Fall Vacation at Bandai-san

Once upon a time, there was a small group of villages in the Japanese countryside. They nestled in the shadow of a large, four-peaked mountain called Bandai-san. All was peaceful -- until the day in July 1888 when the villagers learned that Bandai-san was a volcano whose thousand-year dormancy had reached its end.

This is their story, according to a piece written for The New York Times: "The amount of mud thrown out by the volcano is beyond all calculation, as all the streams reach from the top to the bottom of the mountain, a distance of four of five miles. There was no lava thrown out... Those who survived [in the hamlet of Nagasaki] say that when they ran from their houses at the sound of the explosion they were overtaken by a terrible volume of water which overflowed the banks of the stream, which flows within a hundred yards of the houses of the village and which, augmented, it is supposed, by an immense volume of water from some unknown source, swept down the narrow valley in which the town is situated. Many people were drowned in this volume of water, and a pond was formed right in the village, out of which 30 corpses had been taken up to the time we were there."

In the years that followed the disaster, which killed almost five hundred people, lakes formed where the mud had displaced and changed river courses and beds. Some villages had survived or were able to rebuild; others were destroyed entirely, or flooded by the new lakes. The eruption had deposited minerals into the lakes, most especially into the Goshiki-numa (or Five-Colored Lakes), which gave them different colors. Eventually, the mountain and the lakes became a popular destination for travelers and tourists.

Almost exactly 120 years after the eruption, a small group of Assistant Language Teachers, with one Japanese friend, from the city of Sendai ventured into the shadows of Bandai-san. Worn from their daily toils in helping students try to learn a foreign language and wearied from their daily views of urban Japan, they came to the mountain to refresh their minds and spirits through a three-day immersion in its beauty. Here is their story, according to me:

"The ten of us met at Sendai Station at 8.30 am on Monday, to catch the 9 am bus to Koriyama, just over the border into Fukushima (the prefecture just to the south of ours). From there, we took a local train to Inawashiro, and then another bus to the lakeside opposite our campsite. From subway to bus to train to bus to... motorboat from one side of the lake to the other. All in just under five hours: we arrived at the campsite just after two.

From there, seven of us chose to use the afternoon and early evening to visit the famous Five-Colored Lakes, just a few miles from the camp. They were, indeed, many-colored and incredibly beautiful.



Sunset began just as we were leaving the path, which left us with a conundrum: we had earlier planned to go to one of the nearby-ish combinis to get something for dinner, but it didn't seem fair to ask the camp staff to ferry us across and then immediately bring us back. So we seven decided to go to the combinis ourselves and simply buy large enough amounts of food that everyone would be able to eat. It turns out that the span of time from sunset to complete darkness is quite short in the mountains, and that the difference in temperature is quite extreme. A junk food dinner never tasted so good, and a campfire never felt so good, as they did when we made it back to camp.

On Tuesday, after a lovely, traditional breakfast provided by the camp, all ten of us set out to conquer the highest peak of Bandai-san, 1819 metres (5968 feet). We followed the ski slope as high as it would take us, mostly because it was the only trail convenient to the camp, then met us with a trail that took us past the Acanuma (Red Swamp). It was a remarkably brief hike, given the height we were covering: we reached the end after about three hours. The trail was pretty intense: bursts of very steep stretches tempered by short patches of relatively flat ground.

We couldn't actually get to the very top -- my guess is that it's not safe, given the whole semi-dormant volcano thing. But, in my opinion anyway, what we found was even better than the "top":

It looks like just a small gift and snack shop, like you might find on the top of any mountain popular with tourists. But the incredible thing about it is the couple that runs it: they backpack their supplies up the mountain every day. They told us that they can make it from their home, in one of the villages at the foot, to their shop in about an hour. Everything we bought at the shop had been hand-carried up the mountain by the fittest middle-aged couple in Japan.

Not that they actually let us buy much. As soon as our group of foreigners appeared on top of their mountain, they put the kettle on, literally and figuratively (although, since they have no running water, I have no idea how). We were invited to sit at the tables inside, and plied with little paper cups of hot, sweetened coffee and tea, plates of cookies, and packages of sweetened-bean candies. We had one Japanese speaker among us, who worked double-time to express our gratitude and delight -- but I sure wish I had thought to bring some sort of omiyage with me. Who'd've thought I'd have a need to reciprocate gift-giving at the top of a mountain?

Wednesday was a pretty slow day. Some people took the morning to go boating and fishing; I chose to spend several hours dozing on the wooden chairs overlooking the lake, knocked out by antihistamines and nasal decongestants (third cold in six weeks, yay!). Eventually, I roused myself enough to go exploring for an hour or so with Jill and Louis. We wandered the shores of some of the other lakes near our campsite. The network of lakes in the area is absolutely incredible in size, scope, and range. You could plan an entire vacation around walking around them and between them, and be as awed by their beauty on the last day as you were on the first.

