The Hell They Say

Dearest Rachel –

This pre-cruise tour was not one that I recall having made plans for; this may have been more our agent’s doing than my own. Certainly, after having arranged for a shore excursion in a future stop that includes a hot springs experience, I was a little surprised to find that the trip here to Hakone included such an event. Had I inadvertently duplicated something like this, when I could have done something else in Kanazawa?

It turned out that, the ‘hot spring’ here in Hakone was nothing of note; you could barely dip your toes into the amount of experience you would be getting from it.

Some of the hotter springs scattered throughout Japan are referred to as ‘hells,’ for reasons which should be fairly obvious. The only hell one might encounter with this one might be whatever one would raise because this is neither the heated pool nor bathwater soak as suggested by the term in the literature.

Not that we’re like that. Well, Daniel isn’t like that, anyway; as for me, I have to admit that I always need to work at it. Thankfully, there are always plenty of people to serve as examples of what not to be like. Yes, I’m referring to that red-haired lady; you may be older and less energetic than the two of us, but if you have enough to chew out the guide for going too fast, you ought to have enough to keep up, and not get to that point where you feel that need.

Speaking of interesting hair… one of the other ladies on the tour has the top of her head dyed a combination of cotton candy blue and pink, and she asked while we were still en route about the fact that she would not be allowed into a hot spring, because she has tattoos. I think you and I already knew about this, but the guide explained that tattoos in Japan are specifically associated with members of the yakuza, Japan’s organized crime ‘families.’ Wouldn’t Junior get a kick out of that – he seems to find amusement in being mistaken for a homeless dude, what would he think about being mistaken for the equivalent of the mafia?

***

Our tour included lunch at the museum, but it so happened that whatever collywobbles Daniel was suffering from was contagious; I found myself needing to use the restroom several times while we were there, and neither of us really felt like eating lunch. Considering that we generally only eat two meals a day (if that, even), it’s probably understandable; and for all I know, we might be reacting to either the quantity or the richness of the food we’ve been consuming since arriving here in Japan. So we’re going to have to be a little careful going forward, I guess.

I will say that it would seem that public facilities are every bit as tricked out as the one in our hotel room, though. Japan has come pretty far in a couple of generations; once they tried the Western model, they wanted it, and they wanted it cranked up to eleven, everywhere.

***

Anyway, we have other hells to visit this afternoon; literally, in this case (wow, I’m using that word a lot while I’m here, but it seems to fit). We’re taking the bus up to Owakudani (大涌谷), which translates to ‘Great Boiling Valley.’ Apparently, though, that’s a new name; until about a century and a half ago, it was known as Jikokudani (地獄谷), or ‘Hell Valley.’

The valley was created around 3,000 years ago during the last eruption of Mount Hakone, which is still an active volcano today.

Given that we’re by the caldera of an active volcano – albeit one that’s tempered by the construction of a series of geothermal vents, to hopefully dissipate magmic buildup and forestall the possibility of eruption – the original name seems appropriate, if a little ominous. The prevailing smell of sulphur in the air only adds to the atmosphere, quite literally. Although it’s not as if the geothermal vents and fissures do anything to warm the area up. In fact, it’s actually colder up here than it was back in Hakone proper; which, given we’ve come hundreds of meters up the mountain by cable car, stands to reason.

It’s also quite windy up here. This morning, Daniel had observed that the flags outside of the hotel were impossible to determine whose they were, since they were just hanging limply on their poles. Essentially, Tokyo is sheltered from the westerly winds, thanks to the mountains beyond (unlike Chicago, where the flat plain and the lake don’t serve as any sort of windbreak, thus allowing the city to earn its nickname legitimately, setting aside the fact that it was bestowed upon it due to its politicians). But here, atop the mountains, you get the full brunt of the wind. I’m not sure if the mountains ought to hoard it all, but that’s how things are, and between the chill and the wind, it’s almost uncomfortable.

All the more reason, then, to drop into one of the scattered shops around the site. Each one of them seems to have a stall, or even a full-scale restaurant selling the local specialty of the area; an egg boiled in the sulfurous water, which reacts with the shell to turn it black. Tanaka-san claims that eating black eggs – she doesn’t specify as to whether a single meal of them is sufficient, or if a consistent diet of them is needed for the effect – will grant the eater seven additional years of life.

You might think that, because we essentially didn’t bother with lunch, Daniel and I would be willing to try it. However, we’re both still somewhat ill at ease from our earlier episodes. Besides, do I really want to postpone meeting you again that much?

***

Despite the fact that the group actually gets back to the bus before the appointed time of three p.m., the trip back to Tokyo and our hotel turns out to be a much more common form of hell to modern life; that of interminable traffic. According to our guides, there’s been an accident further along on the highway we’ve chosen to be on. There’s also the fact that this is the end of the last weekend before the school year starts; everyone is driving home from their various vacations, thus creating the mother of all traffic jams.

We would have probably been better off to try our luck with the trains again, to be honest.

In accordance with labor laws, requiring a break every four hours on the road, the driver has to pull into a service area at certain point along the way back. We’re advised to take our own bio break as long as we’re there; and hey, it’s not as if we’ve ever been to a Japanese truck stop.

I won’t go so far as to say it makes a heaven out of hell – both terms are obvious overstatements, as you would be the first to tell me – but it’s nice to find something pleasant in what is otherwise a less-than-ideal situation.

Anyway, we need to go, so I’ll catch up with you later. Keep an eye on us, honey, and wish us luck; we’re going to need it.