Tag Archives: dead

On the Other Side of the Mountain

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Today, I am exactly halfway through my trip. To celebrate, I have decided to take a break from city life and booked a night at a Japanese inn, known as a ryokan. It is situated in the middle of the mountains in a place called Nikko, in Tochigi Prefecture. My plan for the next few days is to experience a more traditional side of Japan.

From Asakusa, I pay ¥2390 for an express train taking 140 minutes. At Shimo-imaichi Station, I have to change to a dreaded local train. On the platform, I wear a short-sleeved shirt. A Japanese man says to his friend, “Look at that guy; he must be freezing!” I admit, it is a little cooler than Tokyo, but I only have to wait two minutes at the cold station platform. I eventually get on the local train. It sounds like a roller coaster as it claws its way up the mountainous tracks. The train’s only luxury is its heated seats; they make the whole train smell like the inside of a giant hairdryer. Five minutes later, I arrive at Tobu-Nikko Station.

I head out of the station and onto an old bus; the transport on this trip is getting progressively worse. The place I am staying tonight is at Yumoto Onsen; ninety minutes from Nikko Station and some 185 kilometres north of Tokyo. It’s just gone five, but the sun is no longer visible. The bus crawls through the darkness. A warning says, ‘Hold onto the handrail as the bus will sway from side to side as it makes its ascent.’

The bus eventually arrives at my stop, the last stop. I pay ¥1700. This is also the last bus. I am trapped up here now; no coming back. Outside, it is freezing cold—the coldest I have been since leaving England. Luckily, at the bus stop, I am greeted by warm smiles. A Japanese woman with a sign is waiting for me. We head to her car, and she drives me thirty seconds to the place I will spend the night

Inside the ryokan, she takes me to my room—the biggest room I have stayed in since being in Japan, spacious and warm. It has a massive double futon laid out, and a table of equal size. The woman starts by preparing me a hot cup of green tea before leaving to prepare my dinner. I get dressed into my yukata, carefully ensuring I cross it left over right; crossing it the other way is how the dead are dressed at funerals, and I am not dead. I also make sure to tie the bow behind me; a bow at the front is how prostitutes dress.

At 7 p.m., the woman comes back into my room to serve me dinner.

ryoklunch[1]

My food consists of buttered trout, salmon, vegetable tempura with natural salt, radish, simmered sesame tofu, lotus root, miso gratin with cabbage, yuzu pepper salad, grilled eggplant, fried tofu, boiled tofu in a soy milk pot with mushrooms, rice, a selection of vegetables, a selection of pickles, and a couple of things I can’t identify. The entire meal is pescatarian, and all the food is of the highest standard. I don’t usually like tofu, but up here, it is made from the cleanest of mountain water and tastes phenomenal.

After a while, the woman comes back into my room to clear and clean the table before bringing me dessert. In comparison to the huge dinner, my dessert is somewhat anticlimactic.

ryokdessert[1]

I help myself to a couple of the complimentary bottles of Autumn edition beer before deciding to take a dip in the hot springs. I book the outdoor onsen for forty-five minutes. Outside, there is not a single sound. The stars are out. Mountains loom in the distance. The contrast of boiling hot water mixing with the cold winter air is wonderful and relaxing. After my time is up, I head indoors to onsen number two.

The indoor onsen doesn’t offer a window, so there isn’t much of a view. It is a rather lonely experience. After I get out, I take a shower. It is etiquette in Japan to shower before and after getting into a hot spring bath, so this is actually my fourth shower this evening. I notice weighing scales in the changing room; I haven’t weighed myself since before I came to Japan. After a massive meal and a not-so-massive dessert, I am surprised to discover that I am 7kg lighter than when I arrived in this country.

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Back in my room and with kilogrammes to gain, I decide that the perfect way to cool off is with a delicious tub of homemade cream cheese and alcohol-flavoured ice cream. Sulphur from the onsen taints the experience slightly, the smell of rotten eggs lingering in the room.

I sip quietly on complimentary beers with the window wide open, wrapped up in my traditional Japanese clothing. The clean cold air is nothing more than a fresh distraction to the silence that engulfs me. Outside, the only thing I can see is hot smoke billowing from the many hot spring baths and the dark outline of mountains in the distance.

