin to say it didn’t look too bad but his reaction was one of horror. It took two days to subside. I’m still not sure what caused the spectacular inflammatory reaction but suspect a mosquito.

On Amami Island, we were warned about the viper snakes everywhere we went…..by the locals and by the many warning signs. Thankfully we never saw one or heard a slithering sound of one.

So many things surprised us about Japan from practical things like the abundance of public toilets and the people of all ages who use bicycles as a means of getting around to the greenness of the countryside and the enormous number of trees. Most people profess to have no religion but mark key life events with Shinto rituals and visits to Buddhist temples. The people are polite and reserved but welcoming and love to laugh, especially the women, and we gave them plenty of opportunity for amusement.

We covered less than a third of the country, we didn’t go anywhere near the big-ticket tourist items like Tokyo or Mt Fuji and barely scratched the surface of the places we did visit. We came anyway, changed in some indefinable way, fascinated by the blend of traditional and modern, mesmerised by the natural beauty of the country and perplexed by the contradictions. Japan still remains an enigma. We may have to return for a deeper dive, to breathe in the mystery of this fascinating country.

Japan: Kyoto, City of Crowded Charms

November 17, 2024 Marie Noonanasia, japan, kyoto, travel, travel-blog3 Comments

We arrived in Kyoto in the dark after a six-hour journey from the Sandan Gorge. We hadn’t planned on such a long drive, thinking that we would stop somewhere along the way but we just kept going. Driving conditions were good (no rain) and the lure of Kyoto, a place that is on the itinerary of every visitor to Japan, enticed us on until we found ourselves in an empty carpark in Arashiyama, a western neighbourhood of Kyoto and near several tourist attractions.

It was a cool, bright morning, just after 7am, as we hurried over the bridge of the wide, Katsura River, where egrets were busy fishing beside some empty tourist barges that were still moored, waiting for the day to begin. We were on our way to see the famous Bamboo Forest and hoped to beat the crowds by our early morning start. It was looking hopeful until we skirted by the side of nearby Tenryu-ji temple (The Temple of the Heavenly Dragon) and saw groups of people coming from both directions, all about to converge in the Bamboo Forest pathways. It wasn’t as crowded as it would become later in the morning but it was certainly busier than we hoped. The towering bamboos were still an enchanting sight with their faint rustling leaves and the morning light peeking through the crown of the trees. There was even a hush in the crowd as people walked slowly, gazing upwards, stopping to allow others to get their photos. As we walked away from the whispering forests, coaches were pulling into the carparks, disgorging noisy passengers, the streets were fulling up and the tourists shops were beginning to open their shutters.

Surprisingly finding an open café at 8.30 am was difficult but eventually we struck gold with a little establishment run by a husband and wife team. He had the calm demeanor of a benign Buddha, she was a masked whirl of energy, reciting the menu, seating people, serving food and settling the bills. The atmosphere was busy, warm and steamy and a welcome place to sit down and escape the chill of the morning (it was about 7 degrees). The menu was simple, toast with butter, toast with jam, toast with cinnamon and the additional option of hard-boiled eggs. We had seen sliced pans of white bread in the supermarkets with various thickness but far thicker than we have at home. Half a sliced pan could contain a mere three or five slabs of bread (calling them ‘slices’ doesn’t do them justice.) Anyway, the toast in this café was made with these thick hunks of processed bread and mine which was smothered in crunchy cinnamon brown sugar tasted divine.

Kyoto has been described as a city of dreams, a place steeped in twelve hundred years of history, built as the capital of Japan in the 8^th century and home to the Imperial Court until 1868. It has roughly a quarter of Japan’s national treasures, countless shrines and temples and seventeen sites recognized by UNESCO as World Heritage Sites. It is located in a lovely area with rivers, canals and a backdrop of green mountains. When you walk the streets, the past is a constant presence. There are ancient monuments everywhere, tucked away in Zen gardens, at the end of backstreet alleys or even beside traffic-choked thoroughfares, all bearing witness to more than a thousand years of history. But expect to share it with lots of other visitors, clicking their experiences into the Cloud with smartphones.

In a city crowed with people from all over the world, our major sport was people-watching especially as this was the first time in Japan that we were exposed to such a variety of people. We remembered Fukuoka in Kyushu, where we were given a voucher worth a thousand yen as a welcome gesture to foreign visitors, a group who were so thin on the ground that we were easily identifiable. Kyoto has no need of such inducements, in fact all hotels charge a ‘tourist’ tax. There were English menus, knives and forks and vegetarian (even vegan options) in the restaurants. In one way, it’s the ‘real’ Japan but watered down for Western appetites and sensibilities. Kyoto was easy, almost designed for tourists and I confess to feeling a certain smug superiority. We had already experienced sacred temples and shrines, even trekked holy mountains and through silent forests to reach them, we had struggled with menus using Google Translate and rarely met anyone who spoke English. Of course there’s are good reasons why people gravitate towards Kyoto but the volume of tourists has been steadily increasing especially since covid (and the favourable currency rates is another inducement). Lets hope that it doesn’t become a victim of its own success.

