I Squid You Not

So.  I had a dream.  I dreamt that I would spend every night on the shores of Toyama Bay until I saw the hotaruika no mirage - the firefly squid on the beach.  I booked a room at the Sky Hotel Namerikawa back in October or November to be sure that I was close enough to walk to the beach every night.  I was sure it was going to happen, because the new moon was on the first day of vacation, May 4, but I made plans to stay for several days, just in case.

Beautiful Toyama, on a not-too-beautiful day.

And if you’re paying attention, you may be noticing right now that I’ve been on vacation for several days already, and yet May 4 was not one of those days.  And if you have deduced from that fact that I fucked up and booked the wrong dates, you are correct.  What you may not have realized is that I didn’t figure this out until the Monday before the holiday.  And the holiday was an unprecedented 10 day vacation in Japan, thanks to the ascension of the new emperor.  Which meant that, basically, I was screwed.  I found two options that weren’t fully booked - one in Uozu, close to the shore, but looking sketchy as hell.  The other was by Toyama station (ie, inland), and was going to set me back $500.  Have I complained to you about my salary?  So, yes, things were looking quite bleak for me.  And then I wondered what my options would be if I tried Couchsurfing.

Now, for those of you who aren’t savvy, Couchsurfing is the predecessor of AirBnB.  The idea is that travelers host one another freely, paying it forward to the next couchsurfer who comes to their town.  It’s a good model if you like people and adventures.  Since I only like one of those things, I’d never tried it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.  And that is how I came to be staying with a young college student and her family here in Toyama.

Back to the squid: so my idea was that I was going to go out all night watching for them.  That was my plan until I got to my hostess with the mostest’s home Saturday night.  After a full day of wandering Kanazawa, following an overnight bus from Shinjuku, following a day of teaching, and THAT following two nights short on sleep.  Basically I decided I couldn’t do it.  Not that night.  But even the next day was cold.  Also, I’m not staying anywhere close to the shore.  Google maps estimates that it’d take me an hour to walk there, and Google seems to think I’m a faster walker than I am.

Well, I decided I could find a solution for that.  If I had a bike, it would be manageable.  I found out that Toyama has a bike sharing system, CycloCity.  I signed up for a weeklong account, and went to the station to get started.  It was super easy.  Problem solved!  Or so I thought.  Turns out that the system works only if the bikes keep circulating.  In order to avoid tourists who use the same bike for hours at a time, potentially leaving it unattended to get stolen, the first half-hour is free, the next half-hour is 100 yen, and each hour after that is 500 yen.  So riding around all night wasn’t going to work, either, as there were no bike racks near the beach.

It worked okay for getting me to the Inari shrine I needed to finish my photography project, at least.  Although even that I didn’t accomplish in the free half hour.  I mean, it takes time for the photos I was shooting.

I’ve been trying to convince myself since then, convince myself that it’ll be worth it to spend at least two hours on my feet, but honestly there’s no guarantee that even if I do that the damn things will make their appearance.  If it was as easy as “go to the beach, see squid,” I think I could muster up the enthusiasm.  I think if I had a travel buddy with me to keep me going (or that I’d at least be too ashamed to wuss out on), I’d be able to suck it up.  But.  Well.  That is not the case.  So I haven’t gone to shore.  I haven’t seen the firefly squid.

Instead, I’ve seen Avengers: Endgame.  It was awesome.  It didn’t involve me standing on my feet for several hours (although I was holding my pee for at least one).  Afterwards I got a nice wagyu burger from Shogun Burger.  See, maybe I don’t get to see the squid this year, but that’s okay because I really do like Toyama.  It’s a nice chill town with good food and places nearby to explore.  And I’m going to go explore some of them now.  So I’ll catch you on the flip side.

Forest Bathing

Not so long ago, the Interwebs taught me that the Japanese had apparently come up with a concept called shinrin yoku - forest bathing.  The idea is that it's therapeutic to get out in nature and smell fresh air and walk on unpaved ground and all that good stuff.  This weekend I had the opportunity to do exactly that.  See, this post is brought to you by my photography class.  I'll be writing about THAT particular endeavor in the near future; for now, suffice it to say that I got it into my head that one of my photos should be staged in Aokigahara - Japan's infamous suicide forest.

