There’s a lot to see and do in Kumamoto. But almost all of it requires having a car or using public transportation which is no hardship because public transportation in Japan is a dream. Everything is clean and runs on time.

On the first day in Kumamoto, a visit to Unganzenji Reigando Cave, an hour away by bus seems like a must.

Unganzenji Reigando Cave is where Musashi Miyamoto spent his final years. Who is this person, you wonder. Well — Musashi Miyamoto (c.1584 -1645) was one of Japan’s finest samurai, a writer and philosopher to boot. In this cave he wrote his book The Book of Five Rings.

Miyamoto is known for having a two- sword technique (the shorter sword used for deflecting). When he was either 12 or 13 , he won his first dual against a traveling samurai whom he beat to death using a wooden pole.

Admittedly, before this, I knew nothing about Musashi Miyamoto. But the internet is a great place for fast learning. Lucky for me, I also happen to be traveling with someone who did read The Book of Five Rings. So there’s that!

Arriving at the bus terminal, I ask my way to the right bus bay. There is a group of about sixteen older people already waiting.

A spritely older gentleman comes over to me. He has lively eyes and is dapper in a tan sports coat and straw fedora.

We greet each other formally and he says, “This is my walking group. I am leader for this group. Where are you going?”

“We need Bus U 3-1. We’re going to Musashi Miyamoto’s cave.”

A few of the women come over. They discuss and nod and discuss some more.

“Not here,” a woman wearing a floppy khaki-coloured hat says. ” You need go another bay. I show you,”

She’s already walking away beckoning me with to come with that upside down wave that Asians do. But her friends, call her back laughing.

“No no. This is right bay,” they say. She looks doubtful.

They talk about it some more. They discuss where we’re going, where we need to get off and eventually after quite some time, they finally all decide that we’re in the right place.

At this time, a bearded young man joins the back of the line. He’s not Japanese. He’s tall and well built. Earbuds in his ears, he’s keeps to himself.

The leader of the group comes back to me.

“Today we’re going to pick citrus,” he says conversationally.

“That’s great,” I reply. “How long is your walk?”

“About 3 km.” He chuckles. “I don’t know why but many woman in this group. Only three mens.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Yes. Many women. Maybe they understand exercise is important but also this is a chance for them to spend time together.”

“Yes. Is important to make exercise for the body. But also this is exercise for mind.”

Each of them has a photocopy of a hand drawn map which he is distributing. I guess he has plotted their route. Many of them are scribbling furiously, making notes on their map and consulting each other.

Right on schedule, the bus trundles off carrying the Walking Group and three westerners.

I’m sitting in front of the Walking Group Leader so I turn to him for a chat.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

“I live in the US but originally I’m from South America,” I reply.

“Ah…America. America help us a lot after the war. When I was child, American soldier gave to us every day milk and biscuits.”

His eyes take on a far away look, lost in the memory of days of hunger and hardship.

He was once an agricultural science teacher. He explains how he used to teach his students to use local fruits to make jams, preserves and dried fruit. It’s not a stretch to see that his days as a hungry little boy informed his teaching.

Some of the women turn back to warn us that our stop is approaching. But as the bus nears, they laugh, wave hands ‘No no no! Next one. Next one.”

As the next stop approaches, this happens again. And so we continue chatting and laughing as the bus rolls through the sunny Kumamoto countryside.

Finally as we reach our stop, they all wish us a good day. We thank them repeatedly for their help and wish them a good walk, too.

The young man who had been mostly silent throughout the journey clambers out as well.

He walks beside me and soon, on the steep uphill climb, the three of us play the introduction game — who are you…where are you from?

His name is Y. He’s twenty-two and lives in Belgium. He’s visiting the cave because he practices MMA (mixed martial arts) and wants to see the place where Japan’s famous samurai spent his last days.

Y is an interesting young man – a contradictory composite of strong and gentle, sweet and tough. He listens well and speaks with intention. He’s thoughtful in what he says.

The walk to the cave is beautiful. Soft sunlight filters through the leaves of the maples throwing shadows and pools of light at our feet.

The cave itself sits further along a trail. Up some stairs, then down.

Walking the trail, I notice that Y is torn between wanting to explore but worried that we might walk off and leave him.

He asks me, “You’re not leaving now, are you?”

I assure him that we’ll wait for him. And so he ends up spending the entire day with us.

After a few hours, we head back down the hill to the bus stop. Earlier, on the way up, I pass these tangerines for sale. By mid-afternoon, only one remains.

As the three of us stroll downhill, we wonder what the odds are of us catching the same bus with the Walking Group. We all hope we get to see them again.

The bus rounds the corner and stops to pick us up. I’m the last to enter. But from outside, I hear greetings and laughter from inside the bus. Happiness surges through me. It’s the same bus! They’re so happy to see us as we are to see them.

I sit beside a woman with an orange and pink hat. After a while, she delves into her bag and produces three tangerines, motioning me to share.

Another woman sitting up ahead also passes us some tangerines. Y puts his tangerines into his small messenger bag, which now bulges.

“Share one with your brother, ” I say.

He smiles. “Of course.”

As we head back to town, we, at the back of the bus, are laughing and chatting like old friends. The Walking Group Leader tells me about his monthly English class, this teacher, his retirement and a some more about his childhood.

Back at the bus station, we’re hungry, tired but happy. I ask them to take a photo of the group so I can remember, their faces, the laugher, their kindness, the sweet and juicy tangerines — and their joie de vivre.

And they thank me for doing so.

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