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 | FROM JAPAN, WITH LOVE continued
The vehicular ferry had a surprisingly modern non-smoking lounge. Raymond and I settled in the first row of seats by the front window. Just before getting underway, the old man who had got both our autographs came up to us nervously, head still bobbing and handed us each a can of BOSS brand hot coffee as a thank you. What a nice old guy. Raymond was unfamiliar with coffee in a can, but it's fiendishly popular in Japan and you can buy it, hot or cold, from street vending machines, almost literally anywhere. I love the stuff and usually have several cans a day (bad habit), but I feared it would not be to Raymond's taste. He tried a sip and pronounced it delicious, saying it was exactly how he likes his coffee. I guess I was in a James Bond frame of mind because the islands we were passing reminded me a bit of those in The Man With The Golden Gun. There were several freighters among the various boats and ships. One in particular reminded me of the Ning Po. As we approached the dock at Naoshima Island we saw a crowd of about 50 people waiting. Raymond joked they were there for him. Then came the surprise-- they were. When we disembarked, camera flashes fired and Raymond had to pose for pictures and sign more autographs. Two figures in black stood waiting silently just outside the ring of people. Mysterious menacing thugs? Not at all. They were Kayo and Yukiko, young ladies representing Benesse House, our hosts during our stay. They bundled us into a Mitsubishi microvan and off we went through the small streets of this old fashioned town; not even a movie theatre or video rental store on the whole island. The Benesse Corporation had purchased the Southern part of the island and named it Benesse Island (from the Italian "bene" meaning "good"). On the extensive property there was a central modern-art museum designed by world famous architect Tadao Ando. He had also designed the lodging annex built at the highest point on the property. The structures looked straight out of a James Bond movie. All it needed was an eccentric and mysterious millionaire in charge of it all. No problem. Enter Soichiro Fukutake, President and CEO of Benesse Corporation. He's phenomenally wealthy and has, as Raymond put it, a sort of Richard Branson mystique in Japan. He has many other holdings in addtion to Benesse; Berlitz to name but one. He owns other islands too. He loves his expensive toys; yachts, helicopters, water-launched motorized hanggliders and so on. Fleming himself couldn't have conveived a better scenario. Of course Mr. Fukutake and his wife turned out to be extremely nice and very gracious and NOT megalomaniacs bent on world domination or destruction at all. Darn.
When we were informed our rooms in the Annex were accessed by a "private monorail" I could hardly believe the luck. I turned to Raymond and grinned. I think he was thinking the same thing I was. "Cool! I've somehow walked into James Bond's world!" And the experience didn't disappoint. There was a high tech, self-operated station with a television monitor showing the Annex station at the top of the hill. As the car ascended we could see spectacular views of the island and the ocean surrounding it. The Annex loomed up around a bend like a Ken Adam dream. When we reached the docking station we climbed several steps to an outdoor corridor bracketed by glass walls. On the left, water from a cascading waterfall flowed under the corridor and re-emerged on our right, where it continued and then fell off out of sight. Straight ahead, the corridor led us to a large oval reflecting pool open to the sky. A path surrounded it, off of which were doors to the guest rooms. Raymond had been given the largest suite. My room was two doors down from his. Or maybe I should say, around from his.
Later, Kayo and Yukiko gave us a driving tour of Benesse. They also took us off-property to see several traditional old Japanese residences that had gone vacant and had been bought by Benese to be turned over to artists for their reinterpretation as massive art statements. It's all part of the Naoshima Cultural Village. One house had the floors removed and replaced with shallow pools of water. In the darkened interior you could see hundreds of red glowing digital counters set into the water, their displays changing at different speeds. The townsfolk had been assigned one counter each and asked to choose the speed at which the counter would change. I asked Yukiko what speed she would have chosen. She thought a moment and replied, "My heartbeat." At one point while walking, we looked down a narrow street and saw a man at the center of a cluster of people. He was being interviewed by a film crew with a huge camera and a boom mike. Our guides told us the man was Tadao Ando, the architect of Benesse House. An NHK TV film crew was to make part of a documentary about him. Kayo-san told us we'd meet him later at dinner that night. The dinner was a special one in honour of Raymond. It was Kaiseki again. What luck! But first we had cocktails outdoors under the sky on a long grassy veranda above the sea. Tadeo Ando was indeed there, as was the business tycoon Soichiro Fukutake, owner of Benesse Island. Other guests included his wife, the mayor of Naoshima, the NHK film producer and Kayo our guide. Mr. Fukutake's wife complimented me on my Japanese, and I complimented her on her beautiful designer outfit. I was pretty sure I recognized it was by Issey Miyake. I was taking a shot, but I lucked out. I was right, and she was pleased to have her outfit commented upon and recognized as by a famous designer. More than that, it turns out he's a personal friend of hers, and occasionally stays at Benesse House.
