This would never happen with TV.

(Aomori Grand Hotel, Aomori)

More busted sleep and strange dreams. I was too hot and too cold. The extra quilt they provided was lovely and snugly, and the mountain night was very cold. Rice paper sliding doors, they do a whole lot of work keeping the night out. Not bad for a sheet of paper.

Breakfast was slightly different. For a moment, I thought they’d prepared me a special gaijin breakfast, since fried egg and ham featured, but a few other trays in the common room had the same. No mushrooms this time, no lovely hot tofu either. Weirdly, the Japanese can’t do salmon. If it’s raw, it’s fine. But when it comes to cooking it, they only seem to know how to bake the crap out of it, till it becomes a dry hard biscuit. There was a little cup of black beans included, the same that was served at the temple on Koya-san, Shojoshinin. They’re not quite red beans, but still sweet and tasty.

I decided an early start would be best. This called for a concentrated dezombification session, which was aided by the other guests in my corridor thumping about with great glee. Someone or something regularly thumped my wall in passing. I never figured out what it was, the whole three days.

Quarter to nine, I checked out. Go me, the early bird! Shuttle bus to a connecting bus to the station, not so early. Nine thirty. Erm. Well, I was on the ball anyway. Bus free, can’t complain. It dropped us off at a sort of information centre in the middle of nowhere, with a great view of Tazawako. The bus to the station wandered up about twenty minutes later, and took a long winding route to the station. The buses in the area are definitely cheaper than a taxi, but they’re not really convenient. Next time, methinks I’ll hire a car.


(Tazawako in the distance, while waiting for the next bus.)


(This guy just ignored me. Bloody rude locals.)

One of the small failings of some of the non-central stations that serve the trunk shinkansen lines is that they only have one ticket window. As in the case where a bus dumps a load of tourists heading out at the station 10 minutes before an outbound shinkansen is due to arrive, and only a couple of them actually qualify to use the reserved seating machines, I spent a rather tense 10 minutes waiting, acutely aware that there was a little old person in front of me, and little old persons and ticket windows have a magical connection for taking a looong time. As it was, there were no seats left on the train back to Morioka, and standing room early. I made it to the platform with only a minute to spare. Even though these stations have multiple staff on, there seems to be only one terminal available for the issuing of tickets. Mrrr.

Given the transport hopping tomorrow would involve, I decided to sent my rucksack on ahead again. Poor green rucksack. It probably has abandonment issues now. There seems to be one main luggage forwarding company. No idea what it’s called, but the symbol is easy to spot; a black cat holding a black kitten in its mouth on a yellow oval. Only having the address of my Mutsu hotel in English, I figured there was no point in trying to send it on from Tsurunoyu. As it was, the woman at the counter gave me this look of ‘oshi-‘ when I gave it to her, so I ended up sounding it out.

It doesn’t take much carrying around of big heavy bags to undo a day at a hot spring.

Shinkansen to Hachionhe, limited express to Aomori. I could barely keep my eyes open on either. Clearly, I’m doing this all wrong. If only I’d planned an overnight train into my itinerary! That’d cure all my sleep woes in one fell swoop.

Aomori is right on the bay, and from the station I could see an enormous cruise ship, and the bay bridge stretched across behind it. Throughout the afternoon, I’d hear the odd trumpet of ships, coming or going. Apparently the city was bombed to bits during the second world war. It doesn’t have the narrow streets of the older established cities.

My hotel should have been close to the station, and was in my LP for a change. Ai. Me and LP maps, we just don’t get along. It looked straight forward on the page, but not when I tried to follow the route I’d picked out. Eh? I just don’t have a sense of distance or size when it comes to reading the LP maps. I walked right past the hotel, looking for a street to turn down, that I’d already crossed a block ago. It was only after sitting down, and staring at the buildings around me, finding landmarks, that I realised what I thought was a ten minute walk was actually a one minute walk.

I was still early for check in, and set myself a time killer quest of finding the post office to restock my dosh. There were two on the LP map, and I chose the one that was easiest to get to. Not the closest, the one with the least complicated route. Good, sound plan. ‘cept that post office didn’t exist. Mrrrr! Fortunately, from the site of the non-existent post office, the other post office was easy to get to.

This hotel looks very daunting from the outside. The façade is grand, and I am scruffy. And getting scruffier with each day. The room is about perfect though. Not as cramped as the business hotels, or as pointlessly roomy as the resort. But, no wireless. Le sigh.

