Category Archives: Japan

At What Price Perfection?

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Japan is an ideal tourist destination, especially for those travelers used to the challenges of third world countries. You can set your watch by the arrival and departure of the trains and buses, which are efficient, clean and roomy. Our seven minute change of trains at Nagano, where we had to go down a staircase, bumping and banging my suitcase all the way,was achieved with a minimum of stress and minutes to spare. Toilets are super sanitary and fun to use. And it’s a safe and hospitable country.

So what’s up with the plethora of “girlfriend” and “boyfriend” bars, where you pay by the hour for conversation,and locales with “unlimited drinks for two hours”, as advertised in restaurants?

Girlfriend Bar

Sign in Restaurant

I decided to do a little research.

I really wanted to visit a Girlfriend bar and act like I entered by mistake- but in this one instance Gerald would not oblige me- saying it might be considered a lack of etiquette.

Japan has a population of about 125 million and it is decreasing steadily each year because fewer couples are having children. Although it’s a booming economy, in contrast to Western countries where immigrants take the low paying jobs, there is limited immigration. This is mostly due to the insularity of the society and the difficulty of learning the language. I am struck by how many old people, especially women, are working in the shops because of a labor shortage.

The society is very regimented, which I guess accounts for the smoothness of how things run. However, they have the sixth highest suicide rate in the world. and it is the leading cause of death for women 15-34 years old. So sad.

Working long hours leaves little time for socializing and many young people live with their parents. Signs are posted on the street, on buses, in trains, and in public bathrooms, telling you what you can and cannot do.

Sign on the sidewalk

Instructions How to behave in an onsen( public bath)

On the street

Eating while walking is a serious offense as seen by the police with his pistol ready!

On the escalator

On the bus let old people in first

In terms of women’s rights and equality they have a long way to go. There is a 25% pay gap for women and Japan ranks the worst of the G 7 countries in gender equality.

The graciousness and helpfulness of people, even in casual encounters, is touching. The old lady at the shop where Gerald and I stopped for matcha ice cream each day, served us tea and gave me a gift of a regional specialty. When I asked directions in a store and mentioned it was my birthday, the salesgirl presented me with a bag of origami cranes.

My frustration comes from the feeling that I don’t know any more about the culture than I did after my first trip. My joy in travel comes from immersion, and after multiple trips to India and Cambodia, each time I returned with a little more insight about the people. So although I am having a great time, and would happily return,I feel more like an observer than a true traveler. Part of this is due to the fact that few Japanese will venture to speak English although they learn it in school and so my personal interactions are very limited.

The veil of mystery of Japan has not been lifted and remains an elusive fascination, but I must confess to the joy of discovering yet another toilet “option”. Our ryokan with shared toilet,in a small village, surprised me with a new one which I tried without hesitancy. An air sprayer. And I finally figured out why the figures displayed above the spray options are red and blue. The former spray the female parts and the latter is for males.

But perhaps the funniest one yet has to be the “Emergency Toilet” in the elevator of our hotel in Matsumoto.

Lost in Translation

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No seat reservation.

Just the words a traveler wants to hear. Never. Gerald had arranged a stay in a beautiful Onsen Resort described in the Lonely Planet as “a romantic ryokan with private attached onsen whose exquisite attention to detail makes this a place to experience Japanese hospitality”. We knew it was in a remote location and would be a full days journey with many changes of train and bus, but it was a special treat for my birthday, and we were prepared for the long haul. Or so we thought.

The ryokan manager recommended we spend the two hour wait time at the Hita train station, sightseeing and having lunch before catching the bus for the final leg of the journey.

First up, store the luggage in a locker either at the train station or the adjacent bus station so we would be unencumbered by shlepping our bags around. No Go. All lockers full except for some tiny ones which would accommodate only a backpack. OK, Plan B, go to the Bus Station to get tickets for the ride to Kurakawa Onsen town and just hang out until the bus arrives. Here’s where we really hit a snag. You would think buying a bus ticket would be a simple affair. Nope. What the ryokan manager neglected to say was that no one spoke or understood English. “Two bus tickets to Kurakawa Onsen”- enunciates Gerald,who has learned a fair amount of Japanese.

