Eating, bathing, eating, bathing... and then eating and bathing some more.

(Editor’s note: This was written a couple days ago, but since Mike was trapped out in the Japanese boondocks with no Internet, no cell phone and only an honest-to-God rotary telephone in his hotel room, it couldn’t be posted until now. Also, this along with most posts will be cut from emails to Sonja, so if Mike says he loves you, he really means he loves her. Although he does love you, too… he’s just not ready to say it out loud yet.)

So, during out day-and-a-half in-country, we haven’t done much of anything besides eat. It took us a couple hours to get from the airport to Yoko’s place. She doesn’t live too far from the city center (45 minutes or so), but the airport is on the other side of Tokyo. We took a bus from the airport to a hotel that’s about 15 minutes away and Reiko picked us up there with a friend’s mini van to fit the ridiculous amount of baggage.

Yoko had a spread of fresh sushi (ordered from a local place) along with some handmade food waiting for our arrival. She cooked a cabbage stew, which is Grandma’s favorite dish. I didn’t get the name of it, but it’s cabbage, potatoes, carrots and strips of beef cooked in a light broth - very nice. We had fresh salad and an egg custard that had chunks of fish in it (Sounds disgusting, but it’s actually quite tasty - almost like a omelet, but with a consistency of pudding, served slightly warmed. That sounds even worse, no?). We ate, drank beer, talked and Grandma showed off her suitcases of gifts (that took an hour). It was a lot fun, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

Mom, Jen and I slept in the living room downstairs. Yoko’s couches, which are soft leather benches, can be pushed together to form small beds. I had my own, but Mom and Jen had to share the equivalent of a twin. We were all so tired, it wasn’t really a problem.

I’ll have to take some pictures of Yoko’s place so you can see it... it’s interesting and I’m glad we got to stay in a “real” Japanese home. Every single square inch of space is filled with something useful. The ceilings are low, the seats are small and I sometimes feel like a giant - it’s kinda fun!

As it turns out, Yoko doesn’t have the Internet at her place and, oddly, this hotel we’re in doesn’t either. It’s weird because it’s an incredible nice place. I have no idea where in Japan we are, but it’s a four-hour bus ride from Tokyo. Our hotel overlooks the Pacific (the room Grandma, Mom, Jenna and I are sharing has a ocean view). Originally, we were going to Hakone and Mt. Fuji, but apparently Yoko decided to come here with her time share privileges instead. She thought the weather would be better.

I think there’s less to do and see here, but that’s okay - it is a vacation after all, right?

Our hotel (the Okomoto Club in Atawa) is a tradition ryokan (Japanese Inn). The rooms are all covered in tatami mats and are subdivided by sliding rice paper screens. At night, while you’re at dinner, the staff comes in and lays out futons on the floor for you to sleep on. They’re remarkably comfortable and have thick, yet breathable, comforters. If I can afford to buy one, I might and then cruelly make my mom and sister cart it back to the States for me.

Like most ryokans, this place has its own onsen (natural hot spring) and they’ve built indoor/outdoor facilities for men and women. Hallelujah that there was no “family room” and I didn’t have to see my mom, sister, grandmother, great aunt and second cousin naked. I’d have to stick chopsticks in my eyes, throw up and drown myself all at once.

I had two visits to the onsen today. It’s very relaxing, but it definitely gets you out of your comfort zone as you go in completely naked and it’s one big open room full of strangers. The resort we’re at either caters to the old people or retirees are the only ones that can come up here during the week, because I was surrounded by a lot of wrinky, bald-butted Japanese old dudes.

There is some etiquette involved in using an onsen. You first enter the Japanese version of a locker room (the main difference is that it doesn’t smell like socks and the floors are A) clean and B) covered in bamboo tatami mats). There, you strip off your kimono (yup, I’ve been wearing a robe around the ryokan - hotel), put it into a basket in a cubby hole that serves as a locker. After that, you head into the main room of the onsen. But instead of heading (nude) straight for the pool of steaming hot water, you first must wash yourself. It’s along the lines of showering before you hop into the public pool, only that here, people actually do it. And they don’t pee in the pool, either.

Along one wall, stands a row of overturned buckets, which you can use as a stool to wash yourself. There’s a smaller bucket, about the size of a standard Tupperware container, which you can fill from a faucet and rinse yourself off. If you prefer using a showerhead, those are also available. It’s customary to at least splash water over your body (in particular, the family jewels), but you also have the option to use provided washcloths, soap and shampoo to give yourself a head-to-toe cleaning. I picked that option for both visits - no use in offending anyone! Plus it’s fun to scrub-a-dub-dub in a room that looks like a giant tub.

Both times, I chose to hop into the indoor spring first. It’s a large tile bath with one step leading down into it and benches lining the sides. The water’s only about 3 feet deep, so you can splash around, but you can’t swim. It’s quite relaxing.

I did commit an onsen faux pas. Not wanting to look like I was scared and never done that before, I strutted around like I owned the place. Everyone’s naked, no reason to hide along the walls or anything, right?

When I first went in, there were only three other people: one guy washing himself off (for 25 minutes!) and two in the outdoor spring area. So, I left my washcloth at the stand and hopped in the spring. Then, a group of about 8-10 guys came into the room... and every single one of them had their washcloth hovering or cupped over their ding-a-ling. So, although you’re naked, you’re not supposed to just walk around hanging brain. Whoops (Note to self: write to Lonely Planet and tell them to include that in their next edition… it would’ve been nice to know).

I got out and grabbed my cloth and tried to fit in. I think I failed, though, as everyone else had a nice, normal, white cloth and somehow I’d wound up with a florescent green one from my room. Holding it in front of me, I looked like a gay Indian, wearing his favorite loincloth to a sweaty nightclub. Rock on.

Once I figured that out, I enjoyed myself a little more. I took a second dip at night and had the place to myself. It was fun being in the outdoor onsen by myself, looking up at where the stars should be (it was too cloudy to see anything), palm trees (didn’t know they had those) and a the lights from a couple other hotels (I pretended they couldn’t see me). I sat there on the stone tiles of the tub, listened to the trickle of fresh water coming through pipes into the tub and sighed contentedly.