While it was still open I visited the tourist information centre, to confirm the bus and ferry timetables I’d need tomorrow. The staff there gave me a momentary heart attack, denying the existence of one rather crucial bus. A false alarm, phew. They showed me official timetables confirming the information I had, which is a huge relief. There are easier and simpler ways to get to Mutsu, but this route gets me in some coastal sightseeing that I’d otherwise miss. I also confirmed the train time, and the lovely man at the ticket counter gave me a copy of the timetable, and realising I couldn’t read any of the place names, highlighted the stations and times and wrote the English translation.


(Bicycle parking lot outside the station. No carpark to speak of.)

I had a poke around a department building, and ended up buying two books which I will never understand. One because it looked interesting, the other because the cover alone was beautiful. The Japanese are onto the right thing, having so many illustrated stories.

It turned out there is internet access available from the room, I just needed to get a kit from the front desk. Said kit is a dial up modem. What country am I in? What century am I in? Dial up? Dude, even Australia has left dial up behind, and we’re in the Stone Age regarding the evolution of the internet. Still, better than nothing.

It worked for half an hour. Then went away.

Frustrating.

No amount of resetting, unplugging, and generally fucking around with stuff has been able to resurrect it. I’ve decided that internet access should be a standard feature to be expected in any modern hotel, as much as TV is. More than TV, even. Call me a whiny bitch, but I’d rather stalk my possee online than watch yet another cooking show.

To avoid sinking into a techrage (I haven’t had one of those for months, now I think about it, my techbits must be behaving), I went out for dinner. There was an Italian place by the station I’d noticed in my failed attempt to find the first post office, and oh yeah baby! Spaghetti bolognaise for dinner!

As much as there is a large variety within Japanese cooking, the taste spectrum is quite clearly defined. The flavours are restrained and quiet, apart from the pickled goods. Pickled apricots are like having the piccolo play a high E on the tip of your tongue, and wasabi does the same but in your nose. Spaghetti bolognaise is a big loud sassy mouthful. Definitely not the best pasta I’ve had, but since I hadn’t had anything like it in a month, it tasted fucking fantastic.

(Before anyone shoots me down, I confess I haven’t had any curry yet.)

I suppose I’ll attempt an early night. Definitely an early morning tomorrow.

Slug is as slug does

(Tsurunoyu Onsen, Tazawako)

Not ten minutes after writing that, the phone in my room rang. After many a ‘sumimasen, wakarimasen’, the woman on the other end hung up, knocked on my door, and said “clean room?” If she’d just said that on the phone, she’d have saved herself the trip.

The blue rotemburo I spotted was a mixed sexes bath, which really just means its for men, as very few women enter the mixed baths. There were none to be seen when I went past.

The rotemburo I’d already visited was crowded, with ten or more women of various ages slouching around and gossiping like a bunch of gallahs. What a carry on! I’ve seen more naked bodies today than most of you see in a year. Ordinary bodies, that are lived in and worn with use, are fascinating things. I’m such a different shape to these people.

Once again the lethargy hit me, and once again I went with it. The seat cushions aren’t exactly thick, but I still managed an actual nap on them. I probably shouldn’t have, I’ll just sleep even less tonight. Guess I am pretty buggered. After my nap, I just sat and looked out the window, doing nothing and content to do nothing. Then I lay down again. Note to self: next time you plan a long trip, give yourself many, many more rest days. Like, more than one.

I had a small wander around the onsen in the afternoon. It isn’t big enough to explore, really.







I’d like to take more photos, hell, any photos of the baths during daylight, but people don’t really appreciate it when you snap pictures of them in the bath. There were no shops nearby, and no lunch provided, but I planned for that. A small loaf of bread was smuggled in my back pack, although I didn’t plan so far ahead as to do anything interesting with said bread. Like, spreads or fillings.

I did find another women only rotemburo hiding behind the mixed sexes bath. This one was smaller, up against a rock wall and overhung with trees and bamboo.

Dinner wasn’t the mushroom orgy it was last night, and there was none of that viscous sauce to be seen. There were still plenty of mushrooms to be had, as well as some pork, iceberg lettuce (I was alllll over that), cold udon noodles, another fish, and the stew again.