At dinner Mr. Fukutake sat at the head of the table and I was seated on his right. He told us a lot about the various projects he had underway in and outside of Japan. As is the custom, I topped off his beer glass each time it got low, and he topped off mine. This encouraged us to converse and he invited Raymond and me to go up with him the next morning in his motorized hang-glider, which is mounted to a Zodiac type inflatable raft so it can be water launched. I told him I'd love to, having done some hang-gliding of my own in the past.
Tadao Ando presented Raymond with an autographed catalog of his works. It turns out he and Raymond had something in common as Raymond had once worked for the famous Chinese architect, I.M. Pei, a friend of Ando-san's. After dinner we retired to another room where we enjoyed a Bunraku performance, also staged in Raymond's honor. Bunraku is a form of Japanese theatre featuring large articulated puppets operated by two or more persons each. The operators, dressed all in black including their heads, are in complete view of the audience. But the audience knows to ignore their presence. Only a master operator is allowed to show his or her head. Such was the case with the 85 year old woman who worked the lead puppet that night. The story was about the grieving mother of a stillborn child as she stands by the river's edge contemplating suicide. After the show we took pictures with the troop and paid our respects. SUNDAY, APRIL 15 When 9:00 AM rolled around Raymond and I had breakfast with a few other guests from dinner the night before. One wall of the breakfast room was nothing but a massive window, at least 25 feet high, giving us a fabulous view of the shore and sea. Sunlight flooded the large room. It reminded me of mornings on the coast of Greece; just rock, water and sky. Mr Fukutake apologized that we would be unable to go up in his hangglider that morning. The winds were just too strong to go up. Instead, he offered a ride in his private helicopter, which he'd had flown in because the night before Raymond had asked about helipad facilities on the property. Raymond spent the morning exploring the museum facilities to workout the logistics for his novel. It was important and productive work. For the longest time he just couldn't work out in his mind how to square things away, but at last the pieces of the puzzle came together and he was satisfied. When it was time to checkout and leave, we stopped off to see Fukutake-san's helicopter. Raymond declined his offer to fly us back to the train station at Uno. Instead Mr. Fukutake gave us his own tour of the town in his big, black, Toyota Crown Royal luxury sedan, before dropping us off at the ferry to begin our return trip back to Tokyo. That night, back in Tokyo, we got together again with Raymond's buddy Randy, who brought along his friend this time. We were a few minutes late for our meeting with them under the Studio Alta sign, which is in the Shinjuku district. Other than the statue of the dog Hachiko, the Studio Alta sign is the most popular rendezvous point in Tokyo. It's a giant Diamond-vision style screen. They're quite common in Tokyo, but somehow the Studio Alta sign is the one that became famous. As we walked along, Raymond and Randy would cross the street against the light as traffic allowed. That's how it's done in the U.S. Randy's friend and I would stop and wait for the light to change, regardless of the traffic, which is how the Japanese do it. Randy had guaranteed Raymond would love dinner that night and he wasn't wrong. The restaurant he'd chosen, Enso, was on the fourth floor and our table by the window gave us great views into the crowded, lively street. Enso brews their own beer and stores it in chilled, pressurized stainless steel vats. It's served in tall opaque ceramic mugs. It's smooth, creamy and delicious. I wish I had some right now. The food was brought to the table raw and cooked there by us on a small grill. Randy, who works for Berlitz, was amazed to hear we'd spent the weekend being pals with the owner of Berlitz, the legendary Mr. Fukutake. Randy's friend practiced his English with me and I practiced my Japanese with him. It was a fun exchange and I decided he was a very nice guy. The restaurant had a dark, clubby feel, the beer and food were excellent and we had a really good time, made even better when Randy and his friend picked up the tab. After dinner we splurged on a cab ride to the Park Hyatt Hotel in Shinjuku. We went up to the magnificent 45th floor piano bar. It's very elegant, with high ceilings and fabulous 360-degree views of Tokyo at night. The lights of the city stretched out beyond view. The lights seemed to outnumber the stars. Raymond says Tokyo reminds him of New York, Hong Kong and London, all rolled into one. If you get the chance to go to this bar, do! I can't wait to go back again myself. We had drinks and then dessert. Raymond and Randy really had a great talk together, discussing politics and the end of the civilization as we know it. It was past Last Call so we got the check. This time Raymond and I offered to treat. When the check arrived our eyes about popped out of heads. A round of drinks and desserts came to almost $200. It seems there was a cover charge we were unaware of so before we had even our first drink we were already in the hole almost seventy bucks! Thank god there's no tipping in Japan! MONDAY, APRIL 16
