Almost every onsen I’ve been to in Japan has been described in travel features by one of these words: “rustic”, “atmospheric” and “nostalgic”. Here, allow me to offer a light-hearted take on what these words actually mean…
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지난 달에 일본에 여행을 갔다왔다. 이번 여행은, 나는 덜 인기있는 지역을 선택했다. 히로시마와 규슈에 갔다. 히로시마에 대해 이야기 할 때, 사람들이 에게 가장 생각하는 일은 원자 폭탄이다. 사실은 “원자 돔”은 히로시마의 상징이다. 그러나 무엇보다 잊을 수 없는 여행은 미야지마 섬이다.
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I woke up to a bright and sunny morning in my budget hotel room in Higashi-Muroran (東室蘭). The original plan was to take the train back to Tomakomai after check-out. But looking at the weather, it seemed such a massive waste to just pack up and go home. Yesterday’s exertions (and disappointments) were still fresh in my body and mind. After mulling over the options over bread and coffee at the hotel café, I decided to give Muroran another shot.
After a quick browse through Tripadvisor, I decided to check out Cape Etomo (絵鞆岬) and seek out one of Muroran’s specialty dishes – curry ramen. I must say this had to be one of the best decisions I’ve made on this trip. If there’s one place you ever need to try curry ramen, it’s Aji-no-Daio 味の大王. Though it’s still 11.30 a.m., the tiny restaurant was already packed with patrons. The curry is viscous thick, and the noodles are springy. Sweat was oozing from all pores down my face, but I was savouring every drop of the curry. Needless to say, I polished the bowl down to its last dregs.
My belly folks were humming a tune, and I hopped along to it as I made my way to Cape Etomo (絵鞆岬). Google Maps informed me that the trek to the cape would take about an hour on foot, but this time round, I decided to try my luck and just board any bus that would take me as close as possible to the cape. Last night’s misadventure told me that bus no.14 might be my best shot. And so it proved to be, though I had to ride my luck and guess the stop to alight. From my alighting point, it was just another 300 metre walk to the cape, which took less than five minutes.
Although less celebrated than Cape Chikyu (judging by the fact that besides me, there were only three others), Cape Etomo, in my opinion, has more to offer. Not only can you enjoy a panoramic view of the Pacific, but also a perfect vista of the majestic Hakucho Bridge that spans the port of Muroran and its marina. I spent a good half an hour just taking in the scenery.
However, the best find had to be Café Mutekirou, perched at the edge of a small knoll along the coast. The interior had a minimalist feel to it, with a granite wall accompanied by two humongous speakers as the dominant centrepieces. Jazz music was playing, and the entire café was drenched in sunlight through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I slurped my Americano and leaned back on my wooden deck chair, content to just watch the clouds drift by over the Hakucho Bridge. What a way to spend the long weekend!
Ç’est la vie. LS
Weekends can get pretty boring in Tomakomai. After all, this is a port city and an industrial town, whose biggest pride is a shopping mall and ice hockey. I couldn’t count on visiting Sapporo every weekend because that would put a financial strain on my already massively reduced income. (Travelling by train in Japan is pretty expensive!) Still, after two weeks here, I was itching to get out of Tomakomai and explore the neighbouring towns. I figured I could always start from the nearest, and then venture further as I go along. My first destination was the Lake Shikotsu in Chitose.
A caldera lake created by the eruption of three adjoining volcanoes (Mount Eniwa, Mount Fuppushi and Mount Tarumae), Lake Shikotsu is the second deepest lake in Japan. It’s about a 30 minute bus ride from Chitose Train Station. On the weekend I visited, there was a huge crowd of mainland Chinese tourists (well, you can’t avoid them, they are everywhere…). And they were milling around a small jetty which offers boat rides in the shape of swans. After checking out the rental fees, I decided to give it a miss. I headed for the quieter end of the footpath, where there’s a wooden platform that leads down to the waters. There, along with a few others, I took off my shoes and treaded carefully into the waters. This was also a good spot to capture the beauty of the lake, with the surrounding volcanoes. I didn’t stay in the waters for long because the pebbled ground was giving my feet a painful massage, so I retreated to the wooden platform and sat there to soak in the sun and beauty of the surroundings. A colleague told me that there’s a secret onsen resort on the opposite end of the lake (from where I was), the Marukoma Onsen Ryokan (丸駒温泉旅館). The reviews on Tripadvisor and pictures on the hotel’s website do seem enticing. However, without a decent four wheels, I would most likely give it a miss for now.
