Slice of Good Ol Boy Life

What left an impression on me about Japan was its culture of cleanliness and respect, qualities that were ever apparent as we traveled the country.

Admittedly, there was a sense of embarrassment for my homeland. Japan’s trains and stations were clean, riders were considerate of fellow passengers and there was nary a whiff of smoke — much less illegal drugs in the air.

Most of the platforms had vending and recycling machines, which would be impossible to maintain in a vandal plagued Portland.

To my surprise, some train cars were designated for women only. I found this a bit odd, considering the country’s reputation for male chauvinism.

Keita’s mother, on the other hand, was not one to be subjugated. An octogenarian who was still driving — a stick shift car no less — she fetched us from the train station and always made sure we ate a big breakfast each morning.

After a long bus ride from Tokyo we arrived in Kusatsu, where you are greeted instantly by the rotten eggs smell of sulfur from the hot springs.

In the town square sits the Yubatake, a field of water, where people gather particularly at night to socialize. Some believe the minerals from the hot springs have healing properties. If true, I was more than ready for a soak.

“Let’s do the Onsen after we check in,” Keita said to me as we hiked through the narrow and curved streets up to our hotel.

Donning our yukatas (robes), we entered the male side of the Onsen. Inside, phones and cameras are strictly forbidden and it is custom to bathe naked. To set the mood, relaxing zen music played overhead as I stepped into the tile enclosed pool.

Life takes unexpected twists and turns and here I was, the lone Western figure at a remote hot springs resort tucked away in the mountains of Japan’s Gunma prefecture.

And the water was wickedly hot!

It’s heat pulsing as I stood knee deep and naked in the Onsen’s large pool. The convection like an attack on my nervous system.

While the temperature stymied me, others were easily submerged in the mineral waters.

“John, are you okay?,” Keita politely asked, noticing my hesitation to take a deeper plunge.

“Yeah, it’s just very hot,” I replied, thinking there was no way I could go any further.

Then I heard what sounded like a frog noise beside me. I turned to see an older man, sitting in the pool, with no expression on his face. Then suddenly, that sound again:

“Ribbet, Ribbet.”

I smiled at him, but knowing very little Japanese, did not speak. Keita engaged the man in friendly banter, translating for me.

“He says you’ll get used to the temperature,” Keita told me. “And he thought you were French.”

The metaphor could not have been more fitting.

After that exchange we waded away from the man and I did eventually work up the courage to go completely under. This being the first step in my transformation. I was washed and exposed and felt no shame.

I slept good that night. The Onsen brought my Misogi challenge more into focus. I was determined to become a train conductor and upon returning home would enroll in a program to begin this process, leaving behind mundane janitorial duties.

Yes, this frog had escaped the boiling water.

Ribbet, Ribbet.