Fukushima. On the road again.

Higashiyama Onsen is a gem suspended in time. The river and the hot springs wind their way through the mountains of Higashiyama. Around, there's a contrast between the luxurious wooden ryokans with their enveloping lights and the huge abandoned hotels with broken glass and sealed doors. I venture out for an early morning walk. The echo of the swiftly flowing water and a few raindrops mix with the sound of my geta (traditional wooden sandals) clacking on the asphalt. Curious faces of the locals begin to emerge, surprised by the sight of a foreigner wandering around in a slightly too short yukata (traditional robe), photographing barred windows and rusty stairs. Even though here time seems to have stopped, in reality, it marches on relentlessly. They've been waiting for me at the ryokan for breakfast for a while. I run up the street barefoot with the geta in my hand.