Across Japan

Kusatsu, Gunma Prefecture

Michelle and I drove from Haneda Airport in Tokyo north to Gunma Prefecture, an area renowned for its onsen, or natural hot springs. Whenever we drove through a tunnel, the GPS would lose signal and often direct us off the wrong exit. This happened several times until we reached the main highway that led us to Kusatsu.

Our destination for the evening was Tsutsuji-tei, a ryokan, or old-style Japanese inn, that has open-air hot spring baths. When we turned into the entrance, a group of Japanese hospitality workers came outside to retrieve our luggage and valet the car. We were greeted with deep bows in the lobby and directed to remove our shoes.

We stepped into two pairs of slippers, too large for Michelle and much too small for me, that were neatly placed on a step above the lobby entrance, then followed our assigned caretaker through a corridor to our room. The whole structure was made of a light-colored hardwood, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a private garden.

Michelle and I were rushed to our first kaiseki dinner, a multi-course meal comprised of small, artistically arranged plates with an emphasis on local ingredients. We sat at the low table, exhausted from about 20 hours of travel, and listened to our attendant describe each plate in fine detail.

She was young and spoke perfect English in a soft and delicate voice—we figured she was assigned to us for her language skills. Each word was chosen carefully and articulated at a gentle pace. Her favorite adjective was “little,” which she sprinkled across her descriptions of the plate ingredients and inspirations. Maybe it was the novelty of our first night in Japan, or the contrast with the inflight food from United, but we savored every bite of that first kaiseki.

After dinner, we returned to our room and found two soft-cushioned futon mattresses sprawled across the spacious tatami mat. The feet of the mattresses faced the large window that enshrined the garden. It had started to the rain, and we heard the thudding of the drops on the ground and against the glass. Before retiring, we walked through the bathroom, myself ducking through each doorway, to our private onsen enclosed in an all-wood bathhouse.

The bath itself was a small wooden basin with a spout that poured steaming hot water into one side. The basin had no drain—instead, overflowing water spilled onto the hardwood floor and collected underneath the building in a runoff. I stepped into the bath and slowly lowered my body, crouching my legs to fit the cramped dimensions, displacing large amounts of water. Michelle kneeled down next to me, and between the two of us, we barely managed to squeeze into the basin.

Michelle and I woke up early, about 4:30 a.m., because of the time difference. We sat next to the window to listen to the light rain and watch the sunrise, drinking beer that had been provided in our mini fridge. Around 8:00 a.m., we dressed in the kimonos provided and made our way down to the corridor for a kaiseki breakfast.

Again, our attendant met us in the small room and presented each plate with a description of its ingredients and arrangement. Between sets, she left the room so that Michelle and I could enjoy without feeling rushed.

After breakfast, we collected our belongings, paid the bill, which I learned always comes after the service in Japan, and drove a short distance to a public parking area in town. For the next few hours, we wandered somewhat aimlessly through the hilly streets of Kusatsu. The area was known for growing beans, which we ate as a desert, covered in chocolate, alongside coffee and matcha.

As noon approached, the streets became more and more crowded with Japanese visitors. At the center of the small city is the Yubatake, or “hot water field,” an open pool of acidic hot spring water that serves the local onsens. The field slopes downward and terminates at a short waterfall. People congregated at its base for photos with the greenish water trickling in the background.

Apparently, Kusatsu became famous in the Edo period of Japan as a hot spring resort for Tokyoites. Many visitors came for the health benefits of the acidic waters, especially for treating venereal diseases that exploded with the red light district in Tokyo, and for which there were no medicinal cures at the time.

Nagakura, Nagano Prefecture

Around 4:00 p.m., Michelle and I left Kusatsu for our second accommodation, an Airbnb in the westward farmlands of Nagakura. The highway circled the base of a small mountain, and as we neared the town, the local roads became increasingly narrow and, eventually, only wide enough to fit one car. Convex mirrors were mounted at each turn to help drivers see oncoming traffic.

We met our Airbnb host, driving a tuktuk, at a nearby cafe and followed him onto a dirt road that led to his home and guest house. He spoke little English, so we relied on Google Translate to communicate about our stay and ask if we could see the goats from the pictures on the Airbnb listing. His face brightened at reading our request, and we followed him across town to the farm, where we fed the goats bushels of tall grass.

