Japan

Japan: Tsuru-no-yu Onsen

Japan

May 1, 2017 by jackson

When travelling to a foreign land, one hopes to come across their own personal Shangri-La. This special place is off the beaten path; it’s full of authentic stuff and tradition; there are only locals there (or few tourists, anyway); and after the experience is over, and you go home to tell your friends and family about it, they don’t really believe you. “You’re saying that this water was how clean?” or “No. Really? You couldn’t have been the only ones there!”

The Shangri-La we all seek can come in different forms and, usually, drop out of the clear blue sky and land in our laps in a perfect-package-of-a-day. These places and experiences will stick on our minds for years to come and on cold dark nights when a major paper is due the next day or a baby is screaming at 2am and keeping you awake, you go back to these magical places in your mind which memory has only polished and made brighter over the years.

Jackson and I found a Shangri-La in Japan. I feel silly writing this in a way because the hospitality we’d experienced up to this point in Japan was above and beyond, we didn’t need a Shangri-La to think fondly on Japan! We’d had wonderful days in nature and cities alike: how could we top this?

Then: we arrived in Tsuru-no-yu Onsen.

To get to this place involved quite a lot of moving. We took a train to Tazawako station in Akita. Stepping out of the train we were greeted with EPIC mountain landscapes. The mountains were still covered in snow!

Thew views outside the bus window: stunning.

We had to catch a bus which drops you off at a deserted ski resort. We got picked up by the onsen from there and driven deeper into the mountains. The road wound and twisted and was walled in with feet of snow. When we pulled up to the Ryokan we were in a world of our own.

Once on the bus we were a little stressed because nothing was in English so we didn’t know where we were for a while.

Ryokans are traditional places to stay in Japan. They can be very fancy or bare-bones but it’s the tradition involved that makes them unique and special. If you can get a ryokan that also has an onsen (Japanese for hot soaking pools) you’re in a very special place.

Tsuru-no-yu had one room available for one night and Jackson managed to book it for us on our last night in Japan. For $80 USD a person per night we were transported to a level of relaxation and calm that we hadn’t experienced for a while. It’s a bit pricey, but for one night it is really really worth it (or, you know, maybe do 3 nights if you have the means).

There were hot sulfuric baths that sat steaming outside. The snow was melted back from the pools and the fact that it was still hovering around freezing in the mountains made stepping into the hot pools extra delightful because these were VERY hot. They had gender segregated pools and then a mixed bath. Jackson and I used the mixed only.

Oh, and another thing: everyone’s naked. Being that they’re Japanese everyone carries a small towel so they can cover the sensitive bits as they get in and out, but nakedness is a requirement to get into the pool.

Soaking in the hot mineral water felt unbelievable. And because everything is so goddamn Japanese it is all SUPER clean. Like: you can’t get in the hot pool unless you’ve thoroughly washed yourself beforehand. It must be what entering heaven must feel like: you walk into a purgatory where you’re meant to strip away all worldly possessions. After getting unclothed, you walk into a steamy room with bars of soap and a small bath. Scrub down, dip in the hot bath to acclimate your body to the heat (and prepare yourself to enter the cold shock of the outside again). Climb, steaming from the hot pool, push open another door and tip-toe your way to the main hot pool, slowly sinking deeper in and allowing the stinky, murky blue water to cradle your tired bones in a hot embrace. Soak. Soak. Soak. Repeat.

But the hot pool is not the only main event. I’d say the best part of the stay was changing into the robes they provided us and going to dinner.

We went out for a little photo shoot around the complex in our robes.

Dinner was served in a communal room (and you’ll have to just believe me here, because we took no pictures of any of this). It was traditional as hell. The floor is lined with tatami mats, you kick off your sandals when you walk in. Your spot is waiting for you: all laden with delicious bowls of food. In the corner of the room is a hot pit filled with salt fish roasting slowing on spikes above charcoal. Pickles, fish, tofu, rice, soy sauce: everything Japanese. You sit on your knees and feast.