Monday was our only day with scheduled free time. This was originally set up in case we were behind schedule. But Raymond had been so efficient that we unexpectedly found ourselves with time on our hands. Raymond's first thought? Souvenirs! We shopped at some major departments stores for things Raymond could bring to family back home. We even had time to explore along Omotesando, Tokyo's Champs Elys es, lined with trees, people and stores. While in a branch of Kinokuniya, Japan's largest book store chain, we found British and American editions of Raymond's novels. That night we boarded an overnight sleeper train to travel the route James Bond would take aboard the luxurious Cassiopeia. Like Bond, our final destination was Sapporo on Japan's northern territory of Hokkaido. Unlike Bond, we knew ahead of time that we would have a subterranean, undersea stop along the way. As we were waiting for the train to arrive Raymond said, "I'd really like some soft ice-cream." I thought, "Where are we going to find that?" We look around and he pointed out a coffee shop not a hundred feet away. Now mind you, he didn't just want ice-cream, he wanted soft ice-cream. We went into the place and sure enough, there was a soft ice-cream machine! And it wasn't even on the menu! While we were sitting enjoying the ice-cream Raymond told me two girls had smiled and waved at him. "Yeah, sure", I thought. He pointed them out to me, and sure enough they did it again. I never get that kind of attention from Japanese women. What's the deal? Raymond and I had separate roomettes on the train. By the time we were aboard and settled in, it was almost eleven, so I said, "I think I'll turn in." Raymond asked, "Why so early?" and I replied, "What else is there to do?" "Do you have a deck of cards?" "Um, nope." So Raymond gave up and we said goodnight. TUESDAY, APRIL 17 I awoke about 5:00 AM and opened the curtain. Gone was the urban landscape, replaced by flat grasslands rushing by in the grey light of early morning. I peeked into the corridor to look out the other side of the train. And what did I see? I saw the sea. The ocean was just a couple of hundred feet from the train, the shoreline running parallel to the tracks. I got back onto the bed and watched the world rushing by. A few minutes later we pulled into a rural station. I spotted a vending machine with canned hot coffee. Hallelujah. I quickly shrugged on some pants and made a mad dash out onto the platform, well aware the train door might slam shut at any moment, leaving me stranded on the platform and Raymond wondering, a couple of hours later and many miles down the line, what ever had become of me. But the fact that our conductor was also out on the platform gave me confidence I still had time. I made it back to my cabin with my precious hot coffee. A little later, after my morning ablutions, I knocked on Raymond's door. He pulled back the curtain and made a comical wildman's face at me. He'd slept well and was in a good mood. We would get off the train at Aomori in the extreme north of Honshu, Japan's principal landmass. We were stopping there in order to get a tour of the Seikan Tunnel that links Honshu with Hokkaido, the northernmost land mass. At 33 miles the Seikan Tunnel is the longest underwater tunnel in the world; longer even than the Chunnel that links England and France (31 miles). The Seikan Tunnel is one of the world's monumental pieces of construction by any standard. Members of the prefectural government and representatives of Japan Rail were waiting for us on the platform when the train pulled in to Aomori. The weather was glorious and it seemed a shame that in a couple of hours we would be several hundred feet below sea level, far from the beautiful sunshine and fresh air. The official government translator with the group came as a complete surprise to me. She was an American. It's still a common assumption in Japan that only Japanese can speak Japanese, so it never occurred to me to find an American employed in the role of official government translator, especially in this somewhat remote part of Japan. She was young and attractive and introduced herself as Kerianne Panos. After she finished the bilingual introductions I said to her in Japanese, "Panos-san no Eigo wa jozu desu yo." ("Your English is very good"), something I might say to a Japanese translator, but absurd in this case. She got the irony straight away and the two of us were thick as thieves from that moment. The Japan Rail representatives and government officials took group pictures with Raymond holding a handsome boxed set of commemorative coins they presented to each of us. The coins had been struck for the completion of the Seikan Tunnel, a project that spanned more than two decades of planning and construction. After a delicious breakfast nearby we returned to the Japan Rail offices. Raymond asked how a passenger might go about stopping one of their trains. By way of reply, the head of the Japan Rail office stepped over to his desk, opened the drawer, and took out a pair of white gloves. The other people all looked at each other with meaning. White gloves are worn by the staff on-board the train. The boss himself was going to take us to the train and show us how it's done. So a few minutes later, there's the headman explaining to Raymond, a stranger, exactly how to sabotage one of his trains. It was vaguely surreal. But it had been like that all along this trip. We had been asking questions that would normally result in a call to the cops, and instead the person would smile and cheerfully give with the info. It was time to move on to the tunnel museum some distance away. Raymond and Kerianne and Yoshiko Abo (one of the representatives) and I