Muzza’s Dei

Readers outside Japan will be pleased to know that Mother’s Day, like Christmas Day, is very much celebrated here in the land of the rising sun: the retail industry isn’t going to pass up a good marketing opportunity when it sees one.

For Mother’s Day we decided to go back to that big park near Hiroshima Airport (the one we discovered by accident back in March, as described in this post) for a bit of a cycling adventure. After stocking up on some of those fabulous supermarket bento boxes for a picnic, we headed off to the park and rented four bicycles for the 12 km circuit. They make you wear helmets and under the helmets you have to wear disposable head-tissue-thingies:

It was like pedalling around on top of the world, with spectacular views opening up at regular intervals. The riding trail seems to be have been made by joining together a whole lot of old roads that are now closed to traffic. The only downside (or upside, technically) was the hills: great when you’re careening downhill, but there were some pretty gruelling upward slopes. The Teenage Princess in particular was not too impressed and had to be coaxed up virtually every hill. We think she may be in need of some fitness training. Too much white rice has slowed her down.

It turns out there are hardly any planes at tiny provincial Hiroshima Airport so it was a very peaceful ride. And because the airport has been built on top of a mountain, there’s this little bit where the runway guide lights extend out into space:

Ruby actually asked me whether the planes go out on that orange thing and then shoot off the end. That was right near the end after all the hills; she was pretty tired I suppose.

We finished up at a lovely spot for our picnic overlooking the runway:

If you look reeeeeeeeally closely you can see a bit of a plane on the tarmac down below. Sorry about my knee there on the right.

By the time we had done all those hills we were very hot and sweaty, including our heads, which made me realise that the pathetic head coverings were probably a very good idea after all. I don’t think I’d want to strap on a helmet impregnated with the sweat of a thousand cyclists before me.

Back home at last, Felix and I decided to finish off the day in style with another trip to the local onsen (hot springs), this time during daylight hours so we could admire the view. In the past I’ve never been able to admire the view at scenic onsens because I figure I have to take my glasses off. Apart from the fact that they’d get all wet and foggy inside the bathhouse, there’s the feeling that one shouldn’t really be taking one’s glasses into a room full of naked men—surely it invites the reaction WHADDYOU PERVING AT MATE? But today, for the first time, I actually saw a guy wearing his glasses in, so I figure it must be OK after all. Hooray, another cultural barrier torn down, now I can enjoy the views at last.

Unless of course he was a pervert.