500 yen. You could say it all began with 500 yen.
The bus pulled up in the wrong place; we stepped in slush. Spouts of hot water, like asphalt sprinklers, caused small river deltas in the road. I tried to dodge the miniature rapids, yet my boots inevitably became soaked. 500 meters, about that, we walked; we finally found the hotel. Then, the whole 500 yen ordeal….
“Early check-in fee”
As part of a bus-to-hotel-to-snow resort-to-dinner-to-shinkansen package deal, we were surprised the hotel staff found our 10am arrival a surprise. If they had expected us at this time, why had they not cued us in on the “early-check in” fee?
Oh, well.
500 yen, each. We paid it and joked of what other petty fees might come. There was an onsen. 500 yen? We joked. They had a clothes-drying room. Did they charge for the toilets, too? Maybe “late check-out”? We’d better scrutinize the specifics. The lodge had that middle of nowhere inaka feel. It was familiar. It was a good laugh.
For anyone taking the “Club Get’s” weekend snowboarding tour package to the Lodge Hayashi of Joetsu Kokusai Resort in early March, be warned. You will pay a 500 yen early check-in fee. However, it just might be worth it. It’s all about your expectations. From then on, we decided to expect a stinky breakfast and a poo bathhouse. Consequently, there was no natto for breakfast; the public bath was clean. There was glorious powder and minimal crowds. It was one of the best snowboarding weekends I’ve had in Japan. That’s not bad considering a four-year history in Nagano prior.
It was a Friday. The 16,400-yen package (17,400 with insurance) included the bus to the hotel (well, almost to the hotel…our driver was confused), one night at the lodge, dinner and breakfast, 2 full-day lift passes at Joetsu Kokusai, and passage back to Tokyo via railway (local train to Joestu, bullet train to Tokyo).
Things it didn’t include – but all very well worth it – were the early check-in fee, onsen at the lodge Annex, wine and snacks bought at a walking-distance conbini, dinner and cheese-shio-kara *at restaurant “Kanae” in Joetsu, and the subsequent drinks and chocolate-covered-kaki-peas for the “shinkansen party” back to Tokyo.
* the shio-kara was actually not worth it, as no dish consisting of over-salty squid guts ever would be. It was, however, necessary…and I don’t regret it.
That’s it. Leaving Tokyo from Friday at the crack of dawn to back in the city late Saturday by the time night is hopping. We kept our expectations under control. We got lucky with the spring season snow. It was awesome; it was cheap. Friends were made and good times were had.
It made our moment like the cup promised.
Setagaya Park and neighborhood, mid October
October 26, 2013
Uncovering urban existence
October 15, 2013
As an outsider, I always viewed Tokyo as an intense, flashy city that wasn’t so much Japanese as it’s own alluringly peculiar culture. The streets burst with unique hole-in-the wall ramen shops, buzzing arcade-pachinkos, “standing” bars, and izakayas themed from maid to ninja to giant-robot-lady-show. This is the face of the metropolis, and it’s no lie. The circus runs day and night, for hours even longer than the human-packed Yamanote line.
But the shift from the Shinjuku sightseer to Edogawa side-street commuter brings out a different current. It is a struggle to sort out this city. What truly lies beyond the expressionless faces of the train passengers who sway together when the brakes slow for the next stop? What subsists beyond the platform, behind the shops, between the apartments and the alleyways?
Cats. There are so many cats, often too quick to catch with the shutter. Most show signs of somewhere they belong, but I suspect even the feral ones manage to find more fulfillment in the city than a handful of the passing salarymen.
Waiting. A city of ultimate convenience, a mere nine floors via elevator separate me from twenty-four hour snacks and bill-paying. Of course, I take my place in queue. I rush to the ward office after work. Take a ticket. At the grocer a few steps from my building, the wait in line might as well be the same as a drive to the local AEON mall.
Sorted, stacked vehicles pile up in every direction.
Reflections in windows, isolated by the eye or aperture, repeat an exponential visual echo.
Secret pedestrian paths behind the vertical homes give way to enclosed bonsai gardens that are only appreciated from careful vantage points.
An insect comes to its final resting spot on the porous asphalt.
Parks redefine “night life” when visited well past sundown. Geometrically pleasing shapes settle the city tensions when illuminated by a mixture of incandescence and moonlight.
Finally, there are the phenomenal, pollution-enhanced skies at dusk: A balcony-viewed brilliance I can count on. No matter the state of the lights that sparkle below them, the atmosphere’s inevitability and persistence is reassuring.
Photo by Daniel Pierce
A place I am from
September 23, 2013
Just enough daylight leaks onto me through the pines. My still-sleeping mind knows the day is beginning, but this alone does not wake me. Like a dream, I hold onto the image of the blurred stars silhouetting faint peaks.
Something else stirs me. It is an undefinable feeling of presence. No foreign sound cuts through the humming of insects and briskly flowing water, so the reason for my awareness is a mystery. My feeling is confirmed, however, when I open my crusty eyes, flooding in daylight. I see two more sets of eyes – young and curious – peering back.
“nan de koko de nete-iru no?” The small girl asks, her face a little too close to mine.
“…Because it’s comfortable.” I reply back in Japanese, gathering my surroundings and getting over my surprise of the forwardness of these two little beings who have invaded my sleeping space.
Their innocent giggles make them slightly forgivable. “Aren’t you worried about the caterpillars crawling on you?” The boy asks, continuing the unannounced interrogation. He must be about five years old.
“iiiii yo,” I half-yawn, half-groan my indifference for the caterpillars.
“She looks like a caterpillar, ” the boy’s older sister says as they give me a push. “Imo-mushi, imo-mushi,” they chant between chuckles, as their small but determined hands swing me higher. I realize that I probably do resemble a sort of giant larva, amidst my sleeping bag all bunched up. The rope creaks as I sway from side to side. Or a giant pupa, rather.
“sanagi da yo,” I grumble as a I pull the hammock flap over my face. This reference to a cocoon gets them giggling again though, and the swinging persists. The rope securing my bed slips slightly against bark, and I think to scold, “be careful!” It doesn’t come out, however. It’s partly because I’m too tired to bother, and partly because I know my bottom hitting the sand and pebbles below will leave a more serious impression, and a lesson to be taught. These mischievous little camper neighbors could certainly learn to be less nosy, but I leave it up to the rope and my hammock.
All of this – the children, and the hum and rush of the mountains – it was home I had not far from here. A place I am from. Not my first hometown, but the first one I made in a different world. A small village in the countryside of southern Nagano, it feels good to know. It feels familiar, waking up.
Soon, I’ll be back among the several-story, rectangular mountains of the capital. On the Tozai line, waiting, while the wail of a passing train drowns out any hints of cicadas in the distance.
I’ll stare at the blank faces across from me and wonder, what am I doing here?
Now and then, I’ll see another face which asks the same question.
iloverocks 