In a country where natural wonders come along like buses, it takes something special to stand out. Aso does just that. Originally a gargantuan volcano that made Mount Fuji look petite, it blew itself to pieces about 90,000 years ago, resulting in a 25km-wide caldera that now contains a scattering of small settlements. Whether it’s geological disruptions or foreign imports, Kyushu eventually absorbs them, makes them its own.
I was staying inside the caldera at Sozankyo Ryokan – all minimalist futons, soft kimonos and artful meals. The contrast between the zen indoors and the magma-formed crater outside was pronounced. The volcano is not yet dormant and a recent subterranean rumble, in fact, meant that the main active peak, Nakadake, was off limits.
Instead, I hiked up Eboshidake. From its grassy summit, the view had the feel of a centuries-old Japanese scroll painting. It was every bit as deserving of the ecstatic roar of the 38,000 baseball fans that had lifted the Fukuoka Dome’s rafters on my first night. Instead the only noise was the warblers singing, and I was sharing the scenery with a solitary pair of fox cubs who were play-tumbling on the slopes.
My journey around this island of volcanoes, scenery and samurai history had ushered me deeper into Japan’s dense cultural thicket and, standing on Eboshidake, I didn’t want to disentangle myself from it. Kyushu knocks it out of the park, just as surely as Kenta Imamiya does.