Going Traditional in Takayama

22 February 2017

When you’re flung outside of your comfort zone, sometimes the only thing you can do is laugh and role with the punches. That’s how my parents and I got through our first day staying in a ryokan, a traditional Japanese inn, in Takayama.

We’d gotten a taste of the fast-paced modern city life in Tokyo, and a glimpse of rural Japan in Nagano, but I wanted the fully immersive traditional Japanese experience. So we headed for the snowy mountain town of Takayama, famous for its rich history, preserved castle-town setting, and natural hot springs.

Now I’d taken four years of Japanese in high school, and have several close friends who have traveled Japan and filled me in on the ryokan experience, but even so my understanding of ryokan protocol and etiquette was basic at best. Here’s roughly what I knew to expect: 1) you stay in traditional and simple Japanese rooms 2) many have hot springs within the grounds for bathing and relaxation 3) meals served are often ornate and intricate, and offer a sampling of many local dishes. This was enough to get me excited about the novelty of it all, but not nearly enough to practically prepare me for what we were about to experience.

We arrived early that morning to drop off our luggage at the front desk and confirm our check in time for that afternoon. The staff at the front desk were gracious and friendly, but there were still many lost-in-translation moments that left us going with our best guess as to how to interpret the instructions we were given. We spent a solid four hours exploring the local town, which was a beautiful but frigid winter wonderland, after which we returned to the ryokan exhausted and in desperate need of some warm drinks and hot showers.

Eager to see what awaited us, we hurriedly found our room, slipped off our shoes and slid open the shoji screens that led from the entryway into the main living space. Inside were two rooms. One larger room with a low table and three chairs in the middle, a tv on a stand to the side, and a tea set in the corner. A single painting decorated the otherwise blank white walls; no decor but the bare necessities. The second room, separated only by sliding doors, was smaller than the first. It had a smaller low-set table in the middle, a closet with three traditional bath robes and three towels, a mini fridge with three water glasses, and a closet with bedding. That was the extent of it. The looks on all of our faces when we took in our new accommodation was priceless.

“Where do we sleep?”
“I think the bedding in the closet is suppose to be laid out on the floor at night,” I offered.
“Yes but where…?”
“Maybe the main room?”
“There is no bathroom.”
“Umm…there’s a door here, is that not the bathroom?” I suggested.
“The door is locked. It doesn’t have a keyhole. It probably just leads to the room next door. There is no bathroom.”
“Ummm…well…”. No one had ever before versed me on the bathroom situation in ryokans.
“Well I have to use the bathroom, so I’m going to go find one.”

Dad went off in search of a bathroom while Mom and I tried to focus on the positive. We had a stunning view of the snowy town below from our room’s window, and the tea set came accompanied with fresh loose leaf tea. At least we could enjoy tea while watching the snowfall…

 

Dad returned shortly with a report.

“There is a bathroom at the end of the hall. It has a traditional squat toilet. No showers or bath.”
“…”

At this I lost it, I was laughing until I cried. I could live with squat toilets, I’d done it for weeks while traveling Southeast Asia. My parents, so accustomed to western creature comforts, were another story. I knew they were completely and utterly outside of their comfort zone with this one. No private bathroom, no western toilets, no real beds, not even a couch or some chairs to lounge in…so what did they do? Drank. We picked up beers and snacks from the souvenir store in the lobby, plopped ourselves around the only piece of furniture in our room, and drank while laughing about the situation we’d landed ourselves in.

At one point mom noticed a small square box with a hole in the top sitting next to a box of tissues in the corner of the room.
“Oh my god, is that the toilet…”
“Mom!” I yelled exasperated and trying to contain my laughter, “It’s not a chamber pot, it’s not that traditional.”
“What is it then?”
“It’s a garbage can and box of tissues. Calm down.”

With some food and drinks in our system, the whole situation seemed that much less dire and much more comical (yes I know describing the situation as dire is being a tad dramatic, but dramatic was the tone of the afternoon). We sat playing cards and cracking jokes. At one point I found an english guide to ryokan living tucked inside a binder, which answered a lot of our questions. The beds would be laid out for us at night by the hotel staff. The robes in the closet and slippers by the door could appropriately be worn throughout the ryokan. There were public showers next to the hot springs for washing, and the hot springs were separated by gender.

“So is that where we’re suppose to shower since we don’t have a private bathroom?”
“I guess so…yeah here, look. There’s a diagram showing how it all works.” I held it up for dad to see, smiling as he took in the cartoon caricature of two naked men showering and bathing together. He did not look thrilled by the idea, which once again brought my mom and I close to tears from laughter.

Eventually, the drinks ran out and dad went down to buy some more. He came back accompanied by one of the hotel staff who had welcome news for us all. The door that didn’t seem to open, was in fact the door to our private bathroom, it simply required a coin to unlock it. We didn’t dwell on the absurdity of that design, we were too relieved to discover that we wouldn’t be limited to public showers and squat toilets for the next two days.

That night, we’d made reservations for a traditional Japanese dinner in the ryokan restaurant. We arrived to find a visually stunning and ornate spread laid out on the table before us. An array of small samplings of over twenty different dishes made up the night’s meal, each round more exotic than the next. Thankfully we had wonderfully helpful, if not clearly amused, restaurant staff to guide us through the meal. They gave us a typed up menu detailing what all was spread out before us, though I’ll admit that I’d rather not have known what some of the dishes were.

Don’t get me wrong, the meal as a whole was delicious, and full of unique dishes and flavors I’d never before dreamed of. What gave me pause were the cup of fermented squid (which I couldn’t bring myself to sample), the full salted fish (that looked way too much like the ethanol preserved fish samples that I had worked with in countless fisheries labs), and the complete smelt battered in tempura (which I declined to try after witnessing dad’s facial expression when he bit off the head). I can say that except for the squid and smelt, I did try everything that was presented, and I’m proud to say that so did mom. Dad shamed us both and finished nearly all his food.

While not all of the flavors agreed with me, it was clear that everything was wonderfully prepared and made of high quality ingredients. Plus, it truly was a feast. Even if I had wanted to finish every bite, my stomach could not have possibly held that much food.

We ended the evening with a soak in the onsen, which at this particular ryokan were more like glorified hot tubs than natural open air hot springs, and returned to our room to find three cozy beds laid out where the table had once been. Thus ended our first day, and introduction, to the ryokan experience.

Looking back, once we got over the initial culture shock of the experience, it really was quite pleasant. Everything that you really needed was provided for, but only what you needed. The style seems sparse by western standards, but everything had a place and a purpose. The hotel grounds were naturally beautiful, blanketed in snow and perched above the local town, surrounded on all sides by snowy mountain terrain. Plus, the staff were friendly and accommodating, and tried their best to work past any language barriers. Now that I know what to expect, I would stay at a ryokan again.

We did have a laugh on our last morning when we sat down to breakfast. Traditional breakfasts were included for both our mornings there, meals just as meticulously prepared, ornate and traditional as our dinner the first night, and served by the same wait staff as well. So when we sat down to find fresh fruit, potato salad, omelet, sausage, and even a chicken nugget with ketchup on our plates, we thought they’d finally taken pity on us Americans and gone out of their way to provide us with a more western style meal. Later we noticed other families being served the same meal, which killed that theory, but the comfort food was no less appreciated.

So, I got my much anticipated traditional Japanese experience. Honestly, it was a blast, and hilariously comical at times; I wouldn’t have changed it. That being said, I am looking forward to staying in a hotel tonight, and I have my suspicions that mom and dad are too.