No seat reservation.

Panic sets in. The ticket agent shakes her head and indicates through gestures we can not buy a ticket. After pleading and insisting on getting on the bus, the best we can manage is the promise that if there is a seat available when the bus arrives we can get on. We try to buy a ticket for the next bus, same response.

No seat reservation.

It seems strange that all the busses are already full. We remain dumbfounded.The ticket agent can feel our pain and quickly retrieves a “communication device” which translates her Japanese into somewhat recognizable English. We ask her to call the Ryokan for us in the hope they can help us. Back and forth. “Wait bus”. “I don’t understand you, will someone come and get us?'” “Seat on bus”. “What?”

Somewhat exasperated and exhausted at this point, we decide to just wait until the bus arrives and see what happens. A small restaurant at the station is filled with older Japanese women chattering and eating udon. This seems like a good way to destress. All eyes are on us as we enter. Other than saying “Udon” we don’t know what to order. No pictures for a menu. A brainstorm- “Tempura?” A knowing smile. Jackpot.

The bus arrives and there are plenty of empty seats. What was the problem? You cannot make a seat reservation less than 24 hours in advance. Only standby!

We bought a ticket for our return trip, and paid more for it than the ride without a ticket. Go figure.

Right then I decided to look for a Japanese translation app for my phone, et voila! Now I can ask whatever I want and people are taken by surprise when a voice comes out of my phone in Japanese.

What’s in a Toto/How the Mighty Have Fallen

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A Toto you say? No, not Dorothy’s dog in The Wizard of Oz. It’s a brand of state of the art toilet, ranging from the basic model to super deluxe. Since meeting a woman in India who works for an organization called “Give a Shit”, I’ve had an obsession with toilet customs. In Osaka’s Intercontinental Hotel I observed three new features-“deodorizer” (although this option was available only in our master bathroom,not the guest one), “soft spray“, and “bidet. “The seat was pre warmed and when you got up after your business was finished, it flushed all on it’s own.

On my super heated seat, I pressed “bidet“. The pressure was a bit extreme and in my haste to end this unpleasant burst of sharp pellets hitting my female parts I started pushing all the buttons. When I abruptly stood up the water went flying. Finally I saw the STOP button. But too late. I had already soaked my underwear and jeans.

The Hilton in Fukuoka, despite being Asia’s largest Hilton,and designed by the renowned architect Cesar Pelli, disappointed in terms of toilet amenities. Where was the “music” (not really music, but flushing sounds to mask embarrassing noises emanating from your lower parts) , the “deodorizer” or at least spray options? There was only a choice of three and they were written in Japanese. The risk was too great of starting another Old Faithful.

Just as I was feeling disheartened, I entered the toilets in the new, super modern National Museum of Kyushu, designed by one of Japan’s most famous architects. I hit the jackpot. Not only were all options clearly shown and explained with pictures, in English no less, there was also a detailed explanation of the six steps to wash your hands. After so many years traveling this earth and still so much to learn.

Meanwhile, Gerald was becoming alarmed when I didn’t return for quite a while, but I was having too much fun.

I hear from informed sources that the Japanese are working on a conveyor belt option which offers sushi, matcha tea or ice cream while sitting on the pot.

Guest of the Day/Take Me Out To The Ballgame

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Dear Ms Huth,

Warm greetings from the Hilton Fukuoka Seahawk. Congratulations! We are thrilled to inform you that you are being chosen as “The Guest of the Day”. You will enjoy all the privileges of Executive Members:

Unlimited access to the Executive Lounge

Breakfast 6:30-10:00

All Days snacks and drinks 6:30-21:00

Cocktail Hour with Refreshments 5:00-7:00

Hilton Seahawk in Fukuoka has more than one thousand rooms and is on the Sea of Japan. Cesar Pelli, the architect, drew his inspiration from giant cruise liners, and created a lobby of soaring, glass covered space. Our panoramic suite on the 32nd floor had a view of the sea on three sides and came to a V, giving you the impression that you were jutting out into the water. Initially we had been a bit disappointed by the city of Fukuoka, but now we were thrilled.

