Chapter 2 -- Exploring greener pastures

The next chapter of my Japan saga moves from the bright lights, nonstop action and social activity of Tokyo to a frenetic solo exploration of more remote destinations. Although I feel physically spent from the combination of Burning Man, moving, saying goodbye to my friends, and the first few days in Japan, my gut tells me to make efficient use of my limited stay in this country and move quickly through a series of destinations at breakneck pace.

Armed with a 14-day unlimited usage pass for the Japan rail system (purchased for $390), I decide to squeeze good value from this investment by engaging making a sweep through a series of small cities and rural destinations in the mountains to the north and west of Tokyo. So I flee the bright lights of the big city on the "Shinkansen" bullet train. Simply put, the Shinkansen puts American rail transport to shame. Although I have enjoyed rail travel in many countries, Japan takes the experience to an entirely new level. These sleek trains cruise at speeds of up to 150 mph, are precisely on-time (to the minute), run frequently (typically every half hour), and offer an incredibly comfortable and smooth ride (no drinks will spill). Onboard electronic displays announce (in Japanese and English) upcoming stops while conductors are polite and barely noticeable. Upon arrival at each platform, employees at the station perform a deep bow until the cars come to a complete stop. I am in love with these trains at first sight.

My first stop is the small city of Nikko. Upon arrival, I trudge up a long hill lugging my two backpacks (one large on my back, a smaller one carried on the front) in some fairly fierce heat and humidity. By the time I arrive at my hotel, I am drenched in sweat. Nevertheless, the proprietors of this very sweet guest house offer me an unoccupied shared room at a reasonable price ($25). To my surprise, I am greeted by a trio of Americans (from Seattle) working for the hotel. This is very unusual, so I inquire about their story. They tell me about traveling across the country by bicycle and using an international volunteer network to find short-term employment opportunities throughout Japan. Later that day, the American woman serves me a zen vegetarian feast prepared by the guesthouse chef -- udon noodles, tofu smothered in peanut sauce, salad, mushroom hotpot, wild rice, and fresh fruit. It is the best meal I will savor in Japan.

On my first day in Nikko, I march through the heart of the town and peruse small tourist shops before heading to the Tosho-gu shrine. Located within a forest, the complex includes various temples, bridges, gates, and other clearly marked focal points. It is worth the visit but still leaves me somewhat underwhelmed in part because many of the core areas of the old buildings are inaccessible. I also have a negative reaction to the neverending fees (on top of the $10 admission ticket) charged to enter various premium areas of the complex, such as a $3 charge just to walk across a famous bridge, a $5 fee to see a sleeping cat statute, another $6 fee to see a shrine with beautifully carved doors, and the everpresent stalls selling incense, candles, and amulets to ward off bad fortune. Although I recognize the need to finance upkeep of such a place, the nonstop charges feel greedy and makes the complex feel more like an amusement park than a religious shrine.

I am struck by the presence of numerous tour groups, both Japanese and Western, all of which involve color-coded accessories (hats and pins) for the participants. These participants follow leaders carrying distinctively numbered flags. As one English speaking group passes, I listen to the tour guide provide extremely cursory explanations of key statutes and architectural features (such as, "this is Buddha"). At one particularly striking array of Buddha statutes, an Indian woman is so frustrated by the lack of context that she turns around and ends up explaning basic tentets of Buddhism to several middle-aged tourists from the US. "You see, Buddhists believe that we are reborn many, many times" she says. An American woman listens with a puzzled look on her face, as if she has never heard of anything so ridiculous yet wants to remain polite in the face of this crazy talk. I manage to barely restrain my laughter at her reaction.

After touring the various buildings and walking the forested paths, I return to the town of Nikko and promptly find several bakeries selling a wide array of traditional sweets. Not wanting to skip an important cultural experience, I seek out single servings of many appealing varieties. This turns out to be more challenging than one might expect because most sweets are sold in bulk gift packs. Committed to sampling and not gorging, I finally locate a few individual goodies. One sweet cake wins me over with the following English description printed on its package -- "it is such a heart warming cake that everytime you eat, you hear a cheerful sound." When munching on this particular item five minutes later, I strain to hear the promised cheerful notes but am only able to discern a quiet grinding noise. Nonetheless, the process of consuming this cake does provide a few fleeting moments of pleasure.