Two weekends later, my belly tubbies (sorry, Micah, I borrowed your term) are calling out for beer, so instead of paying a ‘pilgrimage’ to my town’s resident shrine, the Tarumaezan Shrine, I decided to book an appointment to visit the Sapporo Beer Factory. It helps that there’s a train station named after it, and walking to the factory from the train station took only about 15 minutes. I was given a detailed commentary by the guide, albeit in Japanese (which means I probably only understood 10% of what he’s trying to tell me). What disturbed me was that my ‘tour’ group comprised a couple of Japanese families with toddlers and 5-year-olds in tow. Surely, this is not the right place to bring your kids for an educational tour, unless you intend to raise alcoholics. Well, at least not yet, in my humble opinion. The kids were creating such a ruckus during the tour that at times, it was difficult to hear the guide. I also made the mistake of picking a weekend to visit the factory, as it was a rest day, which meant that the machines weren’t working and we could only watch videos of the assembly, filling and bottling processes.
The saving grace of this tour? Two free half pints of authentic Sapporo beer on tap, straight from the source. And you can kick back your shoes at the spacious viewing gallery (which overlooks an expansive golf course) to savour your brew. Depending on your experiences, I would say this tour of the Sapporo Beer Factory beats the one I had at the Sapporo Beer Museum which I wrote about previously, for the simple reason that you don’t pay a single dime for your booze. Call me a cheapskate if you like, but any free beer wins my vote anytime!
I guess that’s about all Chitose had to offer, so I was ready to venture further this time. The next nearest destination on my Google Maps is Shiraoi, a sleepy rural town with a decent museum and village on the Ainus, the indigenous people of Hokkaido. However, reviews have been average at best, and I’m all too familiar with the Japanese’ love for dioramas, so this Ainu village may not be an exception. I ditched the idea of looking at fake people and animals and instead opted for Noboribetsu.
The last time I was in Noboribetsu, I spent a good afternoon exploring the Hell Valley (also known as the Jikokudani) and even managed to squeeze about an hour and a half soaking in one of the many daytime onsens (of course, I went with the cheapest admission given the limited time I had before the last bus). A word of caution to day trippers, the last bus from Noboribetsu Onsen to the train station leaves at 6.58 p.m., so unless you have booked a stay at one of the expensively mediocre hotels here, you probably should really plan your trip. Having said that though, I am still contemplating a weekend staycation here one of these days because though the hotels are exorbitantly overpriced and grossly underwhelming, their onsens are amazing!
For this trip, I decided to check out the Date Edo Ninja Village (登別伊達時代村) instead. I’ve heard about the famously notorious bear park here, but didn’t fancy the idea of seeing bears trapped in glass enclosures. I must say the admission tickets, priced at 2,900 yen, did shock me a little because by Japanese standards, the prices are slightly on the high side (not including Tokyo Disneyland). Still, I relented since I was already there. The Ninja Village was a good re-creation of a normal feudal town during the Edo period. Of course, there’s the requisite diorama showcase of life during the Edo period, what’s like inside a samurai’s residence and a whole street of trinket and games shops. You could even dress up as a ninja if you like, but for an additional 2,000 yen, I would recommend you do your ninja cosplay at home.
What made this trip worth it though were the cultural performances, and I was really fortunate to be able to catch all of them, almost back-to-back! There were four altogether, including two ninja action shows, a comedy featuring the village mascot, a samurai cat/dog called Nyan and my favourite, an Oiran show. Oirans were top-ranked courtesans a.k.a prostitutes during the Edo period. They actually enjoyed prestige and social status during the Edo period, even invoking a sense of mystique among the common townsfolk.
There’s also a whimsically eerie Cat Temple (O-nyanko), with an interesting “haunted house” experience. In fact, the Cat Temple was probably scarier than the adjacent Haunted House (incredibly named the House of Ghosts and Monsters), which turned out to be more lame than horrifying. I also found the Ninja Maze pretty entertaining, seeing people (myself included) struggling to balance themselves on 30-degree inclined rooms. Overall, I had an enjoyable two hours stepping back in time to feudal Japan, and for a while, fantasising about how cool it must have been to be a ninja or samurai. For a split second, I even contemplated lugging a katakana or Oiran doll home from one of the souvenir shops. LS
Today marks my first full month of living in Japan. And what an introduction I had. The night before, I was bracing for a grade 10 typhoon in my apartment, wondering if the winds would somehow tear my roof away. This was the fourth typhoon to hit Hokkaido in 10 days! According to one of my colleagues, typhoons seldom land on Hokkaido. So much for that!
