JAPAN, Hakone National Park: The Pleasures of Staying at a Ryokan, from the Memoir of Aunt Carolyn

Room at Traditional Japanese Inn

My husband's aunt, Carolyn T. Arnold, traveled to Japan in the 1960's and 70's as the leader of a tour group. Her description of her group’s experience staying at a traditional Japanese inn brings back memories of my own experience at a ryokan in the Japanese Alps.

After leaving glittering Tokyo, my groups always spend a few days at the Fujiya Hotel in the wooded mountains of Hakone National Park. It is very Japanese in architecture but adapted to Western ways of living. An authentic Japanese inn, called a ryokan, adjoins the hotel. Janet and Nancy from our group, wanted to stay at the ryokan, so arrangements were made for them to do so. The young girls loved it. Each was assigned a hostess who first brought a fresh yakata (a cotton kimono) to relax in, and then gave them a cup of green tea. For the night, the maid unrolled several layers of quilts on the floor, and the living room became a bedroom.
The rest of the group preferred more Western ways–a bed, for instance. Our rooms looked out on lush gardens and brilliant azaleas, even a tiny waterfall and goldfish. A yakata was neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

Fujiya Hotel

Hakone Park is noted for its hot mineral springs, so I suggested that those who cared to do so, could reserve a private “bath” and a massage afterwards. Public bathing of both sexes is acceptable in Japan, but I reserved a private “bath” for each of us. We were advised that we must not enter the bath unclean, but we should sap and rinse well with a bucket of water provided beside the pool. What luxury to relax in the warm pool!
I had ordered a masseuse (female), so I was quite jolted when a man appeared at my door after my bath. I repeated “masseuse” several times. He said, “Don’t be afraid, missy, it’s okay.” And, it was.
Janet and Nancy enjoyed their stay at the ryokan so much that later in Takamatsu our whole group stayed at one. We were greeted by a matronly hostess who indicated that our shoes were to be left at the door. Then, each of us was led to his/her room, which had rice paper windows and sliding doors. The only furniture was a low table. The maid indicated that I was to remove my clothes and don a fresh yakata. Then she served tea and “biscuits”. At that moment I was startled by squeals and running noises in the hallway. I rushed out to see Charlie, an eccentric older man in our group, racing down the corridor in his undershorts and shouting, “No girl is going to strip me!” The maid, giggling hysterically, came hurrying after, holding his yakata. She finally captured him and dressed him properly in Japanese fashion. I think everyone enjoyed, at least for a few days, our stay at a ryokan.

Perhaps the original intrepid tourist was Carolyn Arnold, my husband’s aunt.  A single school teacher in Des Moines, she began traveling abroad when she was in her forties, beginning with a bicycling trip through Ireland in 1950.  She went on from there to spend a year as a Fulbright Exchange Teacher in Wales, to more trips to Europe and beyond, and eventually became a tour leader, taking all her nieces and nephews (including Art) on her travels.  When she retired from teaching, she wrote of her experiences in a memoir called Up and Down and Around the World with Carrie.  Today, as I read of her travels and look at her photos, I marvel at her spirit of adventure at a time when women did not have the independence they do today.

JAPAN: A Ride on the Bullet Train, from the Memoir of Aunt Carolyn

Bullet Train, Tokyo, Japan

My husband's aunt, Carolyn T. Arnold, traveled to Japan in the 1960's and 70's as the leader of a tour group. Her humorous description of her group’s experience taking a bullet train for the first time brings back memories of my own experiences riding trains in Japan.
 
We had been looking forward to a ride on the bullet train. One express train leaves Tokyo Station every twelve minutes and is capable of traveling 130 miles an hour. We boarded the train at Atomi. Our luggage had been sent earlier by truck to Kyoto since the train stops at the station exactly three minutes.
When we arrived at the station we found the sign for No. 8 embedded in the concrete platform.  Mike, the guide, and I had divided out group of twenty; one-half to board No. 8 coach at the front of the car with me, while the other half with Mike would board at the rear of the car. People were probably frightened at the thought of being left behind so everyone was already lined up when the train came speeding around the bend.
I never really believed our car would stop precisely at the figure 8, but, as you know, the Japanese are noted for their precision. Right on the spot, No. 8, the door of our car was right in front of us. I had put Hazel at the head of my line, and I brought up the rear. No one was moving.
 “Hazel,” I yelled, “get cracking up there!” Still no one moved. I thought about pushing from behind or letting out a war whoop. Finally, the door of the car opened, and we all fell inside just in the nick of time.
Later, I said to Hazel, “For Heaven’s sake, what took you so long?”
“Well,” she said, “first I pulled at the door, and then I pushed it, but it wouldn’t open.”
That was how we learned that all Japanese doors slide.

Perhaps the original intrepid tourist was Carolyn T. Arnold, my husband’s aunt.  A single school teacher in Des Moines, she began traveling abroad when she was in her forties, beginning with a bicycling trip through Ireland in 1950.  She went on from there to spend a year as a Fulbright Exchange Teacher in Wales, to more trips to Europe and beyond, and eventually became a tour leader, taking all her nieces and nephews (including Art) on her travels.  When she retired from teaching, she wrote of her experiences in a memoir called Up and Down and Around the World with Carrie.  Today, as I read of her travels and look at her photos, I marvel at her spirit of adventure at a time when women did not have the independence they do today.