It we were fans of people-watching, we weren’t the only ones. In the monkey sanctuary not far from the Bamboo forest, troupes of macaque monkeys roamed freely and seemed to enjoy looking at all the humans looking at them. Reaching the monkeys involved a twenty minute uphill climb through forests and it could have been a tranquil experience except for constant loudspeakers in several languages issuing a list of instructions, telling visitors not to feed the monkeys, not to display any food, not to stare at them (they don’t like it) and to keep a distance of at least two meters away from. It was difficult to obey the distance rule as one young macaque ran over my shoes. They were adorable, especially the babies, with such expressive faces and they appear to be thriving. Although they are not caged, they only stay in the area because they are fed. These monkeys, often called Snow Monkeys because they have adapted to live in cold climates, usually make their home in the mountains to the far north of Japan and are not endangered. Although, it was dressed up as education and there were lots of interesting facts, it still carried a whiff of exploitation for commercial gain.

Although Kyoto was crowded, there were still spots where you could sit by the river and listen to birdsong and the flow of the water particularly in Arashiyama which really was a lovely area especially in the evenings when the majority of visitors departed. On our second morning after a particularly cold night in the van when temperatures dipped to 2 degrees, we struggled to the park to do some yoga and straighten out our stiff limbs. It was the first time I did yoga with a coat, hat, gloves and shoes on. A stiff breeze blew off the water, a big crow cawed at us from a treetop as if we had just invaded his territory while a dozen well-muffled senior citizens practiced Tai Chi on the opposite riverbank. A siege of egrets flew over the river to land in the stream near us with the sun turning their wings a glinting silver. Despite the cold, there was something magical (and almost zen) about the setting. The heated toilet seats in the public loos that we had scoffed at the beginning were now really appreciated by our cold bottoms

A little later we joined the crowds of mainly tour groups visiting the Golden Pavillion, a Zen temple of Shokoku-ji School of Rinzai Buddhism. We read that it was one of the most important attractions in Kyoto, that visiting Kyoto and not seeing this pavilion was akin to going to Paris and not bothering to visit the Eiffel Tower. Despite the crowds, it didn’t disappoint especially as the sun turned it into a truly golden stupa which reflected off the surrounding lake waters. There was a collective gasp from the crowd as we got the first glimpse just inside the entrance gate before shuffling along in a sea of people.

A visit to the nearby Zen gardens of Ryoan-ji, which contains one of the most famous and enigmatic rock gardens in all of Japan, was a less crowded experience. Zen gardens are intended for meditation and contemplation where a special place is given to every plant, rock and grain of sand in an effort to create harmony, tranquility and balance. The small rock garden was created in about 1500 by a revered monk and has been defying attempts to explain it since then. Enclosed by an earthen wall, fifteen carefully placed rocks seem to drift in a sea of naked white sand. The cool of the morning had given way to warm sunshine which cast shadows over the rocks and Caoimhin was scratching his head and wondering what all the fuss was about. But maybe the point is to interpret the garden in an individual way and not to seek the ‘true’ meaning, to look only for your own truth.

Downtown Kyoto was not very Zen ….crowded with tourists, traffic and tourist shops but in the midst of all this mayhem was Yasaka Shrine, a huge shrine with vermillion gates, regarded as THE place in Kyoto to welcome in the new year with a fire festival where fragrant herbs are burnt. We moved from our little oasis out in Arashiyama and parked overnight near the beating heart of this shrine.

Tourists swanned around Kyoto dressed in kimonos, clattering along in wooden clogs and pretending they were Geishas. We were interested in gaining some insight into the real Geisha culture so we took a night walking tour. Our guide, Saki (not to be confused with sake, the national beverage) was enthusiastic, funny and knowledgeable. Geishas are a declining profession and when Saki explained their vigorous training, it wasn’t so surprising that the numbers are dropping. If a girl wishes to be a Geisha, she must be young, about fifteen to eighteen and she must leave her family and live in one of the special boarding houses in Kyoto. Training takes a minimum of five years and involves classes in etiquette, singing and dancing. The trainees are not paid and cannot have a smartphone or go to McDonalds (Sari’s words.) They are primarily entertainers who work in the teahouses (these are drinking houses where businessmen entertain guests). One can only go to a teahouse by invitation, prices are never discussed but they are calculated on a sliding scale depending on your ability to pay – the richer you are, the more you will be charged. You will receive your bill weeks after when the sense of enjoyment has faded. Entertaining in teahouses was once very much part of Japanese business culture but as Japan’s fortunes have declined so too have the glory days of the teahouses and consequently the Geisha profession. Geishas have to resign if they marry but as the numbers have declined, the rules have relaxed a bit and they are allowed to practice if they divorce and foreign girls are allowed to become Geishas where once it was compulsory to be Japanese.