A Hawaiian couple joined us during Happy Hour in the Executive lounge on the first night. They come regularly just to see the local baseball team play. Our hotel was conveniently connected to the Fukuoka Superdome where the baseball team, The SoftBank Hawks play, and there were home games all weekend..

It’s so much more fun watching games here, the whole family comes together and makes a great party out of it. Who cares if they’re a great team or not- everyone has a lot of fun. You really should go. And don’t miss the seventh inning balloon event.

Now I have absolutely no interest in baseball, but I do know that Japanese go crazy about it, and I love delving into local culture when I travel. So after spending most of the day visiting Daizafu, a Shinto pilgrimage town, we decided it was time to get into the essence of contemporary Japan and get tickets for the game. I was super excited.

The crowds were pouring into the Superdome, wearing team jerseys,hats,pins- eating sushi from Bento boxes instead of hot dogs and popcorn.

Yei pun pun pun. Pun pun.

The chanting was deafening in the stadium. Alex Vargas from Cuba, the next batter up came onto the field, and salsa music was blaring from the loudspeakers. Each player has a fan club and they compose a song for them which is played and sung by the fans whenever they come to bat.

Young women,dressed as bunnies, or other odd costumes walked up and down the aisles with backpacks and spray hoses, selling beer from draft, or gin and tonics. They had perky smiles and didn’t seem to tire either of hauling that load around or trudging up and down the steps. The stadium was filled to capacity and there were as many women as men and a good number of seniors. Everyone got into the mood. Two sections were reserved for the fans of each team, with Taiko drummers, musicians and a crowd “conductor”. They would stand and wave giant flags and yell shouts of support. There was constant activity between the chanting, flag waving, and music playing each time a new batter was up. As much fun as all this was, I was getting bored and by the fifth inning was ready to leave. But I had to hold out for the balloons. I saw the girls selling packets of white and yellow balloons.

Maisie told me that in the middle of the seventh inning the fans blow up balloons, white if the team is winning and yellow if not, and let them loose in the stadium, but I don’t see many people with balloons.

Gerald had gotten the scoop from the Hawaiian wife about what happens during the game, but he thought it wasn’t going to happen. The man next to me gave Gerald and I a balloon to blow up and we started feeling the crowd getting ready. Instead of the traditional seventh inning stretch, which occurs at American baseball games, thousands of balloons were set free and the crowd went wild. Cheerleaders descended onto the field, along with giant mascots, and they encouraged the fans to cheer the team onto victory. But alas, it was not to be and the home team lost in the last inning.

I think the most impressive thing about the game was the family atmosphere. Despite the sale of alcohol, there was no yelling, aggressiveness or unseemly behavior. After all, it’s just a game, and the idea is to have fun, and I think that is something that gets forgotten back home.

Off We Go

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I know. It’s a free flight and I’m going to Japan on vacation for three weeks.  How can I whine about anything? It’s in my nature,my ethnic background and almost a given, even for an ex-New Yorker to kvetch just a little bit.

First, the good stuff.  Korean Air is fabulous.  Never having flown them before, I was of course dubious. Seats were roomy, even G had legroom and we were only in Economy. “Bibimbap or Chicken with Lice” the flight attendant, dressed in a light turquoise satin blouse and white polyester pencil skirt, asked sweetly.  A starched thin white bow jutted out from her perfectly coiffed and sprayed hair. I wondered to myself if the points on the bow might be used as a weapon in case of terrorists or unruly guests. But I digress.

Both the row in front of us and the row in back of us had miniature choir members-those tiny little creatures that are a source of delight to grandparents, but a horror to airline passengers-BABIES. Trying hard not to be negative I gave them the benefit of the doubt, but after a half an hour into the 13 hour flight the recital commenced. When the screeching first started I thought it was a cat in a carrier. But then it was joined by crying from a second source close by. As if a signal for the musical theater piece to begin, the little girl in back of me started to run around squealing and pulling my hair surreptitiously. Within an instant the flight attendants came around handing out earplugs and trying to mollify the little ones. I will admit there was a unison in the voices as if carefully orchestrated,when the fourth little one chimed in. Defeated, I looked at the choice of movies, and was delighted to see all the Oscar nominated ones available. After watching four that I had missed in the theaters, I was mollified sufficiently to calm down.

