8-bitDesign

Well, we’re back from Japan, the jetlag is fading, and the separation anxiety is setting in. Welcome home.

I still catch myself missing snippets of the country here and there, when driving past clubs and bars, or even something as daft as noticing the blank posterless sections of the wall in our apartment. The space is jarring, and quite possible the first thing you notice upon returning if not the last thing you forget.

Anyways, while it’s still in my mind, let me jot down a few of our experiences in Nagano.

The city itself is no more than a train station, two malls, and a main drag. Past that, the city peters out into suburbs which stretch off in to farms, and then out to the villiages, like Toyota, where we stayed. 

Reynolds’ place is about 30 minutes from Nagano proper, outside of Nakano, a small town in the region. Specifically, he lives in Toyota-mura, which consists of apple farms, and about a dozen houses. This, of course, was in stark contrast to Tokyo and Kyoto, and only after the first few cautious glances and the odd stare from passers-by, did we realise that four Americans (*) walking down the street in Toyota probably isn’t a common occurance. 

Despite the initial… confusion, just about everyone we ran into in Toyota was very welcoming. On our first full day there, we hiked up into the nearby hills, looking for fresh snow, left over from the weekend, and ended up stopping to chat with the local traffic guard, one of the nearby farmers, and the odd student of our dear Reynolds. It never ceases to surprise me to see how much of our communication with each other people goes unsaid. We were able to bolster our meagre Japanese skills with pantomiming, bad translation, snippets of English, facial expressions, and laughter at times.

Speaking of the hills, quite possibly, the most beautiful moment in our trip through Japan had to be that first night in Nagano. After days of non-stop hiking through Tokyo and Kyoto, Reynolds suggested we end our first night in Nagano at one of their famous hot springs. So, at 9, we all pile in the car, shivering and freezing (only 2° centigrade!) and drive up to the nearby town, Iiyama. We drove until we reached the hot spring, sitting on a mountain overlooking Nagano.

So, we hop through the pre-onsen ritual (strip down for a quick, public shower) and stepped outside. Into the snow and the cold with only a 36 square inch towel to protect all dangly bits from sight and the elements.

And then we stepped into the spring: It was 42º centigrade in the cold end! So, here we are, sitting naked, in the hottest natural jacuzzi I’ve ever seen, outside, at night, overlooking the entirety of Nagano, while pinpricks of snow are melting against my face. Looking up, all you could see was the velvet black night, behind the roiling steam from the onsen, and the falling snow.

I can think of few moments in my life that have been that peaceful. The thought of an American-raised, Scottish son stewing in a Japanese hot spring on the other side of the world just seemed so daft right then and there. This world seems so full of surprises at times.