Gunma

This quick overnight to an ancient onsen town in Gunma unfolded like a whispered secret. Traveling up the mountain then down again to wander through a semi-abandoned train station, its infinite stone steps disappeared into shadow, time layered into every surface. Snow gathered relentlessly-on frozen windows tangled with bare branches, on silent ski lifts swallowed by white, on statues standing patiently against the storm. The snowfall grew so heavy it nearly left us stranded, the world reduced to hush and blur, but we found our way back to the ryokan just in time. There, steam rose, worries dissolved, and the night softened into warmth: onsen waters, clinking bottles of champagne, and the quiet relief of being held safely inside while winter raged beyond the glass.