Gero and Takayama

Gero was more a stopover on our itinerary than a destination. We were headed to Takayama’s famous Spring Festival—so famous that hotels in Old Town Takayama fill up fast at Festival time, and there was nowhere for us to stay. The Ryokan Association did find us a Minshuku north of Takayama for the night after the first day of the Festival, but we were on our own before that. Richard and Susan, who had wanted to do one splurge/treat kind of thing, found a posh ryokan in Gero, a town half an hour or so from Takayama known for its hot springs and onsens (Japanese baths). I wasn’t convinced (it was really expensive) but I got on board. Chad, who loved—loved—Takayama, told us that Gero was ugly, so we pretty much planned to get in in the evening, take a bath or two, have a Kaiseki Ryori meal and a nice rest, and be on our way first thing in the morning.

The first thing I’ll tell you was that Gero wasn’t ugly, at all. The town was quite pleasant, and the surrounding mountains were beautiful. We got in just before sunset. Richard asked at the Tourist Information booth at the train station what would be the best way to get to the ryokan. Meanwhile, Susan and I checked out the fierce toilet and its control panel (see earlier post). The tourist info people called the ryokan for us, and they would come to collect us.

Jay: I’m worried. This is a really nice place. I’m going to get exported.
Richard: We’ll have to bring all of our Gaijin Power to bear.

We arrived, reached for our luggage—but they took it to our rooms for us (can you tell I don’t usually stay in super-posh hotels? and led us to the lobby for a tea ceremony. I do love my green tea and cookies. Our hostess, Tsuda, had us pick out our yukata and obi, which she showed us how to tie—we would put them on post-bath, just before dinner— once she led us to our bungalow and told us about the various baths on the premises. There was one in our “backyard,” and a few public and private ones throughout the grounds, beside a beautiful Japanese garden.

We settled in and got ready for our respective baths. I was loving this place for a number of reasons, the least important of which was that it was nice not to have to take elevators to and from our room. It saved Jay and I a few rounds of one of our recurring conversations:

Jay: We have to go back! I forgot to put stuff in my hair!
A.: We’re already late!
Jay: But I need stuff in my hair!
A.: You look fine, and in any case, nobody cares.

The elevators were always mirrored.

Jay: I’m fat.
A.: I don’t want to hear it. It’s amazing you’re not fat, given all the crap you eat. I don’t even eat that much crap—I can eat no crap for weeks and still look like this. Besides, I knew coming to Japan that we’d be the fattest, hairiest people in the country. Embrace it.
Jay: I don’t eat that much crap.
A.: You just bought another bag of donuts—and after you said you’d turned a new leaf.
Jay: That was yesterday. Today is a new day.

The elevator was a great place for this conversation, as Susan had banned us from using the word “fat” because we were on vacation. Jay turned to “tubby;” I turned to “futotte,” but they didn’t believe that was a real word. But I digress.

We explored the bungalow. A.: What do you think this does?
Jay: Don’t mess with it—you’ll get us all exported.
Richard: I think that’s the air.

I ran into the bathroom before heading over to the bath. Except that it took me several minutes to find the flush button—too many buttons to choose from. Susan had the same problem.

We scrubbed ourselves off, bathed in our respective baths. Afterward, Jay called Susan into the bath where we’d been to help me with my yukata. Making things pretty is her specialty, and it certainly isn’t mine. It’s not unlike a karate uniform, except that it’s one-size-fits-all so you have to keep pulling it up over a belt to get it to the right length. And in the process of pulling up the bottom part, you have to make sure you keep the top part where it is so as to keep from falling out. Actually, all of us had to be conscious not to flashing anyone during dinner. It took us several tries, but we made it, and headed to dinner. Which was beautiful and delicious. It was amazing. I had plenty of food, since I consumed most of the seafood that Susan wouldn’t touch. Tsuda explained what everything was. They were very kind to accommodate my pescetarianism—it’s a set menu, and they don’t generally do modifications, but I thought I’d ask. They just left meat off my plate, and often replaced it with shellfish.

