Sweet and Creepy

Teetering on the brink of oblivion. This is where I found myself as I bounced up and down on the back seat of a local bus on its leisurely and haphazard routine up the edge of a mountain. The roads twisted up and down the beautiful and deadly landscape and I was beginning to wonder if my last moments on earth would be sandwiched between two Japanese senior citizens praying to their stone monkey god as the bus stumbled into the foggy forest abyss below. Of course I survived the bus ride to Moto-Hakone, but merely by the flip of some cosmic coin.

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that even in the sticks, Japanese buses have roman characters displayed for their stops, so there was little guesswork involved when I stepped down off the bus and was left on a seemingly abandoned country highway to fend for myself. It wasn’t long before I found my home for the night.

Did I take my shoes off when I was supposed to? Of course not. This was becoming a common mistake. Some buildings give a shit, others do not. This one did and I wasted no time in committing my first faux pas. The host in this quaint bed and breakfast was very helpful and eager to show me a map of the area. We talked about the local sights and what I should see first and when she learned that I was interested in experiencing the local hot springs, she seemed very excited and ardent to get me there. Before hitting the springs, she suggested I take a walk to the lake to get my bearings, she also suggested a short cut.

“Is like a jungle!”, she said as she marked the paper map with her red marker. She had drawn a wandering line between the highways and sure enough, it was cutting through what appeared to be a heavily wooded area.
“Oh. Well won’t that be exciting.” I didn’t like the phrase ‘jungle’, but the alternative put me walking along the winding highway for a few kilometers and there was no sidewalk, so I immediately assumed I would be killed.

It was like a jungle. A rocky, cliff-ridden, snake haven and it wasn’t long before I was praying to the stone monkey gods to not let me slip and die with a borrowed loin cloth in my pocket. The jungle path spat me out in front of a gas station. Lake Ashi has beautiful views of Mount Fuji and I would return to it many times before making my way back to Tokyo, but for now, I wanted to get naked with strangers.

Early in my trip planning I decided that going to a public Onsen was something I wanted to do. In my reading I knew that this meant lots of nudity and as much as I enjoy the nudity of others, my own impending public display was making me a little anxious. Still, I felt this was an integral part of the cultural experience and I was determined to show it the respect it deserved. Plus I was going to see weiners.

Did I take my shoes off when I was supposed to? Of course not. Fortunately, this was a minor offense compared to accidentally walking into the women’s locker room, which I did soon thereafter. The lack of roman characters made finding the men’s locker room difficult, but not impossible. Opening the correct door, I walked into a remarkable display. Obviously there were naked guys everywhere. And while this was remarkable, it was not so remarkable as the backdrop of the mountainside behind them. It really was beautiful. The sloping landscape created a natural privacy fence and the bubbling spring water tumbled down smooth rocks into separate pools. The locker room opened directly into the open-air space that held the springs and the chilly air could be felt from where I stood.

I found my locker and changed into nothing. The petite handtowel served as “cover”. The custom is to strategically dangle it in front of your dangling bits. The custom is also to vigorously scrub on a stool with a bucket and a brush before entering the water so you are clean when you sink yourself in. Covered in soap and squatting on a smooth stone stool, I might have looked clean, but I felt oh-so-dirty. I rinsed, repeated, and made my way to the steamiest of the springs. It was really fucking hot.

The water was almost unbearable, but I knew that hopping out would draw even more attention to me than I was already receiving. It goes without saying that I was the only white guy in the joint and while I had just gotten used to being the only white guy in most situations, I now had the added joygasm of being the only naked white guy. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking naked asian guys, you’re thinking stereotypes and let me set the record straight right here. I don’t know if it’s all this soaking they do or the diet of puffer fish, but Japanese guys seemed to have quite a bit to cover with their washcloths. Much like in America, the most “gifted” in that regard didn’t bother covering up at all, and I don’t blame them. Hell, I wanted to knit one guy an afghan for his troubles.