Now, I'd be lying to you if I claimed that the Sea of Trees - as it is known in Japanese - held no dark fascination for me.  Y'all know me better than that.  However, I hesitated to go there, even before some American jackass made a fool out of himself on Youtube by posting the video showing him finding a dead body there.  Because actually, that was exactly what made me hesitant.  I feel like I'm made of pretty stern stuff, and the possibility of spiritual remains doesn't phase me.  Physical remains, on the other hand, would have to be dealt with, and I wasn't sure I was ready for that.  That said, I knew in my head that I was unlikely to actually find anyone, which means I just needed a good excuse to me get out of the city.  Such as my photography course.

And the more I learned about the forest, the more interested I was in going.  It grows on a bed of lava that hardened after Fuji-san blew its top in 864 CE.  Since the ground is impenetrable, the trees' roots snake along the surface.  The trees grow close together, so it's cool and shady, and moss clings to many surfaces.  There are even special kinds of plants that grow there, although unfortunately I missed getting to see the white plants that grow there.

Geologically, the lava flow left behind lots of really cool (literally) caves.  Although the website I used for planning my visit suggested taking the bus to Saiko Bat Cave, when I got to Kawaguchiko station, the helpful info lady said the next bus would go to the Fugaku Wind Cave, so that was the one I ended up going to.  You could still see the way the lava moved, even after more than a millennium.  There was also a display inside that talked about how the cave was used for storing seeds and silkworm eggs, allowing for preservation and increased production. 

So I finally went this weekend.  As I sat in Jonathan's* having my weekly R&R**, I plotted my course.  It seemed that the Sotetsu bus from Yokohama was my best option.  Unfortunately, the next one wasn't til 12:20 and you had to book in advance.  Oops.  So I decided the time had come for another one of my epic*** rail journeys.  From Kikuna, my nearest and dearest, I rode out to Hachioji on the Yokohama line, then took the Chuo line for Otsuki.  And THEN I got the Fujikyu train to Kawaguchiko.  All told it took me about 4 hours to get out there.  Luckily the return trip somehow shaved off an hour.  It cost around 2400 yen as well, which was 400 yen more than the two and a half hour bus ride.  So, y'know.  Learn from my fail.

When I finally got off the last train I was dismayed by how many other people were around.  Kawaguchiko seems well off the beaten path, and it's not late enough in the year for going up to the top of Fuji.  I still don't get it.  Maybe it was the cherry blossoms.  While the sakura here has been pretty well denuded for the last week, the hills were alive with the sound of music...as long as the music sounds like this.

So I was afraid that there were going to be shit tons of people in the forest, which could be mendoksai for my photography.  As it turned out, though, whatever drew all the tourists, it wasn't the sea of trees.  Once I left the road behind, I was alone.  I passed one group who were exiting as I was going in, but that was it.  Thank goodness last night's Supernatural wasn't one of those "creepy forest creature" episodes, because honestly that could have transformed my appreciation of the forest's peaceful natural beauty pretty fast.

Once I got away from the road, it was quiet beneath the densely packed canopy.  A little sun streamed in, but it was cool.  The trees hadn't fully greened out, but the moss largely made up for it.  The ground was uneven, but soft under foot, layers of decomposing materials on top of each other: wood, leaves, moss, needles.  In fact, sometimes my footfalls sounded as if the forest floor was hollow.

I came to a fork in the path after a few minutes.  One led to the bird park, another promised a "rough trail" to the village.  I decided a rough trail sounded good, and took the right fork.  I quickly discovered that by rough they meant "unfinished," as in "it was a rough sketch of where to walk in the woods."  There were a couple of times where I came close to losing the trail.  Which probably wouldn't have been the end of the world as I have a pretty good sense of direction, but from what I understand, you're also more likely to stumble on undiscovered remains away from the trail, so I felt no need to prove that I'd be able to find my way back out of the forest without a path.

When I got to the next fork and realized I still had a long way to go toward the village, I decided it was time to head out of the woods.  I hopped on a bus that I thought was going back to the station, but ended up taking the scenic route - which I mean in this instance both literally and colloquially.  Getting a little closer to Fuji-san was a nice side bonus to this expedition.  As an artist I try not to pass up opportunities to look at the iconic mountain, particularly when I've spent the last week watching anime about camping around it.  I was kind of wishing I could've stayed the night and explored more of the area.  Maybe in my next Japan life I'll do exactly that.  Instead, when I got back to the station I walked to a nearby yakiniku restaurant and restored my vampiric HP with some tasty beef and a dolsot bibimbap.  Having sated my unholy appetite, I got my ass back to the station to begin the trek home.