That night, I explore an "onsen" (public bath) near my hotel. The onsen includes an area where men shower while sitting on plastic stools adjacent to a set of natural hot pools for post-shower soaking. This facility also has an outdoor pool surrounded by perfectly manicured plants and trees. I slip into the outdoor pool, submerge in the soothing hot water, gaze up at the stars, and feel perfectly relaxed.

The next day, I abruptly change my plans and forgo more local sightseeing (due to rain) and decide to speed towards the next destination -- Nagano. This spontaneous choice fills me with joy as I begin to taste a morsel of the unadulterated freedom available on the journey. As much as I am an insatiable planner, I am in love with the idea that the plan can change on a moment's notice. In light of this chance to embrace liberation, forgoing a rainy visit to a local waterfall seems like a relatively small price to pay.

After another three train rides, two of which involve the Shinkansen, I arrive in the lovely city of Nagano. Some may remember that Nagano hosted the 1998 winter olympics. But most may have forgotten since the Nagano games attracted the lowest American Olympics viewership in the past 30 years. Those who do recall the actual games may cringe at the memory of US hockey players trashing their hotel rooms after a poor showing and thereby bringing further dishonor to our international sports reputation. Rather than dwelling on any of this sordid history, I simply walk the streets with my eyes wide open, seek out temples, and embark on a daytrip to a nearby scenic mountain retreat.

I manage to find a shockingly inexpensive ryokan (traditional hotel) in the city center. My room is perfect -- tatami mats on the floors, a roll-up futon for sleeping, a small table set with a teapot and biscuit, a crisply-folded robe, slippers half the size of my actual feet, a shared bathroom right next door, and a common bathing area with showers and a hot soaking pool. After settling into my first private accommodation (the others having been shared) since moving out of my apartment in San Francisco, I find myself deeply in love with this room, this hotel, and my entire trip. For only 4500 Yen/night ($40), it feels like a Japanese bargain.

The next day I walk to the primary religious shrine in Nagano, a complex known as Zenko-ji. It's an impressive collection of buildings (especially the main temple), made even more compelling by the fact that monks and lay followers are actively worshipping throughout the day. In the main temple, I pass the hordes of pilgrims and buy a special ticket to traverse a pitch black underground passageway hoping to find the "key to heaven" placed somewhere along the wall. With a little luck I manage to discover the key, grab onto it, and hope that this feat will help with my rebirth into the next life. At the nearby transmigration pagoda, I am too cheap to pay for the chance to rotate an octagonal sutra holder guaranteeing enlightenment but do try to turn a small stone wheel billed as capable of saving me from pain and suffering. My initial attempt meets with failure as the wheel refuses to budge. But I am determined to avoid a gnarly rebirth and finally use all my strength (physical and mental) to make the stone rotate. It is a relief.

Slipping inside another worship structure, I press my hands tightly together in the prayer position and ask for guidance. Pondering doubts about the wisdom of my self-imposed exile, I ask the universe to help me answer several key questions -- What am I supposed to be learning during this year? How can I best use this unique opportunity? When will I find direction for the future? Is enlightenment within my grasp? Within moments, a response quickly forms in my head -- "keep going". I take this to mean that my path is correct, that this time in Japan will help with the transition by clearing my head, and that the only course of action is to continue onward while waiting for meaningful growth opportunities to present themselves. Since this reply is comforting, I choose not to ask any more questions for the time being. At that moment, 2 monks enter the building and perform a ritual involving chanting, igniting a fire, burning lots of incense, and beating on a large drum. After the ritual is complete, a few practitioners are encouraged to come forth, circle the embers of the now extinguished fire, and inhale lingering incense fumes. Following their lead, I approach the altar in the hopes of doing the same but am warded off by the monks. I suspect that this is another divine sign pertinent to my trip but cannot figure out how to interpret its meaning. So I decide not to feel rejected and move along in search of other interesting temple sights.

