Home Style 3
Day three was about as strange, but for the most part pleasant, of a day as I have had in Japan so far. The day started out innocently enough with going to Izumo Shrine, which was, by far the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in my life. It was just so incredibly calm and serene, I just felt invincible… until of course Arisa started praying for many babies, and I just kind of felt something wasn’t quite right there.
After going to the Shrine, I casually remarked in the course of conversation that I had never been to an onsen. This comment was met with gasps of shock and horror, and so it was immediately decided that we would travel to an onsen.
For those of you unfamiliar with the term onsen, well, I suppose you could google it, but I’ll just give you a very quick rundown. The Japanese love baths, more than they love deadly sushi and working overtime. An onsen is essentially a hot springs, and some can be quite elaborate. The one we went to was outside, and the water was boiling hot, but there was something really nifty about sitting in the water while snow (and eventually hail) is falling on you. I really should have enjoyed it. I mean, they are said to be quite comfortable and relaxing, and I must say I was looking for both of those things when I went.
I found neither.
Before entering a bath, you see, certain things must be done, including cleaning yourself to the point of almost removing all skin. There are certain ways you do it at an onsen, certain procedures and an order of events. I was aware of these things, but I was fearful of getting it wrong. You see, I had to venture into the men’s side of the onsen alone, with no guide. I asked Momma about it, and her response was “Oh, you’ll be fine, just do what everyone else is doing.” The flaw to this strategy was that I would have to be following the lead of a plethora of naked Japanese men.
At times, the Japanese are disturbingly open about their bodies, something I must say I am not. I’m also not particularly fond of seeing naked men. Well, at this onsen, I saw more naked Japanese men than I have in my entire life (and I’ve watched a lot of porn over the years). This, by itself, I could deal with, just close your eyes in the bath and when walking around just stare straight ahead at eye level. I figured this would be standard procedure when in a giant outdoor bathtub. The legions of naked Japanese men disagreed with me.
I’ve become accustomed to being stared at here in Japan. I mean, I’m a large westerner who apparently looks like either Santa or Hagrid. What I am not used to is being stared at by naked Japanese men while I too am naked. And I had nothing I could cover up with, as you do not bring your towel into the bathing area with you. It didn’t matter what I did. I got in the bath, they stared. I got out of the bath, they stared. I tried to cover myself with the small washcloth you are given, they stared. I walked along briskly, naked and free, they stared. No matter what, I had at least 15 pairs of naked Japanese man eyes on me. Eventually I was unnerved to the point that I retreat into the sauna, where you can’t see anything. Unfortunately for me, I found that the Japanese have a high tolerance for heat, and so I think I almost died from being in the sauna for a ridiculous amount of time.
And so, I think I left the onsen more exhausted than I was when I entered. When I related this story to Poppa that evening, his reply was (half in Japanese, part in English, part in gibberish, as we were drinking again) “Of course they stared! You’re a big guy. And I don’t mean just a big guy, I mean you are a BIG GUY!” He said this while thrusting his crotch outward, and then followed it with “If I was there, I probably would have stared too.” Thank you, slightly funny yet also creepy Japanese man.
After some more drinks, Arisa randomly, through use of Momma as interpreter (Arisa speaks almost no English), asked me what I thought of international marriage. At first I was confused, as I didn’t even know where the heck she was coming from, so she slightly changed the question to “Do you think international relationships can work and become a successful marriage?” Ok, listen honey, I don’t think about marriage, so we’ll just stick with the relationships part. I responded that I felt it was possible. It would be more work, but every relationship is work, and usually it’s worth it. I said nationality, culture, race, etc. don’t matter, what matters is how you feel about the person. Your standard answer.
Once I finished my answer, I was going to turn the conversation towards the only person at the table whose thoughts on international relationships mattered to me, but before I could, Arisa went into this giant speech of how she thinks international marriage is a great thing, and it is a lot of work, but it’s worth it, and that it’s a good way to help with language, because if you love someone you’ll work harder to learn their language, and that love conquers all, and she’s really trying hard to learn English… you see where this is going. Thankfully, Momma’s translation abilities were starting to run out and shortly after that it was time to head to bed, as we had to wake up early for the trip back, but I couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, this trip was a setup.
The next day, Arisa and I left. After saying our goodbyes to the wonderful family, we took the 6-hour bus ride (strangely the bus ride was shorter than the train) which passed by uneventfully as our seats were, somehow, on opposite ends of the bus. After the bus, though, I decided I had to ask Arisa something. My… friend… had previously said she was single, but after the events of this weekend, I had a funny feeling, and so I had to find out the truth. So, I asked Arisa “Hey, I have a question, does [my friend] have a boyfriend?” Without even missing a beat, there was a quick yes, said as if, “what? How could you not know? What are you talking about? Why do you want to know? I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!” I met this girl three days ago… and yet somehow she was able to imply all that in “yes” and a look. After this, Arisa didn’t really talk to me on the local train back, and I got the strange impression that she was feeling just as crushed as I was.