So that was my Aokigahara adventure.  If you hate people and want to try out a little forest bathing, I can't think of a better place to do so.  Although, admittedly, I'm not really an outdoor cat, so what do I know?  After all, I was too busy taking pictures to relax and embrace nature, not to mention I have a healthy dislike of bugs getting in my hair, clothing, backpack, or really anywhere near me.  Since I got the shots I was hoping for, I felt satisfied calling it a day.


*Closer to home than Denny's...but their French toast isn't as good.
**Read and wRite
***In this usage, a word that means LONG...like, Aragorn and Frodo walking to Rivendell long.

Taking Advice

When it comes to traveling, I have some pretty clear ideas about what I want to do.  That said, when I decided to come to Shikoku and see Nagoro...

...which didn't happen, btw.  Plans to visit the #1 thing I really wanted to see on my vacation - the creepy "scarecrow" village where an artist decided to replace all the people who died or left with lifesize dolls - got wrecked by a bloody landslide.  Which sucks the big one, but what can you do?

As I was saying, when I decided to come here my teacher friend, Sensei (that's a new nickname, for those of you keeping track), told me that she was actually from Shikoku.  I told her what I was planning and asked if she had any advice.  She put me in touch with her friend in Tokushima and suggested that instead of making Awa Ikeda my base camp for getting to Nagoro that I stay in Oboke.

Tokushima wasn't originally on my itinerary.  Honestly Shikoku seemed pretty expensive to get around as I was pre-navigating on Google Maps, and it turns out, it is.  Any express train costs twice as much to ride, and the route to get to Matsuyama, where I'd hop back over to Honshu, was already long enough.  But I really loved the idea of getting a little extra sightseeing done and meeting her friend, which is just as well since I didn't actually make it to Nagoro.  Takamatsu, on the other hand, was, but I didn't do much of anything there, except get up WAY too early and get the bus.  I just didn't feel like it.  Tokushima, though - I arrived around 8 in the morning but wasn't meeting Ikuko until 5, so I was going to need something to do.

So I get into town around 8.  It's a ghost town...in Tokyo, even though things aren't open, there's a sense of life.  Not so much in Tokushima.  After chucking my bag in a locker and deciding Lotteria's breakfast was not a suitable replacement for McDonald's, I decided to do a little wandering.  The only other person who was out on the streets was the guy banging on the window of the pachinko parlor 10 minutes before it opened (like, really?  You couldn't wait politely a little longer to get your fix?)  I've been traveling with my pocket router, so I looked at my options and decided to start with the Awa Odori Kaikan, for the simple reason that it opened first. 

I've seen the Awa Odori before, back in August in Koenji, so it made sense to me to check out the museum and learn a little more.  After wandering around the nearby shrines and temples, I went on in.  Unfortunately, almost all of the signage was in Japanese, so mostly I just looked at the pictures, of which they had an impressive array.   If I was interested in being a museum curator, I'd want to learn from the Japanese, because they've made it into an art.  Although the museum was small, it was very well presented and even without being able to read the labels I started to get an understanding of the history of the dance.

At 11 they had a performance which demonstrated some of the history of the dance, and included an audience participation bit.  They chose four audience members as the "star dancers" and - big surprise - guess who was one of them (hence the flowers).  Perks (?) of being the token foreigner in the audience, I guess.  It was a little embarrassing, but I got a headband out of it as a prize, and if I was Five, I'd subtract that from the cost of the ticket and call it good.

Sensei sent me a link for the Awa Jurobe puppet museum (let your friends know that you went to a doll memorial and are planning to visit a scarecrow village and they start to draw some conclusions), which has performances at 11 and 2 - but in the end, it didn't happen.  Google maps failed me again, not being able to tell me how to get there, so I went back to the train station and asked at the information center.  They gave me instructions on how to get there by bus, but when I figured out that I wouldn't be able to do both that AND the Naruto whirlpools, I knew what I was going to decide.

