When I stepped on board my transcontinental flight, winging all the way to Japan across the Pacific, I had never heard of Beppu. Not once. Not ever. But chatting with strangers can be a good policy and yield very interesting results. Seated next to me, a friendly young woman extolled the virtues of a certain hot springs town on the southern island of Kyushu.
It sounded like an absolute magmatic wonder. Beaches where, if you ask, they’ll bury you up to your neck in volcanically charged soil. Onsen baths will warm you right down to your soul. She showed me a photo of the town on her phone, a series of traditional-looking buildings clinging to a seaside incline. The whole place was shrouded mystically, almost magically, in a moody sort of fog. That mist was propelled high into the air from all that boils below the surface.