took a local train that dropped us off at Imabetsu, a tiny rural platform in the middle of nowhere. We descended a stair through a heavily reinforced fiberglass tube (we were told the high winds necessitated it), and when we emerged, we were looking at a surprisingly sophisticated, modern building sitting out in the middle of nowhere. A chauffeured car sat waiting for us; a customized black Mitsubishi Diamante. Very nice. Inside the building was some sort of gift shop cum snack shop cum museum. I never was really very clear about what it was or why it was there, but it was way too sophisticated for the rural setting. The incongruity was very Bondian. Furthermore, at the center of the building was a massive Plexiglas aquarium measuring a dozen feet or more high and as big across. Why such extravagance in this lonely outpost, I've no idea. That's part of the charm of Japan and why being in Japan often feels like being inside a James Bond story. After a brief reststop there, we were off by car. The drive was scenic, and after a long while we came into view of the Seikan Tunnel Memorial Hall. As the car pulled up to the main entrance we saw the museum the staff assembled for Raymond's arrival. The head of the museum handed me his card. His thumb had smudged it with dirt and I thought, "How appropriate on a card from the head of a tunnel project." The museum was closed for renovations and not scheduled to open for another two months, but they opened it especially for Raymond. The head of the museum himself acted as Raymond's guide on the special tour. There were fabulous dioramas and 3-D mock-ups of various aspects of the tunnel project. At last it was time to descend into the tunnel itself. This process felt like something out of a Bond story and the setting would have pleased Ken Adam himself. We were escorted into a ferroconcrete bunker room, the major feature of which was a funicular car poised on a diagonal section of track slopping down to a pair of massive steel doors. This was going to be fun. Suddenly sirens blared and red lights flashed and spun. The two heavy steel doors began to grind open to reveal a shaft into which the track stretched down out of sight. Raymond and I took the front seats next to the driver. Staffers magically appeared with our luggage. This was to be a one-way trip. We would not be coming back out this way. There was something vaguely disquieting about that. The driver engaged the gears and we began to glide down, down, down. We dismounted in a side tunnel and begin to walk. We walked a long time and passed through several massive, thick, fire doors held open above our heads by means of thick cables and huge pulleys. It was a little unnerving passing underneath them. All the while, members of the Seikan Tunnel Engineering Team were lecturing to Raymond and fielding his questions. We were shown places normally out of bounds; power rooms, air generators and so on. It was all fascinating, quite amazing and on a wholly Brobdingnagian scale. Eventually we came upon the main tunnel and saw a huge cargo train rush by out of the darkness. It was an awesome sight as we stood more than 700 feet under the surface of the ocean in a tunnel three stories tall, somewhere along the span of the world's longest tunnel. Our hosts had arranged for our pick-up. The next passenger train to pass through the tunnel would make a special stop; a stop just for Raymond and me. I imagine it must have been an odd sight for the passengers, as the train slowed and stopped in the middle of the tunnel and two foreigners climbed aboard. We made our way to our seats and settled in to enjoy boxed lunches that had been brought for us, along with our luggage, during our tour. On Japanese trains there's an attendant, usually a teenage girl, who sells drinks, snacks and odds and ends from a cart she pushes from car to car. Before exiting a car it is customary for her to turn to the occupants and bow. Since Raymond and I were seated near the front of the car it seemed almost as though she were bowing just to us. Raymond started playing a little game. When she would bow to the car in general, he would bow back to her as though she had been bowing just to him. At first she didn't react. But it was a long train ride and she passed through many times. Always she would bow. Always Raymond would bow back. Eventually her resolve began to break and a smile crept onto her face. After a while she would break into a grin even as she began her bow, just in anticipation of Raymond's mock serious bow back to her. They never exchanged a word, but there was a nice connection formed. When our train reached Sapporo later that day, I was surprised at how much cooler the air was. I was glad I'd brought a lightweight jacket. Raymond treated us to a cab ride to the Sapporo Prince Hotel. After freshening up, the always-courteous staff gave us a tour of the finest suite in the hotel. That was the one Bond would occupy. Of course! After dinner we made arrangements to meet with an American buddy of mine, Glen Hill, and his lovely Japanese fianc e, Yoshie-san (at the time of this writing a happily married couple). We rendezvoused at the base of Sapporo's massive TV tower, which looks a lot like the Eiffel Tower. The tower is at one end of the city's main street, which has a broad park, Odori Koen, all along its length. We piled into Glen's car and drove to Susukino, Sapporo's entertainment district. I'd hoped to go to the Electric Sheep bar, a retro 60's place complete with lava lamps, but it was closed. My second choice was, Nest of Delinquent