• Japan Through My Eyes
• Japan - No Problem
• Travels to the South: A Trip to the Other Japan
• Omiyage - Art of Gift Giving
• Ukiyoe: "The Floating World" Revealed
• Seto: Japan's Porcelain City

Travels to the South: A Trip to the Other Japan

It wasn't until a recent sixth visit to Japan that I had the opportunity to spend some time on the islands east and south of Honshu. Largest of Japan's four main islands and home to Tokyo, Kyoto and Mount Fuji, American tourism to Japan is largely focused on Honshu.

Now I was heading to Shikoku, Shodoshima and Kyushu for a week-long look at the "other" Japan, a place guidebooks describe as less urban than heavily populated Honshu: A place where rice grew in abundance, tall cedar forests covered steep hillsides, hot spring waters bubbled to the surface at onsen, traditional hot springs' baths, and natural beauty prevailed.

Like most travelers in security conscious times, I wondered what travel within Japan would be like. I'd decided to fly, hoping to save time and enjoy the aerial views of the Inland Sea and the islands that surround it, although a comfortable eight-hour train ride through a landscape renowned for its scenic beauty was a tempting alternative.

I was departing Tokyo's brand-new Haneda Airport, an architectural tour-de-force within 30 minutes of downtown Tokyo, that operates with admirable efficiency, while providing foreign travelers with helpful, courteous service. With signage and loud- speaker announcements in English, checking-in was quick and easy, our plane departing within a minute of its scheduled departure time.

The Japanese take great pride in the timeliness of buses, trains and planes, relying on their predictability. From the visitor's perspective, their pride is justified. All the trains, boats and planes I took proved of clockwork efficiency. Reliability and the use of English signage on most forms of public transport, greatly enhance the ease of travel in today's Japan.

Beautiful sights marked the days that followed, first on Shodoshima, second largest of the 800 islands in the Inland Sea, then on heavily forested Shikoku, and finally on lushly volcanic Kyushu, where my week-long excursion came to an end.

I spent three nights on Shodoshima, enjoying the hot springs, traveling above its famed gorge by aerial tramway, mesmerized by the bands of wild monkeys still to be found here.

Even more compelling for its spiritual intensity and timeless authenticity was a prayer ceremony performed in an isolated cliffside Buddhist temple. In a meditation cave lit only by candles and the altar fire, a Buddhist priest chanted prayers for those in attendance, his deeply resonant tones accompanied by the deep echoing of a large drum played by a younger monk. Sweat built up on chanter and drummer, each deeply involved in the process of securing the wishes of strangers. Fire-drawn shadows danced on the cave walls, a fierce Buddha bathed in the fire's glow, the flame brightening for a moment as the priest consigned a wish paddle to the flames. We left in silence, slowly descending the temple steps under a canopy of towering trees.

There were other such places and moments, cultural authenticity a plus that often comes with travel to places like Shodoshima that are off the beaten path. Cultural traditions of earlier times linger in such places.

That also proved true on Kyushu, where the fairy tale magic of Japanese theatre came to life in two performances. The first was the telling of a Shinto tale, something with origins a thousand years in the past. A powerful ensemble of drums and flutes set the pace for what at times is a stylized ballet performed by an all male cast. True to Japanese theatrical tradition, all roles are played by men, including the hapless heroine who is rescued after the hero slays a dragon. Elaborate masks and costumes are used with dazzling impact, complemented by the exaggerated delivery of the various characters.

The second performance was at a puppet theater, a performance called bunraku as the Japanese call it. As with the first troupe, these highly skilled performers were nearly all volunteers from nearby farms and villages, theirs a grassroots effort at preserving traditions in a time of cultural change. This only made the high quality of the performances all the more impressive.

Nearly life-size and fully costumed, each puppet is manipulated by a trio of puppeteers who move with choreographed precision. It's a truly Japanese cooperative effort, a ballet of sorts, with one puppeteer holding levers for the right arm and head, the second in charge of the left arm, and the third integrating legs and feet, life skillfully transferred to the puppets. The story, sung by a narrator in a roller coaster of stylized sounds, is backed by a single stringed instrument It tells the story as a comic book might tell it, for this is popular theater, full of explosive dialogue and exaggerated gestures. Dressed in black against a black backdrop, the puppeteers remain unobtrusive, my attention focused on the lifelike movements of the puppets and the story's evolving theme.

"Dig down anywhere in Japan and you'll find a hot springs," a Japanese friend had once told me when I was preparing for a trip to Japan that would include a visit to an onsen, or hot springs. My south islands visit quickly proved that true, with the landscape punctuated by hot springs that have drawn visitors for centuries. There were onsen at all of the hotels and ryokan where I stayed, which made self-indulgence easy, almost a responsibility. Always ready for a relaxing soak in hot water, I headed to the onsen several times a day.