With so many places to visit in Kyoto, it was impossible to fit them all in. Sometimes it was the name of an attraction that caught our attention and so it was with The Path of Philosophy in the Northern Higashiyama neighbourhood of Kyoto. We visited on another early morning where for a change, there were few people. Its very popular when the overhanging cherry trees are in blossom. Along the way, we met a lovely Australian couple who enquired if they were actually on the path….none of us knew where the path began or ended but maybe that was the true philosophical question. When saying goodbye to the Aussies, both Caoimhin and I found ourselves bowing without even realizing it. Maybe we have been too long in Japan😍

Nevertheless the path was tranquil and meditative, meandering along by a canal carrying gentle, murmuring water from Biwa Lake. There was the occasional duck and lots of temples. We paused at a shrine where a statue of an ox was reputed to have healing powers. If you rubbed the part of your body that was ailing and then rubbed the equivalent part of the sculpture, you would be cured.

With our wedding anniversary approaching and the cold nights, we went on Booking.com to find a hotel or guest house. When looking for hotels in Japan, there are a few things that you need to be aware of, apart from price and location. If it is a contactless check-in, if there is a mention of privacy and sound-proofing and/or it is Adult Only, then you may be about to book into a Love Hotel. They tend to be cheaper than ‘normal’ hotels and could be a real bargain just as long as you know what you’re getting. We read of one man’s hilarious account of inadvertently booking a love hotel for two nights. His first difficulty was actually checking in, as there was no reception desk and he couldn’t locate his room or his keycode. He had some Japanese so he was able to phone an emergency phone number and a person eventually materialized. His next problem was that he kept getting locked out of his room. Everytime he left the room, his keycode was disabled. As he said, these rooms are not really designed for coming and going (so to speak), when you’re done, you’re done. The hotel we found was not a love hotel, the reception was manned by two guys and although it was 2.30pm and check-in was 3pm and all the rooms were ready, there was no possibility of been checked in a minute sooner than the designated time.

Although our hotel was not in a touristy area, a five storied pagoda which was built in 826 was only a 5 minute walk away. This Toji pagoda stood at 57 meters ,making it the tallest wooden pagoda in Japan. Not only was it a beautiful silhouette against the skyline but it was also earthquake proof and the large roofs were designed to protect the delicate wood underneath from the wetness of rain and snow.

A long tunnel of bright orange gates stretched uphill, mesmerizing and a bit disconcerting, with glimpses of forest and cemeteries in the spaces between the gates, known as torii. This shrine called Fushimi Inori Taisla, at the base of the Inori mountain dates back to 711 and is free to enter and open all day. We visited in the morning but the middle of the night might have been better to avoid the throngs of people. Over the years worshippers have donated gates to express their prayers and their appreciation until at least ten thousand gates stretch up the hillsides making an enthralling spectacle. There were statutes of foxes along the route which is the symbol of the shrine. This was the last shrine we visited in Kyoto before we headed back to Osaka..

Back to the beginning where we started, almost six weeks ago, we handed back the van which had taken us on our journey through Southern Japan. It has been an amazing round trip from the vibrant city of Osaka, to the island of Amami in the East China sea. We began with unseasonably hot weather, endured torrential rain for days on end, had phone alerts warning of typhoons, mudslides and flooding, slept shivering in the van when the night-time temperature at one point hovered around two degrees. We camped out in forests, at the base of holy mountains and on the shores of deserted beaches. We climbed thousands of steps to reach mist-shrouded temples and shrines, cycled over water as we island-hopped across an inland sea on bridges that at times spanned several kilometres. We have been in places so remote that it felt like we were the only two people left in Japan and we have waded in a sea of people at the popular attractions, particularly in Kyoto. We will always associate Japan with trees, tall majestic cedars, maples in their autumn coats and everything in-between. After six weeks, we realize that we have barely scratched the surface.

Japan remains an enigma. The people are friendly but love silence. Most live in cities but revere nature. The country is industrial but is mainly forests and greener than Ireland. It is very wet even when it isn’t the rainy season. As we turn towards our long journey home, we need time to process our journey and reflect on this fascinating country.

Thanks for reading and for your company along the way

Till next time x

Japan: Holy Mountains and Glorious Gorges

November 12, 2024 Marie Noonanasia, fukuoka, gorges, hiking, Hikosan, holy mountains, japan, kyushu, retirement, scenery, travel, Trekking5 Comments

Our visit to Fukuoka didn’t start well. The traffic was horrendous as we made our way into the city from Nagasaki. Fukuoka is the largest city in Kyushu (one of the main four islands in Japan) and is one of Japan’s ten most populated cities…and it certainly felt like it when we were there. With its closeness to the Asian mainland (closer to Seoul than to Tokyo), Fukuoka has been an important harbor city for many centuries and was chosen by the Mongol invasion forces as their landing point in the 13th century. It is often called a ‘mini’ Tokyo, it even has a smaller version of Tokyo Tower and as we don’t plan on visiting Tokyo, Fukuoka seemed like a good option.