We caught the 2.30 bus from Inawashiro, which put us back in Sendai around 6 pm -- somewhat footsore and tired, but, as one of my students' notebooks proclaims on its cover, 'happy as a pig in shit.'"

Voting!

I’d like to stage a brief intermission from The Adventures of Jenn-the-JET to bring you The Adventures of Jenn-the-American-Voter. In stream of conscience, no less.

“Allrighty, let’s see here… well, the races are the easy part: Democrat, Democrat, yay Obama!, Democrat, Democrat, Democrat, yay Adam Goode!, Democrat.... hm… the local races are more complicated… dammit, why don’t they put down their party affiliations?... hm… you live on a street near me; you ran in a different race, which makes you a bit of a sore loser but you seemed cool in that campaign; you ran in the same campaign and seemed like a real ass; you live on the same street as my middle school nemesis; I’m pretty sure I had English class with your son; you live on a street with a pretty name -- okay, that’s six, on to the referendum questions...

Dear lord, they apparently write these as a concession to people who want there to be a literacy requirement to vote -- I have a college degree and I still don’t know what they are talking about… well, we’ll start with “Yes” on the bond issue -- I don’t understand bonds, but the Treasurer of the State of Maine does, and I’ll bet he’s smarter than me… okay, I know my opinion on the beverages tax, but what arrow do I connect to properly reflect it?... let’s try google… did you know there’s a site called ballotpedia.org? it’s very helpful, but sadly it doesn’t translate referendum-speak… hm… I know Erik Steele wrote about this a while ago, off we go to the Bangor Daily News archives… ah, excellent -- he says vote “No.” I’ll do that then… Now, casino in Oxford County… hm... this article is quoting a Pat LaMarche as spokeswoman… spokesperson would be more politically correct… wait, is that the same Pat LaMarche of the Green Party, who ran for Vice President four years ago?... back to ballotpedia… yes, it is… Pat LaMarche is in favour of the casino? well, I’ll do what Pat LaMarche tells me to do… I don’t really like casinos… whatever, Pat LaMarche told me to…

Last question… local referendum… why do I care whether people on Howard Street can turn left onto State Street? I don’t even know where Howard Street is… oh, wait, I’m pretty sure I signed a petition about this… what did the nice-but-angry man from Howard Street want me to do?... can’t remember… no use looking it up in the Bangor Daily -- it’s a local referendum, so the best they’d have is a charming human interest piece about somebody’s eight-year-old son... man, I live in a hick town... try again… nope, definitely have no idea what they’re talking about…

Oh, whatever, just leave it blank -- I have to get to the post office before it closes… I wonder if they want me to mail back the cute little golf pencil?... well, Sendai’s instructional booklet on recycling didn’t cover Official Absentee Ballot Cute Little Golf Pencils, so shipping it back is a good way to get it out of my apartment… don’t forget to sign… if I lived one hundred years ago, I’d be a walking advertisement for why to deny women the vote… where are my bike keys?”

And that, my friends, is democracy in action.

Akiu

Akiu is a small village just to the west of Sendai, with a junior high school of 91 students who learn English from my Torontonian friend Hung. That means that technically it must be part of Sendai, since he is a Sendai JET -- but technicalities aside, it is a half-hour bus ride into the mountains. Five of us met on Saturday morning at The Mall to catch the 9(ish) am bus; the ride began to satisfy our desire for trees and other green stuff (Sendai’s about three times better in this respect than any other Japanese city, but it still never lets you forget that you are in a city) within about ten minutes of leaving The Mall. The road grew narrower and narrower as it wound up and down the sides of the mountains; Hung assured us that it’s a lot of fun in thewinter when the roads get icy.

Upon arrival, we found ourselves overlooking a massive crack in the ground: the Rairai Canyon, which cuts down at least fifty metres and stretches for miles.We followed the path along the edge of the canyon for a while, stopping to take photos and to make friends with a group of Japanese tourists from Fukushima (who saw us in passing twice or three times in the course of the day, and never failed to wave and call out “Hello!”). When the view was clear from the riverat the bottom to the trees at the top, it was breathtaking. It looked likenothing I’ve ever seen in the west, but I felt like I recognized it, from the paintings I studied in first-year Art History -- an odd juxtaposition.

Our path eventually led us to the Akiu Craft Village, where a number of small shops sell various products made with local wood and costing anywhere from 1000yen ($10) to well over 100,000 yen ($1000). One of the shops is owned by the parents of two of Hung’s students -- so while we looked around in all of them,when it was time to buy our souvenirs/Christmas gifts for people back home/things you buy just because you’re in a specific place and you have to buy them, we chose that shop. Luckily for us, they also had the most reasonable prices.