As evening descended, Michelle and I decided to grab premade sushi from a local supermarket, but by the time we arrived, most of the sushi had been sold and the store was about to close. Michelle was also feeling unwell. With few options, I drove us to a nearby restaurant with a medieval theme—the building looked like a battle-worn castle with swords and armor decorating the interior. There was one worker, presumably the owner and chef, and no other diners.

Somehow, the chef explained that he was also a hunter.

In the morning, Michelle and I loaded the car and left early for a morning hike. Our plan was to hike one of the nearby mountains and then drive to the Jigokudani Monkey Park. Being Sunday, hardly any restaurants were open for breakfast at 7:00 a.m., but, searching Google Maps, I stumbled across a Chinese medicinal health food restaurant, called Mong Cai, situated around the nearby forest.

When Michelle and I arrived at Mong Cai, we entered the restaurant and saw one table of Japanese diners. A man at the table motioned to the kitchen, indicating that the chef, who we learned was also the owner and sole worker, was behind the curtain. After hearing no response, Michelle peeped her head through the curtain and startled the man, who came out the kitchen visibly flustered.

Through several exchanges of Google translate, the owner explained that the restaurant was reservation only, but he could accommodate us if we were willing to wait 15 minutes. We sat at the nearest table and watched the man carry plate upon plate to the table in the corner. After all the courses had been delivered, he turned his attention to us.

Minutes later we received two trays covered in small plates: a square block of egg, pickled mountain vegetables, oyster porridge, to name a few. The chef also set down a

Yamanouchi, Nagano Prefecture

Jigokudani Yaen-Koen

Nagano, Nagano Prefecture

Mount Fuji, Yamanashi Prefecture

We arrived at our Airbnb around 11:00 p.m. Our host, Jun, met us in the small cafe attachment and gave us a tour of the facilities. The Airbnb was situated on a small mountain against the forest. We learned later that it was originally built as a resort for people visiting Mt. Fuji. The business never took off and the resort developers sold the property to a Japanese family. The family held onto the property for about 20 years before selling it to Jun. Apparently, the grandfather was reluctant to leave the Mt. Fuji area, but his grandchildren had limited financial opportunities outside of the major cities.

When Jun inherited the property, it was already outfitted with two indoor, private onsens fed by the local hot springs. He added a sauna and refurbished the cafe area, and also decorated the place with various spiritual elements—mostly crystals and mineral rocks that he believed contain special revitalizing properties. To fit the role, Jun himself had a relaxed, bohemian air that relaxed others in his presence.

In the morning, we sat for breakfast at a bench looking out at the small reservoir adjacent to Jun’s cafe. Jun served us several pieces of toast, a plate of small sausages, a hard-boiled egg, and a small salad with basil dressing using ingredients from his garden. We learned later that this spread is a common breakfast arrangement in Japan.

As we ate, Michelle and I overheard some conversations from other guests. At one table sat a middle-aged Brit and a younger Canadian enveloped in a serious conversation about zen and psychedelics. In particular, the Canadian talked excitedly about his time in Japan exploring various temples and smoking weed.

After breakfast, Michelle and I drove to nearby Lake Kawaguchi, seated at the base of Mt. Fuji. It was an overcast day, and Mt. Fuji itself became covered in fog as its snow cap evaporated in the sun. We rented a pair of bikes and started cycling around the lake, stopping periodically when the fog would lift and expose a side of the great volcano.

Early in the ride, we stopped at a roadside fruit stand that sold local produce from the Fuji area. Michelle and I wandered the short aisles, inspecting the apples, oranges, strawberries, mushrooms, and more that filled the space. We decided to buy two peaches and a small bag of strawberries, which we ate at a bridge near the lake shore, fruit juices dripping on the trees and bushes beneath.

Stretches of the bike ride ran alongside the main road that circled the lake. We were surprised to see several abandoned buildings and dilapidated properties along the way, mostly because we assumed Fuji would be a top tourist destination. Similar to Jun’s property, we figured that the area expanded to accommodate a tourism boom that never quite manifested.

After the ride, Michelle searched for a restaurant serving local cuisine. She found Hotokura Funari Kawaguchiko, a restaurant well known for its hoto noodles, a hearty noodle soup dish local to Yamanashi Prefecture. The interior of the restaurant was all light hardwood, with low tables set on either side of a ramp that started from the entrance and terminated at a large window. It took us a few moments to realize that the window was supposed to be a view of Mt. Fuji, when the fog has cleared.

