Unazuki Onsen

Before continuing with our next lesson in Japanese meals, I should take a moment to explain our travel. For we left Tokyo the next morning and traveled by the famous Japanese bullet train to Kurobe. Here, we were met by a car and driver sent by our hotel and whisked up into the mountains, a half-hour 20-kilometer scenic drive, to Unazuki Onsen. The Japanese word onsen means a hot spring, and indeed, steaming hot water flowed through the town.

The first thing we did was to check into our hotel, the Ryokan Enraku. A ryokan is the Japanese version of an inn, perhaps, or a B&B. This was our first of seven nights in a row in three different ryokans. They are traditional hostelries in an austere and timeless Japanese style–tatami mats on the floor, where shoes are not allowed. Slippers and robes to change into for comfort, and which are acceptable wear throughout the building. Not much furniture–just two chairs with no legs to sit on, and a low table to sit at while using such low chairs. Later, a comfortable futon on the floor for sleeping. A very personal welcome, with refreshments after your journey. Here we are, relaxing in our new digs.

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Unlike the other ryokans we stayed in, this one had a balcony, and the balcony had a view of the mountain and a rushing river below. And . . . the balcony had Western-style furniture!

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We had half-board at this ryokan, but before dinner we wanted to enjoy an actual Japanese onsen bath. The ryokan had, um, several of them (depending on how you count, somewhere between four and six). Occupying the first, second, and third floors, the baths are segregated by sex. There is an indoor bath for each sex on the second floor, and baths open to the outdoors on the first and third floors. Tonight, men are on the first floor and women on the third. In the morning, it will be reversed. It being early afternoon, we each have our respective baths to ourselves. We try to follow proper bath protocol but are grateful there’s no one watching in case we get something wrong. Let’s see: Undress and leave belongings in a locker. Shower before entering the bath, sitting on the little stool. Dump a bucket of water over your head to wash any dust or dirt off your hair. Rinse. Now, enter the bath. You may keep the small towel on top of your head, but leave the large towel behind. Wow, it’s HOT! But after a few seconds, amazingly good. Soak for as long as you want or can, then shower again. Use the large towel to dry off; then dress, and ooze back to your room.

Here’s a picture of an open-air onsen, possibly one of the first-floor onsens in our hotel. (It’s not mine; I didn’t take my camera there.)

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Thoroughly clean and relaxed, we set out to see the town. The town wasn’t very big, so this didn’t take long. Here’s the friendly map posted at the small local train station.

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The town was nestled in the mountains, and pretty.

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A gushing, naturally hot fountain in the main square lifted steam into the cool air.

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Fed by the natural hot springs, foot baths were everywhere! The first one, by a restaurant, took us by surprise, but the English in the sign is self explanatory.

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Some of them were beautifully designed and well integrated with modern buildings.

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But now it’s time for dinner, and even in a small town in the Japanese countryside, we find an elegance to match that in Tokyo, but without the big-city pretentiousness. Here is our menu:

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This is not very helpful, and, like the previous night, for the most part, the appearance of the food does not give enough of a clue as to what it actually is. It is, however, very pretty, and beautifully presented.

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At last we come to a course we can understand! And it’s as delicious as it looks!

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The main problem with this dinner, like the previous night, is that we get very full very quickly, and there seems no polite way *not* to eat what’s in front of us. I regret, days afterwards, having to leave half of those crab legs.

The futon on the floor is very cozy and comfortable, but in the morning we are still full.

And it’s time for the Japanese breakfast! Here’s what’s waiting for us in the morning.

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And this is the way it looks when additional food is brought in.

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Folks, it’s at about this point that we realize we are not going to make it through the next two days of ryokan half-board we have signed up for in our next location. But what can we do!

 

Japanese food

Typically, when Dan or I first speak to someone who knows (or finds out) that we’ve just returned from Japan, their first question is:

“Did you love it?”

This is an easy question to answer:

“Yes!”

Surprisingly, the almost universal second question is:

“What did you think of the food?”