We thought that we might treat ourselves to a hotel but the reasonably-priced hotels/guesthouses were booked out so we resorted to searching for a parking spot close to public loos. In the city centre, we found a possible spot that met our criteria (proximity to toilets) but it was just off the main road with roaring traffic so our search continued. Google directed us to another parking area which involved a heart-stopping lurch across four lanes of traffic into a tiny alleyway. With the van almost touching the sides of the buildings, we prayed that it was one-way system and hoped we wouldn’t encounter anything coming in the opposite direction. Thankfully, we found ourselves in a little oasis with some free parking spots, quiet but still in the heart of things. There was a little park nearby with public toilets, festival stalls selling food and local produce and best of all, a jazz band playing on a small stage. At one tent, a woman beckoned us over to give us some vouchers (a thousand yen each (about €6)) which could be redeemed at any of the stalls….a welcoming gesture for foreign visitors. We sent a German man who was cycling around Asia in her direction so that he could get his ‘welcome vouchers.’ The sun was shining, the music was good and we relaxed with some seaweed dumplings and a cold craft-beer. The beer was in plastic glasses…..but hey, you can’t have everything.

Later we wandered around a crowded Chinatown, and marveled at the long queues outside many of the restaurants and the patience of the Japanese who formed orderly queues, keeping a little distance from each other. Christmas also came early to Fukuoka with coloured decorations, dancing Santas and flashing lights festooning the bridges, streets and shopping malls. Christmas is not a public holiday in Japan and less than 1% of the population are Christian but the commercial aspect of the season is enthusiastically embraced. Christmas Eve is regarded as the most romantic night of the year, a bit like our Valentines Day when couples are out and about, love is in the air and not having a date if you’re young requires staying at home to avoid embarrassment.

Away from the queues and crowds, we found a cellar bar with subdued lighting, soft music where we were the only patrons, the other extreme and not really what we wanted. The bartender gave us soft, hot towels to wipe our hands as soon as we sat down. This wasn’t totally unusual as even the most shabby of establishments hand out wet wipes wrapped in plastic to clean your hands. Bowls of spicy nuts in dainty porcelain bowls appeared on the table (no raw cabbage and soy sauce in this establishment to munch with your drinks). We should have known that we would pay dearly for such luxuries. When the cover charge, was added to our bill (we didn’t even realize that there was a cover charge) our two drinks (one each) cost significantly more than we had paid for dinner! Thank goodness we didn’t opt for a second round.

Our quiet oasis turned noisy during the night with garbage trucks collecting trash, vans parking and then moving off, filled with workmen dismantling the festival stalls in the park. In the morning, we went bleary-eyed in search of coffee/tea only to find more orderly queues stretching down the street outside all the open cafes. Although we normally avoid places like Starbucks, this time we were thankful to sit down with coffee and cinnamon buns without any tiresome queueing and avail of their strong Wi-Fi where I was able to upload the last blog post with photos. Maybe we should take lessons in patience from the Japanese who queue patiently, mainly in silence, without any visible sign of irritation.

The mountains were calling us and we felt a strong urge to get out of the city and into the countryside but there was something we had to do before we left. Fukuoka has a reputation for making the best ramen (a noodle soup) in the entire country so we couldn’t leave without sampling some. There are several traditional recipes but the one that is most prized involves boiling pig bones for hours, maybe days, until the marrow leaks out and becomes a thick cream which is then used as a base for the soup. The ramen was served in big bowls and eating it should be accompanied by loud slurping to show appreciation. Bibs are provided to protect clothes from the inevitable splashes. Reading the descriptions of the pork-bone soup made me feel queasy so I didn’t ‘pig out’ but opted for a tomato based ramen with seafood which also used a traditional recipe. It was delicious but I have my suspicions that a pig was involved somewhere along the process.

About a hour and a half’s drive outside Fukuoka is a mountain where over 400 years ago, white-clothed monks, practitioners of an ancient ascetic religion called Shugendo, chose sacred mountains until they reached their ultimate goal of enlightenment. We were eager to follow in their footsteps and hike the holy mountain to see what enlightenment and spiritual power it might bestow upon us.

The winding mountain roads coiled through pottery villages with tables of ceramics set up under flame-coloured maple trees and smoke rose from the many kilns. Even before we reached Mt Hiko, we were enveloped by a sense pf peace mixed with exhaustion from lack of sleep from the night before. We parked by a stream next to toilets at the base of the sacred mountain with nobody else around, cooked up a dinner of potatoes and mushrooms ( the quality and variety of both in the supermarkets was amazing) and watched the stars come out one by one until the sky overhead was a star- studded canopy, more beautiful that all the twinkling city lights.

The following morning dawned cool and bright as we began hiking past moss-shrouded shrines with birdsong and the higher peaks still draped in drifting mist. Maybe it was because we had read the history of the mountain and were open to its power but right from the beginning we felt that we were in a special place. The hiking trails were well-marked with lots of looped walks and decisions to be made about whether to continue, to turn back or to walk in circles. Maybe this was the essence of true enlightenment, that all paths are correct, you just make a decision and accept it. Mt Hiko really consisted of three peaks and as we neared the first peak there were signs in Japanese that the path was closed and a barrier was pulled halfway across. It was easy to bypass the obstacle so we continued regardless, we could always plead ignorance if challenged. As we ascended we heard hammering and saw that there was construction work going on at the summit where the existing shrine was being enlarged. We kept our heads down and skirted around the building works and headed for the adjacent peak with stunning views of the surrounding mountains, dressed in their glorious autumn foliage, vivid hues of red, gold and purple. If the first section was beautiful and easier than expected, the next section was more challenging but truly ‘wow’. There were chains embedded in the rocks in places but they were more as an aid for climbing rather than strictly necessary. We diverted to see an incredible ancient cedar tree named Onisugi, reputed to be 1200 years old. This was truly a special day, a hike that was good for the soul and we were physically tired but spiritually refreshed after a six hour round trip…..although true enlightenment may require some further strenuous activity.

