Okutama & Hatonosu Canyon
Here in Japan, jetlag has me waking early. On Okutama day my eyes opened at gozen yonji gojuu ppun (4:50 a.m.), probably excitement from the thought of escaping the city heat. Teeth brushed, clothes on, pack checked. I felt like I was off to claim lottery winnings, grin wide as ever.
The plan was Hatonosu Canyon and then Okutama. Technically still Tokyo, but an hour and a half by train and it might as well be another universe.
Tokyo trains
I'm leaving early so it's rush hour for the working class. Once on the train I watch salary men (all with dark trousers and white shirts), briefcases and backpacks in hand, making their way to a day full of churn. Uniformed school kids, batteries charged, ready for class. Kids and the older generations untethered, everyone else in a digital bubble. I tried to study a little Hiragana and Katakana (Japanese characters), half distracted and feeling guilty for being just another rat on the wheel of algorithmic stimulus. I put the phone away, and just listen and watch for awhile. I enjoyed eavesdropping on a pair of nine year olds. I understood five percent at best, but that five percent felt golden. Hontōni. Yasui. Gakusei. (Really! Cheap. Student.) Tiny fragments of recognition, but every bit is an absolute joy. At 47 years old to be learning a new language is one of the best gifts I've ever given myself time for.
Here’s a thing: Japanese kids ride trains solo from about six or seven years old. In the U.S., parents would be clutching their hands all the way to the classroom door and interviewing the teacher to see if their precious little bean would be ok. (I'm guilty of this kind of scrutiny as well). Is it that we don't have the same safety in our society? Is it that we don't expect as much from our children? Japan has a 98% conviction rate, so maybe this is the cost of safety? I have questions upon questions.
I switched trains in Ome and ducked into a cute little panya (bakery). Asked the clerk, kōhī ga arimasu ka? Nope. Just the usual boxed and cooled stuff. The Japanese love their sugared pre-milked coffee. I bought one anyway and a curry-pizza bun that defied categorization but made my tastebuds happy. A strange little breakfast, eaten carefully at the bench while I waited for connecting train.
The Japanese have rules for everything. On an empty platform in Ome, eating quietly was fine; in a crowded station it’d be rude. Same on trains — silence is expected. As a gaijin (outsider) I could get away with more, but I’d rather match the rhythm here. Order over preference. Call it rigid if you want, but our freedoms aren’t exactly producing results.
Hatonosu Canyon
Then Hatonosu. I found a tucked away trail that felt like I might end up in season three of stranger things. I walked past what were probably abandoned hotels or apartments, avoiding areas marked "no trespassing". Finally the trail dropped me onto a cliffside and a canyon that felt like a secret. Sheer stone walls, bright clean water, moss clothing rock. I was completely alone. Not another soul in sight. I stripped down (into my swim suit, not my birthday suit). Took a big ass grateful breath in. And marched right into the river. The cold water was a level of refreshing that I'm not sure language was made to describe. I immediately felt reset. Like back to birth. I swam and sunbathed for a couple hours. Meditated on a rock. Whoooped and whistled like a child on his favorite playground.
For a moment I thought: if I slipped and hit my head, if I drifted downriver and was gone, no one would know for days. Being married to a woman who loves true crime puts these weird thoughts in my head.
A few months before Japan, I’d been worried about being lonely here. I've not spent this amount of time alone since going to school in England for two years in my 20s. Instead, it feels like a gift. I’m not missing people. I’m with me. I like this guy — more everyday. We've been through a lot. He's a keeper.
Café Kikori
I reluctantly bowed goodbye to one of the most beautiful natural beauties I've ever experienced, and found Café Kikori waiting for me just beyond the top of the trailhead. Poised on the cliffside, riding on stilts, this cafe had big windows that looked out into the green. The decor inside was kitsch and cute. A small library with vintage fishing lures, books, and cozy collectibles. The owner has made little one-tenth scale miniatures of his café and placed them outside the actual windows. When you look through the glass you see the miniature version of the window you’re looking through. The details were perfectly imperfect—cumbersome in a way that made them charming. Adorable, alive.
I ate a hamu tamago chīzu sando (ham, egg, and cheese) that was just what I needed. Bought a sticker. He slipped me an extra one for free. What a gem.
It’s these small towns and small gestures that get me. People trying to make a living with a café or a craft, probably not raking it in, just subsisting. But doing it with sweetness. I find that deeply attractive. These little places in Japan are disappearing. Craig Mod, a writer I deeply admire and follow, has written extensively on it. His book captures much of it. Read it. It's fascinating.
Shrine trail
Back in town, I found the start of a trail. A steep uphill climb to a shrine. Backpack heavy with my laptop (thinking I would have time to write — I didn't), camera, two bottles of Aquarius. Sweat pouring, legs burning, but my body felt strong. I can do hard things. That thought carried me up the slope (181 cement steps, and probably about 1200 ft of elevation gain) until the shrine came into view.
Onsen bound!
I'd done a little research ahead of time and believed there to be a tattoo friendly Onsen (Onsen are bathhouses) just the other side of the river from Okutama. Heading along the riverside path to the onsen, I stopped on a bridge to photograph the river below. Out of the corner of my lens, something moved across a cable. My brain said it was a squirrel. The biggest squirrel in history. Turned out to be a monkey. My distant cousin.
I navigated the entry reasonably with a hiccup about where to get the towel. Before entering the onsen, you sit on a little stool, bathe yourself with a handheld shower, and then proceed clean into the public bath. Naked, bits dangling, I joined a handful of Japanese men, tea towels perched on our heads, soaking by this steaming pool. Blissful. After a cold rinse, I stepped back into the sauna that is late-summer Japan.
Return to the city
This day goes down in the record books. Rarely have I felt so awake to possibility, both within me, and beyond me. But these elations expire like everything else. The walk back to the station had one more delight for me. A window chock-full of collected bobble-heads , of which Japan has the best in the world. Exhausted but heart-full, I might have looked right at home in that window sill of smiling, rocking faces.
More photos from the journey will keep showing up here.