I don't want to steal Gnorm's Gthunder, so I am going to refrain from going into too much detail about his stay here. Gnorm's travelblog will, no doubt, go into great detail on what we did and what we saw. He may not go into so much detail regarding out battle with Moss the Interrupter, who aimed to kidnap the Very Important Moss (Like VIP).
Although we emerged victorious, the battle left us both quite scarred, but I suppose that's what happens when you choose the life of a scientist.
I will, however talk about one things: Old Balls.
In the immortalized words (or at least immortalized as soon as I post them in my blog) of S.C. Holohan, 20th century philosopher and creator of the config.sys: "Onsens are awesome."
An onsen is a Japanese public bath house built upon a natural hotspring. Since Japan is situated right on the Ring.... The Ring of Firrrrre (you know, the one that burns burns burns.... Do you realize that there are like 6 lyrics in that whole song? Johnny Cash could enter a recording studio and mutter just about anything drunk and it would still make it in the jukebox of the Patriot.)
Huh? What tangent?? Oh yea... So Japan is located right on the Ring of Fire and as such there are natural hotsprings all over the place. These not only shoot out boiling hot water, but with the water comes a bunch of minerals and salts from inside the Earth that beat the hell outta any jojoba bubble bath or bath salts that the Body Shop may be peddling. These bath houses are also designed to be the most relaxing places in the world, and they are. I wish I had pictures, but naturally you can't bring cameras into them.
Upon entering, the fine establishment, you typically pass by some sort of eatery. Bath houses are a popular place to spend the whole day with the family or with people from work, so they all pride themselves on their food as well. The one near my house is well known for their zaru-soba. Cold buckwheat noodles made on premises that are served with a light soy based sauce, wasabi, and scallions. That and some tea or beers and the relaxation beginnith.
Once you eat (or decide not to as the case may be), you work your way to the bath. Men and women each bathe in separate areas. You first enter a locker room where you disrobe, donning no more than a small towel about the size of a dish towel. The more shy individual may opt to select which body part they wish to cover with this towel, but on average the towel is proudly slung over the shoulder or around the neck. There is no modesty in an onsen... Just old balls.
Next, you wash. In order to keep one's filth outside the bath, each person scrubs and shampoos in a private sitting shower prior to entering the bath. That small towel you brought in with you is used here. After making sure that you are clean enough, as well as ensuring that you have no lingering suds on your person, time to enjoy the bath.
Now at the very least, an onsen has one bath. That number, along with the size and complexity of the bath increases along with the extravagance of the onsen. The onsen near me offers three separate baths, a waterfall (to sit under as the hot mineral water massages your back), and a dry sauna. Among the three baths, there is one indoor bath, usually the hottest one, only tolerable for short periods at a time. There is an outdoor bath that is typically surrounded by rocks and some sort of tranquil garden atmosphere, and overlooks a breathtaking mountain view. Finally, there is the cold plunge, a bath filled with freezing cold water which is especially refreshing after the sauna or when the heat of the other baths or the steam gets to be too much. As I am quite prone to overheating, I enjoy the cold plunge, though many people aren't fans. While in the bath, it is customary to put your wash towel on your head (it is cool at this point) or on the side of the bath, but never in the water. Apart from this, the order and which baths you decide to avail yourself of is entirely up to you.
Now, imagine if you will (Sean, Jen and Drew don't have to imagine too hard) a freezing cold Nagano day. There is like 50 feet of snow on the ground, a day of skiing or boarding on the mountains have left you frozen and achy. At the end of such a day, you shed off the several layers of ski clothes, and after washing up, you slip into the outdoor bath. There is snow on the ground surrounding you, but you are sitting in a bath of volcanic mineral water while breathing in the cool winter air and looking out over the snow covered valley as the sun sets. Whenever anyone asks me what part of Japan I will miss the most, I never hesitate before answering emphatically onsen.
After sufficient relaxation, you return to the shower. While the minerals and salts in the water are nice to bathe in, once they dry on your skin they are less than pleasant. After returning to the locker room, drying off and getting dressed, I usually get a bottle of milk. Most onsens sell milk in glass bottles that is uncannily the most refreshing thing you could drink after leaving the onsen. It is not ordinary milk. It's thick, like buttermilk. Between the onsen and the heavy milk, your body and your muscles are rendered to a state of gelatin. All that is left is to return home, slip under the kotatsu (a low table with a heater under it and a blanket draped over) and pass out in front of re-runs of the West Wing. Well, that's what my buddy Brandon and I do in the winter at least.
Of course, I don't want to glamorize the whole thing. Besides you being naked, there are a bunch of other naked guys, most of whom are old men, frolicking around. The trick is, of course, to enjoy the onsen while managing to ignore the old balls surrounding you. Make eye contact for just one second with old balls and you will spend the rest of your onsen experience trying to purge the image while wondering if your scrotum will also someday resemble a wrinkled paper bag filled with cottage cheese hanging down to your knees. I have been told that women have the same experiences with seeing old boobs in the onsen.
Naturally, if you are a foreigner, you must do this while simultaneously enduring the stares of these old men as they look at you. Being a hairy creature with tattoos on my back (which are still somewhat taboo here,) I am often stared at. My first time at an onsen, back when I was visiting Japan a few years ago, I had Jane's supervisor stop and complement my "muki muki macho body." Of course, coming from a country where two straight naked men in a bath would never say such a thing (or reasonably be taking a bath together for that matter), I was mildly caught off guard. I have since become used to the occasional stare. Again, some of my larger chested female friends have stated similar experiences. In a country where a healthy perky B cup is roughly the equivalent of Dolly Parton, women may stop and look at the giant mounds of flesh that in America are considered an average to small cup size.
You're still thinking about the old balls, aren't you Drew?
Ok, next time (whenever that may be) I will talk about Kendo and hopefully be able to show pictures and share good news about this Sunday's tournament.