It was time to leave the large island of Kyushu and head over another long, impressive bridge to Honshu, the second largest and most populated of the Japanese islands. We arrived at dusk at the small town of Hagi and parked up on the north side of town beside a small beach. We didn’t realize how beautiful the spot was until dawn when an early morning trip to the toilet revealed islands, distant mountains, a calm sea and boats moored in a little harbour. But then you’ve guessed it….it began to rain and this time the rain was cool and drizzly. It was about 12 degrees, the coldest we’ve had in Japan apart from when we were high in the mountains. Hagi is also famous for ceramics which are mainly in delicate pastel shades.

We were in need of a laundromat so while our clothes were whirling in the washing machines, we wandered around town with its wide streets and many traditional buildings, a place little changed from the time of the Samurai. We stumbled across a shop selling clothing for a reasonable price so prompted by the chilly wind, we bought a warm jacket each. We didn’t know it then but the cosiness of the jackets were going to be very welcome in the coming days with a further dip in temperature. In the meantime we drank tea in a coffee house and eat home-made cake made from locally- grown figs and mandarin oranges, probably the most delicious cake we have eaten on our travels.

Our breaths blew clouds in the cold morning air as we parked at the starting point for the Sandan Gorge, A small man, muffled in a thick coat, was sitting outside the information booth. He got up on our approach, leaned heavily on a cane, and pointed to a map giving us the bad news that the recent heavy rains had caused landslides and several parts of the Gorge were closed because of the risks of more rockfalls and mudslides. He told us that he was a guide but he was out of action because of a bad fall a few months previously, that his favourite country was Alaska and that he had once stopped a grizzly bear in his tracks with his stare. He gave us an example of the ‘stare’ which also involved barring his teeth. Since then, everyone in the village called him Big Bear.

Although our hike was shorter than envisaged it was still worthwhile, true forest-bathing where a tree lined stony path hugged the side of the ravine before descending to cross the green river on a swaying rope bridge. A short ferry ride gave us an appreciation from the water. Our boatman didn’t quite know what to make of Caoimhin who was singing ‘Don’t pay the ferryman until he gets you to the other side.’

But our journey goes onwards, towards historic Kyoto, the city of dreams and the most visited city in all of Japan. Have we left the best until last? Time will tell.

Thanks for reading

Until next time

Japan: War and Peace

November 4, 2024January 13, 2025 Marie Noonanasia, hiking, hiroshima, history, japan, nagasaki, retirement, travel5 Comments

In my last post, I said that we were hoping to leave Amami Island, a small island in the East China Sea a few days early because there was a risk of a typhoon coming in our direction. The bad news was that we couldn’t change the ferry return date because of lack of availability for the campervan and the good news was that the typhoon changed direction and headed in a more southerly path towards Taiwan and North Korea. The tail of the hurricane still lashed Amami with rain so we booked into a really comfortable hotel -The Wa, enjoyed some pampering and sampled a few of the many restaurants in Naxe, the main town on the island.

We have become fans of Japanese food although we had rarely eaten it before coming here. However a word of caution to vegetarians – a strict vegetarian would probably starve as even the miso soup has a meat base and tofu floats alongside slivers of pork or beef. So we opt for as little meat as possible but even the meat dishes aren’t very ‘meaty’ and there’s usually lots of fresh vegetables. Google Translate lets us down at times when we are looking at menus. We thought that we were ordering the local dish of the Amami Islands (Keihan) which is chicken and rice but we got noodle soup with pork. The presentation and the attention to detail is truly magnificent, with a multitude of side dishes and garnishes. There is such a high standard even in the cheapest places. Eating out is a real pleasure and much more affordable than at home ( we eat local as much as we can)A huge bowl of ramen is about €4 -€5, dinner main course is about €10 to €12 and lunch is cheaper. Some things take a little getting used to. When we ordered two beers, they were accompanied by a bowl of raw cabbage which should be dipped in a couple of varieties of soy cabbage and eaten with chopsticks….surprisingly nice. We haven’t even seen a knife and fork anywhere in Japan yet.

If we are out in the middle nowhere in the van, we cook simple one pot meals ourselves so we also frequent the supermarkets and the little convenience stores known as Konbinni which are everywhere. They are amazing places, usually manned by very friendly staff. They have ATMs, toilets , free WiFi and sell everything from toiletries to Pot Noodles. You can buy all your meals here with a huge selections of high quality, ready-meals with microwaves to heat them up, a counter with stools or a few tables to sit at. There’s coffee, cold drinks and a selection of magazines and comics. They are open late, often 24 hours a day, and are really an extension of the Japanese home which are often shoe-box size especially on the cities. Apparently some Japanese apartments (and student bed-sits) don’t even have a kitchen.

