At the entrance of the charming Kikugawa Guesthouse pairs of other travelers’ shoes brought to mind animals marching two-by-two onto Noah’s Arc. One-size-for-all shuffle-slippers, the kind without a back, looked like men’s size 11, and reminded me of my father’s version in a soft tan leather.
Quaint, charming, the most “Japanese” and nicest place we stayed.
Battling visions of an upside-down slip down the steep smoother than marble stairs without handrail, I yearned for building codes and OSHA requirements on the way to Japan bed #3.
The traditional Japanese dinner was a worthwhile “upgrade” on the B&B reservation, the ten different smallish plates and bowls of exotic vegetables, tofu, and seafood not for the faint of heart, or those who darken the doors of McDonalds
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