“Where are the damn monkeys?.. I have been walking for about 3 hours already, and it is just a never-ending forest somewhere high up the Japanese mountain crest… I am fed up with it. I am going to sit right here… No, one more sprint. Okay, one more. It should 20 km already, no way its less… Phew.”

As an excuse, it is harder to breathe when you are high in the mountains because of the lower concentration of oxygen. Your heart works out an extra intensity gym class to pump the blood which carries oxygen molecules all over your body. Of course, something like a 15 kg backpack would also make it challenging… but maybe just a small bit.

I came up to an information point (finally!) which said that I barely walked 500 m from the last point, which apparently was measured by energetic workers who drank at least 10 cans of RedBull, used unconventionally long rulers, had an impressive lung capacity and no backpacks .

Let me explain. It was really beautiful. I came here all the way from Tokyo; taking two shinkansens and one bus did not seem like a burden – on the contrary, the landscape of traditional Japanese houses, temples, and mountains, rising above them, seemed magnificent to say the least. At some point I guess you could say the sun shone brighter, the sky was bluer, and air was tastier. Absorbing the authenticity of the rural remote areas was an experience of its own.

I took a deep sigh. I could tell I was coming closer to the springs since I started seeing many tourists heading back to where I just came from. We were careful enough to not slip and fall – the trail was around 1.5m in width, with an abyss on my right. It was also covered in ice which was slightly melting, wet and thus, even more slippery. One girl almost fell – but stopped right in time and got up. With that being said, she would not die if she fell – the abyss was at around 70 degrees, covered in high tall pine trees. I am pretty sure she would not avoid breaking a couple of bones though.

I made a turn. Something in the air was not right. It definitely was not tasty anymore, instead it reminded me of… eggs?

Rotten eggs. Springs.

Behind the brown – greenish lace of trees, laid a Valley of Hell.

I remember when I was a small kid, I used to take English tutoring lessons with a lady whom I still recall with the warmest feelings, having my heart suck a bit when I think about our lessons. Natalia Georgievna, if by any chance you are reading this right now – I miss you every day. Thank you for everything you have given to me – far more than just English lessons.

One time she gave me a documentary to watch about the Snow Monkeys in Japan. When winter comes, they bath in hot springs and geysers to warm up. Although I have heard lots of amazing things about the place, my decision to come here was solely because of the child memories of the movie. I could never imagine I was about to see this myself.

I crossed a small wooden bridge. In about 250 meters there stood a tourist information point. Above it was a mountain crest, tall pine trees yielded the way for a main water stream, smaller springs, and probably a hundred of monkeys. Big and small, some of them were quietly bathing, others arguing loudly and almost fighting. Mama-monkeys would be surrounded by two or three baby-monkeys, who would not even care about the people around (probably sensed the genetical relationship 🙂 ).

At the ticket bureau, it turned out even the natural areas closed after 5 pm. It was already 4:45 pm, which explained all the tourists going in the opposite direction from me, and none walking along me to the monkeys. I still bought the ticket, staying there for about half an hour more, testing the patience of the staff. There was definitely not enough time – but still OK, considering I my planned route would not allow me to return.

I was warned the monkeys were aggressive, and asked to hide any food or bright fluffy stuff I could have, grabbing my phone rather stronger than weaker. The monkeys did not let you come closer than about 1-1.5 m, but some would almost touch you when thinking you did not look. Those were however, the minority. The majority just genuinely did not care, figuring out their monkey everyday.

I met a lovely couple in the gift shop later on. The guy was French and held a winery in Thailand, and his wife was Thai. It was interesting to talk to other tourists in Japan – mainly because those would be unconventional people with interesting stories. In Japan, you instantly see each other and often make an interesting conversation.

While they were waiting for their taxi driver to go to Ryokan (they offered to give me a ride but I declined), I decided to go on foot to mine (the scenery was beautiful, and 2 hours did not really scare me – at first). After about 1.5 hours I changed my mind, but there was just a little bit of walking left. The car passed by, and a Japanese looked out of the window, then familiar couple. With a small back – and – forth conversation, I made a prayer to all the gods I knew and got into the car 🙂

We had a fun talk about the differences in English, French and Japanese languages, when in 10 minutes they dropped me off at what seemed at first sight a regular local household. I have never seen them again, although I did hope to meet them next morning when I boarded the bus.

The Ryokan is the most traditional style of a hotel you could imagine, with yukatas, tea set, tatamis and everything else accompanying. This one, however, was slightly different. It had its own hot spring, and the ladies time was at 6:00 am next morning. The lobby was a masterpiece of its own, with carpets, furniture and interior decor to bring the best authentic experience. The lady in a fancy-embroidered yukata bowed and gave me a check-in agreement to sign, and slippers to wear (my boots were left at the entrance). She led me to my room, where I was left on my own to rest and prepare for tomorrow.

I was working online at that time, and got up super early to complete all work done and rush to the onsen (hot spring). Unfortunately, my coworkers had noticed I became online – and a snowball of new emails came rolling in. Eventually I said “screw this”, shut down my laptop, and headed the onsen. Once I came into the changing room, I remembered I had to first take a shower in the nearby sauna, so cursing with the words I thought I did not know, I went back. In the end of day, I still had a whole hour to enjoy myself in the onsen – and oh my God – I was there COMPLETELY alone. I am guessing it was an off-peak season, since I heard these pools are usually crowded with old Japanese ladies who would watch you as some kind of an unknown alien species.

I did hear that there were hot springs with a much bigger “wow” effect, such as the ones in Iceland among ice glaciers. Oh, well – that one hour in the onsen was one of the best hours I spent in my life. I got naked and stepped into a hot water. My heart was pounding as I lay near the small stream that was filling the pool. On the nearby stones, I could see the sparkling glitter of mineral residue. Small green leaves were peacefully floating on the water. I sank deeper and closed my eyes.

I left the ryokan around 11:00 am and headed to my last destination on the route – the Tojinbo cliffs.