Arriving at the Intercontinental Hotel in Osaka

we were informed that they upgraded us to a suite for my birthday. Easily as big as my house, it is on the top floor (32nd) has two bedrooms, two bathrooms, an office, Living Room, full kitchen, Laundry Room and a terrace the full length of the suite. I’m going to the onsen later.

Life is good in the Golden Zone.

Who is Pepper?

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IMG_8882My first contact with Pepper was at the Ferry terminal in Teshima, Japan, waiting for the boat to Inujima on the Inland Seas. Wait a minute. Let me step back a little.   I had seen him many times in Tokyo at store entrances but didn’t pay much attention, after all he was just a robot.

The waiting room was a quaint mixture of the old and the new.  Each chair had a colorful hand crocheted seat pad which looked like something you would see at your grandmothers house.  A massive kite with a painting of Japanese Samurai hung overhead, extending all the way to the ceiling of the building.   Just as I was debating whether or not to approach Pepper and ask him a question, a group of school children barged in and surrounded a small puppy that their teacher had brought along. They huddled together and each vied for the dog’s attention.  Pets are a rarity in Japan because homes are so small and afford no extra space. The noisy chatter and activity distracted me momentarily.

We still had another 30 minutes before the ferry would arrive and I was bored so I decided to engage Pepper in conversation.  I approached cautiously and asked “Do you speak English?” That may seem like a simple enough question, but in Japan almost NO ONE spoke any English.  It was a big surprise to me that it would be such a problem in this global industrialized country , but it was. He gently bowed his head and said simply “Yes“. The way his eyes moved, twinkling as he spoke, and his tone of voice, gentle and reassuring, put me at ease.  I felt an instant connection.

I knew before we went to Japan that I would be impressed by their aesthetic, the beauty of their shrines and gardens and the cleanliness of the country.  But what has stuck with me since my return is the feeling of compassion and respect  that I felt in each and every interaction, even with a robot.  “Pepper”, as he is called, was created by a Japanese company to fill in the gaps when humans are not available .  Because of low birth rate and a large percentage of people over 65, Japan stands to lose 30% of its population by the end of the century.

“Pleasant and likeable, Pepper is much more than a robot, he is a genuine humanoid companion created to communicate with you in the most natural and intuitive way, through his body movements and his voice.

Pepper can recognize your face, speak, hear you and move around autonomously.

Your robot evolves with you. Pepper gradually memorises your personality traits, your preferences, and adapts himself to your tastes and habits. 

Based on your voice, the expression on your face, your body movements and the words you use, Pepper will interpret your emotion and offer appropriate content.

He will also respond personally to the mood of the moment, expressing himself through the colour of his eyes, his tablet or his tone of voice.

A popular ROBOT SHOW in Tokyo mixes Anime  human figures and robotic creatures in extravagant Las Vegas style costumes  who gyrate amidst booming, super loud music.   It is billed as a “must see” to experience contemporary Japanese culture. And now here are robots which can  also be used as companions for elderly people who live alone. The contrast of traditional and futuristic go side by side in Japan.  From the public toilets with “options”, to the orderly nature of boarding and disembarking from public transportation, there is a sense that people matter.

Can you imagine having your own personal robot who understands your every mood and responds accordingly? This sounds like something I could definitely use. At $2000 it seems like quite a bargain, but is not yet available for sale outside of Japan.