Last Wednesday evening, we were sitting in the van in the ferry queue to get off Amami Island. It was dark but it was also warm -about 25degrees- and very humid. The rain was torrential. Caoimhin tried to turn on the engine to clear the windscreen and turn on the wipers. Nothing happened. There was an ominous creaking sound (a bit like a hoarse corncrake) but nothing more. After several panicky tries with no luck, Caoimhin got out to see if we could get help. I was frantically thumbing through the Japanese van manual to find a graphic representation of out how to open the bonnet(words weren’t any help😲). Meanwhile Caoimhin was out in the rain, holding his useless umbrella which the wind had turned inside out. One of the attendants, an elderly man, came over to us and Caoimhin tried to start it again. The same creaking sound. The man nodded and walked away without a word. We sat there, still not knowing how to open the bonnet. Then one last try……and the engine turned over. A few minutes later, the row of cars started to move to board the ferry with the usual shouting, whistle-blowing and reversing up ramps. The ferry we embarked had come from Okinawa and again there were lots of Japanese army vehicles and personnel onboard but there were also hundreds of schoolchildren travelling to the mainland of Japan for school sports events The US still have a big army base in Okinawa, which was under American control from the end of World War 2 until the 1970’s.

The crossing was rough, much more turbulent than our outward journey. At times there was such loud banging that it sounded as if vehicles were sliding around the car deck. After a few hours, it became calmer but we were more than delighted to see land and disembark in Kagoshima.

No matter where you go, there are always connections with home. Our next stop was Kumamoto, a town where Lafcadio Hearn lived for a few years with his Japanese wife and children. Lafcadio was a writer with an Irish father and a Greek mother and spent many summers in Tramore as a boy. The beautiful Lafcadio Japanese Gardens in Tramore were established in his memory. Lafcadio is very much revered in Japan for his writings and his house in Kumamoto has been turned into a museum. There was a small entrance fee and the attendant was very friendly (although he didn’t speak English) giving us some postcards as presents.

As we drive into the mountains out of Kumamoto, we can see the hazy peninsula of Nagasaki across the Araike Sea. Along the way, there are small farms and little villages by the shore, both traditional and modern houses, roadside shires and cemeteries. It’s mandarin season and most houses have a persimmon tree outside with it’s ripening orange fruit decorating the branches like balls on a Christmas tree. The land becomes flatter with rice and beans, tractors and enormous greenhouses.

Caoimhin has been talking about the wonders of Japanese steel since we arrived in Japan so on our drive to Nagasaki, we divert to visit a small family-run business who have been making hand-forged knives for centuries. The knives with their glinting blades and carved handles are truly a work of art.

Careful now!!!!!!!!

Nagasaki is a beautiful city with gentle hills on three sides and a long narrow bay to the sea. It was the only harbour port in Japan where contact and trade with foreigners was allowed during Japan’s self-imposed, two-hundred year isolation. There’s a gorgeous old stone bridge, built in 1634 that has survived all the trials and tribulations of time including the dropping of the atomic bomb. ‘Mothers’were posing on the bridge with their Lovots ( baby robots) when we visited yesterday.

It’s almost impossible to imagine the horror of that day in 1945. The photographs and descriptions in the Atomic Bomb Museum are so harrowing that’s it’s difficult to process it all. The terrible plight of the survivors, their awful thirst and the grim legacy that they carried afterwards is beyond words. A prison near the hypocentre vaporized leaving only the foundations of the building. Several schools were left with just a wall standing, ceramic roof tiles more than a kilometre away, boiled and bubbled when exposed to the heat flash. 73,884 people died instantly and a similar number were injured. Despite everything Nagasaki has risen like a phoenix from the ashes and the emphasis is firmly on peace and friendship so that nothing like it can ever be allowed to happen.

The Nagasaki Peace Park is filled with statues, commemorative plaques and remains of the bomb drop. There are sculptures from various countries around the world pledging friendship and solidarity. Many of the sculptures depict mothers and children emphasising that we must protect not only present generations but also the coming generations so that all the peoples of the world can live in harmony.

The weather was extremely wet in Nagasaki for our first day. Western and central Japan has recorded their largest-ever 24-hour rainfall for November. After the devastating floods in Spain, it was a bit disconcerting to be sleeping in the van while rain bucketed down as if it would never stop. (Most of the photos are from our second sunny day 🌞)

A Saturday morning visit to an onsen (thermal baths) was just what we needed after our very rainy (and windy) night in the van, parked in the corner of a carpark. The onsen was high in the hills above Nagasaki and had an outside section with gorgeous views of the city. We have become so accustomed to onsens at this stage (and walking around in the nip) that it’s difficult to believe how awkward and intimidating we found the whole process a few weeks ago. It was so relaxing lying up to my chin in hot water, fanned by a cool breeze and watching leaves drifting down from the trees and thinking about all we have seen in this lovely vibrant city which has seen so much sorrow.