Looking at the menu, we noticed an appetizer of horse sashimi, thin slices of raw horse meat served with a dipping sauce. We decided to order the horse along with one fish and one pork hoto soup. The horse was surprisingly tasty, not too gamey or tough, and the hoto soup was very umami, with flavorful broth and thick-textured noodles. Probably my favorite part of the soup were the pieces of pumpkin, which became soft inside the hot broth.

After lunch, Michelle and I made our way to the Chureito Pagoda in Arakura Sengen Park, a popular tourist destination for views of Fuji. We climbed about 400 stairs to reach the viewpoint, which was full of people despite the fog that completely obscured the volcano. At the top, we learned that there was a hiking trail that led from the park to another nearby mountain with more viewpoints.

Hoping to find one unobstructed view of Mt. Fuji, Michelle and I drove to another mountain that Jun had recommended as the best viewpoint. The sun was starting to lower in the sky as we weaved up the empty, one-lane switchback roads. When we reached the Takazasu Shrine at the mountain peak, Michelle and I left the car and turned in circles to find our bearings.

Knowing that daylight was limited, we started to hike down a trail that seemed to lead in the direction of the volcano. After about 10 minutes, Michelle noticed that the GPS had us moving in the wrong direction, so we turned around to return to the shrine. At that point, the sky had darkened considerably, a combination of the setting sun, tree cover, and dense fog that had set upon the mountain.

Just a few minutes from the shrine, we turned around to see bands of penetrating yellow sunlight dispersed between the trees. The fog rolled across the mountain and brought a cool breeze. At that precise moment, we heard the sound of bells echo in the near distance, probably at a shrine near the base of the mountain. The music of the bells lasted for about 15 seconds. Mixed with our surroundings, it left a lasting impression on us that is impossible to capture with words.

Michelle had one last idea for a view of Fuji. Leaving the mountain, I put the Toyota in neutral and rolled down the steep switchback road, gaining speed through the darkening forest, only braking around the corners. When we reached the road, I turned to head toward the small village of Oshino.

Oshino is known for its eight ponds, the Oshino Hakkai, which were formed from eruptions of Fuji. The water in the ponds originates from the volcano snow cap, which slowly melts and travels through the ground over the course of decades. Tourists visit the Oshino Hakkai to see reflections of Mt. Fuji, which are even visible at night.

At one point, while driving to Oshino, I was fiddling with the radio when Michelle suddenly gasped and grabbed my arm. Looking up, I saw the most incredible view of Mt. Fuji against the dusk sky. Quickly, I pulled off onto a dirt road and stopped the car.

Instead of eating at a restaurant that night, Michelle and I decided to buy packaged sushi from a grocery store. Stopping on the way back to Jun’s, we wandered the aisles of the supermarket, inspecting all the unfamiliar labels, until we came upon the prepackaged food section. Even at this late hour, when all the remaining package lids had a label advertising 20 percent discount, we were paralyzed by our options. Selections of pork, beef, onigiri, ramen bowls, sashimi, spanning multiple tables. We exercised some self-control and only bought two sushis as well as a serving of pickled vegetables.

Before leaving the supermarket, Michelle wanted to inspect the sweets section. I watched as she maneuvered across the aisle, bouncing back-and-forth in search of a specific chocolate Japanese treat—periodically getting distracted as her interest momentarily wavered.

Back at the Airbnb resort, Jun prepared a hot bath for us as we unpacked from the day. Michelle and I stepped into the all-tile room, rinsed ourselves with the two shower head wands at the entrance, and slowly submerged into the steaming water. After a few moments, Michelle rose to open the sliding window and sat on the ledge with her feet in the water. Steam and hot air rolled out the window into the forest. After the bath, we drained the tub and made our way back to the room, where we sat on the tatami mat to eat sushi and watch a Studio Ghibli movie.

In the morning, we made our way to the cafe, hoping for a different breakfast spread, but Jun brought over the familiar toast, hard-boiled egg, sausages, and salad. While eating breakfast, we started a conversation with the Jun’s wife and the Brit. Jun’s wife was beautiful, with long white hair and light-colored boho chic clothing. She embodied free spiritedness, but was articulate and selective with her language.

We learned that the Brit, Duncan, was an artist who moved to Japan because his wife worked for a Japanese company. He had been living in Tokyo for over a decade, and was now embarked on a walking journey from Tokyo to Fuji.