So I’m soaking in the fucking hot water and after a few minutes I make my way to the slightly less fucking hot water. Every pool was set at a different temperature. The idea is to hop between them for the full effect. After around 20 minutes of this I was beginning to feel it. I became really dizzy and I thought I would surely pass out as I climbed in and out of the rocky waters. Then something happened.

Somewhere beyond dizzy I began to feel something else. Something bizarre and tingly and awesome. My circulation was stimulated at full force and the triple threat combo of stifling hot waters, frigid ice pools, and breezy november mountain air felt amazing! I got it. I really understood what it was all about. It wasn’t about being naked or being wet, it was about being high. I was loving this. I craved the electrifying sensation of pouring icy water over my red lobster skin. I sat by the waters and felt fucking rocktastic. It made me hungry and happy and buzzing. I no longer gave a shit if the other dudes looked at me funny. I was digging the springs.

After a while I knew it was time to say goodbye to the Onsen and it’s petri dish of culture. I felt like I could have ran back to the bed and breakfast, but as high as I was, lazy still won out, so I took another insanity bus up the mountain. I didn’t mind the death-defying turns this time. I ate at a German place on the lake called “Ham and Sausage Restaurant”. I had the ham. I had finally tapped into an authentic Japanese experience.

Stop trying to look up my dress.

Walking Yoyogi Park, I encountered terrible singing and bizarre dancing. I can now say I’ve seen a Rockabilly Danceoff.

Tokyo. The City of Lights. The City That Never Sleeps. Barbecued Mutton Capital of the World. Oh wait, that’s Paris, New York, and Owensboro, Kentucky. So what makes Tokyo so special? And why did I pick Tokyo, of all the many wondrous and exciting destinations this cosmic blue marble has to offer, as my destination de l’année? I found myself asking this very question as I sat at the terminal watching my plane approach the gate. I wasn’t really in the mood to travel.

With less than two weeks until my last day of work, pending acceptance to graduate school, and a stack of unwatched Netflix movies patiently taking up desk space, I was certain I had nothing in common with the Sam B. that booked this trip o’ so many months ago. He booked this trip as an oasis of excitement amid a seemingly endless desert of desk job life. Now the desert had been replaced with an overwhelming deluge of stimulating and bold life choices, a torrential downpour of frighteningly substantial decisions that would wash me away from my cubicle existence. And my oasis of electronic excitement, hence forth referred to as Tokyo, had become a lonely Island destination on the other side of the world. Yet here I sat, watching the lineup of Japanese flight attendants, their hair so clean and freshly styled, their uniforms perfectly succinct and, well, uniform. They looked like a trifold travel brochure coaxing me onboard with their polite bows and absolutely convincing smiles. It was time to leave the continent.

The real panic set in once I took my seat. It was at this moment that I fully realized how much taller I was than everyone else on the plane. My head clear of the seatbacks around me, I admired the shiny black helmets of hair seated in every direction. They were all Japanese. The exit signs were in Japanese. The PA speaker was spouting Japanese. The magazines, the barf bags, the snack menu were absolutely unreadable. As the plane door closed and the big red handle moved to a locked position, my brain starting screaming “Holy Shit” in rapid succession. What had I gotten myself into?

The thirteen hour flight was a blur of on-demand movies, hot green tea, and catching a whiff of the occasional sesame-snack inspired fart. I became paranoid that I was developing a blood clot, so I occasionally walked to the bathroom whether I needed to or not. The staff was exceptionally attentive and even changed uniforms for food service, which struck me as excessive. Still, all that food and bathrooming made the trip move a little faster and before I could say “thirteen hours in economy class”, we had landed. Wandering out of the airport and onto the train, I felt tired and confused and my knees hurt. I plastered my face against the window, saving the energy required to keep my head balanced on its own accord, and I waited for departure. Soon enough the train was in motion.