For the record, I didn't make this decision under the influence of my otaku tendencies.  Not entirely, at any rate...although it IS pretty cool to be able to say I passed under the real Great Naruto Bridge.  More importantly, my current work for my painting class deals with water, and I thought it would be excellent research to this phenomenon in real life.  Naruto is the closest point on Shikoku to Honshu, and when the tides of the Inland Sea and the Pacific Ocean are changing, they create some pretty kickass whirlpools.  It's safe to take a boat and take an up close look at them, so that's what I did.  I regret nothing.

Actually, I should have gone up on the bridge afterwards, but I was kind of tired.  I'd had enough Naruto for one day.

I considered staying in Tokushima a little later the next day so that I could see the puppets, but I decided to head onward early again.  Sensei had suggested the Iya Valley to me for several reasons, but it's vine bridges looked pretty damn amazing, so I wanted to make sure I saw at least the first one, Kazurabashi.  I got my first hint that my plans were not going to work out when I tried to get the bus to Oboke, and the lady at the bus depot told me, "No."  The train was running though, so I grabbed a ticket and hopped on (and then had to pay more because it was one of those damn limited express trains), and made it to Oboke with almost no problems.  Where I found out - once again - that the buses weren't running.  I looked at some of the tourist stuff they had in the station, and then got pulled into a conversation between two older Japanese ladies and one younger one, wanting to know where I was going and if I wanted to share a taxi there and back?

Well, of course I did!  My share was 1,000 yen each way, and maybe I had a little buyer's remorse because I was still thinking I'd make it to Nagoro the next day, but it was honestly worth it.

I don't know if I can really do the bridge justice - I mean, if you are an adrenaline junkie, this is the bridge for you.  In the first photo, that's my foot (if you can't tell by my trademark 5 yen Converse shoes.  I have been blessed with feet that are both long and wide and I still got nervous that my feet were going to plunge between the slats.  That was what got me - I knew the bridge had been reinforced with steel cables, and it wasn't going to break, but those gaps...  About halfway across someone seemed to be shaking the bridge.  Maybe it was just a physics thing, where that's the least stable part of the bridge and you feel every footstep...I'm not sure, but it felt, at least, like someone was trying for the dickhead of the year award.  I was too busy watching my feet to try and figure out who, which I guess is a good thing, because I probably would've pitched their asses off the bridge.

Swan Song

Lonely Planet wants to know what is the best place to be today.  It's ironic that I'm sitting here writing a blog about seeing the swan migration on Ganga Nuur in Sukhbaatar aimag (province) for their competition, because going to Ganga Nuur was an idea I got out of Lonely Planet.  During our visit to Tsenkher hot spring more than a year ago, I told Engrish that this was one of those things I wanted to do before I left Mongolia, and she said if I stayed another year, she'd go with me.  So here we are.

Mongolia's not the country to go to if you want to see ancient ruins or capital-c Culture, although you'll find both if you look. What it does have, if you are willing to spend the time barreling over rough roads is stunningly beautiful nature. After two years, I've come to appreciate it (although I appreciate that first shower when I get back to the city even more!)

After a long day's drive to Baruun-Urt, the aimag capital, followed by a full morning's ramble over Mongolia's famous dirt tracks, veering into and over each other before stopping halfway for slices of sausage and cheese on Khentii aimag's famous bread, we pulled up to the lake and were hailed by the chatter of a thousand birds' honking and hooting. They were scattered over the surface of the lake, none too close to the shore, some so far away that they were just specks on the water.

The weather here isn't exactly mild, but during this trip it was pretty much perfect. The wind on the lake was pretty stiff, and it was amazing to see how smoothly the swans could fly through it. The wind may have ruined the recording I tried to make of their song, but it added to the immediateness of the experience. We were really there, standing on the banks of Ganga Nuur, hidden between undulating sand dunes.

Of all the places I could be today, I can't imagine any better than this wild land. In a week or two, the swans will all have moved on, the weather will be colder; the lake may be rimed with ice and the drifts may be snow as much as sand. Today, though, we're here.  Between the birds and my bestie, there's no place else I'd rather be.