I felt awkward in my robe and made the mistake of looking at the only other woman in the communal room who looked like she’d stepped out of a poster she was so perfectly poised. Oh well. Not my world: I’m merely a traveler and if I look gawky and stupid so be it.

Jackson and I made friends with a lovely couple from Luxembourg City. They were a pair of middle-aged men travelling in Japan together for 3 weeks. We guffawed over the toilets and exclaimed at how much the West is full of poopy-butted heathens compared to the cleanliness of the Japanese. (I wish I was kidding. The Japanese have THE BEST TOILETS I have ever seen!).

After supper, we soaked again in the hot pools watching the moon rise over the mountains and washing the world in its pale blue light. The sky was clear and cold and I felt at peace and far away from everything. Oh, if only moments like this lasted for days.

The morning came too quickly. Our time was up. We needed to get back to Tokyo and catch our flight to Europe. I felt terrible about leaving Japan. What about Hokkaido? We didn’t see Honshu either! Also, there was the entire west coast of the main island to see. I loved how clean everything was, how orderly and smooth the country felt. The people were some of the friendliest I’d ever met and the nature was unbelievable. How could Europe match this? Also: going to Europe meant the last part of our trip. New York City was looming closer and closer and an end date was in sight.

Our feet were heavy as we left Japan for the airport.

Japan Camera Roll – Part 8

Japan

April 30, 2017 by jackson

Tsurunoyu Onsen

– The ultimate experience of Japanese style relaxation

Some older Japanese dudes, in their duds, checking out the sunset.

Off to the left is the onsen, and to the right, the rooms. This stream would be a lovely cooling spot during the summer months.

The indoor pool. Not very big, and generally not as appealing as the outdoor one. A nice spot to warm up before the hustle across the courtyard to the outdoor pool.

We couldn’t really believe how much snow was still on the ground here. It wasn’t outrageously cold, so we were surprised that the snow hadn’t melted.

The official dog of the Akita region. There were photos of him everywhere.

Natural cooling system: Icy cold mountain water!

The inside of the sleeping quarters building.

Some of the mascots of Akita? Hard to say, our Japanese isn’t up to scratch.

Epic mountains, surrounding a tiny little train station town.

Japan: Mito and Sendai

Japan

April 30, 2017 by jackson

There were two days to kill before we were going to the mountains of Akita on the Northern part of Shikoku island in Japan. Our plan was to skirt the coast on our way up. Taking fate into our hands, Jackson found a place called Mito about 1.5 hours outside Tokyo.

Mito is a small city whose real claim to fame is its third prettiest traditional Japanese garden. If that doesn’t make you jump for excitement you’re probably about to see the second or THE prettiest Japanese garden. In which case: good for you.

Our train pulled into the station in Mito (precisely on time) and we got out into a drizzly, chilly, grey world.

We checked into our hotel and after a lot of convincing ourselves that the 3^rd prettiest garden must still be pretty enough to brave this crappy weather, we left to go explore.

Not feeling ready to spend time in the rain.

Mito was eerily quiet. Maybe it was the drizzle? We got lost. We got wet. We got to the garden.

The beauty of wet misty drizzle? Only the hardcore come outside. We were those people. Also the swans, too. They were hardcore but because they were black as night and looked ready to fuck some shit up if you got too close to their nests. I walked away from one very quickly. Black swans are metal as hell.

These gardens were, for lack of better words, otherworldly. As we walked around the people thinned out and we were, in many places, the only humans there.

We saw bamboo forests that I imagined looked simultaneously haunted and dreamy.

We walked past shrines that looked ready to host a dinner for the spirits of the woods.

I felt like a FOREIGNER here. This was not my land. I was a visitor merely passing through. Despite feeling so conspicuous, the people we did walk past were very friendly. As we strolled down a path lined with cherry blossoms we saw an old couple walking under their umbrellas. They both smiled at us. I felt like, had I asked, they would have taken us to their house and given us hot green tea and some dinner. Another photographer saw Jackson taking a shot and then pointed to a place and gave a thumbs up a way of saying “this is the best angle, buddy!” Hey, thanks, stranger!

After getting thoroughly soggy we got a rather forgettable hot bowl of udon noodles and trudged back to our hotel where I spent the rest of the night watching Japanese anime movies.

