My Summer Vacation

I always loved the first day of school. It meant a new unicorn Trapper Keeper, a closet full of new Fall clothes and a fun little assignment called "What I Did Over My Summer Vacation."  Still sun burnt and scratching at lingering mosquito bites, I enjoyed reminiscing over my summer and writing about my family vacations and frequent trips to the community pool.

So here it is, What I Did Over My Summer Vacation: Jewshi Edition. This will mostly be a photo essay, but I can't resist a few words.

In a nut shell: I saw a lot of art, played a lot of Scrabble, ate approximately 5,657 ice cream cones, sweat so much I looked liked like my entire body was painted in melted butter and wore the same outfit nearly every day while hauling a massive backpack full of unworn clothes around Naoshima, Takamatsu, Tokushima, Miyajima and Hiroshima. Oh, and I went camping. So I was dirty, sweaty and fashion challenged. But you should still look at the photos because dirty sweaty vacations are the best kind. Well, minus the dirt and sweat parts. 

If you ever come to Japan, or if you're currently here, you must must must visit Naoshima. I just used bold and italics so you should know I'm being totally serious. It's famous for being an art island, which means it's crawling with modern art galleries and outdoor sculptures, funky cafes and restaurants (something I constantly long for here), chill people and the most amazingly cool public bathhouse that looks like this on the outside:

And like this on the inside:

We were sleeping on the beach, so it was a nice treat to do our nightly scrubbing and soaking at this artsy little sento. Naoshima also has beautiful beaches and everything on the island can be reached by pedaling a bright blue rented bicycle.

Another highlight of the trip was the Awa Odori dance festival in Tokushima. The normally sleepy city is invaded by a million tourists who come to watch the 80,000 participating locals who wear costumes and do traditional dancing and drumming in the streets. We wandered the streets, beer in hand, sometimes getting pulled into the big dance circles to shake our booties, old school Japanese style.

There was, of course, lots of eating: Tom and I took an udon making class, which you already know about, ate oysters in Miyajima and visited Okinomiyaki Village in Hiroshima, which fulfilled my gimmicky food tourist needs. This "village" was, in fact, three floors of okinomiyaki stalls. Hiroshima-style okinomiyaki is different than it's Kansai cousin; instead of a mixed up meat, seafood and vegetable pancake, it's meat, seafood and vegetables are sandwiched between a thin crepe and a thin omelet. It's also stuffed with noodles, usually soba but we also tried one with udon.  


Ok, I'm doing that thing. I'm doing that thing where I say I'm not gonna say much and then I can't stop blabbing. It's the "you hang up, no you hang up" of blogging. So without any more adjectives, nouns, verbs or even adverbs, I give you:

What I Did Over My Summer Vacation

Fish food

I suppose it was my time to give back to the fish community. For years, I have mindlessly absorbed their Omega 3's, nibbled their sweet flesh and crunched on their crispy tails. I have eaten them raw, broiled, baked, barbecued, boiled, fried, chowdered and, most recently, live. I've sucked their shells, devoured their eggs and removed their succulent cheeks with surgical precision.

So, in the name of 'what goes around comes around,' I allowed dozens of fish to chow down on me. In fact, I paid for the privilege.

Up until I actually did it, I thought getting a fish pedicure was an absolutely brilliant idea. Going to a spa, sticking my feet into a little bath and letting dozens of fishies nibble off the dead skin sounded like a perfectly bizarre, only-in-Japan, experience. I held on to these positive feelings up until I was actually faced with the tub of fish. Remember the shrieking and the carrying on I did trying to get up the nerve to eat the live fish? Well, this was like that...x10.

I don't know what these insatiable fish eat in their natural habitat, but it seems they are positively mad for human foot skin. It's pretty much their favorite food. As soon as I lowered my foot into the bath, those little fuckers absolutely swarmed it, like Barbra Streisand walking into a gay bar. They immediately latched on, opening and closing their creepy little fish beaks, gorging themselves on my delicious calluses. It was repulsive. It really tickled. I became hysterical: laughing uncontrollably, squealing with disgust and causing my friends to look at me like I had lost my mind.

But it's sandal season and I really wanted my pedicure, dammit, so I managed to keep my feet (OK, only my heels, I couldn't handle the entire foot) in their food bowl for about 20 minutes. And you know what? Those fish did a horrible job! Despite the fact that they treated my feet like an all-you-can-eat-salad bar at the Sizzler, they weren't even a teeny tiny bit smoother.



The moral of this story: What goes around comes around: You eat the live fish, the live fish will eat you.