That evening, I venture out on the town hoping to stumble upon an interesting restaurant. Assuming that this task will be relatively simple, I stroll through various downtown streets but repeatedly encounter small establishments with menus entirely in Japanese Kanji script. Unlike in Tokyo, none of these restaurants offer plastic representations or photos of their food selection. Looking at the exterior of many such places, I cannot determine what kind of food is served, am unable to read any portion of the menu, and can't peer through the closed opaque front doors to figure out if anyone is actually inside (or if the restaurant is open). Based on my experiences to date, it seems that my chances of finding an English speaking waiter are not great. After an extended period of searching, my frustration level rises and I contemplate whether the challenge of finding a decent meal in a major city is comic or tragic. Finally, I decide to try a place with some photos on its menu (even though there is no English) and throw myself at their mercy. Upon entering, I am greeted with a rousing cheer from the entire wait and cook staff (which I presume means "welcome to our restaurant" rather than "leave before we kill you"). They offer me a seat at the counter and, to my great surprise, pull out an English language menu. I order a fried dumpling concocted with layers of meat and eggplant, 2 pieces of raw tuna on sushi rice, and a pancake made of cabbage, egg, flour and dried bonito (a fish). The meal is delicious.

As I sit and savor the food, I observe the staff engaging in an ongoing call-and-response routine -- one yells out some phrase and the others (along with a number of customers) cheer in response. During one such exchange, I swear that the word "Kurasawa" is used and imagine that the cook is yelling "Who loves a good Kurasawa film" to which a smattering of the assembled patrons scream their assent. When I go to pay my bill at the register, the waiter asks me something in non-comprehensible English. I assume that he is curious about my nationality and respond "America" in my best Japanese accent. He then asks if I speak Japanese. "No" I tell him, "Japanese is very difficult." He smiles and says "English is very difficult." Touche, I say to myself, and perform a deep bow in his honor. He then bellows out a call to the other staff and they respond with a cheer (which I believe is probably "thanks for coming" rather than "Kurasawa films kick ass"). I walk back to my hotel with a smile on my face.

The next day I set out to purchase a headset to use for making phone calls over the internet with Skype (which allows calls to be made from anywhere in the world to regular phones in the US for about 2 cents/minute). Internet cafes are uncommon in Japan and do not outfit their computers with the microphones necessary to use this software, so I decide to take matters into my own hands and buy a small headset. After a decent amount of effort, I locate a huge computer store at the edge of the city and spend awhile perusing their impressive selection. Although there are relatively few customers, none of the sales people approach me to ask if they can offer assistance. Despite having pledged to limit purchases to those items necessary for traveling (to keep my pack weight manageable), I decide to spring for a headset, iPod remote control, and tiny iPod charger. At the checkout register, I hand my VISA card to the cashier and wait to see if I'm about to experience another international financial hiccup. The cashier runs my card, checks the display on her register, and then says something to me in Japanese. As far as I can determine, she is either telling me that the card has been declined or asking me a question of some sort. It's not at all clear to me which one is more likely. We both smile at each other and there is nothing but silence. She says something else, perhaps hoping that through repetition I will understand. It does not help. I remain confounded by the holdup but have a sense that the issue is not related to the validity of my credit card. After a few moments, she calls to her manager and they discuss the situation. He looks at me, smiles sheepishly, and it becomes clear that neither of them can offer any explanation in English. They both call over a third person who is also unable to help bridge the language gap. We are stuck at an impasse. The manager uses his in-store radio to call others.

After 5 minutes, a fourth staffer appears with a slip of paper in his hands. Apparently, they have run a Japanese phrase through an internet translator and can finally share their concern with me in written English. The paper displays a handwritten question -- would I like to have all three items charged to my credit card in one lump sum? This seems absurd since the whole bill is approximately $30 and I had simply handed over my card when presented with the total. Instead of expressing incredulity, I simply smile, nod and say "hai" (which means yes in Japanese). Within 15 seconds, the relieved cashier has completed the transaction and I am on my way.

After succeeding at my shopping adventure, I decide to visit the famous "snow monkeys" inhabiting the mountains one hour north of Nagano. This area is blessed with pervasive geothermal activity -- it is not uncommon to observe steaming water seeping from the ground and smell bursts of sulfur in the air. At Jigokudani park, an entire community of macaque monkeys live in and around a giant pool of hot water constructed for their exclusive use and are free to roam throughout the nearby rivers and forests. Although they are best known for their wintertime antics, my visit occurs on a day when temperatures approach 90 degrees (F). Despite the weather, a few monkeys appear to enjoy swimming in the large hot pool. More stay out, however, and choose to perform typical monkey tricks -- chasing each other, mutual grooming, and climbing on every possible surface. During my short visit, I observe over 100 monkeys and am amazed by how close they come to humans. While there is no direct touching, a few practically brush my legs in passing. I have to restrain myself from reaching out to pet some of the particularly adorable ones (specifically the babies).