The next filler was Sendai, a few hours farther north than Mito. Sendai is a larger city in northern Japan. It’s claim to fame is that it’s, well, kinda large and in the north. They also boast a regional dish made with cow tongue.

When we pulled into this large city we went on the prowl for cow tongue. Gyutan (as it is known) is thinly sliced cow tongue grilled over charcoal and served with a bowl of ox tail soup and rice. Jackson found a place that looked promising on Google and we went in to sample this meal.

This is the name of the place. Easy to remember!

I can only describe our experience as a mouth-gasm. This meal was heavenly. Was it the caramelized charcoal-edges of the juicy meat? Or the salty, fatty, rich goodness of the oxtail soup? That perfect bowl of sticky, fluffy rice made the whole thing come together in a dance of flavors that made us want to weep with joy. This, friends, was one of the best meals in Japan. Holy Cow oh, Holy Holy.

As I ate, I watched the four Japanese chefs(?) stand behind the bar we were gorging ourselves at. One person was solely in charge of roasting the meat over hot coals. One was in charge of pouring the soup. One took the money and another watched everyone and nodded occasionally in approval. It was all very Japanese, right down to the HUGE chopsticks the griller used to flip the meat.

Cooking our yummy meal. (We didn’t eat all that meat there were other people there!)
Notice the chop sticks?

Is Sendai worth a visit? Nope. Other than our delightful meal the city itself fell flat. There wasn’t much to see and after walking around a while we concluded that the travel books were probably right not to include this place as a “must-see” while in Japan.

A statue in Sendai that had strange boobies.

We were excited to jump back on the train and head toward Akita and the one-night stay we had booked as our last night in Japan in the mountains. We were going to a Ryokan.

Japan Camera Roll – Part 7

Japan

April 29, 2017 by jackson

Mito

– When your accommodation falls through, and the spot your decided to go to instead turns into a mist covered wonderland.

I mean, seriously, what do you say about this?!

It must’ve been nesting season, because as we got close to a nest this guy showed up.

Natalie made the point of how seeing the birds like this put characters from Japanese films into perspective. She thought this duck looked like the inspiration for No Face from ‘Spirited Away’.

An impressive tree in Kairakuen gardens. Will likely be more impressive in a few weeks time when the blossoms and leaves start to come in.

Hiroko in Kyoto

Japan

April 29, 2017 by jackson

“Shaaaabu shabu… shaaabu shabu!” Hiroko said, carefully turning over the thinly sliced piece of beef in the hot pot. She held up the finished product, dripping with fat and juice, with her delicate chopsticks and pointed to it. “Finished!” She said, laying the steaming meat into a bowl filled with shredded dashi and soy sauce. “Eat!”

This was my first time eating Shabu-Shabu, a meal consisting of hot stock left to boil in the center of the table as diners pick up pieces of meat, vegetables and tofu and boil them. At the end of the meal the stock is then used to cook udon or ramen noodles. It’s a guaranteed way to feel absolutely stuffed full of hot goodness by the end of the night.

Our shabu-shabu dinner getting laid out.

Hiroko spared no expense when it came to hosting Jackson and me. Indeed, her hospitality was so above and beyond I felt like I was staying with a grandmother rather than an old student of mine.

I met Hiroko a while back when she came to New York City for a few months to study English. I was amazed at her the minute I met her because she was by far the oldest student I’d ever had. At 72 she came to New York City to visit her nephew and, as she put it: “Keep her mind sharp” by learning English.

Over the course of the few weeks I taught her our conversations would always come back to travel and the places she’d been. The beauty of age is the plethora of experiences one collects and Hiroko had many. It got to a point when I would name a country during class and ask if Hiroko had been there and the answer, almost always, was “yes!”

At one point in New York, Hiroko and another student of mine named Marie came to my apartment for dinner. Hiroko offered to cook for me and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. She made an amazing meal of tempura fried vegetables and fish! Marie, who became a side-kick of sorts for Hiroko, acted as translator many times and an excellent foil to Hiroko’s traditional grandmotherly ways.