The answer to this question is much more complicated. First, from a visual design perspective alone, the food is stunningly beautiful. Beautifully made, beautifully arranged, and beautifully presented.

From a taste perspective, the food is not always as accessible. Much of this, I’m sure, is cultural. The Japanese eat many more kinds of things than Americans do. See, for example, the menu pages below, which were photographed in a restaurant window, notable in part because the names of the offered items were in some cases written in English, and in other cases diagrammed quite clearly.

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I, for one, am not much interested in trying grilled tuna larynx or simmered tuna head. This doesn’t mean that they’re not good; it just means that we Americans have a cultural bias away from some of the things that the Japanese have learned to savor. Also, the Japanese appreciate subtleties of taste and texture to which we Americans have largely been unexposed. In other words, when it comes to Japanese food, we Americans have a decidedly uneducated palate. This is no doubt why the question about Japanese food invariably comes up so early in the conversation.

Dan and I had hoped that a trip to Japan might educate our palates as we were exposed to the real thing. Disappointingly, this didn’t quite happen.

On our fourth night in Tokyo, for example, we made a reservation at an elegant Japanese restaurant near our hotel for a kaiseki dinner. This is a formal dinner of many courses made of seasonally fresh ingredients prepared and served in the most time-honored and elegant Japanese tradition. Some care is taken to ensure that the menu is acceptable to the diners, and so, for example, the restaurant made sure that our dinner did not include the meat of any mammals, which Dan and I do not eat. We are shown to a private room, furnished in the Japanese manner with a low table and two chairs. Here is the menu of that dinner:

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It looks like a wonderful culinary adventure! Not everything is clear, examining the menu–I mean, for example, “Narrowing morphism boiled conger of chrysanthemum turnip”–but we’re game to try! Here is what the table looks like when we sit down to eat.

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Our lovely and gracious waitress removed the tops of the pottery dishes to reveal:

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It’s not really clear what all of this is, exactly, but it’s certainly lovely. And we can determine, for example, that the green things are vegetables, almost certainly peppers, and that the light-colored squarish things are almost certainly fish. We’re not sure about the rest of it, but I especially like the <whatever it is> that looks like a turning-color autumn maple leaf. Anyhow, not being able to identify our food by sight turns out not to matter because almost none of it tastes or has the texture we expected from looking at it. Some of it is quite tasty. Some of it is decidedly, er, chewy.

We eat it all, and our waitress, who speaks very little English (but in all fairness more than my Japanese), comes in to reveal the next course by removing the lids of the boxes in front of us.

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This is very beautiful, but it’s about at this point that we entirely give up trying to map our meal to our menu or to identify any of it by sight. We set aside the things that don’t appear to be food, and we eat the rest of it. Some of it, we enjoy. Some of it, we are seriously wondering what it is, because we don’t want to mistakenly order it again anytime in the future.

It’s about now that Dan discovers the following mysterious object on our table:

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We are beginning to feel a lot like the apes in the beginning of “2001: A Space Odyssey” scratching their heads in wonder as they examine the mysterious black monolith. When our waitress comes in next, we ask her about it. It turns out to be a call button for her. But, alas, the help we need with this dinner goes way beyond what her English can handle. On to the next course and the next!

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We eat everything that we can and much more than we should. We are glad for the experience but a little bit uneasy about the dinner we will have the following night. We’ve ordered half-board at the ryokan (inn) where we will be staying, but we can’t believe we’ll ever be hungry again.

To be continued . . .

The Bridges of Tokyo

We rode the water bus from the Asakusa district of Tokyo down the Sumida River to the Hama Rikyu garden. In the process, we passed under maybe thirteen bridges, all different colors and styles. I found the texture of the bridges against the backdrop of Tokyo’s buildings as pleasing as the scenery.

But first, here’s the view from Asakusa terminal, first, looking directly across the river, and then looking down the river, where the boat will soon go.

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Now, here we go down the river!

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After this, we docked at the lovely Hama Rikyu garden, but that will be the subject of another post!

