Near Temple No. 60, Yokomineji Guesthouse 60 BASE

The Story Held In the Guesthouse

A guesthouse of “giving back,” born from the home of grandparents

The origin of 60 BASE lies in Mr. Takeda’s childhood memories of time spent at his grandparents’ home in Ehime. In that old house, with its earthen floor, kamado stove, and well still intact, surrounded by rice fields, time flowed in a way completely different from the city. What stayed with him most vividly was the quail farming his grandparents ran. From feeding the birds to collecting eggs, shipping them, and even seeing their lives through to the end — that unbroken rhythm of daily life taught him what it meant to “live rooted in the land.”

As time passed, his grandparents grew old, closed down the quail sheds, and rebuilt the house. But after their passing, it became “a house where no one lived.” From that point, Mr. Takeda’s life began to change dramatically.

After his grandfather passed away, as he visited his grandmother in the care facility and traveled every month from Osaka to Ehime to look after the now-empty house, he came to feel more and more strongly that “if we want to protect this land passed down from our ancestors, we ourselves have to make the decision and take action.” Letting go of the stability of a civil service job and moving to Ehime was a decision so major that people around him tried to stop him. It was his wife who supported that decision, who had worked alongside him, and gradually developed a deep attachment to this place. In this way, 60 BASE began as an effort to transform “the home of our roots” into “a home that welcomes travelers.”

I want this place to be more than just a relationship of “service” or “business.” At its foundation, I want it to be a space where people can toss the spirit of osettai back and forth. Yes, we receive money. But I think that sense of surprise — “They would do this much for me?” — is what leads someone to pass kindness on in return.

The Owner’s Thoughts and Philosophy

I worked as a civil servant in Osaka for many years. It was stable. But after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother moved into a care facility, and I began taking responsibility for managing the empty house, the center of gravity in my heart started to shift. I began to feel, “There is something here that only I can do.” My job in Osaka could be handed over to someone else. But this land passed down from my ancestors, and its history — if I myself did not act now, all of it would be cut off. That is how I came to feel.

I worked as a civil servant in Osaka for many years. It was stable. But after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother moved into a care facility, and I began taking responsibility for managing the empty house, the center of gravity in my heart started to shift. I began to feel, “There is something here that only I can do.” My job in Osaka could be handed over to someone else. But this land passed down from my ancestors, and its history — if I myself did not act now, all of it would be cut off. That is how I came to feel. To quit my job and relocate was, honestly, a very big decision. In the world of civil service, almost no one leaves halfway through, so no matter who I asked, they would say, “Are you crazy?” But houses where no one lives, and fields no one farms fall into ruin in no time, and that in turn affects the surrounding area as well. I felt there was more than enough reason and value in retiring and moving there without waiting for retirement age. And above all, my wife’s understanding meant a great deal — she had been coming with me from the time of those regular visits, working hard alongside me, and deepening her love for this place.

To quit my job and relocate was, honestly, a very big decision. In the world of civil service, almost no one leaves halfway through, so no matter who I asked, they would say, “Are you crazy?” But houses where no one lives, and fields no one farms fall into ruin in no time, and that in turn affects the surrounding area as well. I felt there was more than enough reason and value in retiring and moving there without waiting for retirement age. And above all, my wife’s understanding meant a great deal — she had been coming with me from the time of those regular visits, working hard alongside me, and deepening her love for this place. When I decided to relocate, I had already decided from the start to open a lodging place for pilgrims. When I was 22, I experienced the pilgrimage on foot, and I received so much "osettai" from people across Shikoku. My grandparents, too, came to cheer me on again and again wherever I was along the way. “It’s not right to just keep receiving. Someday I have to give something back.” That feeling had not faded even after 30 years. When I came to live in this place, I wanted to repay the people of Shikoku and the pilgrimage culture of Shikoku. When I thought about it that way, a guesthouse seemed like the perfect vessel for giving back.

What we especially value as part of our guesthouse service is the food.We are certified by Ehime Prefecture as a “farm stay,” and we grow a wide variety of vegetables, fruit, and rice. Every day, we serve our guests homemade meals prepared with 10 to 15 kinds of homegrown vegetables.

Through farming and cooking, we hope our guests can come to know the way we live. And for our guests as well, we hope this becomes an opportunity to gain a deeper understanding of the lives of people in Shikoku, and in Japan.

Our guesthouse was originally a “home” where my grandparents lived, so we only have two guest rooms, and the bath is also small. I imagine there may be some inconveniences, but we are also able to offer attentive service, such as serving freshly prepared food and helping guests plan their journey.

I would be very happy if people could feel the “heart” of our osettai in that, and I hope this will be a place that passes on the “baton of osettai” — a guesthouse where what our guests receive here makes them want, someday and somewhere, to give something back to someone else.

To pass the baton of osettai on to the next generation

A place to discover “ordinary Japanese life” in its real form

More than 90% of 60 BASE’s guests are walking pilgrims. And of those, about 45% are international guests. For guests from overseas, being able to encounter everyday Japanese life in its real form through the architecture and food is something they find especially valuable.

Also, many international guests express their gratitude and joy directly in words. They make sure to clearly say “thank you.” That culture is a great encouragement to me.

Everyone has their own reason for pilgrimage. To a place where all can find peace of mind.

In the past, many people on the Shikoku pilgrimage had lost their hometowns and continued wandering. Today’s pilgrims often include people with experience on long trails such as the Camino de Santiago or the Kumano Kodo, as well as those who want to discover a side of Japan that cannot be experienced through tourism in places like Kyoto or Atami. Some come in order to make time to reflect on their lives and carve out a path toward the future. 60 BASE hopes to remain a place that quietly receives different motivations and feelings of travelers, and helps anyone regain the physical condition and peace of mind to start walking again the next day.