The tray you saw in the picture was what was on the table when we came in. It was followed by course after course, each as tasty as it was beautiful. The courses included sashimi, soup, a shabu-shabu like dish, tempura and other things I’m forgetting. There was a sakura liqueur, and then dessert. It's hard to compete with 7-Eleven sushi and tempura, but they really stepped up.

Back in the room, we were winding down from our long day of travel. All of the sudden, laughter erupts from the bathroom.

Jay: There's an entire additional control panel to the toilet underneath the main panel!

That was the craziest one yet. There's even a graph that apparently shows you the angle setting for the water.

Breakfast was just as amazing. Susan had opted for Western breakfast, but the rest of us went with Japanese. It was sooo good, and also served to elucidate us as to some of the things we’d seen and eaten in other places.

Jay had suggested we stay in Gero a bit longer, but I wasn’t sure what else we’d do, except bathe some more (we’d taken another bath in the morning, in our backyard onsen). Also, I was concerned about luggage lockers in Takayama, since it was supposed to be bananas. It was also supposed to be freezing: it’s in the Japanese Alps. None of us was especially well prepared for very cold weather, which was fine, because it wasn’t actually that cold, for the most part.

We said goodbye to Gero and headed for Takayama, which was, indeed, bananas. We hit the lockers, then the convenience stores, and set off to walk around town. We stumbled upon the marionette shows taking place on the Matsuri floats. They were cool. The floats were dazzling.



After the shows, we explored the old town and stopped for some sake tastings.
There’s actually a sake shrine in Takayama.
We walked, shopped, took in the cries of “shimase!” and “gozaimas!” emanating from the street vendors. These were the same cries we heard every day, at every department store and convenience store. We stopped at a vending machine, then at a convenience store next to the vending machine, and later split off—R&S to a burger place in town, and Jay and I in search of Other Food. We found a great supermarket, got some good stuff. We paid for it and walked out when Jay reached for his blackberry to find our way to where we’d meet R&S, except that there was no blackberry to be found. Thus began an unfortunate, stressful time in the trip. We went to the Family Mart, where I’d last used it (and specifically remembered giving it back to him, but you never know). It wasn’t there. We went to the park/temple complex where we’d meet R&S, and picnicked, but Jay, for the first time during the trip, couldn’t think of food. We found a payphone, where he reported it stolen, and once we met up with R&S, we continued to retrace our steps. The Post Office, where we’d tried to get cash, told us to report it to the police, which was an experience in and of itself. The police had a picture chart of common occurrences and their descriptions in various languages. I wanted to take a picture but didn’t think it would be appropriate. Between the four of us, we managed to explain that Jay lost his mobile phone. We provided the color and phone number, location last used, and other details. The police officer loved that Jay was from Boston and kept asking him about the Red Sox. It was actually pretty funny.

By that point, it was late enough to check into the minshuku, which was, in a word—Jay’s word—“assy.” We were already tired and wary from living out of our suitcases and changing cities every few days, and hotels even more frequently. We were on the verge of getting Japaned out, and while the ryokan in Gero refreshed us and gave us a little boost, Takayama—its cold weather, crowds, blackberry-stealing properties, and assy minshuku—would undo wear us down again.

Jay: This isn’t as nice as the ryokan.
A.: Right. It’s also $200 less per person.
Jay: Minor detail.

It still had high-tech (shared) toilets. Unlike everywhere else we stayed in Japan, it did not have an electric kettle. But there was a thermos with hot water when we got there, so we made tea. R&S took a taxi back to town, but I wanted to walk, so I could take pictures of the surrounding snow-capped mountains. Of course, my camera died almost as soon as I walked out the door.

My dinosaur-camera had been a subject of mockery since Kyoto, or maybe Tokyo. It only intensified with time.

Jay: Guys, her camera takes AA batteries!
A.: Sigh. I know, I know. I’m ready for an upgrade.

At times, Jay wouldn’t trust me to take pictures. He didn’t think my camera could handle it. Apart from the battery issue, it was fine. I’m still ready for an upgrade, though.

I did manage to get pictures of the outside of the Minshuku the next morning, when my camera batteries had recharged. By then, the snow on the mountains had either melted or become obscured by fog.