Gaijin ("Gaijin" are foreigners), but it was too far away, so we found another place. Glen didn't drink, but Yoshie-san and I both enjoyed some sake. Afterward we explored Susukino until it was late and time to say goodnight. In one form or another Raymond and I had been on the go since Tokyo, two days earlier. That seemed a very long way away, and a long time ago. WEDNESDAY, APRIL 18 After breakfast we rendezvoused with Glen at the Tokei Dai (literally "Big Clock") featured in Raymond's novel. It's Sapporo's most popular meeting spot. It's a western style, white clapboard building from 1878 and the largest clock tower in Japan. The three of us spent the morning with Glen showing us around Sapporo. At lunch time, Raymond and I set off for the Sapporo Beer Garten. The Sapporo brewery is a massing of handsome old red brick buildings. One building houses three restaurants. We ate in the huge, dimly lit, "Classic Hall." Big banners hung from the timbers of the high vaulted ceiling. Raymond had his heart set on a meal he'd seen on a brochure. It was massive platter of meats and seafoods; what I thought of as the Carnivore Platter. I tried the beer sampler and Raymond got the single largest mug of beer I've ever seen in my life. Drink it? I doubted he could even lift it! But he managed to do both and still seemed stone cold sober. The platter arrived heaped with all sorts of meats; crab, beef, mutton and more. There were sausages and sauerkraut and more. "More" was definitely the name of the game here. It arrived already cooked, but the metal platter was placed on a stand with flames beneath to keep the meal sizzling. We finished almost all of it, but I doubted I'd ever need to eat again in my life. Raymond surprised me by wanting a dessert. Soft ice-cream again! And again I thought it was highly unlikely. And again Raymond found it easily! The flavors were a bit unusual; vanilla sure, but the other choices were green tea, . . . or beer! Intrigued as I was by beer flavored ice-cream, I was simply too stuffed. Raymond seemed to feel discretion was the better part of valor, and chose the vanilla. Our time in Sapporo had come to a close and soon we were aboard another train. This time we were headed southeast to the coast. Our destination was Noboribetsu, possibly the most famous hot-springs spa town in all Japan. We were booked into the top hotel there, the Dai Ichi Takimotokan. The emblem/mascot of Noboribetsu is the "Oni." Oni are minor devils from Japanese mythology. They're big and brutish and carry heavy, iron studded war-clubs. The hotel we'd be staying in had adopted the war-club as their emblem.
The hotel was large and imposing and sat immediately next to Jigokudani (Hell Valley). Perfect! The hotel staff were lined up along one side of the huge lobby and bowed deeply as we entered, greeting us with a chorus of, "Irrashaimase!" (a traditional, formal welcome). The central colour in the hotel was a deep, rich, dusty rose-red. Images of Japanese fans appeared in the carpeting and in the frosted glass railing panels. The doors were a deep rose red enamel embellished with painted wildflowers. Just off the lobby was a giant, two-story tall clock in the shape of a golden war-club. On the hour, music sounded and an incredible mechanical show began. Several pairs of door panels sprang open from the surface and complex moving tableaus appeared. In one example, a model of an entire sailing ship emerged. The ship rolled as if with the waves, the sail moved, and the figures on the deck all moved too. One even ascended the rigging. It was a wonder of automation.
Okumura-san invited us to sit at the table while the pleasant older woman went to the outer room to make tea for us. A minute or two later the door panel slid open and the woman re-entered with the tea tray. She entered in the traditional way, kneeling outside the room to slide open the door, then pivoting through the doorway still kneeling. Once inside she slid the door closed and stood. This is a super polite way to enter and exit a traditional room, and honours the guest. Okumura-san surprised us, dismissing the attendant, taking the tray and preparing and serving the tea to us herself. She asked us to join her in the lobby later for a tour of the hotel's facilities. She then exited in the same traditional manner. It was interesting to see someone dressed in a modern business skirt-suit observing a centuries old custom. Raymond was really wowed that the General Manager of this huge famous hotel, who must have had a hundred other tasks awaiting her attention, had personally prepared and served us traditional tea. I agreed it felt very special. It didn't hurt either that she was such a lovely and charming woman. At the end of our trip Raymond would say of Okumura-san that, "in an entire country filled with really nice people, she was the nicest." We had been shown where the cotton robe (Yukata), jacket, sash and slippers (Zori) were kept that we would wear everywhere while in the hotel, just as all the guests did. The Yukata bore the hotel's special pattern. We changed into the hotel garb and descended to the lobby for our tour. When she saw me, Okumura-san did something very un-Japanese. She laughed at me. My robe was too short and my slippers too small. She snagged a passing employee and told her to have oversized clothes sent up to my room. She also laughed at my Japanese, which so far on the trip had garnered only praise. She told me a couple of my words were terribly out of date and sounded funny to her. But we couldn't be offended by her laughter. There