Driving back I was looking forward to stopping at a hot spring spa for a wash and a soak in the mineral bath. I found a place along the highway and went in, having prepared a bag of clean clothes which I had left in the car while I was climbing. The price was cheap – only 300 yen. Usually it’s 500 to 700 yen.
The bath was small, perhaps big enough for five or six adults to sit comfortably without bumping each other. The custom is that you wash yourself thoroughly first before getting in the bath, and there are soap, shampoo and shower heads with small stools to sit on while you wash (bring your own cloth and towel). I was just rinsing my hair when shouts and laughter of many young boys came through the door. From the change room about twelve boys around 10 years old came in and went straight into the bath. The one or two men still in there got out. I looked at the bath and saw all these young boys filling it. They were talking loud, laughing, splashing and basically looking a little like a bucket of eels. More boys were still coming in. I think it was a baseball team because one adult male was there with a baseball shirt and cap.
There was no way I was going to try to squeeze into that bath with all those boys splashing about. I felt annoyed that not only had I lost my time to soak in the bath but that the boys hadn’t even washed before going in the water. I left as quickly as I could and in my haste packed the car keys in with my dirty clothes. I wanted to complain but the other men just seemed to think it was fun to see the boys having a good time. The men could go in the water again later. They were old and they had time. I didn’t.
As I was changing my shoes and looking for my keys, one guy of about 55 asked me where I was from. I was actually not in the mood. I had already told about 50 people over five days where I was from and I was just interested in getting home now. I smiled as politely as I could in spite of my irritation, and said I was from Canada.
“Oh, I know someone who worked at the University of British Columbia… Blah, blah, blah… Canada… blah, blah, blah… my friend...”
“Oh, is that so?” I wasn’t interested and I tried to give him the hint that I was in a hurry and trying to find my God damned keys!
“Your Japanese is very good,”
‘Thank you. Everybody says so. Even if I speak only one short sentence some people say so,’ I was thinking to myself. I was tired of the routine: Where are you from? Oh, your Japanese is good; how long have you stayed in Japan? Are you a student? Are you a teacher? I was no longer in the mountains relaxing and open for conversation with strangers. I was irritated, tired and hungry. I wanted to get moving.
“Canadian people are so friendly,” he said. I was about to show him otherwise but instead I said, “Yes, well, so are Japanese.” I pulled out my dirty pants and patted the pockets in search of the keys. I found them. The man seemed to notice it was not convenient for me to converse and he bid me farewell with a smile. I tried to smile back and said goodbye, then I left as quickly as I could.
Sometimes being a celebrity just because I am a foreigner can be tiring. I have two sides to my personality: my public side which I show at the mountain lodges and when I am holding an exhibition, doing a presentation or teaching my students; and my private side which is when I am photographing, typing or just wanting to be alone or with my wife and son. When I am tired and frustrated or occupied with my thoughts, I want to be left alone. But being a foreigner who can speak Japanese well enough to converse can sometimes make me a target for questions and stories I have no interest in listening to. Still, I feel a have to make a good impression and try to be polite, though it is hard for me to hide my irritation. Perhaps if I had been able to have my bath time I wouldn’t have been so grumpy.