P1140182

 

 

 

Total Immersion/ The Onsen Experience

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After a one hour bus ride on windy mountain roads I arrive at Hiruyu- an onsen town outside of Takayama in the “Japanese Alps”. An onsen is the quintessential Japanese experience: outdoor baths  with water from underground mineral springs. The ones in Hiruyu are known for their healing properties from the sulfuric waters.  It’s one of the things on my “must do” list, and I’ve come on this journey alone.  I have to admit to a tiny bit of anxiety because it’s the first time I’ve actually done an excursion entirely on my own in all the years of traveling together with my husband, Gerald. He stayed behind  to sketch in town because we were worried that the hot waters might inflame his  bad foot. I am well prepared. As with most things in Japan there is a precise ritual with “dos” and “don’ts”.  Nick at our ryokan has given me full directions as to onsen etiquette.  “Bring a towel and your yukata from the room.  You have to be entirely naked.  Are you OK with that?”  I smiled and told him I’m from California.


I am the only Westerner on the bus, but there is a video screen which shows the name of the stops, and a tape announces them in Japanese, English and Chinese.  Nobody speaks a word of English. As we climb higher and higher the landscape is covered in snow and we pass ski resorts and ski lifts.  There must be at least three feet of snow.  It is also raining outside and I’m wondering if I am crazy to  have come since the baths are ouside. At exactly the scheduled time of 12:40 we arrive at the bus station.  I approach a sales girl in the store which is stocked with souvenirs and local food specialities for the Chinese bus groups who pass through.  Slowly and clearly  I say “Onsen” with a questioning look.  She points me to another sales person who points upwards.  When I don’t understand, they take me to a third person who says “Upstairs, third floor”.  I’m puzzled because because I remember  reading that it was five minutes away, but I go up the elevator anyway.  I show the man at the desk my little piece of paper with the name of the onsen written in Japanese and he nods his head. I pay, put my shoes in a locker and then go off to the ladies section.

Two Japanese women are there and they show me how to shower and wash before entering the baths.  There is one long bath inside and one outside. I cautiously slide in, testing the temperature.  It is hot.  But where is the smell of sulfur?  Nick told me it was really strong. And he said there are several baths of different temperatures.  I’m beginning to think I must be in the wrong onsen. I’m sure of it, and get out of the bath, get dressed and leave.

Once downstairs I try to make myself understood and get to the “real” onsen.  Again I get puzzled looks until a young man takes pity on me and gets his girlfriend who speaks some English. There IS another one and it is in the Ryokan across the parking lot.  At this point it is pouring and the piles of snow have melted into lakes which bar the path to my destination, but that will not deter me and I slosh through, soaking my sneakers and grabbing onto my bags under the flimsy cheap plastic raincoat I bought in Tokyo.


The Ryokan is a massive wooden building built in  a Japanese style.  Inside I  remove my shoes, but I have a dripping raincoat and wet umbrella.  Quickly a young woman from the reception desk rushes to help me dispose of these wet, unseemly items.  It just wouldn’t be polite to come inside dripping on the tatami mat flooring.

The dressing room has a high ceiling with massive wood beams and is filled with young women, a few mothers with their children, and now me, the only westerner.  It’s confusing where to begin- one locker for the shoes, another for clothes and purse, and a wicker basket to store your towel and yukata. I have to wash, yet again- because that is the custom.  One of the ladies shows me a special cream to wash my face- the secret ingredient is horse oil!  In my haste to get to the baths, I inadvertently take the toilet slippers out of the bathroom.  (There are separate slippers  to wear inside on the tatami mats and inside the bathroom). I hope nobody has noticed, and I sheepishly return them.


Once oustside I find what I have been looking for.  Steam rises from the nine baths set out in an irregular pattern with a slight odor of sulfur.  The volcanic rocks are beautifully arranged to enclose each bath.  Between the shock of the icy cold mountain air and the heat of the baths, my body and mind settle in to the peacefulness of the garden.  Again I am the only foreigner, and a young woman starts to talk with me in her broken English.  We spend the next hour going from bath to bath, each one a little hotter. As time passes I no longer have a sense of time or place and just drift into the “nowness” of the experience.  This is what Nirvana must feel like.