The storm system gradually moved away and the sun came out on Saturday afternoon…..stunning blue skies after all the rain, almost like the motto of this city, ….a belief in hope and brighter days. Our phones are calling for people to be on high alert for landslides and flooding, while also being careful of lightning, tornadoes and violent winds through late Saturday.😲😲. But we are loving the clear blue skies, the sunshine and the ’weather forecast is good for the coming week.

Until next time…thanks for reading x

Nagasaki

**The Centre of Devastation (** marked by a black plaque with concentric circles radiating from it).
So peaceful now

Japan: Chasing the Dream (aka Running from the Rain)

October 27, 2024October 27, 2024 Marie Noonanamami oshima, asia, beach, campervan, Ferry, japan, japan-travel, kyushu, retirement, travel5 Comments

We are in the terminal building standing in a queue to buy tickets for the ferry to Beppu in Kyushu when several phones, including Caoimhin’s, start making strange sounds simultaneously. It’s an emergency alert but it doesn’t say what for …more information coming is the ominous text. The noise echoes around the high ceilings of the building. People glance at their phones but nobody seems too bothered and the queue shuffles on as if such alerts are frequent. It’s a reminder that we are in a country where natural disasters are common with a history of typhoons, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions and earthquakes.

Ferries run several times a day between the two islands (Shikoku and Kyushu). We hadn’t booked a ticket but there wasn’t any problem about buying a fare on the day. The cost for two passengers and the van was €100 for the three hour crossing. There was more alarming phones on the ferry but again nobody took any notice. The ferry was quiet and extremely comfortable…. so comfortable that we were disappointed to arrive early.

Kyushu seemed green and mountainous and a lot like Shikoku with perhaps a little more rice cultivation. It has been a bad year for rice due to the unseasonably high temperatures. Most of the rice cultivation is on small holdings managed by elderly farmers. The average age of an agricultural worker in Japan is 69 years old. Most older people in Japan continue working. At the launderette where we were doing our weekly wash (we pack very lightly), the manager was a sprightly eighty something year old. He was a very chatty man, eager to give us tips about all the places we should visit in the locality. Unfortunately we missed a lot of it as Google Translate couldn’t keep up with him, he talked both too much and too fast for Google.

Our first stop in Kyushu was Beppu, a town known for its many onsens (thermal baths). It’s a very seismically active area which explains the many baths. The nearby region of Oita has had nine earthquakes, greater than magnitude seven, since 1900. Beppu is built on a flat plane hemmed in on three sides with mountains. As we approached on a grey, humid 30 degrees afternoon, the plumes of steam rising from the many hot springs and the clouds descending down the mountains intermingled to give an eerie darkness. Maybe it was that our minds were filled with those emergency alerts (that everyone ignored) but we felt a sense of foreboding. It became darker and huge, fat drops of rain splattered the van.

We tried to stay in an RV park in the centre of Beppu but it was closed so we tried a campsite in the hills buts that was boarded up. Our third option was a campsite high above the town in a nature reserve near a lake,. This was open and the rain stopped. Although there were loos, there weren’t any showers and it was prohibited to swim in the lake. Lake Shidaka is supposed to have been made from the accumulated tears of the broken hearted. Nevertheless it was a serene plane where swans floated by and the trees were beautiful. There were only 5 campers/tents in the huge park. There was some damage from a typhoon that had swept through a few months before.

In desperate need of a shower and some Wi-Fi, we searched for a guesthouse in Beppu and found J.Hoppers in the centre of town with parking, Japanese futon beds, our own ensuite bathroom for less than €40 a night. It was fantastic, comfortable and reasonably priced. The luxury of having our own bathroom cannot be underestimated. The owner spoke English with great recommendations for onsens and restaurants. There was also a common area for chatting with other guests, a couple who were cycling to Bhutan, a Kuwaiti guy who described Kuwait as a ‘dreamless sleep’ where people have nothing to do and more money than is good for anyone. If you ever find yourself in Beppu, I’d recommend you stay at Hoppers.

The Hells of Beppu is a series of seven bubbling pools of water and mud with various colours from deep turquoise to flaming red. They are dotted at separate locations around the town. The pools are strictly for viewing and not for bathing (unless you have a wish to be scalded) although there were footbaths at many of the sites to soak your feet. It was probably the most touristy thing that we have done and our first exposure of coachloads of Japanese tourists. The noise, the crowds, the bell-ringing of the tour guide was totally overwhelming especially as the day was hot and the parks were steamy. It truly was ‘hell’.

After our enjoyable stay in Beppu, we headed down the east coast of Kyushu on non-toll roads but even these were very good. There were numerous tunnels cut through the mountains. Sometimes we there were only a couple of hundred metres from the end of one tunnel and the beginning of the next. It was about 20 degrees, a drop of 10 degrees in a couple of days. There were deserted beaches and closed campsites where we parked for the night anyway.