Life in Tomakomai started with me going around to get the necessary documents completed, for example, opening a new bank account, getting my Japanese residence card and signing up for a new mobile contract. The shock and disgust that had registered when I was “welcomed” into my new apartment (a decaying Japanese civil servant’s block that could have survived World War II) was temporarily cast aside for these urgent matters.
I spent the next couple of days scouring Nitori (the local version of Ikea) for furnishings, Daiso for household items and the various supermarkets around my vicinity for groceries and to get acquainted with the different grocery options nearest to my apartment. My first priority was furnishing my otherwise empty shell of an apartment. Except for a bed, a table, two chairs, a fridge and a washing machine, I had nothing else in that stinkhole. And did I mention it stinks? So badly! From years of non-occupancy and I suspect, the fresh tatami mats. Gosh, I have never hated tatami so badly! The kitchen floor was sticky and feels uncomfortable on the feet. The stove had a lot of wooden fragments and chips. On top of that, rust has almost consumed the ventilator fan above the kitchen stove. This wasn’t really what I had envisioned when I first signed up for this!
I felt like a kid in a candy store in Nitori. The place is massive, and loaded with furniture – beautiful furniture. I would do anything to turn my stinkhole into a more inhabitable (and I hope, cosy) space. I grabbed everything I thought that could aesthetically enhance the apartment. So in came a carpet that costs more than $250 (my most extravagant splurge thus far), two DIY shelves, a DIY wardrobe, 60 pieces of 30 by 30 cm plywood tiles to lay over the disgusting kitchen flooring, a full-length standing mirror, a shoe rack, five floor mats, a fancy standing lamp, fresh bedsheets, bathroom slippers, a frying pan, a pot, cutlery, even a stool (so that I could sit on it while wearing my shoes). I also resorted to buying anything I could from my predecessor – a decently large flat-screen LCD TV, a couch, window curtains, curtain linings, humidifiers, dehumidifiers, a clothes rack, futons, a toolbox, more shelves, all sorts of kitchen utensils, and tons of hangers! Well, my predecessor was going to leave the country and head back home – so I guess it’s a relief to him that he could dispose of all these to any sucker that wants them. And I happen to be that.
I bought tools to saw, file and shape the kitchen tiles, assembled, shifted and rearranged the furniture. After two weeks, the pieces are slowly falling into place. August 15 was a momentous occasion for me because my long-awaited carpet finally arrived – the crowning jewel in my living room. And to top it off, I now have access to the Internet – after an intense and painful two weeks of administration hassle with NTT. There’s definitely more I can do to decorate my apartment, but at least for now, I can say with much pride that this, now feels a little more like home. LS
I could still remember vividly my first trip to Tokyo. Well, why couldn’t I? After all, it was only about five years ago, to be honest. No big deal, you may think.
It was, for me.
I finally had the opportunity to see Japan for myself. A country whose modern history was defined for me in school textbooks in terms of Japanese supremacy and militarism, of ruthless ambition to conquer a large part of Southeast Asia during the Second World War, of murderers in the Nanking massacre and countless others, of brutal soldiers who raped and killed comfort women and innocent children. Of course, that was a Japan from a different time, a different rule.
Japan today is a modern democracy, celebrated for its cuisine and culture, and revered for its natural beauty. Its economy may have stagnated for more than two decades in recent times. Yet, the Land of the Rising Sun is still recognised as one of the most influential economies in Asia, and even the world.
Eight months before my visit, the entire country was reeling from the shock and devastation caused by the Great East Japan Tsunami on 11 March, triggered by an earthquake that measured a massive 9.0 on the Richter Scale. I remembered when the tsunami struck, I followed the news religiously every day. My heart went out to Japan and the Japanese people. News reports of disaster victims queuing patiently for relief supplies at evacuation centres showed me a side of Japan I have never seen before. It’s during times like these that reveal the mark of a people, and the class of a nation. And I could not help but salute their resilience, their respect for each other, their civic mindedness, their solidarity. Since that maiden trip to Tokyo in the fall of 2011, I’ve also visited Kyoto, Osaka, Kobe, Nara, Hiroshima, Fukuoka, Miyajima, Beppu, Kumamoto and Hokkaido in the years after.