Jay and I got lost on our way into town, so we stopped for directions at Uniqlo. The teenagers working at the store did their best to direct us. It took them a minute to figure out where we were on the map we handed them. They were nice about it, though.

We found R&S, emerging from a convenience store, and once again retraced our steps, this time to the supermarket, where the blackberry may have fallen out of Jay’s pocket. We couldn’t find the supermarket. It was time to take our spots for the festival’s parade.

The floats were even cooler at night, and in motion—they’d had massive, golden wheels attached. It was great. And we were freezing. We watched over half the floats go by, musical accompaniments and all, before we called it a night and looked for a place to have dinner before heading back to the minshuku. We found a couple of restaurants, but none were acceptable to all, so we got our dinner from… wait for it… convenience stores.

We got back to the minshuku, where our room smelled awful.

Jay: It’s the tatami.
Richard: Are you sure? It’s awful.
Jay: Shrug.

Jay: I hate Chad.
A.: So do I.
Richard: I don’t even know Chad, but I hate Chad.

Jay, knees to his chest, rocking on the floor: SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
A.: What the cuss is wrong with you?
Richard: He’s Japaned out, poor guy.
Jay: SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
SHIMASE!
GOZAIMAS!
A.: ??
Jay: SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS!
A.: Okay, that’s enough. I’m sorry you/we lost your blackberry, but…
Jay: SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS! SHIMASE! GOZAIMAS!

Even once Jay settled down, there was rowdiness in the minshuku—I was so tired I fell asleep anyway. It died down eventually, and we slept, fitfully. We woke up and started going in and out to wash up and brush our teeth and such. We’d forget how awful it smelled until we left and came back in. We agreed to get out of there as soon as possible.

We headed back to Takayama, locked up our stuff, changed our reservation to the next train out, and explored a bit more.
We couldn’t wait to get the f* out of Takayama. Please understand that Takayama is a cute town--it reminds me of Switzerland, actually. I've lived in Switerland, and I love Switzerland... and I loved Takayama Matsuri.
But we could have made it a day trip.

We got some bento for the road. I got some sushi and some tempura over rice. Jay promised to help me with both. The train came not a minute too soon. It was nice and warm in there, too. We set up our lunches. All of the sudden, I heard Jay laughing hysterically.

In opening his chopsticks, he’d stabbed himself with the toothpick inside the package. He’d been warned!

I started laughing, too. I mean, it was really funny. R&S, sitting behind us, joined in when they learned what had happened. That’s when Susan told Jay he’d become a statistic.

Susan: In spite of the warning!
Jay: They didn't tell you you had to be careful while opening the chopsticks!

The ride to Nagoya was amazingly scenic, and I took as many pictures as I could.
Of course, because of the delay in most digital cameras, not just mine, I couldn’t capture some truly stunning scenes.

We changed trains in Nagoya, ecstatic to head back to Tokyo, and ecstatic to arrive. Our hotel was practically across the street from one end of Tokyo Station—it was our lowest-end hotel in Tokyo, as our priority was the location—and it worked.

It was SO good to be back in the city, and to have an en-suite bathroom/shower. Our travels so far had been amazing, but they’d taken a lot out of us. That evening, Jay and I wandered around—I love the area around Tokyo station. We found a conveyor belt sushi place and noted it for another time, and then found Nihombashi Takashimaya, which is historic, apparently (and even nicer than the Takashimaya we went to in Ginza). I got my sashimi and seaweed breakfast—and it was even half-priced because of the time of day. We stopped at a convenience store or two on the way back to the hotel, so Jay could load up on KitKats and donuts.

We met up with R&S, hunted for food, ended up in an Italian place that we’d walked by early in the hunt. It was eh, but you get to the point where you just don’t care anymore. I was done with convenience store fare. I was also done with rice.

A.: I can’t take any more rice. I had two mega-portions of rice today, because this bi&ch didn’t have any like he’d promised.
Jay, forming a Maneki Neko in one hand and claw in the other: This kitty, not that kitty, please.

We watched some Japanese TV and crashed. By that point, really bizarre commercials had come to seem normal.