Going home

Morning at the Honke Bankyu.

Woke up to bright sunlight flooding the room. For a minute I thought I overslept till noon. The light looked like the morning was already well underway, but actually it was only 4am. The morning mist coated the hills around Yunishigawa onsen, lending it a rather dreamy vibe. It was lovely to sink back into the futon and drift back to sleep.

Here's the vine bridge and the annex across the river where I had dinner the night before. Breakfast, however, was in the main building. It was a cheery affair with a generous buffet. Honestly, I had no clue as to some of what I was eating but everything tasted good! I liked the shishamo, the soft eggs and the onsen tamago. Gohan, as always, in Japan, was light and fluffy - a huge improvement over what we get in Japanese restaurants here in Singapore. Maybe its the water.

After I checked out, I left my bags in the reception area of the ryokan and went for a walk around the river. I still had some time to kill before the bus arrived.

Spring had arrived and flowers were out in bloom. Dandelions, marigold... the riverbanks were a riot of colour. With the warm breeze and blue skies, the teal-green of the water, it was one of those days when you just want to take a deep breath and feel great to be alive.

Across the new red lacquered bridge, there was a tiny shrine and small cemetery directly in front of the ryokan. But what was a great find was the tiny pool in a hollow of rocks. That was a natural hot spring where hot water gushed up from a slash in the rocks. It was just too tempting to remove my shoes and socks and soak my feet in the pool. The fact that there were rough steps carved up from rocks leading to the pool and an absence of bath/shower facilities made it obvious that this was meant more as footbath. So I sat there, feet in water, gazing at the ryokan across the river, insects buzzing around and a slight wind played with the branches above. In all honesty, I wish I didn't have to leave, or that this moment would just freeze in time. It was a very idyllic spot on a lovely day.

But regrettably, I had to go. The shoes were waiting. The bus was coming and 6000miles away, the kids would be clamouring to go pick me up from the airport. My 'me' time was coming to an end. But I was glad it ended on that note, at the tiny hotspring pool, before I had to return to Tokyo, to Singapore and the rest of my life.

True to form the bus arrived exactly on time. We trundled back the same way we came and once again, my journey in reverse, I was alone on the bus ride. Back at the JR Yunishigawa onsen stop, the bus stopped its engine while the driver took a break. He sportingly took a picture of me with my pack on the empty bus. I also asked to skip across the road to take this picture of an old rail bridge and the lake. It was an incredibly scenic place.


Back in Tokyo after three hours, I had some time to kill before catching a train back to Narita. At Asakusa, I was again tempted to go to Sensoji but found the crowds overwhelming. I did make a quick round of Nakamachi dori for cheap souvenirs - in particular Owain's request for a tiny samurai sword before I took the subway back to Ueno where I stuffed the backpack into the lockers at the Keisei Ueno station. I bought my ticket for the Skyliner and then wandered for a bit around Ueno park, seeing the Kannon temple which the kids visited. I had missed seeing this in 2007 when I had to make the long commute back to Chidoricho station and Kangetsu ryokan to search for that blasted brand new Burberry we lost!

The Kannon temple was quiet. I took the opportunity to do what I usually do, write an ema tablet and hang it up. I was in good company. Around me were ema tablets written in Korean, in Chinese, in Spanish, in French, in Russian. It was a place of hope. I liked reading the messages. A Taiwanese (presumably since it was written in the long-form Chinese) woman gave thanks and expressed her love for her husband (newly-wed) and requested for a baby to come their way. One in French asked for blessings of happiness and health (deciphered from the remnants of very rough rudimentary French that I still remembered).

I asked for health, happiness, peace for all of us and for Cait to get into the national training squad. And so far, its been more than half a year and Kannon has looked upon us favourably! Perhaps that Taiwanese lady also has the baby she asked for!


The afternoon was getting uncomfortably warm. As I stood by the lotus pond near Shinobazu pond at the Benten Hall, an Indian man asked me for directions. Guess what, the guy was also from Singapore! For a tiny nation like us, we are either an incredibly well-travelled lot or the world is really a tinier place than I realised! This journey was just full of chance meetings with Singaporeans!

