THE LAST BISCUIT
Winter camping in japan
BY MIKE LEVIN
THere were 12 mIllIon people eyeing us in Tokyo in 1985. Since full, but surprisingly quiet. when I wondered about this, the man
we weren’t Japanese, they would look us over, never staring, mind at the desk said, “if you want noise, go listen to the monkeys in the
you, but noticing – hair, clothes and bulges. after two years in the mountains.”
city, my wife and I needed a break from having our bulges examined. The next day we drove eight hours to the end of every back road
It was winter. everyone travelling in Japan would be either at the we could find, trying to become invisible. when along the way
country’s ski resorts or sitting in hot springs with little towels on we stopped at a tiny furniture maker in a small town to scrounge
their heads. we decided to go camping. firewood, the owner’s look of bewilderment meant we were about as
The foothills of the Japanese alps rival Canada’s for beauty. In lost as we were ever going to get in a country of 115 million people.
good weather, even the back roads due north of Tokyo are laden with By dusk, we were alone on a flat ridge beside a flowing stream.
tour buses, each filled with teenagers on not a wisp of society. It was only a few
school trips or members of the roppongi “If you want noise, go listen to degrees below zero; there was snow
women’s Philatelic Society. Kodak and Fuji
the monkeys in the mountains.”
on the ground. we made a fire, brewed
made billions from these bus tours before coffee and watched the sun drop in a
the digital camera. However, after the snows start, the mountains satisfying smugness. The monkeys came in the night, the tour bus
are left to the winter spirits and monkeys. showed up in the morning.
we knew it never really got cold in the foothills; five below meant monkeys do make noise, lots of it when they’re pulling tent cords
a blizzard, and getting away from people was worth a little chill. we and flinging pans. So when we emerged in the morning, corrupted by
planned to drive down dirt roads until the rental car couldn’t go any fatigue, we must have looked simian to the 40 young women who
further. a friend had loaned us a winter tent and sleeping bags; we had just alighted from a huge, hissing bus. our campsite appeared to
spent an hour in Tokyo’s only Salvation Army store and $15 later had them like a museum exhibit. as I recall, not one took a picture.
enough battered, second-hand household goods to fill the car. and what I do remember is their eyes, darting, staring and full of won-
we drove – four hours to the tourist resort at utsunomiya where the der, something I had never seen on Tokyo’s streets. They whispered,
cheapest room was at the Cosmo Part II love hotel. In Canada, we even giggled a little. and not one of them was looking at our bulges.
call them ‘no-tell motels’, but in Japan, where people live in cramped
Mike Levin is the publisher of Kitch Art magazine.
apartments, these hotels are societal necessities. Cosmo was nearly
www.OttawaOutdoors.ca OTTAWA >> WINTER 2008/2009 47
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