Autumn at Genbikei Gorge Foliage along the cliffs, dango in hand

I looked down from the bridge walkway and caught my breath at the depth of the gorge. Water ran between cliffs on either side, narrowing into the distance. The trees above had taken on their autumn colors. I straightened my coat sleeve and looked back at the river. I’d come for the foliage, but the shapes of the rock and water drew me in first.

The rock face isn’t flat like a wall. Some parts jut out, others are split by deep cracks, and I found myself wanting to trace it all with my eyes, from the trees above down to the water. I’d heard the Iwai River carved Genbikei Gorge over many years. Thinking of all the time the water had spent wearing the rock away made me want to take a closer look at the narrower sections of the river, too.

Partway through my walk, I bought some dango and returned to the bridge walkway. I had a little paper plate in one hand and the dango skewer in the other. I lifted it for a bite, but the autumn leaves beyond it caught my eye and my hand stopped. I looked down at the river, then turned back to the dango. When there’s a lovely view and something sweet right in front of me, I want to take my time with both.

As I took a bite of dango, the sweetness filled my mouth and I felt myself smile. I’d been so focused on the shapes in the rocks, and now I was just as absorbed in my dango. I didn’t rush to finish. I set the skewer back on the plate and gazed at the river. I wanted to remember the sweetness on my tongue along with the sight of the water flowing by. I felt like the cliffs would always come back to me when I thought about how good the dango tasted.

Genbikei is known for Kakko Dango, brought across the river in a basket suspended from a rope. When I first heard that it was the dango, not a person, that crossed the river, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Apparently, you place your order, put in the money, and use a wooden mallet to sound the signal to have the dango and tea sent across. I love a place where the fun starts before you even take a bite.

I was about to set off again, so I adjusted my grip on the plate. One last look, from the trees down to the water. I knew the river carved the rock, but seeing these shapes right in front of me made me realize the scale of its work was much greater than I’d imagined. I knew that when I got home, I’d keep thinking about the river’s work, along with the autumn leaves and the dango. Curious to see it from another angle next time, I left the bridge looking forward to continuing my walk.