The Nichinan Coast on the eastern side of Kyushu is regarded as one of the most beautiful coastal drives in Japan with many offshore islands, strange rock formation and thundering surf. Down the coast, we visited a shrine for couples, a place that was very popular as a wedding venue. It was quite busy with both the hopeful, the grateful and the desperate.

We pulled in for the night at a scenic spot along the coast overlooking the Pacific. It was sunny and blustery but it began to rain during the night and it didn’t stop. Hours later, we were marooned in the van, there was water leaking in the window onto one of our pillows. The carpark was almost a lake and a trip to the loo was a major expedition. It rains a lot in Japan (evident from the trees and green moss) but the area we were in was regarded as the wettest in the country. We sat in the van, checking weather forecasts and wondering where to go. Although we hadn’t seen the most impressive part of the stunning coast, we decided to abandon that plan. The lure of tropical islands was strong. We investigated ferries and flights to Okinawa and other islands in the East China Sea as rain hammered against the van. We made some coffee which streamed the windows even more and decided to head to Kagoshima Ferry Terminal and investigate ferries to any island. After driving on flooded roads when we feared the van would stall or a river might burst its banks, we diverted to the tolled roads. Hang the expense!

The woman in the ferry terminal office had the patience of a saint as we changed our minds about what we wanted to do, There was no availability for the overnight ferry that evening for a van, mainly because the army were travelling with lots of jeeps and trucks. We decided to go as foot passengers but then changed our mind again when we heard the price of parking the van at the ferry terminal. When we found out the price to travel with the van, we almost called the whole thing off. I’m sure that the woman was inwardly cursing us but she was so helpful, as we debated, dithered and communicated with her by Google Translate. Eventually we came to a decision. We would travel the following day with the van and we would return in eight days. There was some discount for getting a return fare. So we left Kagoshima in the rain but thankfully there was little wind and sailed four hundred kilometres overnight on the East China Sea.

After a night on hard mats in the third class quarters, the ferry arrived in the early morning to a sleeping Amami Island. We parked near the sea, boiled some water on the stove for tea and coffee and waited for the island to wake it while we admired the dawn tranquillity . There was more birdsong than we had heard up to now and the loudest cicadas that we have ever heard.

Mainly there were green, forested hills, rising behind small fishing villages nestled on the shore. With the topography of steep hills coming down to meet the sea, we saw that it was a constant battle to prevent the land sliding into the sea from mudslides and the sea overtaking the land, a constant pull and tug. Driving around the island we witnessed first hand the hills reinforced with concrete and the sea barriers, both requiring constant maintenance.

The Amami islands are halfway between mainland Japan and Okinawa island group and not that far from Taiwan. Amami Oshima, the main island, is sparsely populated, smaller and less touristy than its more well known neighbour, Okinawa. It has a similar climate, warm with plentiful rain and a unique culture with worship of many gods of mountain, sea and forest. Many rituals take place around a lunar calendar and are overseen by an elder female.

We soon found out how plentiful that rain could be. Although our first day on the island was warm and sunny (about 29C), it began to rain that night and didn’t stop at all for about thirty six hours. The rain wasn’t like rain at home, it was warm but still drenching and it caused more leaky windows. The deluge gave us an opportunity to visit museums, an aquarium and the wildlife conservation centre. Conservation and nature is an important part of Amami with its unique eco-systems of mangroves, forests, seashore and pristine waters. It is a World Heritage Natural Site. There are rare species of plants and animals, unique to the island. Sea turtles come ashore and lay their eggs on many of the beaches between May and July. There were so many butterflies that sometimes it was almost like a blizzard. There are huge efforts in progress to eradicate the mongoose which was introduced to help reduce the number of snakes and rats. The problem was that the mongoose ignored the snakes and rats who were sleeping during the day and found easier prey in the rare species of rabbit and woodcock which have both become endangered as a result. Everywhere we go, there are warnings about the snakes, particularly vipers. So far, we haven’t seen any…..fingers crossed, it stays that way.

Last night we are parked up by Yadori beach, an idyllic spot on the edge on the forest. The temperature in the soft darkness was about 25C, there was a light breeze and we were enjoying some wine (which is surprisingly cheap in Japan). A man in a jeep stopped beside us to warn us about the danger of snakes in the region(all by Google Translate). That put a little damper on our evening, I even dreamt of snakes slithering in the van window that we had to keep open for some ventilation and I’m not even squeamish about snakes….usually.

We are so glad that we made the decision to bring the van to the island. It allows us the freedom to travel around as the bus service is not extensive. Amami is an island made for camper vanning with so many beautiful places to park, often with toilets, showers and picnic tables. At the southern end of the island we were spoilt for choice, parking beside gorgeous beaches with crystal clear water where we snorkelled with colourful, flickering fish. Truly a paradise when the sun shines……except for the snakes.

But there’s a typhoon coming and it is predicted to be a strong one. We are going to try and change our ferry tickets so that we can leave a day early…..just in case

Till next time….hope your Bank Holiday weekend is going well

From a sunny, blue-skied Amami,

Mata Ne (またね)

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