Nature Girl

 Well, I'm done writing about reindeer.  Veni, Vidi, Reliqui, as the saying (almost) goes.  In my mind I've already moved forward into the next year, which will see me in Southeast Asia at Christmas and Greece at Tsaagan Sar.  Today I bought tickets, and that makes everything real.  I'll be home in approximately a week, with a brief layover hanging out with whomever I can scare up in Seoul on a Sunday afternoon.

Countryside?  Bah.  I'm over it.  At least until I go to see the swans in Sukhbaatar with Engrish in October.

However, as mentioned, I did visit Khuvsgul Lake while I was out.  She was Nature in all her beautiful, barfy splendor.  Khuvsgul's the second oldest lake in the world (if you can believe your trusty Lonely Planet), Lake Baikal's very own Babysis. 

Hmmm.  I'm maybe understanding why my students have a hard time figuring out when I'm using sarcasm and when I'm not.

Khuvsgul is beautiful, don't get me wrong.  I went for a cruise around the lake on the boat pictured above, the Sukhbaatar, so that I could really get the scope of the lake's beauty, not to mention her size.  The water was so blue that I couldn't help taking a shload of pictures of the boat's wake, and how the light caught on (and in) the water.  I walked a ways along its shoreline (mostly because I was killing time before the cruise, which was NOT the cruise on Hakone - there was no first class for starters, no coke, and the lady selling khuushuur ran out just as I went to buy one.  My life is tough).  But I was pretty worn down by this point in my trip, and I really couldn't give a flying fig newton.

See, attitude really is everything.

Besides the blueness of the water (you could say it blue itself!) my mind was blown by the size of it.  That kind of indistinct blur above the horizon?  Yeah, that's not the far shore...it's the island in the middle.  Khuvsgul isn't Mongolia's largest lake by surface area (that's Uvs, for you trivia fans), but it is biggest by volume, and contains 70% of Mongolia's fresh water.

But the actual highlight of coming to Khatgal (the town on the southern shore of the lake), was staying at Garage 24.  Khatgal used to be - basically - a truck stop on the way to Russia, and this was one of the service stations.  Well, some enterprising genius turned it into a hostel for visitors to the lake, and it is fantastic.  The owner had people ready to answer the phone when my driver pulled into Khatgal at oh-dark-hundred and explain how to get there.  The beds might not have been super soft, but I had a whole room to myself (I was the only person in a dorm made for eight), and the food was like a miracle unfolding in my mouth.  Chili Burrito.  Two words, neither of which implies mutton or noodles.  I ordered them for a late lunch, then woke up later to pay my bill and order them again for dinner.  My only complaint was that their selection of discarded books was lacking a bit - I was initially excited to see Dan Brown's Inferno sitting on the top of their piano, but it was in German, and the few books which were NOT in other languages were snooze worthy.  So maybe when the day comes that I finally leave Mongolia for good I will have to send them my leavings, just because them being there on this trip was amazing.

Reindeer Are Better Than People

Leaving Tsaagan-Nuur I started to send a text to Blondie, asking if anyone had left their grill out, because I was pretty sure I was going to need to burn some clothes when I got back.  I've been back in the city for going on sixty hours now, and I've only JUST gotten around to my laundry.  See, I used up the last of my detergent before I left, and in spite of the fact that every day I've gone to the store, and every day I've thought, "I need a shitload of detergent to clean this mess up!" I still had to make a special trip out this evening to get it.  So my bag of clothes has sat next to the hallway door til just a few minutes ago, staring balefully at me and not getting any fresher.

Much like this young reindeer...

Sometimes in winter, you'll see reindeer in UB, but the only time I'd seen one before this trip was near Nailakh on our way back from Terelj on Chinggis Day Weekend.  Apparently there are reasons why the Tsataan keep their herds in such a remote place - the reindeer need very specific living conditions to be happy and healthy - and people taking them other places is a bit controversial in the community, to say the least.  As someone with similarly specific needs (such as internet, books, and food that involves something besides mutton and noodles), I can dig that, and didn't really mind going out of my way to see them - whining aside.

As I mentioned on Thursday, I did grow up in the country, and we have a saying dealing with the time when bovine animals make their way to their abodes (yeah.  When the cows come home).  I don't really remember our cows having a curfew, but these reindeer did, and I thought it was pretty interesting.  I'd be sitting in the urtz and hear their distinctive snorting huffs getting closer and closer.

