We Went Chasing Waterfalls

I'll be jumping a little ahead into my summer in Iida for this week's post. We're moving forward to some of the waning days of our 10-week summer program. By this time, most of the ongoing activities I've discussed in earlier posts had come to a close and all we had left was a few practices with the good people of the Imada Puppet Fest to fine-tune our puppetry before our debut on the international performing scene. As such, we went from days being as packed as a Calvin and Hobbes comic book to only one or two scheduled activities a week.

While the end of the summer was only the start of a new beginning in Japan for me, Aug. 8, 2012, meant for all but one of my fellow students the end of this particular stint in the country. Although I was going to be staying on during the coming academic year, I still more than wanted to make the most of the time I had left with people who had become some of my closest friends. To that end, many of us made it our goal to explore as much of Iida and the surrounding countryside to the fullest we could with our remaining time together.

Our professor, Martin Holman, had teased us all summer with his knowledge of several supposedly "off-the-beaten-path" waterfalls that made for both excellent scenery and an excellent hike along the way. In the final weeks of our stay, we made sure to finally call him on his claim. Despite several warnings from TLC, we were set to chase those waterfalls. On a rainy, overcast Friday, Holman-sensei was finally worn down and he rented a car for us to make a trip.

Despite all Holman-sensei's assurances that the mountains surrounding Iida had plenty of those beautiful natural wonders, we actually
struggled for quite a bit to find one. Holman-sensei had been coming to Japan for longer than any of us had been alive, so we filled the drive time listening to stories about his past trips and groups of students he had led in the Land of the Rising Sun.

Eventually, our professor found the right road leading to some falls he knew about from an earlier summer program. We followed a narrow and winding road for nearly a half hour before we arrived at a small parking lot as the road came to a dead end. After we walked up a paved path that curled up the side of the mountain, we came across one of the fanciest mountain rest stops I have ever come across. We unfortunately didn't visit during the right season, but apparently when the weather's right, this small stand had a small hot spring for travellers to use and there was even a small bar segment.

The restrooms, however, were still operational, so after a brief pit stop, we made our way up the path to a small clearing. Here the path opened to a small clearing. The paved road turned to sand and rocks surrounding a small pool fed by a waterfall that towered over 100 meters in the air. This waterfall was actually officially recognized as a buddhist meditation site. We spent a good time exploring our surroundings, including the small creek created by the waterfall's flow. We came prepared with our swim trunks and decided to try our hand meditating under the cascading water.

Like the waters deep in the mountains at Ohdairajuku, the water was extremely cold so we didn't last too long in the pool. We were also forced to choose between wet shoes and braving the creek-bed barefoot. I didn't have other shoes for the day, so I decided to brave the small rocks jabbing into the soles of my feet, instead.

As it turns out, waterfall meditation is much more painful than it looks in television and movies. Even though the fall was a short one compared to a normal cascade, water falling from over 100 meters in the air will hit you like a bunch of rocks slung from a thousand slingshots. It felt like being constantly stabbed with a knife just barely too blunt to break skin. In short, it hurt. A lot. I can now understand how enduring such a thing is only done by those truly dedicated to meditation.