To Flush or not to Flush- That is the Question

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Conrad Hilton toilet in room with English translation

As soon as I heard about the toilets in Japan I couldn’t wait to try one. I rushed into the nearest Restroom at Narita airport immediately after landing.  But when confronted with the myriad of options, indicated by symbols on a side panel, I choked.  There was a musical note, various positions of butts and women’s personal parts discretely being sprayed or sprinkled, and a few plus and minus signs.  As soon as I sat down unusual noises and motions began to emanate from the bowl and I figured I had better do my business and get out.  There would be plenty of  other opportunities.

My big chance came when Gerald and I decided to have lunch in an upscale Japanese restaurant frequented by locals.  We took off our shoes at the entrance and were shown to our table.  When it was time to make my move, I was given a pair of slippers to traverse the restaurant and another pair when it was time to enter the restroom. I was then left to my own devices.  In order to enter the room you pressed a button and the door automatically slid open.  The first problem arose when I tried to press the button to re close it. it was jammed so I gently nudged it to move. A panic attack set in when I realized that maybe I might get locked in there if the automatic door wouldn’t re open to let me out. OK- breathe and relax.  With excitement and a sense of adventure I attacked the option panel (which had no English translations for the pictures).  I heated the seat and pressed the button with the musical note.  Flushing sounds began and repeated. Hmm…. is this their idea of music or what?  Then I started pressing the sprinkler buttons.  First my butt got tickled with gentle sprays of lukewarm water.  I could get used to this.  Trouble arrived with the second button- the bidet option.  A jet of  hot water started pulsing up and it was not enjoyable to say the least, but I didn’t know how to get it to stop.  I thought that maybe if I lifted my butt from the seat there would be a movement sensor and the spray would stop, but no.  The water started spraying all over the bathroom stall.  Panicked I sat back down, worrying that I was doomed to stay in my stall getting attcked by the various water sprays- front and back.  Maybe this was my punishment for making fun of Japanese custom. I started to furiously press all the buttons at once, praying for deliverance.  Success.  One of the buttons was an orange one which stopped all actions.


Back at the hotel I carefully inspected our toilet. The inside of the seat gave warnings and explanations of the dangers of using this “product”.  “Low temperature burns” from heating the seat too much can cause “Blisters on the skin which can be very painful”. And far from providing relaxing music, the musical button is for “Privacy”.  Being correct and reserved is important in Japanese culture so if you fart or make too many toilet noises, the flushing sounds can hide your embarrassment from others.


Everything from the temperature of the water sprays to the power of the flush is carefully thought out. Efficiency in all things is an admirable part of the Japanese way of life. It’s going to be very boring when I get back to the USA and all I get to choose is to flush or not to flush.

What’s in a Name?

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“I-KE-NO-HATA Road?” Blank stares.  Maybe it’s my pronounciation-I thought it should rhyme with “Hakuna Matata”(the theme song from The Lion King,) pronouncing every syllable.  But I guess I’m wrong- no one seems to react when I say it.

The journey in from the airport was a piece of cake.  Easy clear signs both in Japanese and English, directed us to the super-efficient,fast and spotlessly clean train system which would take us into Tokyo in 57 minutes precisely. It lulled us into the false optimism that the language barrier wouldn’t be a huge problem.  Ha!

According to the directions emailed by our Ryokan ( a traditional Japanese inn) the road is a main Avenue, which should be the one we are on as we exited the train station.  Masses of men, dressed in black suits, white shirts and determined faces looking down at their phone, stream by.  The shopping street is brightly lit with neon signs, and colored lanterns line the parallel road where masses of cherry trees are in full bloom.  Our efforts to stop passersby are met with polite smiles or unintelligle words, supposedly in English.  Three policemen who are holed up in a mobile station, huddle together to ponder the question of where this road  might be. A consensus, after asking three or four people  who all confer with their phones for directions,seems to be to follow the road parallel to the park, near where we are  now standing.

Thank God I only took a carry on case.  As we wander on the deserted avenue, passing a night market for locals to enjoy “Hanami”, the cherry blossom season, we are unsure if we actually ARE going in the right direction.  After a flurry of activity and restaurants with plastic foods in the window, nothing.  Then on a street post we see a sign “Ryokan Katsutaro  (pronounced KATZARO) 200 m ahead”.