Many memories of my south island travels were onsen-inspired. For a moment I am again on Kyushu. It is late afternoon and a misting rain diffuses the orange sunlight. A breeze blows, the air pleasantly cool, the water pleasantly warm. Slowly a double rainbow forms, its wide arc linking me to the distant slopes of Mt. Aso. Memory shifts and I am on Shodoshima, soaking in the 120-degree warmth of a rock-lined outdoor onsen pool after the masterful kneeding of a shiatsu massage. Water to my shoulders, I gaze in a moment of contented grace at the steam rising in illusive patterns toward clouds overhead as a sliver moon emerges from a ripe peach sky.

There are very definite rules of etiquette to onsen bathing. I remember being nervous on my first visit, unsure of the proper etiquette, which starts with exchanging the shoes or slippers in which you've arrived for a new set of slippers from the pairs neatly lined up at the entrance to the onsen. This is as much a spiritual cleansing as a physical one, and such details matter.

Men and women generally bathe separately, each provided hot spring pools, cold-water plunge, and sauna. Along the wall are individual cleaning areas used in preparation for the pools. Seated on a low plastic stool you lather up, using a thin towel as a washcloth, rinsing off with the hand held shower.

Although bathing is in the buff, a towel is discretely positioned to assure privacy. Eyes are generally diverted: eye-to-eye contact is considered too intimate a display for a public setting. The Japanese appreciate discretion.

The iris in mid-summer bloom in the castle gardens in Takamatsu, an otherwise undistinguished Shikoku port town that provides ferry access to Shodoshima, were anything but discreet. Deep purples, pale blues and lustrous whites predominated, a small sea of in explosive color that drew me back to my East Coast childhood and a sunny springtime day when I was first dazzled by the intensity of iris color and their elaborate elegance.

The Japanese are also sensitive to such perfection. Just as cherry blossoms are celebrated as a symbol of early spring and chrysanthemums are symbolic of autumn, the iris epitomizes summer and the flourishing Earth.

Both Shikoku and Kyushu also offer nature on a grand scale.
On Shikoku, it was the island's steep mountains and forested interior, where rivers of turquoise colored water have carved valleys and gorges. On Kyushu, it was volcanically active Mt. Aso, spitting plumes of sulphur-laden smoke, it's five summit peaks providing the island with a distinctive profile.

It is my first day in Kyushu, having flown in on an hour-long flight from Shikoku. I am staying at a ryokan, or traditional Japanese inns. In days of old, ryokan were generally simple country inns, a place for travelers to ovenight. Today they range rustic to elegant, urban to country. What they share is a focus on Japanese tradition. Tatami mats cover the floor, with sliding shoji screens separating rooms and covering closets, with a low-rise table likely set with flowers and fruit. Futons serve for bedding, stored in the closet during the day and rolled out when the room is prepared for evening.

A stay at most ryokan also includes one or two meals, generally breakfast and dinner, marked by artful presentation of a remarkably varied menu that included delicacies from land and sea, each with its own garnish or sauce, washed down by cold beer and sake, each round greeted by a shared "compai," as glasses and cups were raised in a toast.

South islands' food proved a daily treat. Even inexpensive restaurants served good meals. Japanese cuisine celebrates the diversity of nature's bounty. It starts with fresh produce, much of it still grown on family-run farms, continues with a superb harvest from local waters, and features the richly marbled beef from cattle raised here. It includes melons and fruits, rich in flavor and texture, grown to oversize proportions on small orchards where mass production is not part of the vocabulary, but high quality is.

As my last day in Kyushu drew to a close, I found myself on the spacious grounds surrounding the moated Kumamoto Castle, its massive walls dating to the 16th century when the samurai culture held sway. Few of the original castle buildings remain, most lost to war and fire, replaced by masterful reproductions that provide Kumamoto with a glorious landmark, and me with a place to sit on this gloriously sunny Japanese afternoon.

Getting around never proved a problem, with reliable schedules and an excellent interface of public transport that links subways, trains, buses, ferries and freeways. My week to the south only whet my appetite for other variations on the Japanese theme. I'm setting my sights on a trip to the north when I next visit Japan. North to the island of Hokkaido and the winter ice festival.

The best plan for a trip to the south starts with the recommendation of a tour operator familiar with Japan and packages that are a better buy than component pricing. Go through a few guidebooks and get feel for what lies ahead, then customize your itinerary to suit your preferences. With time usually limited, a little bit of advance legwork can make all the difference once you're there. I've also found that taking advantage of a good concierge will get you to places even the guidebooks miss. Remain flexible if a great lead comes your way. I allow myself the luxury of a car and driver for a couple of days, time to explore on my own, which is when my camera and my memory bank really get a workout.

The week had gone by too speedily, the way it usually does when travel is filled with unique experiences. I was booked for a flight from Kumamoto to Tokyo, landing just short of two hours later at Haneda Airport. Conveniently located and serviced by an efficient, easy to navigate bus system that provides service to Narita Airport (75-90 minutes away) for international flights, or into the teeming streets of Tokyo. That was where I was headed, visions of the islands to the south lingering even as Tokyo's futuristic towers and layered freeways came into view.