During one evening I was standing in the road as they came past.  One deer walked right up to me - I am guessing he was looking for a treat, and I held out my hand so he could sniff it (I was not quite willing to let him lick it, although he tried).  In exchange, I got to touch his antlers, which were damp with the rain and velvety soft.  Some of the antlers were incredibly big, and made me wonder if they had a hard time keeping their heads up.

Communism is a funny thing.  Kazakh culture in Mongolia is more authentic than in Kazakhstan, largely because it was left alone.  The Tsataan, however, had their culture threatened by the government during those years.  Reindeer herds were taken away from private farmers and kept by the state, and while there were benefits, on the whole I can't imagine having what amounts to my livelihood and my culture taken away from me.  Thankfully, as an international educational mercenary, I'm unlikely to find out.

P.S. That river in the background was my water source for the three days I was at the Tsataan camp.  Shaggy - O Gearmeister Extraordinaire - gave me a fantastic Sawyer Squeeze Water Filtration kit, which meant I got to drink cool clean water instead of having to ask the family to boil water for me.  Imma have to give that brother of mine a big sloppy kiss when I get home!

The World's Most Remote Bronies

Part of what caught my imagination when it came to this trip was a project about remote tribes called "Before They Pass Away."  I'd already been to Bayan-Olgii to see the Kazakh eagle hunters and was hoping to make this trip when I stumbled on Jimmy Nelson's work.  The idea of seeing a culture that might disappear gave me extra desire to make it happen - although actually making it happen was easier said than done.

I was truly hoping to make the trip through the Tsataan Community Visitor's Center.  I wanted to do things the right way, and benefit the people as much as I can.  However, the price tags the tour companies were quoting me seemed ridiculous - one woman said the trip would cost $2500, which is more than I spent on the Tibet part of last summer's adventures.  Luckily for me Engrish has mad connections, and one of them had a Tsataan coworker with whom she'd traveled to the taiga before.  Together they managed to organize things for me.  I did contact the TCVC, both through email and phone, about helping me to organize the actual trek out to the camp, but I never heard back from them.  Maybe it's my lack of Mongolian; I don't know.  I stopped in the Visitor's Center while I was wandering in Tsaagan-Nuur, and made a donation.  Since the total cost of the entire trip (including my flights, the donation, and the non-Tsataan portion) was only a little more than a fifth of that original quote, it probably wasn't enough.  But I did try.

When I got into Tsaagan-Nuur my contact, Darima, gave me the traditional bowl of milk tea and showed me a place to rest before heading out to the camp.  I was a little startled that we'd be leaving for the camp that day.  I thought I had an eight-hour horse trip ahead of me, but in fact I stayed with a family that was a little more than an hour by jeep away from Tsaagan-Nuur.  In spite of my nap, I fell asleep on the ride there, and was only awakened just before getting there by Darima tapping me on the shoulder and directing my attention to the reindeer herd, chilling out on the ice.  Yes, there was still ice on the river at the end of June.  This is Mongolia, bitches.

After another obligatory bowl of tea (this one made with reindeer milk), I was showed to the "hotel," a spare urtz (teepee)...the very one that the reindeer is poking its head into.  I was happy enough with my new digs, but later they decided to move me in with the family, I believe because they thought I would get cold, since the stove in the urtz-buudal wasn't set up.  Or maybe it was because it also served as the garage for their motorcycle.  Whatever the case, sharing space with others isn't always my favorite thing, especially when we don't have a common language between us - it's a little awkward and I miss my privacy - but we got along okay.

My cousin asked me out of the blue this winter what Mongolia was like, and if I thought he'd like it.  It's a hard place, sometimes, but it's beautiful, and the way of life is so low-impact.  But even here on the edge of the taiga the Tsataan have some modern conveniences.  Solar panels collect power for light and even some entertainment.  The second evening I stayed here the two sons of the family powered up a very small portable tv and tuned the satellite dish to watch "My Little Ponies."  The younger boy was maybe four or five, but the other was old enough to be tooling around on the family motorcycle.  Here we were, within spitting distance of the Russian border, as "off the grid" as you can be in this day and age, and I was sacked out watching Rainbow Dash and company with the world's most remote bronies.

Add that one to the "Most Surreal Experiences" list, my friends.  It's gonna be hard to top.