was no malice to it. Besides, it felt refreshing to have someone speak so honestly to us and drop the host's facade. We set off on our tour of the hotel's extensive facilities, EXcluding the baths, which are segregated. The size of the hotel kept surprising me. The banquet rooms were gorgeous and palatial. I told her this was definitely where I would want my wedding reception to be held. Though I suspect even my best friends might balk at traveling six thousand miles for the event. Okumura-san invited us to join her for dinner later and we had a delicious meal in the main dining hall with all the other hotel guests. It was a sprawling buffet of all sorts of foods, including several types of sushi. Okumura-san ordered beer for us. Raymond's and mine arrived in hearty mugs, hers in a tall delicate pilsner glass. After dinner we had to say goodnight to Okumura-san because it was now our chance to enjoy the famous baths. Raymond and I entered the men's changing rooms where you strip down to nothing, despite female attendants wandering about. We were each given only a small "modesty towel" which covers, well, only so much. It's about the size of a washcloth. We left the changing room and passed through a sliding glass door into the baths. A wave of hot, moist air smacked us in the face. Before we could climb into any of the baths however, we had to go over to the washing stations. There, I sat on a low wood stool in front of a water tap, filled a bucket with hot water and poured it over my head. Once I was thoroughly doused I scrubbed myself clean with soap and shampoo, then rinsed off completely. Only once you are completely clean can you can go into the baths. The famous baths at the Dai-Ichi Takimotokan cover an area of 5,000 square meters (an area large enough to park 170 buses! Not that anyone does). There are 30 different baths featuring seven types of water including sodium bicarbonate, saline, mirabilite, acid ferrous sulfate and weak saline. Each claims its own health benefits. The waters come from underground geothermal springs producing a million liters of water. The different baths take different forms and Raymond and I wandered from bath to bath. There were baths lined with tile, a bath made of Japanese cypress wood (Hinoki), which smells wonderful and feels like silk. There were non-bath baths too. In one, you sit on a short stone pedestal and let a cascade of hot water pound down onto your back and shoulders from a height of about 30ft. In another, you walk around and around a long oval trough in shin deep water. The trough has different textures to stimulate and massage the soles of your feet. There were two concentric tracks, one with cold water, one with hot. The hottest Japanese bath (Ofuro) that I've tolerated in the past was 105 degrees. There were a couple of baths here so hot I simply could not get into them. My favorite type of bath is a rotemburo, an outdoor hot springs bath, usually fitting into a natural setting. It's great to relax under the open sky with a bottle of sake on a floating tray and enjoy Mother Nature. At the Dai-Ichi Takimotokan hotel, the view from the rotemburo is of Hell Valley. It was a clear night and the stars were amazing. The night air was cool and it felt great to slip into the hot water. Raymond and I had one flagon of sake each before the heat of the water outside and the warmth of the sake inside told us it was time to call it a night. Before heading back upstairs I stopped by the front desk and arranged for a masseuse to come to my room. The Japanese don't massage skin-to-skin so you keep your robe on. When the masseuse needs to massage any exposed skin she drapes a cloth over the area first. The massage was the perfect relaxing cap to the day. When it was over I was sleep before the masseuse had latched the door behind her. THURSDAY, APRIL 19
It was going to be a busy day with a lot to see. Raymond met in the lobby with representatives of the Hokkaido government and their interpreter. The interpreter reminded me of Cheri Oteri from Saturday Night Live. We were very pleased to discover Okumura-san would be coming with us. We all bundled into a big van; first stop on the tour was Jigokudani (Hell Valley). Okumura-san had told us the hotspots under the sand shift over time so you never know where the lethal spots are. She told us of a rock concert televised there, where the singer accidentally stepped back off the platform and sank into a Next on the tour was Oyunuma, an amazing boiling lake. It required a good hike uphill from Jigokudani and Raymond told me he respected the two women who managed to do it in heels. The lake is a bizarre sight. Underground water, heated to over 220 degrees Celsius by magma, bubbles to the surface to form an entire lake of boiling water. