There are monkeys at the top of the mountain at Miashima.  If you stare at them they will bite you.  They are very aggressive and will try to steal food if you stop to picnic.  But we are in love and the view is grand.  We hardly notice.  We decide to walk down the mountain.
  The trails wind and turn and we are soonlost but always take the turn leading down, towards the sea.  We come upon a settlement of monks living in primitive huts.  They lead us to a large smoky room under a thatched roof.  Mice dance I the straw.  They dip porridge for us from a large pot hanging over a smoky fire.  They tell us the fire has been burning for over 600 years.  We eat the portage and turn to leave.  A monk walks in front of us, sweeping the path before us as we continue down.  I take your hand.