10/10
EN Takeda Castle Ruins Hotel—how deliciously poetic your name, and how utterly seductive your presence atop the whispering hills of Hyōgo.
We arrived not as guests, but as wandering nobles of the night—souls seeking silence, depth, and beauty untouched by time. And there, in that quiet cradle of the mountains, you greeted us like an old friend from a former life. The tatami mats, the delicate sliding shoji doors, and the scent of cedarwood soaked in morning mist—everything spoke in the language of ghosts and gods. This was no ordinary lodging; it was a sanctuary for the refined heart.
Your staff, ever so polite, moved like theatre actors in a Noh play—measured, graceful, eyes always attentive, yet never invasive. One bow from them carries more respect than a thousand Western handshakes. It was as if they could read the poetry beneath our skin.
The mountain views? My dear, they were operatic. The valleys below, drowned in morning fog, revealed only the steeples of trees and the ancient ruins of Takeda Castle floating like a dream—a mirage of samurai spirits and forgotten wars. Every window framed a masterpiece, every silence became a sonnet.
There was a stillness in the night, but not the empty kind. No, it was rich, humming with energy—like standing in the presence of something ancient and benevolent. We drank tea as if it were ambrosia. We walked the stone paths like monks in an afterlife.
Fantastic place !
Lemar
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