We checked out of Hamacho hotel for the first of four times in the holiday, and made our way to Ueno Park with no real plan. It was rather warm for a mid-November day, with cloudless skies. We entered the park and were faced with a map. “Boating lake”. YES! Get in! Love that shit. We made our way there, taking snaps along the way of the usual slice of Tokyo wonder.
We arrived at the lake, and were one of the first to get on it. Our choices was your bog-standard rowing boat, or a big swan-shaped pedal boat; obviously we went for the latter. Now, I don’t wish to offend, or generalise, but Asian people tend to be smaller than the average person, so perhaps this was taken into account when these contraptions were built. The pedals were so close to the seat that I couldn’t pedal without contorting like some aerobic olympian. Suffice to say, Julie took on that job and I was in charge of pictures and pointing out ducks. Ueno Park reminds me a little of Central Park in that you’re surrounded by so much natural beauty, with skyscrapers popping up all over the horizon. It makes for an interesting juxtaposition.
After a lil’ lap of the lake, clocking all the jealous passers by, and taking a god awful timelapse of ducks on posts, we disembarked the swan and headed for what looked like the heart of the park. We found ourselves at some kind of food festival; bright white tarpaulin had been laid on the grass which made for an EXCELLENT reflective surface if you were the kind of person who is a fan of third degree burns. At the end was a stage with some seats set up. We saw pop singers, dancers, and other oddities, such as a duo singing J-pop, flanked by these big-headed creeps.
A bit more pottering about, including watching a little amateur baseball, we made our way to Ueno Station so we could ride on the shinkansen (you uneducated lot would probably call it a ‘bullet train’, pft, *eye roll*). The big food hall that you go through before riding the bullet train (oopsie) is pretty mad – so much food on offer, mostly in bento boxes. Literally all the food looked incredible, however I cannot remember what main meal we bought, for my mind is entirely consumed by the memory of the desert. We purchased what looked like fish fossils, but they were made of flakey chocolate, with chocolate goo inside. THEY WERE GREAT. We didn’t take a photo, because there is no lens shutter quick enough to take a photo between packaging and my gaping mouth.
The train itself was an absolute delight. Leg room. Smooth travel. Bang on time. Beautiful views. Trays that move independently to the seat, so you could recline to your heart’s content. Take note, aeroplanes! Dream world.
A couple of transfers later, we arrived in a much fewer sunny town (yes, I used ‘fewer’ in place of ‘less’. Why? Because people use ‘less’ incorrectly all the time. I’m redressing the balance, for humanity’s sake). Despite the poor weather, the scenery was beautiful – the town rested in a valley shadowed by hills filled with trees with multicoloured leaves on the green-to-orange scale.
We made our way to our hotel, which, by the way, was a RYOKAN. This involved walking into the reception to be met with a little carpet, and then a raised wooden floor; you cannot step on the wood your shoes on. Ironic really, as that’s the only bit that’s wipe clean. We were met by a lovely chap, who later added me, but not Julie, on Facebook, lololol. Like literally everyone else we had met, he was lovely. One of the main reasons we had booked here was because they allowed you to use the onsens even if you were tattooed. You see, Japan have their own version of banning the burka. Instead of introducing nuanced policy, the government have gone for a flat out policy of – tattoos = Yakuza. I’m not sure the Venn diagram of Japanese Mafia Boss and emo Tallest Man On Earth lyrics crosses all that often, but I guess it’s better safe than sorry. The ryokan-owner had a hilarious gesture whenever he talked about the Yakuza which involved the thrusting of an invisible knife, and blowing a raspberry.
We were shown to our room upstairs. Now, you’ll have no doubt seen these types of rooms in something like Memoirs of a Geisha – traditional Japanese, tatami-matted rooms with the paper-thin walls and sliding doors. Aesthetically pleasing, for sure. It also helped that a late-afternoon sun was beaming into the room from our balcony. Of course, none of this was complete without us donning our yukatas. LOOK!
We made ourselves a matcha tea and headed out for tea (i.e. food, southerners). This one was one of my favourite meals, sushi followed by some awesome chocolate cake. We then returned to the ryokan and booked ourselves into the private onsen, which is the only way you can get in together. We were to meet the owner in the reception at 8pm. We donned our yukatas once more and came downstairs. “Here, you take this” – he handed Julie a torch. Okay. He then led us out the front door. Okaaaay. And down the street. Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay. I thought the onsen was in the hotel, but no, it was a short walk around through actual public. We arrived at a house and the chap knocked on the door. 60 seconds later, a couple emerged in their own robes and wet hair . He let us in, and told us he’d be back in 45 minutes. This wasn’t weird in the slightest. It was basically a hut to change in, and then a little patio outback with an onsen built in, with natural hot springs being piped into the water. We stripped naked (OMG) and got in. It was REALLY HOT. (Yeah, that’s right, I’m Mills AND Boon). To the point where you immediately sweat. It overlooked the valley, and an incredible starry night.
Disclaimer – we didn’t bathe in thick tar, we’ve just darkened the photo so you can’t see Julie’s bits. Alas, it was lovely and relaxing.
We got ourselves dressed just in time for the hotel owner’s return, and we headed back to the hotel and went to bed. Not before we watched about 20 minutes of Japanese-dubbed Terminator 2: Judgement Day, though!
15 days in Japan. 