Marie on the left and Hiroko on the right. They couldn’t look more different from each other but they are both very very sweet.

When I sent an email to Hiroko and explained that we’d be visiting Japan she graciously offered her apartment as a place to stay. She also acted as a tour guide and cultural ambassador to Kyoto.

Our first night’s “shabu-shabu” was accompanied with an excellent sake that Hiroko bought after our field trip to “Liquor Mountain.” (LOL) I seem to lose a lot of battles with my students in Japan: very few of them would let me pay for things and Hiroko was no exception.

This was a HUGE bottle that Hiroko joked would have to be finished before she’d let us leave her apartment.

Over the course of the 3 days we spent in Kyoto Hiroko’s generosity only increased. Jackson and I would wake up in our tatami-mat-covered room to the smells and bustling noises of Hiroko making us a traditional Japanese breakfast.

Jackson with his breakfast. Later Hiroko took Jackson into the kitchen and showed him how to make the Japanese egg omelet.

Casually, I mentioned that I enjoyed rice balls with salmon and, like a genie, Hiroko made us a bento box full of homemade rice balls to take with us on the train as we left Kyoto. Another morning she whipped up homemade mochi (a gelatinous rice pastry sometimes stuffed with red bean paste).

As if the meals she made for us were not enough, Hiroko’s personality was at times impish, witty and wickedly funny. Her English was not very strong, but her sense of humor and care for details was. She’d talk to us in broken English and then unconsciously switch into Japanese nattering away about something and only until she noticed that we were staring at her with glassy eyes would she chuckle and slap her forehead. She still didn’t know what to say so she’d shake her head and wave her hands at us. A good laugh was a great way to end those exchanges.

I was also amazed at her stamina. One day she took us around Kyoto for hours. Marie (the side-kick from New York) came to join us and the four of us walked all over Kyoto.

Me and Hiroko and Marie (I promise I am not pregnant).

Hiroko would point to old wooden buildings down side streets and explain that that was a kimono shop or a fabric making shop or a place to dye materials, etc, etc. Jackson and I would ogle at the temples, some hundreds and hundreds of years old and then Hiroko would lead us to the alter and patiently half explain half gesture the rituals of making a prayer. The practice involved a lot of bowing, clapping and bell ringing. You’re also supposed to chuck a coin into a prayer box. I pulled out a 50-yen (about 50 cents USD) coin at one point to throw in and Hiroko quickly stopped me. “No No! Too much!” She pulled out a 5-yen coin. “This is better (and cheaper)” she explained with a twinkle in her eye. In Japanese “5 Yen” translates to go en which is a homophone to go being a respectful prefix for something or someone en meaning “relationship” or “connection”. Therefore, when visiting a Shinto shrine, the Japanese will toss in a 5-yen coin for a “respectful connection” with the deity.

The entrance to the shrine for the deity of song, dance and performance.

I felt pampered, fat and happy staying with Hiroko. Her meals were full of chatter about our days and the sake poured freely.

The Bento box Hiroko made. The pink balls are the mochi.

I was sorry to leave and say goodbye. We told her that she was welcome to visit us in New York the next time she came. Jackson promised to cook for her. I’m looking forward to pulling out the stops for her.

Naoko in Kyoto

Japan

April 28, 2017 by jackson

I’ve been struggling with this post for a while. How do I sum up what we saw and how I felt? How can I put into words the taste of the food I ate, the smells of the parks and city and rain, the feel of the wind off a temple hundreds of years old? Kyoto wasn’t just the sights, either. It was the people we stayed with, ate with, talked with… Kyoto was my favorite city in Japan for these reasons.

In my struggle to put to words what Kyoto meant to me, I’ve instead decided to focus on the people we met and shared time with because, I think, Kyoto wouldn’t be Kyoto without them.

Take Naoko. I taught Naoko in New York City last year for two months. When she joined my class her English was very low- almost beginner level. At the time, I was teaching a class that was labelled as “low-level” English, but the students were far higher than beginner. Poor Naoko struggled those first few weeks to get her footing in a class full of students who were running circles around her. I later found out New York was her first time out of Japan and could appreciate how brave she was to come to New York to learn English by herself for 2 months!

