THE HEAVENS OPEN UP
The notable thing about today (Tuesday) is that it is supposed to rain. For days now it has been in the forecast. Don’t do anything grand on Tuesday, the Tourist information Center tells me, it is going to rain. The Japan Times is in agreement. Across Japan, Tuesday = rain.
But this morning I look out the window and see this:
It’s not that I proceed to disbelieve the weather people, it’s that I think that perhaps the rain will be an on again, off again kind of thing.
Besides, it is my last day in Nagano. Tomorrow, official holiday time comes to an end and, along with the rest of Japan, I will resume my work-related activities, sprinkled for me with some down time here and there. But today is free completely and so I want to return to the mountains.
The Tourist Information Center suggested that I check out the region called Hakuba: it is where some of the Olympic events took place (the ski jump for one). A 90 minute bus ride will put me in the little town of Happo, which even sounds joyful and upbeat.
There aren’t many people heading for Happo this morning (one, besides me). Everyone else listened to the weather forecast. And here’s the REALLY dumb thing: I decided to not even take my umbrella. My Gap back is showing signs of ripping and I thought one more item may tip it over the edge. So no umbrella.
It remains decentish as we leave Nagano. But as we climb deeper into the highlands, the first drops appear. By the time I get off at Happo, I am not happy to note that that it is raining. Pouring, actually.
Do I get on the next return bus to Nagano? No, I do not. I have had my day of sunshine in the Japanese Alps. This now poses different challenges. Surely in this sleepy Alpine village (Happo is, I am sure, positively hopping in winter, during ski season) there can be good things to discover, even in the rain. [The answer will be yes – so much, YES!]
I NEED AN UMBRELLA: But first, there’s the umbrella issue. I ask at the bus ticket office where I might buy one, fearing that “nowhere” may well be the answer. I never even get an answer. The sweet, sweet agent tells me to borrow hers, resting in the umbrella rack at the side. The happiness starts kicking in (it is THAT kind of a place).
SOBA THIS…:Encouraged, I walk to the mountains. Interestingly, it is a very warm rain and so I never even need the extra sweater. But warm or not, it is still a heavy load of moisture. I decide to hold off on the mountains until the torrential cloud passes (so that we could return to the more steady rain). I walk slowly through the alleys and small streets and I come across a house with a big window. Inside, I see an older woman showing a younger one how to roll out dough. I’ve seen this dough before – it is the soba that is used for noodles here. I watch fascinated. This clearly is a soba noodle-making place. I hover in the doorway and the people from inside ask me to come in and watch.
There is a trick to working with this particular dough, but it is not a difficult trick. I think I can replicated it, though my rolling pin at home is one tenth the length of theirs. But it will work. I make a note to pick up some soba flour to take back home.
I am offered tea – soba tea and it is absolutely sublime. I definitely taste the buckwheat, but it is so mellow and aromatic that I am completely won over. I make a note to bring some of that home as well (anyone who wants to come over for a cup upon my return, email me; the tea is to be shared; after all, it is through someone’s sharing that I learned of it).
As I get ready to leave, I see two other young women arriving, clearly for their soba noodle-making lesson. We chat in the typical incomprehensible way. One of them asks me if I would like to join them in their lesson. In an uncharacteristic move on my part, I decline, though I am ever so touched by the offer. But having watched for a while, I feel comfortable with the technique and in truth, I do want some time to explore. The rain is now just steady, as opposed to torrential.
After buying some soba flour and soba tea, I began to despair. My Gap bag is loosing it’s navyness. It is not only bulging, but the characteristic Gap draw string is ripping the plastic. In short, it is time to find alternate solutions.
Walk on, walk on, with hope in your heart.. A MIRACLE: just around the corner there is a souvenir shop loaded with pretty old-looking food stuffs (we are definitely in the off season now; no one is buying). And there on the shelf, alongside little trinkets that have the typical nonsensical English slogans, there is a very inexpensive sac on two sturdy cords that you could use in a bag-pack style. It, too, has a slogan. It says: “Forest of Owl --- whatashiwa morino guardman” and it has sweet pictures of owls on it. Precious, maybe a tad too precious for jaded Madison. But a LIFESAVER for me now –
it is just what I need and it is cheap!
