When some people think of Kyushu they think “Nagasaki Peace Park,” “Hakata Ramen,” “Kurokawa Onsen,” or “Mt. Aso and Sakurajima.” Of course, those are all wonderful experiences, but when I think of Kyushu, I think “nature.” I think long country roads, gushing waterfalls, rice-fields among forested mountains, and power spots.

I took a solo-road trip once through Kagoshima and Kumamoto. I had nothing by time, a car with a broken air-conditioner in the middle of a hot summer, and list of places I wanted to go, mostly a variety of waterfalls with a few other spots thrown in. I've been all over the world, but this trip holds a special place in my heart. Never in my life have I felt so at peace and happy. Nature brings happiness. Kyushu brings happiness.

I started out my tour with the beautiful Ryumontaki, a waterfall only about an hour drive away, hidden under the expressway and around a few tight corners. I reached it eventually and was so glad I did. It was summer vacation, but early enough in the day that the local kids hadn’t come out to play, or maybe they actually heeded the signs warning against swimming. I followed a gentle river to the bottom of the biggest waterfall I’d seen in Japan yet, and I love waterfalls, so I’ve seen a lot. The water gushed out from an alcove of giant rocks, forming a deep and enticing pool. Did I mention it was hot? I mean, really hot. It was easily 100F (38C) and more humid than any human should have to withstand and the air-conditioner in my little car didn’t work. With sweat dripping down my face just sitting in my car, relaxing next to a raging waterfall felt like heaven on Earth. Being alone, I heeded the warning signs and only went so far as to climb barefoot around the rocks and dip my feet into the cool, clear water; I wouldn’t want to be pulled into the depths with no one around to call to for help. After my refreshing half-dip, I followed a map to a path that I assumed would take me to the top of the waterfall, so I could gain a new perspective of the height and grandeur of the scene.  Instead it led me through a forest filled with mosquitoes that sucked more of my blood than when I donated to the Red Cross a few years back. Spider webs crossed the path to the extent that if I was in any other country, I would think the path had been abandoned for months, but summer on Kyushu just has so many spiders that the webs are endless. The top of the path was confusing and overgrown. I could hear the waterfall clearly, but it remained hidden and out of reach. It was too hot for this, so I headed back down, hopped rocks back over the river and took my car up the mountain where other signs promised more waterfalls.

The next waterfall I found was an underwhelming falls created by a man-made dam. It was still nice to walk down a lightly wooded, lightly mosquito-ed path. I was getting hungry.

I’m not much of a foodie, so much not-so that when traveling by myself I sometimes forget to eat all together. On the way to this second waterfall though, while driving down a small, gravel road, I saw a hand-painted sign of kanji that I couldn’t make out, but I figured was advertising a restaurant. I paid it no mind and went on. After leaving the waterfall, I headed out back towards a big road to take me on my way, but I passed another one of the same sign. I took it as an omen that I should go there, so I went with my gut.  I almost left the moment I arrived. There was a gravel parking lot big enough for three cars and I was lucky to get one, as someone was leaving when I pulled up. But it was just a house. A house with no matching sign. I was confused. I eventually found a door on the side that I thought might pass as a door to a restaurant. In Japanese countryside-restaurant fashion, opening the door I felt like I was walking into someone’s home.  I mean, I pretty much was. Many of the restaurants out there are attached to the owners’ living quarters. The food was probably prepared in their everyday-use kitchen. The seating area was rustic with a historical feel, fitting to the old-time Japanese atmosphere; sliding, aged, wooden doors, low tables, pillows to sit on and a garden to look at on the other side of the window. The musty air was cooled by dusty electric fans. The other customers were about as old as the house and clearly long-time friends of the ancient man who brought my tea and took my order: the daily special.

So many kinds of food were placed before me that I couldn’t fit them all in the same picture. I don’t know if you can tell the difference between high-quality steamed white rice and lower quality steamed white rice, but I definitely couldn’t until I tasted this rice. I didn’t know rice could be so delicious. (I could also have just been starving, but I choose to believe it really was the quality.) Every side dish I was served was vegetarian and all ingredients were grown in the region and prepared with love and care by the grandma slaving away in the kitchen. Goya, potato salad, boiled pumpkin, miso soup, things that I didn’t even know existed but loved every bit of. The old man started chatting me up with the normal small talk that I grew so accustomed to being a foreigner living in Japan. Where are you from? Why are you in Japan, Kagoshima? How the heck did you end up in our little shop in the middle of nowhere? They were the same questions I often got, although this time almost incomprehensible in his old-man Kagoshima dialect and he was so surprised and excited to have someone new and exciting in his humble restaurant that I answered with equal pleasure and enthusiasm in equally incomprehensible Nagasaki dialect. I was thrilled to be in their little corner of the world and I wanted to make sure they knew how happy I was to have found their secret and delicious hideaway.

