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Once when I was 10 or 11, my English teacher asked the class to write a post on the subject of “Christmas in Japan”.
My mother did not like it. “Who came up with the idea? They don’t celebrate Christmas in Japan.” But we sat down and agreed on a poem:
Christmas in Japan
On a cold and cold day
Snowflakes fall slowly
About 40 years later, I thought of these lines while sitting outside in a natural hot tub, or all, Japan during the Christmas season. I felt light-headed because of the combination of the warm salt water and the icy mountain air when it dawned on me: it was cold and frozen day and the snowflakes were slowly falling.
There were often quiet spells on family trips to Nozawa Onsen, a mountain village in Nagano State, during our stay in Japan, where I worked for a local Nikkei brother. FTparent company. We all fell in love with a snow-covered gemstone located near the summit of Mount Kenashi.
Nozawa Onsen is known for its slopes due to the quality of its flour and, more recently, it has been a staple for its amazing restaurants and cafes. But it was obvious that made us very happy. Nozawa Onsen is known for its hot springs from the eighth century. Many are there ryokans, traditional Japanese B & Bs, have indoors all, but there are also free-flowing baths – 13 of them, known as soto-yu – located along village roads. Some tourists try to hit them all in the mineral-bath street of the pub crawl, with stamps.
My childhood epiphany-haiku came to Furusato-no-yu, a swimming pool with the most modified styles and charge entry fees. It became our place to fit in, as it has interior and exterior options, changing rooms in the heater and a vending machine with alcohol, if at all.
Nozawa Onsen was first opened as a gym in the early 20th century, and has been a destination for foreign swimmers for many years. Locals are proud of their flour, which is said to be the high cost of Siberian aircraft flying over the Japanese coast. I am not overwhelmed, due to the catastrophic disco accident, but my friends and teachers insisted that the snow and the speed of the run made Mount Kenashi very low (1,650m). On our last trip in 2019, however, there was a severe shortage of snow – which locals and long-time visitors said they had never experienced, and lamented the effects of global warming.
Making tamago – hot spring eggs © Nozawa Onsen Tourism (2)
As a foreign family, we loved how Nozawa Onsen became a well-known place that sounded like “our place”. The snow that fell on our first voyage made all of us happy, encouraging great snow battles and night trips to adorn the bright lanterns and street lights in the sheltered village.
And there was also food, which has been known for the last 15 years, which made a certain village live on. Before going down that hill for a day to play, we headed for Tanuki for some delicious coffee, roasted chocolate, and a hearty breakfast cooked by a team of international chefs.
None of us could refuse pork, leaves and apple cuts sold from a wooden box outside Haus St Anton Jam Factory & Café. Its excellent restaurant, led by chef Kensaku Katagiri, combines European and Japanese styles and takes the initiative to get ingredients in a short amount of time (staff and warm and friendly).
In the evening, we headed for the village izizakayas – bars that provide a variety of small plates and skewers – especially closets Minato and Sakai, where we loved roasting mackerel. More upscale is Himatsuri (“Fire Festival”), which has many dishes kaya menu and fun stuff.
Although Japan loves to dance, Nozawa Onsen is the only place in the country that has “onsen” in its name – it replaced Toyosato Village with an easy-to-use name booklet in the 1950s.
However the name does work, since the hot water that feeds into the all it is also the center of village life. Route-flowing rivers are a constant reminder of the power of natural forces in these mountains. The abundant sulfuric fluid also gives the entire village an eggy pong, but even this is used by locals: locals prepare green leaves. and all tamago – hot-spring eggs – in it.
On our second trip I decided to start and try to include a few more soto-yu. O-yu was the first to call. The statue was on a spectacular dirt road, with steam rising from its roof overlooking the gleaming blue sky in winter, and it was a portrait of an old Edo bathhouse.
I now considered myself an expert all Customs. Sleeping on a small, rotating bucket and bathing in front of others was no longer embarrassing. I knew that water temperatures varied from bathroom to bathroom, and that it was best to turn on the cold tap for a few seconds if things got too hot.
O-yu is the largest village swimming pool, and some leaders say “you should try”. When I walked in, I understood why. Standing in the shower, I looked up to see how steam was rising and sunlight passing through the open spots near the ceiling. It looked like a temple, and I prepared an unusual sight as I approached the stone pool. Only one man, who appeared to be in his 80’s, was bathing.
I dipped my foot in the water and pulled it out immediately, almost surprised that my flesh was not left standing in a pile at the bottom of the pool. I tried again, this time with one leg falling off my knee. Distressing. There would be no acquisition of this – that day or forever. Afterwards, I read that the water temperature can reach 90ºC in some rural areas all. (To avoid burnout, there are some online tips for locals that need to be consulted.)
For a while I slept in a pool, naked with very red legs, my confidence as a person all master cut. Now I look back on this as an example of my four years in Japan: each time I thought of another aspect of life there, I was shown how much more I could learn.
The officer was looking at me in silence; he said what I did not understand, which would have been advice, compassion or comment. In any case, he too began packing and we washed, dressed and left quietly. I still wonder: how could she endure?
The sting was gone, up to my legs and my pride. In time, Jane and I would return to Furusato-no-yu, enjoying the long humidity and possibly the speed of the brewing machine. There would be more people izakaya, and an encouraging walk back to the hotel across the village. Before the night is over, there may be tiny snowflakes.
Christopher Grimes is an FT reporter in Los Angeles
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