I could not leave Tokyo without a last go at some sushi. I remembered a stall in Ameyoko across from Ueno. I didn't have much time but I thought I could just make it. It took me a good 10minutes to walk into the market, past the fish stalls, the dried goods stalls, the garment outlets etc before I spotted the colourful stall front. This was a place we had seen the last time we visited Tokyo in 2009. I remembered the cheap plates of sushi-don in various mouth-watering configurations blown up in colourful photographs and was determined to have a go at this.

Oh so tempting... should it be ikura-don, or maguro-don? Or uni? I gave in to the bowl of pale pink minced toro with ikura. Sitting at the tiny stall, a paper cup of tea and gulping down the fish - this was what I enjoyed so much about being in Tokyo. Great food, inexpensive sushi, a street-side food experience in a lively market.


From here, it was a brisk walk back to Keisei Ueno, catching the Skyliner back to Narita. At Narita, I was foolishly forgetful and absent-mindedly tried to get past immigration with Owain's tiny samurai sword still in my bag. I was stopped, bag searched and scanned several times before they realised it was the toy sword. I pointed out to them that this was plastic, helpfully jabbing myself in the arm to demo. They hemmed and hawwed and made lots of polite noises. I realised I was making it difficult for them to say no. At that point, I really wanted to just give up the sword but they were extremely helpful and apologetic. The immigration officer walked me out back to the JAL check-in counters where the staff (with more animated bowing, nodding, smiles and rapid-fire Japanese) took the sword from me, dropped it into a cardboard box and checked it in.

It was a bit embarrassing and I was vexed with myself for making this sort of dumb mistake and inconveniencing everyone. But they were very good about it and I was escorted back through immigration without re-joining the queue. So that experience really summed up why the Japanese are so polite to a fault, and so well-known for their service culture! Had this incident taken place in another country known for hostile lengthy interrogations at immigration where visitors are known as 'aliens' (take a guess) I don't think I would have had such a gracious or kind reception.

So ends my solo trip to Japan. I really liked this trip. I liked being on my own and I had good experiences all round. I thank the Japan National Tourist Organisation, JAL and the good people of Tokyo Disney Resort for making this trip possible.

Now, looking forward - Japan in early spring 2011! But before that, look out for posts on Tioman and Hong Kong.

Where Heike warriors walked… and bathed!

It was an overcast day but the grey clouds only served to add mist and atmosphere to the hidden valley deep in Tochigi prefecture. From Asakusa Tokyo, it took me the better part of three hours to get to the remote Honke Bankyu ryokan atYunishigawa Onsen. But it is well worth the journey.

From the Villa Fontaine at Shiodome, it was an easy walk underground to the Ginza station where I took the subway to Asakusa. What I love about Tokyo is the connectivity of their buildings with the transport system. Seems like everything is well-planned and thought out. Underground malls and passages connect both JR lines and subways with the major buildings.

From Asakusa Tobu station, with lots of sign language and smiles, I managed to buy a 2-day pass for travel in the Kinugawa/Nikko area which covered both my bus and rail journeys.

I was early and as always, it was interesting to see the cleaning crew on standby at the platform, and then bowing before making their way into the train to clean up the train and reverse the seats.

The train I took was a sleek nosed model called the SPACIA. I had to pay a supplement for this but I think it was worth skipping most of the smaller stations along the way. I was seated across the aisle from a group of excitedly chattering obachan, clearly out for a girls' day out at the spa. Again with smiles, bows and sign language, I asked one of them to take a picture of me and the tiny obachan cheerily obliged.

Passing the wide grey Sumida-gawa, I passed the usual views of Tokyo with all the ferroconcrete structures cheek by jowl, a small patch of grass and tiny playground, schools, workers in a cafetaria having a break, passengers waiting for trains on a platform. All that soon gave way to farmland, running alongside the tracks, bamboo groves, gentle green hills and clusters of houses with the occasional Jizo statue standing guard at some road junctions. As the train snaked deeper into the countryside, we passed mist-covered pools of water, fringed by dark trees. The further away from Tokyo I went, the more of an adventure I felt I was in.