Service

Whether you’re staying at a new five-star luxury hotel like the Capitol Hotel Tokyu in the Akasaka district of Tokyo or a hundred-year-old traditional ryokan inn like the Ryokan Sumiyoshiya in Kanazawa, or any kind of hotel or inn in between, the one thing the Japanese excel at is service. Even the modest inn can put an American Ritz to shame.

Case in point: the concierge at the Capitol Hotel Tokyu called ahead to our next *three* ryokans to ensure we would know how to get from the train stations to their ryokans.

Case in point: At Ryokan Sumiyoshiya in Kanazawa, we asked where to buy stamps, and they *gave us* four stamps for our postcards. And mailed the postcards for us, too.

Case in point: When we went out for the day or for dinner, the owners of Ryokan Gion Sano in Kyoto insisted we take their umbrellas if it was raining. They always accompanied us out to the street and waved good-bye as we left. When we left by taxi for the train station on the last day, I turned around and looked out the rear window, and they were still there, standing by the street and waving until we turned the corner and were gone.

Case in point: When we arrived in Toba, we called our hotel, the Toba International Hotel, to find out where to catch the shuttle they run to the train station every half hour. We had just missed it, so they sent a special car to pick us up so that we wouldn’t have to wait. When they learned that their first shuttle of the morning on our last day would make for a very tight connection with our train, they offered to drive us in a car so that we wouldn’t worry.

Case in point: In an extremely light drizzle, we walked from the bus stop to our hotel in Hakone, the historic Fujiya Hotel, where we were greeted by a doorman who raced to hand us umbrellas–and opened them for us. Another doorman relieved us of our suitcases, carried them inside, and carefully wiped them off for us. After we checked in, not one, but two, people showed us to our room–one to explain everything to us, and another to bring our bags.

Taxi drivers wear suits and ties and white gloves. Taxis are immaculately clean.

Everyone smiles and bows and seems genuinely happy to be of assistance. We smile and bow too, and say, “Thank you” (our one word in Japanese), and are genuinely happy to be so thoughtfully taken care of. But they bow deeper and say, “Thank you very much!” And they seem to mean it.

And most amazingly, everyone appears to be paid a fair wage for their work, which is treated with dignity, from the person sweeping the train platform to the manager of a large hotel. And no one–not one person–expects or will accept a tip.

In the Ginza

Tokyo subways are wonderrful. We took them everywhere. With few exceptions <cough, cough, Shibuya>, the signs are clear, the stations well marked, and even which exits lead where are clearly indicated. And it’s always surprising, when you leave the station at a new destination, what it’s going to look like. It could be the rather daunting so-called “pedestrian scramble” at Shibuya, for example.

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Or it could be the sophisticaed shopping district of Ginza.

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On the main street of Ginza, name brands and high-end developers can afford to build eye-catching buildings.

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In the narrower side streets, interesting shops, must make their presence known with banners and vertical signs.

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inside one shop, we found this intriguing glass ceiling.

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But what’s inside another store must wait for another post!

How to Touch Statues

Our neighborhood in Kyoto, Higashiyama, is full of shrines, large and small, as well as a few notable temples. A shrine by the side of the street where we were walking contained this toddler-sized and friendly-looking statue, along with an explanatory sign.

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Now, perhaps it never crossed your mind to touch this statue. You wouldn’t be alone! But if you did feel that gentle stirring in your heart, you may wish to reach out to this likable statue, and if so, you may think you know everything you need to know about how to touch him. But you might be surprised to learn that there’s more to it. Fortunately, it has all been explained for you. Here’s how:

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Looking up and down in Kanazawa

We’ve been walking around in Kanazawa a lot in the last two days, and there’s a lot to like here. So it seems strange to start with smaller details, leaving the larger streetscape undescribed–but that’s what I’m going to do. Mostly, we look around us and report on what’s at eye level, more or less. But here are a few photos of what’s underfoot and overhead.

First, watch where you step! Here’s a cute and colorful manhole cover!

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Walk a few blocks, and there are some old temples with beautifully carved wooden gateways. Look up! Here are some of the carving details.