When they’ve taken the trays away, I’ll have myself another quick bath, a get clean bath not a mineral bath, and jump into bed. I’ve already packed, and am looking forward to another night of watching DVDs. I feel ungrateful and stupid for saying this, but I need to not be in Japan for a bit, and DVDs are the best way to go about it.

Ah, Mr Man just came to collect the trays. He makes a lot of noise, moving about. I can always tell when he’s passing my room in the corridor, due to this funny little trick he has in his breathing. He’s picked up a stuffy nose too. I like him. He bustles about with great energy, and seems to make whoever he talks to laugh.

Tsurunoyu Onsen has been operating as a bath for around 300 years, from memory. The mountain it lies against is steep and deeply forested, with brilliant green trees just showing a hint of autumn gold. The buildings are old wood, turned black with time, and thatched against the winter snow. In the morning, the steam from the baths rises thick, and my breath frosted before me.

It isn’t a cheap place to stay. It isn’t a convenient place to stay. But it was worth it.

Rub-a-dub-dub

(Tsurunoyu Onsen, Tazawako)

Well, this isn’t panning out quite as I expected, but it’ll do.

I’d already fallen into holiday-from-holiday mode yesterday morning. I slept in, checked out as late as I could, dumped my bags in a coin locker so I wouldn’t have to carry them around, and had a long lazy lunch. Didn’t leave the Morioka Station area, just had a little mozy around and generally exerted myself very little.

I think chicken sashimi was involved in my lunch. I didn’t realise it when I ordered. It looked and felt like raw chicken, but I have no idea what raw chicken actually tastes like, so I can’t be sure. It failed to kill me.

Hopped on a short shinkansen to Tazawako, a lake in the Akita prefecture. There’s supposed to be great hiking around here, but hiking is most certainly not the point of this exercise.

There were buses connecting to buses that would get me to Nyuto Onsen, where Tsurunoyu is located. Fah! Time to be pampered and lazy. I took a taxi. I figured it would be around 5000 yen, and I was on the mark. The onsen is nestled in the mountains, and the area is just beautiful. When the leaves change in a month or so, the place will be incredible. The mountains are steep and lushly forested, with elms, I think.

The taxi driver pointed out a great view of the lake. I feel a bit guilty for not checking it out. He dropped me off at the front gate, directing me where to go for check in, all the while looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Or, not looking at me. He wouldn’t face me, and wouldn’t quite make eye contact, as if directly acknowledging me visually was a bad thing. Most unusual.

This minshuku is about as rustic as I’m going to get. Old, worn, and settled wooden buildings sit comfortably together, with steep thatched roofing for the snow in winter. There is absolutely no English signage at all, anywhere. I wandered in, and just asked where check out was.

I don’t think they get many gaijin staying here. They exclaimed, and keep exclaiming, with great astonishment on discovering I was from Australia. Made a great fuss over it. They gave me a great sort of tutorial on how Japanese accommodation works, with the shoes and the slippers and the futon and yukata – I wanted to tell them I’d already been in the country a month and they didn’t have to worry about this, but that’s beyond my language skills. I managed to pick up the basics; where the female baths where, what time dinner and breakfast were served, and left it at that.

My room is lovely. High wooden ceiling over an 8 tatami mat floor. The sliding doors have cranes printed on them, and I have a little seating area by the window that looks out into the forest.

I admit, I was a bit nervous heading out to the baths. Although I knew what etiquette was involved, and could recognise the character for male and female, the initial fuss the staff made had thrown me off balance. I’m a bit like that. If no one else thinks I’m an exception or out of the ordinary, then it won’t occur to me to think of myself as otherwise. But if people point out that I’m different, well, then I’m aware of it. There were no other gaijin to be seen, at all, anywhere.

But, baths. You know. Important.

The first bath I found was a rotemburo, an open air bath. There weren’t any showers around when I looked, but that didn’t seem to stop various other women from just stripping off and getting in, so I did likewise.

Oh wow. The water was a milky white, piped in straight from the spring itself, and steaming heavily. It was the perfect depth for sitting in, and full of smooth rocks that were surprisingly comfortable. I sat until my fingers went wrinkly and my head pounded from the heat.

Maybe it was the heat, but I left the bath in a thick stupor. It’s only a short walk back to my room, but I was in such a daze it took me a while. I wanted to do nothing more than lay down and have myself a nap, and I had absolutely no inclination to fight that urge. I couldn’t even be bothered getting out a futon. The seat cushions were good enough. I lay them out, flopped over, and didn’t move for a couple of hours.