Over the course of the 8 weeks we spent together, I took great pleasure watching Naoko learn and catch up with her classmates who were all very willing to be patient and help whenever they could, exclaiming that they knew the struggle as well!

I reached out to Naoko to see if she was available to visit while we were visiting Japan. She had an evening free and came from Osaka to meet us in Kyoto and reserved a table at an incredible restaurant for us.

Listen: when I say this restaurant was authentic as hell, I mean it. There was a full on Geisha in the adjacent room performing with a fan.

A geisha is a traditional Japanese entertainer (among other things). (I did NOT take this picture it is from a Google search.)

When we walked in (after stepping out of the cab that Naoko paid for and almost getting into a fistfight with me over insisting on giving money to the driver) the host got down on her knees to welcome us (in traditional Japanese style). We kicked our shoes off and placed them in special lockers and were ushered to a table (behind a traditional paper screen door) which was laden with food.

“Is this ours!?”

Yes. Because Naoko had called ahead and ordered what seemed like EVERYTHING ON THE MENU. Dish after dish came as we ate. Boxes of sushi, plates of sashimi, platters of meat, salad, vegetables, soups, bowls of rice… on and on and on. I was stuffed. Naoko kept offering to get us another round of beer or drink.

This was some of the display outside of the restaurant. This is a common practice in Japan: they’ll place plastic/wax copies of everything they make in the display window as you walk in. I couldn’t get a picture of the food we ate so this should give you an idea.

When we walked to our table this was already all set up and ready for us to eat. In the small basket is a piece of tofu, some kind of potato salad and a pickle garnish made of clams (?).

Holding up another dish of something yummy and very Japanese.

Naoko made conversation with us using a lot of hand gestures and broken sentences and I had a great time catching up! Later she admitted that it was very difficult for her to find someone to talk to in English in Japan. She said she was very happy to talk to us and only wished her English was better. Did that matter? What is language if not only a tool for communication? It is not the ONLY tool, that’s for certain. Context is incredibly important and as long as that was well established, we could have lots of fun talking about New York, our jobs, our lives, our experiences in Japan: all sorts of things. Naoko’s English was not perfect, but she was excited to talk, listen and laugh with us.

After dinner (which Naoko paid for) we went for a walk in the night around Kyoto.

Kyoto at night is magic. The blossoms are lit by lamps and glow against the dark sky. The streams and creeks sparkle. The streets are empty and quiet and it is so easy to lose oneself in the romance of the shadows cast by paper lanterns.

We strolled, chatting away, exclaiming over how clean everything was. The street looked like you could eat something off it. Not a single cigarette butt, no cast-aside can of soda, no broken glass! The pavement was new. The paint indicating lanes or signals was crisp. I’ve never seen a used street look so good. Naoko explained that in Japan it was rude to litter and everyone will carry their trash home with them. Even cigarette butts and gum: the litter-rats of most major cities in the world.

Coming to a busy street to wait for our bus back to our apartment I felt nostalgic for the evening we’d just had. Not ten minutes had gone by since we rounded a corner from the quiet lamp-lit glow of the Japanese side street we’d just walked down and I felt like I’d left a dream I couldn’t return to.

Naoko waited with us until our bus came. She still had to catch a train back to Osaka (about 45min away) and had taken off work the next day so she could stay out late. She beamed at us as we hugged her and assured her over and over that we had had a fabulous time. “I am happy.” She said. I think she really meant that.

I told her she was welcome back in New York and to please tell us when she came as we could repay her generosity by housing and feeding her. She nodded vigorously.

The bus pulled away and we waved until she was out of sight.

I cannot fully describe the generosity of Naoko; to treat Jackson and I to such a fabulous meal, great company and a lovely walk in Kyoto is a real gift. I am so grateful.

Main navigation

Japan

Tsurunoyu Onsen

– The ultimate experience of Japanese style relaxation

Mito

– When your accommodation falls through, and the spot your decided to go to instead turns into a mist covered wonderland.