I do worry about what whatashiwa morino guardman means. I ask the store clerk, which has to be the most ludicrous of questions since he seems to speak all of two words of English, if that. But this being Happo, he understands my gestures and questioning stance and so he gets a dictionary and does a rough translation. I believe it is something about owls being the protectors of the forests. The owl is a mascot of this region and so it makes sense. [Of course, I could have completely misunderstood and he could have been telling me that the owls form a marching army of military activists, but let’s assume not.]
Equipped with something that will even stay dry under the borrowed umbrella, I set off for the forest. The woods in the rain have a fresh, exhilarating smell. It is quiet everywhere. There’s not a single walker out except for me. But I know I wont go far. The rain is, after all, wet.
A WORKING GONDOLA? I notice that at the side of the mountain, where the skiing terrain is located, one of the gondola lifts is in operation. I can’t imagine why. Is it maybe a way to keep the operators on the payroll year-round? Surely no one is riding the gondola in the rain up to a clouded-over summit. And since no one is doing it, I decided I must be the one person to give it a try and see what’s on the top.
To give them credit at the gondola station, no one thinks it weird that I should buy at ticket on this wet wet day. At least their faces hide their questions about my mental state.
As the gondola moves in and out of misty passages I admit I have moments of doubt about my sanity. I find being in dense fog a bit claustrophobic and this is promising to be a trip through very cloudy terrain. But I do notice that I am not the only one using the gondola. A person gets off at the base and he is carrying skis. Skiis???
At the top, I alight to what appears to be the mid-station of a ski area. Oh, it is raining alright, and the air is still warm, but the snow has not melted up here yet – at least not completely – and there are some fanatics who are actually skiing. (The season officially ends here on May 5th –that’s tomorrow).
Am I tempted to join the nuts on the slope? Only a little. Much as I’d like to work my way down that slope, I know that one fall would have me completely drenched in the wetness of the slushy snow. TO SAY NOTHING OF THE CONTINUING RAIN!! I have, after all, never skied with an umbrella before.
But there is another reason not to do it. These people have EQUIPMENT: not only ski gear (which is always easy to rent), but waterproof parkas, gloves, hoods, the works. I, along with my little “Owl, protector of the forest” pack, would definitely feel out of place.
I stand and watch for a while. The mountain goes in and out of cloudcover and I remember how frightening it is to be skiing down and finding yourself in a complete whiteout. You lose your orientation very quickly. Of course, I’ve seen this during snowstorms, never during rain! The most incongruous sight is the one pictured faintly here (these are not optimal photographic conditions): a sakura tree, beginning its bloom, against the backdrop of the wet, snowy ski mountain.
Eventually I take the gondola back down. One attendant has the sole job of wiping down seats in the cabin for future passengers. I’d say that at the rate of one passenger per 1000 cabins, his job seems pretty tame, but then, I am grateful for the dry seat.
P.S.: A break from dinner reflections tonight. You guessed it – I’m back at Gotoku Tei for a final farewell meal there. But tomorrow I am in a completely new locale. Food will be an item once more, I’m sure.
P.P.S. Break from dinner blogging is withdrawn! My hero chef prepared a whole new seasonal menu tonight! Only two of the 11 dishes overlapped from the day before. I’ll spare the descriptions and just roll out a few photos for the foodies among you. EXCEPT, except, well, I have to say that the meal had a problem course. Take a look at the first photo.
If your favorite Japanese chef in Nagano (true, I only know one) went all out for your last night and threw in a delicacy to make you remember this meal forever, would you not eat it? Of course you would. Crispy yummy grasshoppers. What could I do… I’ll still think great thoughts of these last three meals. And if truth be told, the taste of the bugs was quite okay. But oh, those little legs and whiskers and eyes and torsos…So crunchy, too!