I returned from that trip to Tokyo in December 2011 with a new determination and conviction to take up the Japanese language again. I use the word ‘again’ because I had previously taken Japanese as a language elective module during my varsity years. I had lasted merely two semesters then because I found myself spending more time studying and revising Japanese than the other core modules, which affected my grades. This time, however, I am determined to master it, I tell myself. And when I do, I want to return to Japan, to find a job and experience living in Japan for a couple of years. I am on the verge of realising my dream come August this year.
And I can’t wait! 🙂 LS
What is the first thing you would do if you have just reclaimed your kingdom that was plundered from you in a surprise attack? Arm yourself in preparation for a reprisal, of course!
This could have been the motivation behind Jayavarman VII (the Cambodian king responsible for Angkor Wat and many other magnificent temples) when he successfully regained Angkor from the Chams (from the Kingdom of Champa) of Southern Vietnam.
One of the first tasks that Jayavarman VII undertook after the recapture of Angkor was to construct a new fortified city – one that would cover a massive 10 square kilometres, surrounded by gigantic walls and a massive moat – the city of Angkor Thom.
And Bayon was its crown jewel.
Constructed as a state temple of Jayavarman VII, the Bayon signified a great departure from the usual quincunx layout (imagine five dots on a dice) that you find in most other Angkor temples. Instead, 216 enormous square faces of Avalokiteshvara (which some say are ‘caricatures’ of the king himself) are spread out over 54 towers, looking in different directions.
Archaeologists have debated the exact function and symbolism of Bayon, according to Lonely Planet. However, if you were trying to guard against a counterattack from your enemy, the scenario that Jayavarman VII found himself in at that time, the many faces of your own portrait, designed to pass off as similar to that of a Bodhisattva, makes perfect sense.
Because to the enemy, seen from a distance, it would appear as if the King (or Buddha) himself is watching over the city from every conceivable angle, exuding a mystical power and aura over the fortified city. It was also said that Jayavarman VII had adopted Mahayana Buddhism and the Avalokiteshvara was his patron ‘Buddha’.
Today, most of the 216 faces have been painstakingly restored, and quietly watch over the Angkor Wat to its south, Ta Prohm to its east, and Preah Khan to its northeast.
These faces are also the subjects of comic selfies and photo opportunities of countless tourists, all eager to stage a personal ‘attack’ on these faces.
You could ‘kiss’ the Buddha, ‘touch’ your nose with Jayavarman (Maori style), ‘hold’ Avalokiteshvara in the palm of your hands, or even ‘stick’ a finger up one of its nostrils, according to a local temple guide who grabbed my camera and enthusiastically showed me all the different possibilities, in exchange for a quick US$2 tip.
I politely declined his offer, and wistfully, wondered what Jayavarman VII would have thought of this. LS
Everyday, at around half past four, a pilgrimage of sorts – comprising tuk tuks (a local motorcycle taxi), mini-vans, and tour coaches – descend in droves to a sandstone causeway. Here, the pilgrims (a veritable mixed bag of nationalities) disembark.
Armed with torches on one hand, and swapping away bugs with the other, this multi-national army of devotees grope their way in the near pitch-darkness, up the stairs of the sandstone causeway, across a 200 metre-wide moat, up another several flight of stairs into a gopura, past a gigantic statue of the eight-armed Vishnu (not that they can see in the blackness). A multitude of languages can be heard, each coming from a tour guide barking instructions to their respective group of pilgrims “Stay close! Watch your step! Be careful!”
I joined these pilgrims on 15 March. And became one of them.
Another 200 metres, and the tottering troupe came to a halt, in front of a partially dried up pool. There, some of the pilgrims set up their camera tripods. Others inched themselves between gaps in hopes of a better view. A few local hawkers paddled coffee and tea to the swelling mass of devotees.
Everyday, hundreds make this pilgrimage to catch the sunrise at Angkor Wat.
An hour passed.
The five corncob towers – the distinctive symbol of Angkor Wat and the national flag – peeked into view as the dark receded.
No sign of the sun.
Tired of waiting, some of the early arrivals started to make their way into the main temple. Some took out their picnic mats and lay them on the parched grass, and unpacked their sandwiches. A hawker approached them with promises of hot coffee or tea.
Another half-hour passed, and the full majesty of Angkor Wat quietly unveiled itself in the breaking dawn.
Still no sign of the sun.
I excused myself from the now thinning throng of pilgrims and made my way to one of the naga (multi-headed serpent) balustrades that line either side of a 475m-long avenue that leads from the main entrance to the central temple complex.