Ginza, Tokyo

Ginza was reminiscent of a clean New York: fashionable and polished. Japanese men all wore suits and women wore professional dresses or jumpsuits, with the occasional pedestrian dressed in some hyper modern eclectic style. On the train, people were hushed with many consumed in some phone game.

Before our trip, Michelle and I read Pico Iyer’s “A Beginner’s Guide to Japan,” which is more a social commentary than a literal travel guide. One of the central themes of the book was that the Japan is a land of contradiction. I found this to be an accurate depiction: everyone waited patiently at cross-walks, but businessmen and women would run across the street in suits to beat the light. The Japanese appreciate both a slow-paced kaiseki and a rushed precooked meal from 7-11.

Our first evening in Tokyo, I convinced Michelle that we should wander around a neighborhood to find a restaurant with few tourists.

Nara, Nara Prefecture

Nara, the former Japanese capital and contemporary center of Zen Buddhism, was the location of our second ryokan, Okuyama Nara Kasuga Tsukihitei. The hotel was nestled deep within the forest beyond the deer park. When we arrived, we were treated with similar fanfare as at Tsutsuji-tei. Our attendant was a sweet, older woman, dressed in full kimono with a bandage wrapped around her left hand. She led us through the outdoor passageway to our room, and quickly we were ushered to dinner.

Dinner was just as ornate and elaborate as our first kaiseki. Whenever the next course was ready, our attendant would

Kyoto, Kyoto Prefecture

Kyoto, the former capital of Japan after Nara, is a blend of ancient and modern. Its downtown bustles with restaurants, clubs, and shopping in a dense conglomerate of tall buildings. The train station is a glass structure that transcends four stories.

Our first day in Kyoto, we trained north to Kibuneguchi Station (貴船口駅), an older train station nestled beneath the forest. From the station, we walked up the road that follows the Kibune-gawa River to a small, touristy village called Kibune. The road was narrow, and as we walked, we had to squeeze ourselves into the shoulder to allow cars to pass in both directions.

As we approached Kibune (木船), we started to notice a few cafes and restaurants with suspended platforms that spanned the river, allowing diners to eat over the flowing water. The river itself had been remodeled to include several terraced water falls, giving privacy and a view to each restaurant.

Michelle and I stopped for coffee and cake at one of the cafes, dipping our feet in the cold water as we watched a small girl run back-and-forth along the platform while her dad tried to take her photo.

With a canopy overhead to block the sun, and the cold water running underneath, the seating areas were chilly.

After exploring Kibune, we crossed an orange bridge to the start of the Kurama-Kibune hike. Kurama (鞍馬).

From Kurama, we took the KIRARA train—a train with large windows and rotated seating for scenic viewing—back to Kyoto. We passed through the Momiji Tunnel, a narrow strip of landscape lined with maple trees that creates a natural tunnel over the track.

Osaka, Osaka Prefecture

From Kyoto, we trained to Osaka and took the bus to Mr. Hiro’s car studio. The week prior, I had reserved a Nissan Skyline GT-R to teach Michelle manual in the nearby Yoshino-Kumano National Park. We arrived to the car studio and were promptly shown a 10-minute YouTube video on the liability we were undertaking—basically, we were on the line for about 70k USD should the car get totaled. It was a hefty sum that made me feel nervous driving out of the shop onto the main roads of Osaka.

Michelle directed me to the highway heading toward a cafe in the mountains. I ran through the gears and felt the heavy 90’s engine rumble asymmetrically. As I pressed the gas in fourth and watched the tachometer needle rise to 7000 RPMs, we heard a distinctive beeping in the cabin. Eventually, we realized that the beeper was a regulator to deter the driver from speeding.

As we exited onto a mountain highway, the roads became more serpentine with gradual changes in elevation. Everywhere, Michelle and I searched for a lot with enough space to give her a driving lesson, but, being a mountainous area in Japan, all the parking areas were too small or crowded.

I heard the sound of the bumper grind against the asphalt, saw Michelle’s facial expression change suddenly, and felt my heart sink.

Kobe, Hyōgo Prefecture

Ueno, Tokyo

On our last full day in Japan, Michelle and I walked to the Ueno Zoo in the nearby park. We arrived half an hour after opening and were bombarded with an hour-long queue for the two panda exhibits.