The reality of this story: Fish? Not so good at giving pedicures.

Scrub a dub dub in a Japanese tub

Having reached the wise old age of 29 and 5/6ths, I'm sure no one would question the fact that I know how to take a bath. Sure, I've taken far more showers, but bathing is kinda like riding a bike, but with more bubbles. Oh, and a lot more nudity. But as I stood stark naked in a Japanese bathhouse amongst a dozen other naked ladies - it was quite clear that I am an amateur. I don't really know how to take a bath after all.

Onsen, as these hot springs/bath houses are called, seem to be about as prominent as post offices. There are literally thousands of them scattered throughout the country. A fixture in Japanese culture, it's not uncommon to take a soak in your birthday suit with a group of girls from the office (or guys, for you dudes out there) or step into the tub to discover the woman who filled your Slupee at the 7-11. A people known for their modesty, all rules (and undergarments) are thrown out the window when it comes to spending a few hours at an onsen. While some onsen are private, luxurious and spendy, set in picturesque locations, others are simple and cheap. A few are famous for the monkeys who soak in them.

Eager to experience the tradition, I hopped on a bus at Kanazawa station and 47 minutes later arrived at Yuwaku Hot Springs, located at the end of a small street, tucked into the mountainous outskirts of the city. I paid my ¥350 (about $3.88) entrance fee, left my shoes at the front door, and walked into the ladies room. As I watched the other women unload their towels and bottles of shampoo and soap from home, I immediately realized I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't bring a towel! Shampoo? I just showered at home! I just came to have a soak! I scurried out to the front desk and bought a teeny tiny ¥100 towel to dry off with.

I slowly and gingerly undressed, thinking about a story a friend told me about her onsen experience years ago. There was much pointing and laughing at the naked white girl. I was scared. Were there robes to change into? There were not. After what felt like a slow-motion strip tease, a sock here, a bra there, I was clothing free and ready for my bath. But apparently it wasn't that simple. I slid open the door and walked into the bath room.

The tiled walls of the steamy room are lined with faucets and women sit in front of them on what look like upside-down plastic trash cans. Some are dumping entire buckets of water over their heads. Others are digitally assaulting their scalps, creating white, foamy wigs of shampoo atop their heads. Tiny hunched over grannies, with sagging breasts, vigorously scrub their armpits with bars of pastel colored soap.

I saunter over to a faucet, feeling like a right pervert, accidentally feeling everyone up with my eyes as I try to figure out what the fuck I am supposed to be doing. I hunker down onto a bucket and stare at myself in the mirror, not sure what to do next. The older lady next to me smiles sweetly and motions for me to grab a bowl and fill it up with water. I do. She points to her shampoo and soap and asks me a question in Japanese that I interpret to mean: "Where's your soap, bozo? You think you're gonna put that tall, filthy, white body into our clean hot springs without a scrub? You crazy!" I explain to her that this is my first onsen experience. We both smile stupidly at each other, completely unaware of what each other is saying. Finally she nudges her bar of lavender soap in my direction and I dip my teeny tiny towel into the bowl (she made me! now what will I dry off with?!) and get scrubbing. She continues to chat me up, asking me questions in Japanese while ever-so-casually soaping up her cha-cha, then grabs the shower nozzle and sprays it into submission.

When I decide I'm suitably clean I bid her goodbye and walk into yet another room to take my bath. The tub is lined with stones and faces out to the green, wooded hillside. There are no glass windows, only large screens, which provide a much needed cool breeze. The water is startlingly hot so after boiling my body for 10 minutes, I punch modesty in the face and move up to the top step, my entire top-half exposed. I try and act natural, looking out at the hillside, pretending I do this all the time. Just sit around, silent and alone, with a bunch of naked strangers. But really I'm thinking "Am I supposed to sit up here? Should I keep my boobs under the water? I'm glad I shaved my legs! Damn, I guess no one waxes in Japan. Hey! That girl was on my bus! I wonder if someone will talk to me. What do I do now? Just sit here some more?" I try not to look down at my body, to check if I look skinny or to see how my boobs look - but I kind of can't help it. I also can't help checking everyone else out a little bit. What's the point of being naked with strangers if you don't take a little peak at what everyone else has going on.

After about half an hour I am thoroughly bathed, lobster red, and just a little bit bored. It's certainly relaxing, but how long can you sit in a hot tub without a glass of champagne and a gaggle of pals to gab with? Determined to stay at least as long as my bus ride, I put in another 15 minutes and call it good. Nobody pointed and laughed at me! Success. I buy another tiny ¥100 towel and pat my crimson body dry.