The main attraction of the day was the opportunity to visit (for the first time for many of us) a traditional Japanese onsen. Onsen are communal (although nowusually gender-segregated) baths that are either geothermally-heated and naturally full of minerals, or that the resort heats and fills with minerals. Certain towns throughout Japan, including Akiu, have become touristdestinations based on the quality of their onsen resorts. Sakan, our onsen,was in what must have been a five-star hotel, with (among the amenities you might expect to find in such a hotel anywhere in the world) half a dozen yukata-clad women waiting outside the front door to welcome guests. To stay in the hotel costs about 20,000 yen ($200) per night, but day use of the onsenscost us only 2000 yen ($20) -- which included a fabulous lunch, although I’mgetting ahead of myself.

The outdoor onsen (this is apparently the best way to go, although I think I might prefer it once it gets chillier) was open only to men until 4 pm, so the three of us girls made our way to the “small” indoor baths. There were several steps to the pre-bathing process. First, we removed our shoes in order to stepinto the tatami changing room. Then, we placed our bags, clothing, jewelry,etc into wicker baskets along one wall. (This was much less awkward than anticipated, mostly because once I took my glasses off, everyone in the vicinity, including me, looked mostly like a flesh-colored blob.) Next, we entered semi-private showers and fully cleansed from top to bottom -- the baths are for soaking only and, since they are communal, it is considered extremelybad manners to fail to wash properly or fully rinse away the soap and shampoo.

Only then could we actually enter the baths. From there, it was pretty much what you would expect. The water was very hot. The minerals made me feeloddly half-buoyant. Any Japanese women who entered the room took one look at the three of us and headed for the other of the two baths. Their loss though,because our bath had circles of floating cypress wood that we had great fun playing with. After about thirty minutes, I was red as a lobster, Tara wasn’t far behind me, and all three of us were extremely relaxed and quite ready to have lunch.

My favourite part of the entire experience was the cold shower after getting out-- it felt really good, although it did little to help with the lobster-face look. The resort provided hairbrushes, towels, and lotions to assist in the re-dressing process.

We had arranged with the boys to meet for lunch at 1.15, since the in-house restaurant closed at 2. They were, naturally, late -- apparently because theywere getting foot massages from beautiful women (?). Luckily, everyone except me had paid 500 yen to upgrade to a traditional-style Japanese lunch, so we were able to order for them and speed up the process a little; we were starved by this point. I had a voucher for 840 yen towards anything on the menu, and in my opinion I did better than anyone else: I got my first fully-vegetarian, genuinely-Japanese meal. It was a huge bowl of soba noodles cooked with many vegetables in a miso broth, with an umeboshi (pickled plum) rice ball and two pickled somethings on the side. I did not have to pick anything out, turn a blind eye to fish pieces, or pretend there was no meat in the stock. It was extremely high quality, thoroughly delicious, vastly satisfying -- and remarkably cheap.

We finished lunch around 2.20, and discovered that the next bus to Akiu Waterfall, our planned next stop, wasn’t until 3.50. So we changed the plans and decided to go the waterfall on the next trip (in late October, the trees will be gorgeous, and the girls wish to come at a time of day when we can use the outdoor bath). We headed out on foot to what the map called a “NaturePark.” It was less a nature park and more of a garden, with koi ponds where wemet another group of friendly Japanese tourists (from Sendai this time) whoshared their fish food, Japanese-style tea tables made of rock, and an extremely amusing rock which you will have to wait for the Facebook photos to know -- it defies written description. It was perhaps less natural than the map’s name suggested, but it did have some gorgeous views of the mountains,including the one at whose base it was nestled.

We headed back to a different bus stop, across the street from our resort. We bought coffees at a combini and were perfectly content to wait on the bench forthe 35 minutes until the bus arrived -- but then it started to rain. After brief discussion, we decided that the resort wouldn’t mind if we took shelter on the wall under the trees along their side driveway. Well, they did, but notin the way you might expect: one business-suited man and two of the yukata-clad women came over and insisted that we sit and wait on the benches by the frontdoor. I don’t know if they recognized us from earlier as customers, or if itwas just bad for business to have the side driveway decorated with footsore, slightly sweaty foreigners, but the benches were more comfortable than the rockwall either way.

When we got back to Sendai, we were still not tired of each other and headed to Tsutaya, a large video store chain, to rent a movie. After much debate, we eventually ended up with “Letters from Iwo Jima.” We bought snacks at a nearby combini and headed to Hung’s, the closest apartment, to watch it. We forgot to turn on the English subtitles and watched it, with varying degrees ofcomprehension, for about twenty minutes, before Taylor ventured to ask whether we wanted to watch the whole thing in only Japanese. After that, it made much more sense to all of us, although as with most war movies, what I got out of it was: war is stupid and people die.

Kristin, who had planned to go to Akiu but accidentally promised one of her elementary-school teachers that she would go to a tea ceremony lesson that day,joined us partway through. After the movie, as she was telling us about thelesson, she managed to get herself wound up and overexcited (“genki”) in that way that can’t help but affect every other person in the room -- and so we went to karaoke. Somehow, it seemed an appropriately Japanese ending to the day.