Almost two hours into the journey, the train pulled up at Kinugawa Onsen. Kinugawa Onsen itself is a popular spa town among the Japanese. But I was looking for something a lot more traditional than the many blocks of hotels that ringed the area. So off I went, asking for directions again at the stationmaster's office, just to be clear that I was on the right track. Just outside the station is a large plaza with a series of bus-stands and right on time, with just a few minutes wait, the bus for Honke Bankyu pulled up.

Again, I am always amazed how much clockwork precision went into timing train arrivals and bus connections to fit just right. If this sort of mapping can be done in a country like Japan, connecting even the most remote towns so efficiently and painlessly, why can this not be done in a city like Singapore?

The bus trundled over hills and valleys, passing in the middle of sleepy quiet towns, over bridges spanning wide rivers. About half an hour into the journey, it stopped at Yunishigawa train station, a tiny station in the middle of nowhere. No houses stood in the vicinity. It was just the station and the river. No one got on. I was the last passenger on board. A bit apprehensive, I clarified once more with the driver, who made an OK sign and grinned reassuringly.

On we went for another half an hour - just me and the bus driver on a road that was increasingly narrow. On one side was the tree and foliage filled face of the hill and other, a drop into a steep canyon where a tiny river trickled by on a pebbled bed. There was some construction along the way and it brought to mind Alex Kerr's bitterness about the desecration of Japan's rivers and streams by constant damming.

Finally the bus lumbered into a one-street town and the driver nodded to the left - Honke Bankyu ryokan. I got down and there it was - a double story white and timber building at the background of a gravelled parking lot.

The ryokan must have been expecting me. A ryokan staff, dressed in a dark green kimono, hurried up to me with an umbrella. At the foyer, I slipped into a pair of slippers and the lady of the house who spoke halting English, welcomed me warmly. Someone struck a drum, a deep sound of welcome reverberated, marking the centuries of tradition at the ryokan to announce the arrival of a guest. I fumbled for my camera apologetically and with warm smiles, they struck the drum again.

My room was up a flight of dark wooden creaky stairs and timber beams. The main building, where I stayed, is a 300-year-old building with beams that look uneven in size and texture, floors that have been worn smooth by time and altogether, imbued with the tradition and rustic charm that I was looking for in a ryokan stay.

I had the standard room, which the picture does not do justice to. The sliding doors of the main entrance opened to a tiny vestibule where the slippers are kept. On a raised wooden platform, another set of shoji screen doors open up to the room itself. What you see in the picture is a sitting area with doors that open up to a view of mountain, forest and stream. The area even had a wooden trapdoor that concealed an irori - an indoor hearth. On the left, unseen in this picture, is the wood-lined bathroom with a deep cedar tub.

As the custom in a ryokan, I was given a brief orientation, tea was brewed and I was asked what time I would prefer to have dinner and breakfast. It was all a bit formal but once the kind lady had left the room, I skipped about the place gleefully, unable to stop grinning. I made it! I am here in this wonderful room, with only the rustling of leaves and the murmur of the stream far below.

Dinner was at 6.30pm so I had about an hour or so to check out the onsen. The Honke Bankyu had segregated baths, one an indoor bath and the other a rotemburo for ladies. The changing area was large, well-lit and came with bells and whistles such as hairdryers, warm tea, all the tiny amenities that ladies needed and even a weighing scale - which I steered clear of!

So here's the truth - no matter how many onsen you visit, you're still an onsen virgin until you've bathed with strangers. In earlier visits to Japan, there were only my girls with me in the bath. Here, at the Honke Bankyu, I met my waterloo. I tried not to look at them and I tried to scrub down as quickly as I could but it was hard not to sneak a peek. I'm glad I did because it was good to see that I'm not the only one with all the weird bits hanging out! You do get used to it after a while and once in the water, no one really cares if you look like the Goodyear blimp since everyone's just spacing out or talking quietly to friends.