Maybe I should have gone for a sexual massage with Poppa.
However, I will find out the truth of the matter soon, and then, well, we’ll see what happens.
After going to the Shrine, I casually remarked in the course of conversation that I had never been to an onsen. This comment was met with gasps of shock and horror, and so it was immediately decided that we would travel to an onsen.
For those of you unfamiliar with the term onsen, well, I suppose you could google it, but I’ll just give you a very quick rundown. The Japanese love baths, more than they love deadly sushi and working overtime. An onsen is essentially a hot springs, and some can be quite elaborate. The one we went to was outside, and the water was boiling hot, but there was something really nifty about sitting in the water while snow (and eventually hail) is falling on you. I really should have enjoyed it. I mean, they are said to be quite comfortable and relaxing, and I must say I was looking for both of those things when I went.
I found neither.
Before entering a bath, you see, certain things must be done, including cleaning yourself to the point of almost removing all skin. There are certain ways you do it at an onsen, certain procedures and an order of events. I was aware of these things, but I was fearful of getting it wrong. You see, I had to venture into the men’s side of the onsen alone, with no guide. I asked Momma about it, and her response was “Oh, you’ll be fine, just do what everyone else is doing.” The flaw to this strategy was that I would have to be following the lead of a plethora of naked Japanese men.
At times, the Japanese are disturbingly open about their bodies, something I must say I am not. I’m also not particularly fond of seeing naked men. Well, at this onsen, I saw more naked Japanese men than I have in my entire life (and I’ve watched a lot of porn over the years). This, by itself, I could deal with, just close your eyes in the bath and when walking around just stare straight ahead at eye level. I figured this would be standard procedure when in a giant outdoor bathtub. The legions of naked Japanese men disagreed with me.
I’ve become accustomed to being stared at here in Japan. I mean, I’m a large westerner who apparently looks like either Santa or Hagrid. What I am not used to is being stared at by naked Japanese men while I too am naked. And I had nothing I could cover up with, as you do not bring your towel into the bathing area with you. It didn’t matter what I did. I got in the bath, they stared. I got out of the bath, they stared. I tried to cover myself with the small washcloth you are given, they stared. I walked along briskly, naked and free, they stared. No matter what, I had at least 15 pairs of naked Japanese man eyes on me. Eventually I was unnerved to the point that I retreat into the sauna, where you can’t see anything. Unfortunately for me, I found that the Japanese have a high tolerance for heat, and so I think I almost died from being in the sauna for a ridiculous amount of time.
And so, I think I left the onsen more exhausted than I was when I entered. When I related this story to Poppa that evening, his reply was (half in Japanese, part in English, part in gibberish, as we were drinking again) “Of course they stared! You’re a big guy. And I don’t mean just a big guy, I mean you are a BIG GUY!” He said this while thrusting his crotch outward, and then followed it with “If I was there, I probably would have stared too.” Thank you, slightly funny yet also creepy Japanese man.
After some more drinks, Arisa randomly, through use of Momma as interpreter (Arisa speaks almost no English), asked me what I thought of international marriage. At first I was confused, as I didn’t even know where the heck she was coming from, so she slightly changed the question to “Do you think international relationships can work and become a successful marriage?” Ok, listen honey, I don’t think about marriage, so we’ll just stick with the relationships part. I responded that I felt it was possible. It would be more work, but every relationship is work, and usually it’s worth it. I said nationality, culture, race, etc. don’t matter, what matters is how you feel about the person. Your standard answer.
Once I finished my answer, I was going to turn the conversation towards the only person at the table whose thoughts on international relationships mattered to me, but before I could, Arisa went into this giant speech of how she thinks international marriage is a great thing, and it is a lot of work, but it’s worth it, and that it’s a good way to help with language, because if you love someone you’ll work harder to learn their language, and that love conquers all, and she’s really trying hard to learn English… you see where this is going. Thankfully, Momma’s translation abilities were starting to run out and shortly after that it was time to head to bed, as we had to wake up early for the trip back, but I couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, this trip was a setup.
The next day, Arisa and I left. After saying our goodbyes to the wonderful family, we took the 6-hour bus ride (strangely the bus ride was shorter than the train) which passed by uneventfully as our seats were, somehow, on opposite ends of the bus. After the bus, though, I decided I had to ask Arisa something. My… friend… had previously said she was single, but after the events of this weekend, I had a funny feeling, and so I had to find out the truth. So, I asked Arisa “Hey, I have a question, does [my friend] have a boyfriend?” Without even missing a beat, there was a quick yes, said as if, “what? How could you not know? What are you talking about? Why do you want to know? I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!” I met this girl three days ago… and yet somehow she was able to imply all that in “yes” and a look. After this, Arisa didn’t really talk to me on the local train back, and I got the strange impression that she was feeling just as crushed as I was.
Maybe I should have gone for a sexual massage with Poppa.
However, I will find out the truth of the matter soon, and then, well, we’ll see what happens.
posted by S A B at 8:53 PM
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