Leaving my new favorite restaurant, (although I will probably never return to it), I quickly got lost. I didn’t mind though. Speeding down those country roads with a full belly, an excellent mix cd playing, the smell of growing rice wafting into my car through the open windows and the sun shining on my face made me appreciate my life more than any single moment in my life until that point, nor have I achieved such nirvana again. It was perfect. My life was perfect. I was complete. Hours of driving through nature, winding roads cutting through nothing but cedar tree forests and fragrant rice fields. I stopped to buy a Japanese pear from a roadside stand despite not really having room for it in my tummy. “My life is perfect,” was the only thought that passed through my head for hours.

I was driving in the general direction of my home-away-from-home just over the Kagoshima border in the mountains of Kumamoto, but was free to stop when I wanted. So I did. I spotted a sign while on the road approaching the Satsuma area pointing the way to Kannondaki, yet another waterfall. How could I pass that up? Again, a few wrong turns later I ended up in this park. It had a river running through it and a few mini waterfalls along the path. But the waterfall behind the Kannon (Buddhist goddess of mercy) statue was beautiful and perfect. Some college kids were swimming in the pool,  their clothes still on, leading me to believe they were also serial subscribers to spontaneity. The bottom of the waterfall was nice and relaxing, but I finally had the opportunity to go to the top. I walked up winding, unkempt staircases until I reached the apex. Living in Japan, my Japanese friends always talked about “power spots,” but I didn’t really believe you could draw energy from nature in real-life, but oh, how wrong I was. Standing on these rocks, the top of vertical tunnels shaped by thousands of years of rushing water, I have never felt so alive, yet so at peace. I was alone and my thoughts quickly left me, leaving me stuck in a state of awe at nature’s beauty, power and magnificence. Had I slipped, I would’ve plummeted meters down into a crevice, crushed by tons of rushing water. It was an amazing and scary feeling to be standing there in the presence of such dominating power. I’m not really sure how long I stayed there absorbing nature’s energy.  Again, complete, unadulterated happiness.

My trip that day ended in Hitoyoshi, Kumamoto, probably my favorite place on Kyushu. Before this trip I’d spent countless hours rafting down the Kumagawa River with my raft guide friends who have a relaxed and fun culture all their own and were so kind to share with me. My drive between the Kannondaki and Hitoyoshi was cooler, literally, as I weaved up mountain roads. There was the smell of rain in the air as the sun lowered in the sky. The rice fields, still emitting their scent, were fewer and far between, but the shade of the trees brought me gently back down to Earth from the clouds of elation on which I was still sitting.

The next day I found myself in a wet suit sliding down natural waterslides and repelling down waterfalls in a ravine deep in the mountains. Canyoning, as it's called is thrilling and I wish it lasted a whole day rather than only a few hours. (Luckily, I got to do something similar a few days later). After the morning of canyoning, I found myself in a raft, rushing down the rapids of the Kumagawa river. The water was chilly, but so refreshing on that hot August day. I was in a raft with Love-chan the guide, and five other customers, all Japanese and nervous about having to speak English. (The sigh of relief you see when people realize you speak Japanese never gets old.) The Kumagawa snakes through canyons and by houses (I later met a man from Hitoyoshi who has a view of the river and sees the rafters every day). We pass a fertility shrine up on land, and despite being hundreds of meters away, we could still make out the giant penis statue. Oh Japan! Another special treat was seeing the SL (steam locomotive), a train special to Kumamoto and the first steal bridge built in Japan (by Americans). Of course the rafting itself was excellent and I implore anyone with even a smidgen of adventure in their hearts to check out LandEarth Rafting company.

If you find yourself in Japan in August, you will never be far from fireworks. I timed my trip well, being in Hitoyoshi on the night of their summer festival and I watched the fireworks show with my raft-guide friends after indulging in famous potstickers from Shoryuken.

There is no sleep for the restless, so the next day I took a drive a little further north in Kumamoto to the city of Misato, where I found Japan's longest staircases at 3,333 steps. The way up was a little daunting as I saw many a descenders with wobbly knees and blisters. It wasn't as bad as I was expecting however, and the beautiful scenery and cool bugs I found along the way made me forget any pain I did have. The top was spectacular and I took my time basking in the magnificence of the scene before me.

My multi-prefectural adventure came to and end the next day with a bang. The Nanayama International Waterfall Climb in Saga. A yearly event, thousands of people trek and trudge 3km up a river. There are opportunities to jump off 3,5 and 7 meter high rocks into deep cool pools. You have to scramble up small, slick waterfalls with the help of a rope. You get to slide down natural water slides. I feared for my life at one point, crossing a really strong waterfall that scared many people away upon approaching the raging water. I lost my footing at one point, swinging and being pushed around by the incredible force of the water. I left this trip with many more bruises than I anticipated, but also many lasting memories.