Dog Day, Afternoon

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Saturday 

For the past three days, the Obon festival has been taking place in Japan. This 500-year-old Buddhist festival emphasises honouring the deceased. Today marks the final day of Obon, coinciding with the Asakusa Summer Night Festival. The event originated in 1946, shortly after the end of World War II, serving as a way for people to bid farewell to those who perished. As I arrive before the opening ceremony, the bridge is already overflowing with tourists.

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The Japanese name for this event is Toro Nagashi, which translates literally to ‘flow of lanterns’. Here, you can purchase a small paper lantern for ¥1500. Each lantern symbolises the soul of a deceased relative. Visitors have the opportunity to write a message on the lantern, queue up, and then release it into the water. I find the entire process quite abstruse.

As the lanterns float down the Sumida River, carrying the souls of the departed to the other world, a certain solemnity lingers in the air.

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After the festival, the atmosphere becomes somewhat lighter. I meet up with Robin, a German I befriended in Kyoto, who happens to be staying in Asakusa. We decide to unwind over drinks and perhaps get a bit less sober. We head to Nui and indulge until just after ten, then make our way to a Family Mart to play a few rounds of the Konbini Hop drinking game.

Outside our third convenience store, we come across a poster featuring numerous Japanese individuals with sunflowers encircling their heads. Despite our attempts to decipher its meaning, we’re left utterly baffled. It remains an enigma, leaving us without a single clue.

flowers[1]

We head to a Japanese bar nestled behind Senso-ji. This area houses around ten small bars, each with only two to three bar stools. I’ve long desired to experience a drink in one of these hidden spots since my visit in June, yet I never found the courage to venture in alone. Describing the way to this area would probably confound you; it’s remarkably concealed, and my directions are truly abysmal.

We settle in a small bar called Tom². This bar, with only four bar stools, feels quite spacious compared to the others nearby. ‘I Was Made for Lovin’ You’ by Kiss fills the air from the speakers. Two Japanese men occupy two stools, and we take the remaining two. The bartender seems a bit tipsy. We order a Suntory whisky highball and a beer for ¥500 each, and enjoy complimentary peanuts.

Then a dog appears.

inu[1]

The dog, incredibly friendly, joins us and settles in. We discover that Tsutomo, the owner, resides above the bar. We linger for some time—I manage to outlast Robin in drinks, and eventually, he departs. I remain for two more. The two Japanese gentlemen present speak minimal English, and the dog, unsurprisingly, doesn’t contribute much to the conversation. So, I sit there, mostly in silence, sipping my drink and exchanging glances with the dog. An atypical end to the evening.

Sunday

I rent a ¥300 bicycle for the day and cycle thirty minutes to Nihonbashi, making a stop to see my friend Daisuke along the way. It’s a shame to find out he no longer works at the hostel where I’m staying. Today, Nihonbashi hosts the annual Fukagawa Hachiman Matsuri festival. It’s considered one of the three major Shinto festivals in Tokyo and is likely the largest.

The festival is celebrated in its entirety once every three years, and today happens to be that day. With one hundred and twenty portable shrines, three hundred thousand participants, and half a million spectators, it’s definitely not an ideal day for cycling.

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Amidst the crowds, people throw buckets of water over those carrying the shrines, a ritual to cool them down, earning the festival its nickname, the ‘Water Fight Festival’. It’s undoubtedly challenging to bear these enormous shrines in such sweltering heat, particularly under today’s scorching summer sky. I opt to step away from the bustling crowds and take a stroll through Nihonbashi. While I visit the renowned Nihonbashi Bridge, it fails to captivate me. I decide to return to Asakusa in search of some food.

I head to my favorite Japanese restaurant, Mizuguchi. I indulge in breaded salmon and salmon teriyaki, served with a side of greens, potato salad, pickles, and rice. Absolutely delicious. The total comes to ¥1810, including a Suntory whisky highball.

As I leave the restaurant I hear applause. It turns out there is a street performer just outside. Never a dull moment in Asakusa on a Sunday.

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The street performer does a balancing act whilst juggling a traffic cone between two sticks. He has drawn in a huge crowd. He is also a comedian. Throughout his routine he speaks intermittently on a microphone, telling jokes in Japanese, everyone laughs. When he is finished he cheekily places three bowler hats on the floor, upturned for tips. I give him ¥1000. He was really good.

Back at my hostel, The Strokes are playing from the speakers. ‘Is This It?’ I write for a while before heading back out to meet fellow Englishman, Richard. We meet at 8 p.m. and drink until 4 a.m. A typical end to the evening.