Not sleeping, oh no, we don’t sleep in this country. But not moving and very comfortable.

Tatami mats smell of clean fresh hay. I like it.

Eventually, with the sun ducking behind the mountain, a chill crept into the room, and I roused myself. Along with the yukata they provided a thicker soft woolen kimono, which was lovely and snugly to wear. Not quite time for dinner, which means time to kill.

Alas. Room strangely lacking in power points.

This was a smack in the face with a cold fish. I’d given myself these days to chill, and while I do intend on bath hopping quite a lot, I won’t be in the bath for every waking hour. I’d planned to catch up on all the photos I’ve yet to transfer and edit, do some writing, maybe watch some DVDs. This require computer. Computer require power. Ergh? I don’t have anything else with me to fill time. I don’t even have a book.

Alarm, alarm.

Fortunately, after several trips around the room over turning and poking behind what few features the room has, I found something that is kinda sorta a power point, for a battered old heater that isn’t plugged it. Shonky looking. I tested it on my phone first, and lo! There was power. Crisis averted.

Dinner was served in my room. They knocked on the door and brought in a large tray cluttered with various dishes, which looked a feast. Then another man brought in another tray, augh! This with rice, stew, soba noodles and what they said was a broiled fish, but it looked grilled to me. More food than I know what to do with. This man initially asked if I was from Hong Kong, and then also made a huge deal about how I was from Australia, and explained all the dishes to me, again.



The first tray turned out to consist largely of mushrooms. A couple were in a strange, clear viscous sauce that made them impossible to pick up, and tasted of nothing, but had a not quite nice texture. There was a set of mushrooms, pieces of pork, and some sort of yam wrapped in foil. They’d been steamed together, and oh my god, each piece was like a happy fun time orgy in my mouth. I stretched that dish out as long as I could, it was incredible!

There were mushrooms mixed with pickles, mushrooms mixed with some strange warty green plant, mushrooms everywhere. We likes mushrooms, we does, precious.



I did not eat the fish’s face. Just the rest of it.

The stew turned out to be, haha, mushrooms! I’d left it till last, since it was in a very hot iron pot. I’d already been seduced by all the mushrooms, I felt they were laying it on a bit thick. Also, I was already full. I did my best. Phwoar. Big tummy.

With my phrase book I puzzled out my room name from what was written on the key, and successfully called the front desk to tell them I was done. Mr Man returned to take my trays, and made up my futon for me, going on again about how I was from Australia.

I snuck out to the rotemburo again. It was empty, and I had myself another soak in the dark. Mmmm.



At this point, the lack of shower bothered me a bit. While the baths are absolutely delicious, they leave your skin tacky with minerals, and smelling faintly of rotten eggs. Not the most attractive of scents. At this point, I was far to mellow to stress about it much. I made a slug of myself in bed, and watched DVDs until people stopped tromping up and down the corridor outside my room.

Strange sleep. Up and down and in and out sleep. Strange dreams.

Breakfast was served at 7. Alas, there go my plans to sleep in. The morning chill was intense, so huddled in the thicker kimono I trundled down stairs to the large sitting room where communal breakfast was set up. Mr Man spotted me, laughed at how bleary I looked, and showed me to a single seat cushion and tray that was mine. Again, he explained all the dishes, again, I wished I could tell him it was okay.

The other guests, they kept looking at me. Not subtly. Can’t say I really need the extra attention first thing in the morning, but at the same time, first thing in the morning I’m too out of it to care. Thankfully, breakfast wasn’t as full on as dinner was. There were still many mushrooms involved, and one dish that I actually didn’t like. First time that’s happened yet. That clear viscous sauce featured again, and I don’t think I like that either. It leaves an unpleasant aftertaste.

I retreated to my room and zombied. Have to get that out of my system.

I tried out a different bath this time, one I had vague recollections of being pointed out as having ‘shower, shampoo’. It was a small indoor tub, and yes! A shower and soaps hidden in the corner. Excellent. It was empty, so I had myself another long soak before actually getting clean and not smelling like rotten eggs. Mmmmm.

Soon, I imagine the staff will want me out of my room so they can clean it. I think I spotted another rotemburo for women while sticky beaking out my window, this one an opaque eggshell blue. I hope they don’t expect me to leave the onsen today, because I have no intention of doing so.