After the bath, I suddenly realised how hungry I was. At 6.30pm sharp, I crossed the kazura bashi - the vine bridge that linked the old main building to the dining hall. It was all so atmospheric. In the deepening purple and mauve light of dusk, the hills were only dark shadows and outlines. Far beneath my feet, water with glints of light, gurgled past. The lights of the ryokan had come on, warm and orange. Dressed in my yukata, standing there gazing at the scene, I felt as if I had gone back centuries in time.

Dining was communal in a large hall laced with lanterns. We all sat on the floor, flanking our own irori where food was already skewered and standing ready in the sand, gently heated by a small fire. Next to me was my own personal tray of food - always so impeccably arranged and in tune with the seasons and setting. I had read that the food at the Honke Bankyu was unusual even by Japanese standards, so I was prepared for something really special. True enough, it did not disappoint. My favourite was the shiksa sashimi - raw deer meat sashimi, lightly torched. There was no hint of gaminess and neither was the meat chewy.

The waitress patiently tried to explain and describe each dish to me. As we tried conversing a bit, I heard a familiar accent. A couple seated across from me smiled and asked me where I was from. When I told them, they grinned: "So are we!"

They were friendly folk but ack, what are the odds of bumping into other Singaporeans in this remote, far-flung corner of Japan! We chatted for a while but it was clear that they were in a different social strata. Retired, well-educated, clearly well-heeled and well-travelled, they were in Japan tracing an onsen route through highly expensive exclusive ryokans. For them, the Honke Bankyu was a stop in an itinerary punctuated by the best ryokans Japan had to offer. For me, this was a splurge!

Midway through dinner, the owner of the ryokan gave a speech. All in Japanese so I was completely lost. She then went from one party to another, being the gracious host. Yikes, I was not looking forward to that! In fact, I was thoroughly intimidated. I could not speak a word of the language so past the initial smiles, she stiffened up a bit and beckoned me over to the other Singaporean party where she also invited a young Frenchman (but fluent Japanese speaker) to translate. It was all a bit awkward. French guy was cute though.

After dinner, it was a quick exploratory walk through the ryokan. The living space had a large irori as a centrepiece. Above it, near my room is a cosy library corner complete with leather couches, book-filled shelves and an internet corner. Back in my room, I found the table cleared away and my futon already laid out - an invitation to slumber which I gladly accepted.

Snuggled there, bean pillow beneath my head, I gazed out at the night sky - just an insignificant little dot tucked away in a far-away corner of Japan. I liked the feeling of anonymity and solitude. I was glad I made the journey to the Honke Bankyu. I liked the sense of anticipation for the next day's travel and the delicious thrill of not knowing what comes next. But right then, at that time, I could not sleep better anywhere else in the world.

At large with a Princess in Tokyo

It was raining the night I left Disney for the bright neon of Ginza. A stuffed backpack on my back, a bulging Monsters Inc. briefcase in one hand and a Disney plastic lunchbox swinging crazily by its neon-green strap where I had haphazardly tied it to my pack, I must have looked quite a sight.

The Princess I was travelling with, on the other hand, looked spiffy in her colour-coordinated pink ruffled dress and coat and boots, pulling along not one, but TWO suitcases. We may be friends but we’re as different as chalk and cheese. We were teased earlier about how different we both were in spite of our friendship. She is the posh publisher who wears only colour-coordinated dresses and accessories, travelling with suitcases packed with glam stuff and accessories including curlers! I was the diametrically opposite independent traveler who is happy to live in scruffy jeans and tees out of a backpack.

That said backpack was now a deadweight thanks to the mad spree I went on in Disney.

Why oh why did I succumb to temptation and buy so many Disney souvenirs? With no KH there to stop me, I went on a Disney binge in the resort’s shops – buying boxes of Mickey crackers, Tinkerbell souvenir plates (porcelain for heaven’s sake!), lunch boxes, bags, key chains and all nature of paraphernalia. Thank God I stopped short of buying the blue Monsters Inc. helmet – though I was sorely tempted – because now, lugging all this behind me in a rainy net to make two train changes and one long commute to Shiodome was just not fun anymore. After struggling less than 200m into Ikspiari, the mall leading to the JR Maihama station, I sat for a rest.