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The Little Street of Unbearable Cuteness

Late in the afternoon of our first full day in Tokyo, having seen how big and modern Tokyo can be, we headed to a small district that retains much of the texture of pre-WWII Tokyo–smaller houses, narrower streets, no high rises. And its own pedestrian shopping street.

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It is . . . the Little Street of Unbearable Cuteness. And a notable feature of this street is . . . cats!

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On the signs . . . cats!

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Prominent among the merchandise . . . cats!

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On the rooftops . . . cats!

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In the windows . . . cats!

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Wait a minute! Let’s look at that last one again!

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Is that, “No cat, no life”?

And yet, and yet, we saw no live cats on the Little Street of Unbearable Cuteness.

Fun, Positano style

Never say we people in Positano don’t know how to have fun. We do! We have great fun! Our Positano hosts know how to show us a good time, and then–before you can say Volare!–we know how to have it!

Fun, Positano style, starts with a free ride. A bus from the restaurant picks you up at your corner, or at your hotel if you happen to have one, and then wends its way up impossible hills on streets so narrow it takes a five-point turn to get around the corner, to pretty nearly the very top of the mountain on whose slopes Positano is laddered.

The views of Positano way below us are breathtaking.

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Fun continues at La Tagliata restaurant when the waiter asks if we’d like white wine? Red? Water?

We are quite literally on top of the world, and we’re in a good mood. Yes, we say. Yes. All three of those things. And we are in fact plied with bottles we lose count of, house-made white wine and red wine. And water.

And the food! We are served endless courses of bountiful variety of food. More than enough for everyone. But still it keeps coming.

Somewhere around dessert time, the band comes out, and they begin singing the most tacky, the most schmaltzy, your-grandmother-would-have-loved-this kind of well-known Italian songs imaginable. But there is no groaning allowed here. This is the *fun* program!

Percussion instruments are handed out to every table, and everyone is encouraged to participate. And someone from every table inevitably does.

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But you’re not off the hook if you don’t want to stand up and play an instrument. You can still clap! This is the Positano Fun Restaurant we’re talking about here! So if you won’t even clap, we have just the thing for you. Handkerchiefs! Stand up, folks, and wave those handkerchiefs! That’s Amore!

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If some of us inhibited New Englanders require instruction, it is provided. And it works!

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But sooner or later, all good things must come to an end. The bus awaits to take us home. There are seven of us and only four seats left, but no problem! We sit in each other’s laps and make the acquaintance of our new best friends on the bus. Of course this leads to the ever-popular refrains of Volare and That’s Amore, and one by one as each group leaves the bus we sing each other Arrivederci.

I still have Volare stuck in my head. Can someone help me out a little here?

 

Positano, my home town

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Okay, actually Positano is not my home town. I live in Newton, Massachusetts, USA. But for a week this year–May 3 through May 10–it became the home town of my husband Dan and me, our children Margot, Adam, and Clair, and our friends Steve and Susie, when we rented a gorgeous villa with the view you see above.

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Our last full day in Positano after a busy week going one place or another, we spent at home. For visualization purposes, I have outline this home in red in the picture above. The corner room with the Juliet balcony is our bedroom. The next two windows each belong to a separate bedroom, and the fourth bedroom, with a private balcony is around the corner. Below, a broad terrace opens up from the living and dining areas. This terrace has an area for sunbathing and a covered area with a table that’s great for breakfast, lunch, and snacks while enjoying the sea breezes. Below the terrace sweeps an extensive garden, and below that, vistas of the sea, where we can watch the ferries going up and down the coast and out to Capri.

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This villa, like many in Positano, can be accessed only on foot, along a narrow pedestrian street punctuated with stairways.

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Finally, on our last day here, I walked down the 375 stairs (okay, that’s probably an exaggeration) to our local beach, the smaller of Positano’s two beaches. There’s one very attractive hotel and restaurant, and the opportunity to rent beach chairs and umbrellas.

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Myself, I chose to follow the path that from here winds around the cliffs to the larger beach at the town center. 

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From here, I walked farther north, to the far end of Positano’s main commercial tourist area, where the views looking back at the town were–like everything about Positano–charming.

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