After spending quality time with my fellow primates, I hike to a nearby "Onsen" to replicate their behavior by getting naked and sitting in pools of hot water reserved primarily for humans. My mood rises as I settle into a large outdoor pool located next to a raging river nestled amidst a series of mountain peaks. Two nearby middle-aged Japanese men hold hankerchief-sized towels in front of their groins. Although the "onsen" culture is heavy on nakedness, these two appear to be very uneasy about sitting outdoors in the buff and contort their bodies to avoid displaying any R-rated content. By contrast, I feel very alive and free to be soaking naked just like my monkey cousins. Afterwards, I walk through the next town filled with spas and a series of public baths. At one central location, I am amazed to find a public foot bath. Not wanting to miss this opportunity, I pull off my boots and jump in only to realize that the water is absolutely scorching. After a few seconds, I let out a monkey-like yelp and leapt from the pool, hoping that none of the locals notice. Thankfully, there are no witnesses.

My last night in Nagano, I again walk the city in search of a suitable restaurant. In the course of my search, I am approached by two attractive Japanese women. The first stands right in front of me and asks a question in Japanese. I assume that my youthful good looks have left her helpless to resist my Gaijin charms. The only word I can decode is "massage", and I soon conclude that she is not offering this service due to a sense of overwhelming sexual attraction. I thank her for the offer and keep walking. A second woman soon starts pursuing and then says something to me with conviction (perhaps "you are my soulmate from a past life"). At this point, I turn to survey the businesses on either side of the street and realize that she is practically ordering me to come into a hostess bar. Given the laguage barrier, I ponder how she and I could have any sort of meaningful interaction apart from her pouring drinks into my glass and looking soulfully into my eyes. Though honored by the interest in my wallet, I decline and continue the search for an evening meal that ends in finding a restaurant using vending machines to sell tickets for bowls of ramen noodles.

I check out of my sweet Ryokan hotel the next morning and almost shed a tear saying goodbye to the older couple who run the place. We have not managed to communicate apart from a few hand gestures and bows, but I still feel a sense of emotional attachment. I lug my pack to the train station to find transport to the city of Nagoya with an afternoon pitstop in Matsumoto. I disembark in Matsumoto just to wak the streets and get a sense of the city famous for a 400-year old castle, delicious soba noodles, and being a center for performing arts and classical music. Sure enough, there is a large music festival in progress the very day I stroll through the central area. Turning down one road, I encounter four separate stages hosting bands, solo acts (a.k.a. guy with a guitar), choral groups, and a dance troupe. The only thing missing is a crowd of spectators. Performers are playing to audiences of a dozen or less. Because it is extremely hot (around 90 degrees) and humid, I surmise that the poor turnout is due to the unpleasant conditions (who wants to sit in direct sun during the middle of the day?). I look at the program and notice that none of the acts are scheduled to continue past 4pm. Just when the temperatures are set to cool down, the festival will be over. This seems like poor planning. But in the spirit of nonjudgemental traveling, I allow this critique to pass and just appreciate the fact that I am able to bear witness to the performances.

The highlight of the afternoon is watching a female choral group singing "Bridge Over Troubled Water" along with a prerecorded orchestral track with the imposing Matsumoto castle serving as a backdrop. In front of the stage is a solar array and a demonstration wind turbine (placed next to an electric fan which blows air to make the blades spin). None of the audience seats are occupied due to the heat but a few observers huddle underneath nearby shade tents constructed for vendors and information displays. The group is led by a Japanese man in his mid-30s sporting an extreme hairstyle and wearing a shirt covered in sequins. Though their soaring 6-part harmonies are slightly off-key, the women are beaming and seem to be filled with joy at the opportunity to sing this classic rock tune despite the oppressive temperatures and lack of spectators. Watching from underneath an patch of awning, I am overcome by an emotional wave and, to my surprise, end up being deeply moved by this truly shmaltzy display.

A few hours later, I finish my lightening strike into the heart of Matsumoto and board a train headed towards Japan's fourth largest city -- Nagoya. I feel energized by the nonstop exposure to new sights and sounds. I close my eyes, pray for interesting encounters in the days to come, and allow myself to dream about what the future will hold.