There, I dropped my backpack on the sidewalk and flicked open my Styrofoam-boxed breakfast that my hotel had packed for me. A couple of Indian bananas, five rambutans and a flaccid croissant with a small slab of butter.
Just then, the remnants of pilgrims that had gathered at the pool stirred to life. Cameras flashed. Fingers pointed.
I turned in the direction of the corncobs, and saw a luminescent coral pearl amongst them.
At 6.45 a.m., the sun finally rose on Angkor Wat. LS
Half the fun of exploring the architectural wonders of the Khmer kingdom lies in reading up the rich history of each shrine and monument. I know this sounds like a wet blanket but really, reading up on the history of the Angkorian period (AD802 – 1432) and the many kings that embarked on their own building fantasies – each, of course, with the view to leaving behind his own legacy (and hopefully outdoing its predecessors), allows you to appreciate these stunning behemoths. Without the historical context, it’s easy to get ‘temple fatigue’ after a day at Angkor, and all you may see are just piles of stone and rubble.
For example, did you know that Angkor Wat wasn’t even the first Angkor temple that was built, even though it’s arguably the nation’s most famous? Several others pre-date Angkor Wat, such as the Eastern Mebon, Pre Rup, Ta Keo, Banteay Srei and the Baphoun. Here, we shall briefly take a look at three of them.
Preah Khan
Translated from Cambodian as “Scared Sword”, this enormous temple complex was the masterpiece of Jayavarman VII, a.k.a champion temple builder amongst all the Khmer kings (he’s also the architect behind Angkor Wat), and was completed in AD 1191. Consecrated as a fusion temple, dedicated to Buddha and the Hindu gods of Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma, Preah Khan is usually approached from the west (where the main road is). Continuing from west to east, you will exit the temple grounds, passing by the Dancers’ Hall adorned with thousands of dancing apsara carvings.
East Mebon
The architectural style of East Mebon provides a glimpse into the inspiration for the Angkor Wat. Built by Rajendravarman II (the 5th king of the Khmer empire) in AD 953, the temple stood on an island in the now-dried up Baray reservoir. Typical of early Khmer architectural styles, the temple consists of five towers arranged like the dots on a dice symbolising the number 5 (i.e. a quincunx), built on top of a raised pyramid. The central tower represents the sanctuary, surrounded by four towers at the corners, representing the cardinal points.
Pre Rup
By the time Pre Rup was constructed (also by Rajendravarman), about 10 years after the East Mebon, embellishments had been added to the original design, featuring flanking fountains, libraries or courtyards. Smaller towers also decorate the lower levels of the stepped pyramid structure. However, the five petal towers remain the dominant feature, majestically rising above the waters or surrounding foliage. Interestingly, Pre Rup was believed to have once been used as a crematorium, as its name literally means in Sanskrit “Turning the Body”.
At sunset, Pre Rup is a popular spot to catch the crimson globe slowly descend in the midst of expansive padi fields and tree canopy. LS
It has snowed almost the entire day in Otaru (小樽) , and that really sucks! Sorry for all the romantics out there but snowing and walking on the streets don’t go together. I’m all wrapped up in four layers of clothing sans my gloves but I’m still shivering like a fully plucked chicken! Fortunately, I stumbled on Osa, a boutique winery. The spirits in me desperately needs one glass right now. Just one glass, I promised myself. As it turned out, this place was an unexpected find! The owner of this boutique, winery cum café, Osa-san, is polite and friendly. We soon struck up a conversation. He told me that his hometown is in Kyushu, but he now lives in Otaru (小樽).
Outside, the snow continued without any signs of calling it quits. On a day when I had decided to venture to Mount Tengu (天狗山), the snow really was of no help as far as getting a bird’s eye view of Otaru (小樽) was concerned. However, I managed to snap some shots during the intermittent times when the snow decided to take a ‘smoke’ break.
Because of the snow, there was really nothing much I could do but check into the Mt. Tengu Ropeway Café. I plonked myself down on one of the seats at the observation deck which offers a stunning vista of Otaru (小樽) below. I was resisting the urge to drink again because I’d had beer almost every meal for the last 10 days that I was in Hokkaido. Instead, I ordered a coffee to warm my body (and spirits). Fresh from its break, the snow was all geared up for Round 2. I decided I needed a Round 2 myself, so I ordered a beer. And continued watching the snow fall. LS
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