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. In many of Japan's hot spring spas the water coming out of the ground has to be cooled to temperatures the human body can tolerate. This lake is the real deal and a dip in this water would literally boil you alive. I'd been feeling ill all morning and had ridden up to the lake in the van to avoid the hike. But now I was feeling worse and decided I needed a break, so Raymond and the others continued on while I rested back at the hotel. For their next stop they took a gondola to the Ainu's Bear Park. The Ainu people were the original inhabitants of Japan, somewhat akin to the Native Americans in the U.S. The Ainu worshiped bears and today maintain this park where trained bears perform. Raymond was able to feed the bears, see a performance, and take a tour of an Ainu museum. Undoubtedly the highlight of the morning must have been the duck races. Yeah, you read that right. Duck races. Ducks with different coloured bands on their necks were put in a box and then released onto a track. First duck to reach the end, wins. Raymond demonstrated his Bond-like prowess at wagering and bet on the "yellow" duck. It fairly (but not literally) flew from the box and handily bested the next nearest competitor. By this time I was feeling much better and was able to rejoin the group. We said a heartfelt goodbye to Tomoko Okumura and drove off for a luncheon meeting with Ikuo Yamamaru, the leader of the Ainu people. We met at a remote rural restaurant called, "Cow Bell". It was a simple wood building well off the main road and the air inside was smoky. It felt more like visiting a neighbor than going to a professional restaurant. Beef is the regional specialty there. It's of the same type as the world famous Kobe Beef, so we ordered the barbecue platter. It was brought to the table uncooked and we grilled it ourselves, along with an assortment of vegetables, on charcoal braziers set into the surface of the large, picnic style tables. It was absolutely delicious. Ikuo Yamamaru was a handsome man with grey at the temples. He looked like he came straight out of central casting for the role of "leader." He took us to his full scale re-creation of an Ainu village. Ainu do not live in Ainu communities anymore. They just live among the Japanese people throughout Japan, but primarily in Hokkaido. The re-created village on the shore of a lake was quite large and picturesque. There were bears in cages, as well as Ainu dogs. In an oversized hut we saw a performance by traditional dancers and musicians. There were a lot of tourists there too, but the front row of seats had been held open for us. From the Ainu Village we were headed straight to the airport for a flight back to Tokyo. Raymond was concerned about the time we had to leave for the airport. We were told we were OK, but all of a sudden it turned out we were running late. How'd that happen? So we piled into the van and sped off. It was a longer drive than either of us had expected. I'd forgotten to wear my watch that morning so I had no idea how much time we had. But then again, it wouldn't have mattered a jot if I had known. Everything was completely out of my control. It felt kind of liberating. I was just along for the ride. There was a lot of dashing when we arrived at the airport. We bailed out of the van and dashed into the terminal. We dashed up to the JAL ticketing counter and our hosts dashed with us. We all dashed through the concourse and up to the security check. But there, our hosts could dash no farther. So we exchanged hurried good-byes to our hosts from the Hokkaido board of tourism. Raymond turned to dash through the security sensor and . . .BEEP! Damn. They came up with a tiny Swiss Army knife from his luggage and an equally tiny one-inch blade on his money clip. This was all prior to 9/11, but in Japanese airports they just don't play and never have. In the U.S. Raymond would simply have lost those confiscated items. Too bad. But in Japan Raymond could reclaim them at the end of the flight. We made our flight just in time. The views along the coast of Japan from 20+ thousand feet were wonderful. We landed at Haneda airport, which used to be the international airport for Tokyo before Narita was built. I hadn't been there since I was nine, and oddly enough it still has a "retro" quality about it. It's kind of cool. Very sixties. We went to recover Raymond's items and were just in time to see a JAL woman literally run to the luggage desk with the bag. Raymond's items were proffered with a bow and an apology for his inconvenience. We rode the monorail train back into Tokyo where we were greeted like long lost friends by the front desk staff at the Prince Hotel Sakura Tower. They had graciously allowed us to keep the same rooms as before, so we'd been able to leave our extra luggage there, unpacked. It felt comforting to be back "home." It was Raymond's last night in Japan so we called up Nakayama-san, the journalist friend who'd helped us out so much early in our trip. When he arrived we all went out for a final dinner on the town. Raymond suggested sushi.. Hard to believe he'd tried it for the very first time just a few days earlier. Now he was showing signs of becoming an even bigger sushi hound than I am. The sushi bar restaurant we went to was on the busy main street in the Shimbashi district of Tokyo. The restaurant was very narrow. I'd estimate the width of the place at no more than eight feet. Seating downstairs was at a long narrow counter, behind which the chefs produced their creations. Nakayama-san had brought a lot of books and things for Raymond to autograph and there wasn't room for them at the bar, so we went upstairs and sat on the floor at a low table. It was very private up there. The place was relatively small and there were only a few other people around us. Nakayama-san told us we'd missed Roger Moore, who'd been in Tokyo for Unicef while we had been up north. He'd saved a copy for each of us of the story that ran in the paper. We had a good time talking and laughing over sushi and beer. When the bill came I paid for Nakayama-san by way of a small thank-you. As we were walking out, Raymond announced he had a hankering for dessert. Soft ice-cream again, of course. But this time his luck had run out. All we could find was a nice coffee shop overlooking the main street.. They