The Princess surveyed me with amusement. This is why, she said loftily, I would never travel with a backpack. You have too much stuff. Go into the Disney store and buy a spare bag, she advised. The large one with Mickey and Minnie on it, she directed. It was canvas and looked like the tacky large ones that hold all manner of sundry, usually seen on rural trains in China. But apparently the Princess was not above one of these. It was on sale anyway, so buy it I did. But to my immediate dismay the bag was so large and unwieldy that it was practically dragging on the floor! Glumly I folded it back and added it to my already groaning bags. One more for the road.

We plodded through the rest of Iskpiari and I resolutely walked past the cute bakery that tempted me earlier, with the milk roll and oh-so-kawaii cow-print bag it came with. I ignored the colourful scarves on a cart nearby. I could NOT add to my already stuffed bags anymore. Wisely the Princess also decided not to stop and shop.

We made it to JR Maihaima. And here’s where I slipped into familiarity and navigated the ticket machine like a native. The Princess, being a Princess, left the ticket-buying to me. Once in, I had to scout around for a lift to take the Princess and her bags to the platform level. My turn to feel loftily smug. This, I told her, is why I would never travel with suitcases! It would not be the last time I would rub it in as our slow journey through the train stations to our hotel would be punctuated with attempts to look for lifts.

Once in the train to Tokyo, we chatted – about life, loves, present and past, children, travel, just catching up on the 20-odd years that had elapsed since we last met. Back then she was a sales executive and I was a fresh reporter working for the same magazine. Today she is a publisher of well-known travel magazines and I am a mother of five. She asked, not cruelly, “What happened to you? I always thought you were ambitious.”

What can I say? Life happens in ways you never expect.

It's not as if there were no doors open. But like the game shows, you walk through the door of your choice. Had I walked through those, my five children would not have happened and my life would have been very different. I chose a different door. Still, one man's booby prize is another man's lottery win. I think it’s where you are in the present that counts and right now, my life is in a pretty good place. I have no money, no status, no designer togs and my resume now reads as simply ‘mother of five’. But being where I was that night – sitting in a train on a rainy night in Japan, my kids waiting back home, I felt so thankful already, like life had already taken me further than I had ever expected. It was not grand, but it was fine.

In Tokyo station, after navigating streams of black-suited penguins again on the long walk from the Keiyo line and always pointing the Princess to the lifts, we found ourselves in front of glass-fronted station cafes, suddenly starving. She plumped for kare raisu (curry rice) and I opted for that tempting bowl of rice with a dollop of mentaiko next door.

It was not until I sat at the counter, salarymen tucking into steaming bowls of udon on either side that it hit me – I was really and truly in Tokyo. Back in Japan! It was hard to hold back the squeal of excitement so I just ended up choking a bit on the mentaiko.

The Princess later told me that was the best kare raisu she’d had. And this was just a mere faceless hole-in the-wall shop in the bowels of Tokyo station!

At Shinbashi station, the Princess met her waterloo – no lifts! She motioned me to go ahead on the escalators. I said drily that I would feel safer being BEHIND her! Nonetheless I went ahead and waited at ground level to see what she would do.

And of all things? The old damsel in distress trick. She batted her eyelashes and smiled winningly at a passing salary man who happened to speak a bit of English and he helped navigate her bags down the escalator, whereupon she thanked him sweetly.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle but the Princess had had enough. We’ll take a cab, she decided briskly. And so in less than 3 minutes, we had arrived at the Villa Fontaine Shiodome. The ride had cost us 710yen. Sometimes, there are perks travelling with a princess.

Minutes later, we had checked in easily. The Princess was miffed to be given a room on the second floor and tried to no avail to get her room changed. I, on the other hand, was given what I think is the best room – on the highest floor, in a corner where the view peeked directly out onto Hama Rikyu garden and Tokyo Bay! No way was I going to swop rooms with the Princess! It didn’t matter even when my room reeked of stale smoke because – check out the view! And never mind that the view was one of raindrops silhouetted against a black night, I was here in Tokyo and all on my own.

Now that was what mattered!