The landscape passed my window at remarkable speeds. I caught glimpses of small towns and rocky terrain. Homes were perched on the mountainside like patient buzzards welcoming me to this grey and bleak universe. The towns looked like fishing communities without the water. Every so often I would see the electric glow of a vending machine illuminating the back alleys and clothes lines that connected the tiny streets around me. The skies were turning dark. If there were a sun in the sky, it would be setting.
Then something happened. I don’t know if it was the onset of night or our approach into the city, but the whirring view from the window brightened from grey desolation to neon splendor within a matter of minutes. My travel-weary eyes perked up at the sight of towering electric displays that were working hard to convince me to purchase trousers and meet pretty ladies at low, low prices. The city was enveloping the train with a hyperkinetic splash of color and motion. People were scurrying the streets beneath me and the buildings were dancing with light and sound. I felt like an extra in Bladerunner.

Exiting at Shinjuku Station was an even greater shock to my senses. Moving 3.3 million people per day ranks Shinjuku Station as the busiest station in the world. Being that I had been in Japan about an hour, I felt this the perfect time to get lost. I found that on the sidewalks I was constantly running into people, like a fish swimming upstream. After a moment of quiet observation I realized that in Japan people walk on the left side of the sidewalk, like they drive on the left side of the street. And after 20 minutes of wandering through electric darkness, I decided to go back to the train station and gain my bearings. It wasn’t long before I found the hotel.

Arriving in my room I saw a robe available to me on the bed. A few moments later I was wearing the ridiculous thing and standing 16 floors above the buzzing night life of Tokyo’s Red Light district. Having not slept on the 13 hour flight, I was a little sleepy and laid my head down for just a moment, just a power nap to keep me moving. How was I to know it would last five hours?

So there I lay, in my silly little robe, my bags still packed. The sounds of Sumo Wrestling coverage from the television mingled with the faint notions of nightlife merriment as it drifted up from a chorus of tightly wound citizens letting loose in every sense of the word. And I slept. I barely remember dreaming of electric sheep.

Click Away!

Toodles. I’ll be on radio silence until I return.

Whilest in Economy class (read: steerage) on board ANA’s 777, I will be enjoying this variety of food options. In addition, I will have in-seat television to help me ignore my own stink as I sit in the sky for 12 hours.

First class gets their own pods. To help combat jealousy I plan on asking for an abundance of pillows from the flight attendant and crafting a makeshift pod of my own. Now who’s the dummy?

With less than two weeks until my trip, it seems I can think of little else. I have booked all but one night’s lodging, leaving Wednesday night open to a Capsule experience.

I will be spending Thanksgiving night in a hostel in the Ueno district. Quaint and friendly, I think it will be a great fit for me. In similar fashion, my lodging in Hakone will be at a Minsyuku, think bed and breakfast, overlooking Lake Ashi, with views of Mount Fuji.

Anyone looking closely will recognize a “frugal” flavor to my hotel choices. I love cheap hotels. I love the character and flair that comes with the bargain. I figure the money I save in hotels can go to the korean massage offered at the Capsule Inn. I have no idea what a korean massage is, but I figure it’ll have me screaming one way or the other.

Hot Spring Bathing Etiquette

Take off all your clothes in the changing room and place them into a basket together with your bath towel.

Japanese hot springs are enjoyed naked. Swimming suits are not allowed in most places. However, it is the custom to bring a small towel into the bathing area, so you can enhance your privacy while outside of the water. Once you enter the bath, keep the towel out of the water.

Before entering the bath, rinse your body with water from either a tap or the bath using a washbowl provided in the bathing area. Just rinsing your body is okay unless you are excessively dirty, in which case you want to use soap.

Enter the bath and soak for a while. Note that the bath water can be very hot. If it feels too hot, try to enter very slowly and move as little as possible. If it is still too hot, mix in some cold water, but only after consulting other bathers.

After soaking for a while, get out of the bath and wash your body with soap at a water tap, while sitting on a stool. Soap and shampoo are provided in some baths. Like in private Japanese bathrooms, make sure that no soap gets into the bath water. Tidy up your space after you finished cleaning your body.

Re-enter the bath and soak some more.

After you finished soaking, do not rinse your body with tap water; the minerals will need to soak into your skin to have the full effect.

Robotics Store in Akihabara courtesy of Gizmodo.