had a lot of desserts, but no soft ice-cream, only regular. The waitresses were dressed in cute uniforms and were uniformly charming. When our waitress took our order Raymond surprised us by skipping ice-cream altogether and opting instead for chocolate cake. That was a first. Nakayama-san came back to our hotel to help polish off the remainder of the excellent sake we had. There was simply not enough room in our luggage for the big sake bottles. They had to be killed. We made a valiant effort, but in the end we imposed on Nakayama-san to take the remainder with him, which he seemed not unwilling to do. I showed Nakayama-san the Japanese replica I'd picked up of a Walther P99 from a model gun shop called U.N.C.L.E. It's an amazingly faithful replica in all functions but one. It will not shoot a bullet. Fine with me. The replica cost $140. The real thing would cost $750. Eventually Nakayama-san said his farewells. It was late, and we still had to finish packing.. We were scheduled for the 7:00AM airport limo the next morning. FRIDAY, APRIL 20 I got up at 5:30 after just 3 hours of sleep. Narita airport was like a zoo. I'd never seen it so busy and confusing, but eventually Raymond got his boarding pass. We spent a final few minutes together grabbing a snack and killing time until it was time to go. He could look forward to the Japan Airlines Executive Class comfort and service while being transported nearly half way around the world. Mr. Yasuharu Noda, the head of the Japan Airlines Chicago office, was waiting to greet Raymond when he arrived at Chicago's O'Hare airport and personally whisked him through customs; the full V.I.P. treatment. I had stayed on in Japan for another week to visit with friends in different cities that our hurried agenda hadn't allowed us to visit. When I arrived back in the U.S. I got together with Raymond. He gave me copies of his photographs from the trip and I showed him the videotape of our trip that I'd shot. It was great to see him again after all our shared experiences. Before the trip I'd considered him a friend. Now I felt much more of a bond (no pun intended) with him. We'd traveled to the other side of the planet together and run a wide range of extremes. We'd been in small towns and in the greatest megalopolis in the world. We'd met farmers and movie stars. We'd eaten in tiny rural diners and magnificent haute cuisine mansions. You don't share those kinds of experiences without it creating a kinship. It changes one. Copyright © 2002 James McMahon |
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Entering Benesse Island one passes brightly coloured yurts (traditional Mongolian tent dwellings) available as lodging to campers and backpackers visiting Benesse. The road passed along the shore, which is where we stopped and were welcomed by local government representatives, including the mayor, Mr. Takao Hamada. Right there by the beach we enjoyed a special performance of Taiko drums organized in Raymond's honor. The drummers played against the backdrop of beach, ocean and the hills of the island visible across the cove.
As I was unpacking my luggage I got a call from Raymond telling me to come right over. When I got there what he showed me removed any lingering doubt. I was in James Bond's world. The outer wall of Raymond's room was comprised of huge floor-to-ceiling glass panels. Raymond said, "Watch this!" and pressed a button. I heard the muted sound of an electric motor, then an entire section of the glass wall began slowly gliding down into the floor. No way! We stepped out onto a patio that spanned the length of the Annex. There were a few pieces of patio furniture, so you could relax and contemplate the views, which were amazing.
As we stepped off the train, two hotel representatives, a man and a woman in dark blue hotel uniforms, started down the platform to greet us. Both were young and looked like models. The man's hair was bright with oil and slicked back. It turned out he was merely there to take our luggage. The woman was tall, elegant and willowy. Probably from hotel public relations, I guessed. We exchanged cards. I glanced at hers, "Tomoko Okumura", and discovered how wrong I was. She was, in fact, . . . the Hotel's General Manager.
Raymond and I never even had to check-in. Okumura-san just stepped over to the front desk, was handed our keys and off we went. A pleasant older woman escorted us to our rooms, and Okumura-san came along. The rooms were wonderful. We'd been in Japan ten days now, but we had yet to stay in the traditional Japanese accommodations I wanted Raymond to experience. Now he would get the chance. Our rooms were identical, and we were shown into Raymond's first. The entryway was tiled, with a wooden shoe cabinet and a step up to a wood floor where slippers awaited. There was a short corridor with a kitchenette and doors to the toilet on one side and the bath on the other. Past a sliding decorative wall panel lay the main room, quite large, covered in sweet smelling tatami mats. A low black lacquered table sat in the center and at the other end of the room, beyond more sliding doors which stood open, was another seating. The quality was superb. Windows overlooked a beautiful garden with a pond. It was hard to believe we were a dozen or more stories up in a modern hotel. Everything felt so traditional.
spot so hot that one leg had to be amputated at the knee. The valley is full of boiling hot springs, steaming holes and sulfur pits with a stench of rotten eggs. Yet the place has an odd, otherworldly beauty. Fleming would have loved it.