But this is not important. It is the experiences, the memories, the great triumphant joy of living to the fullest extent in which real meaning is found. God it’s great to be alive! Thank you. Thank you.

Alexander Supertramp

Somehow, without even intending to, I managed to arrange some of my most memorable experiences on my monthly anniversaries.

• 1 month in Japan: Universal Studios in Osaka.
• 2 months in Japan: Uji with the Ukrainian girl.
• 1 month in Korea: abandoned sex museum followed by a temple stay.
• 2 months in Korea: clubbing in Pyeongtaek for the Kazakh girl’s birthday & Banpo bridge with the Hongdae hostel gang.
• 1 month in Japan: climbing Fuji-san with Saki and his friend.
• 2 months in Japan: returning to my birthday ryokan.

Another achievement marked by this post: experiencing all of Japan’s four distinct seasons.

And to think I was only supposed to be here for three months, in winter and spring.

3 October 2023

• 8:20-8:45 Biei station to Kamifurano station local train (Furano line), 8:50-9:35 bus to Tokachidake Onsen
• Fukiage onsen (1h)
• Fukiage onsen health center (1h)
• Trek to a waterfall (1h)
• The ryokan’s onsen (1h)

Biei

I woke at 5:50 without an alarm. So cold. How would I leave my bed in the morning from now on.

We had breakfast at 6:30, once again too big for me to finish. Once again, he didn’t let me do the dishes. Once again, it was healthy and good.

Salmon, rice with nattou seaweed and a raw egg, onion and potato miso soup, cabbage salad, cucumber, red pepper, camembert cheese, and of course, yogurt with almonds and a banana for dessert.

On the way to the train station, I saw another rainbow. The weather on this island was half rainy, half sunny. Hokkaido really was that girl.

We said goodbye and he urged me to contact him again if I ever returned his way. With such hospitality, I would be sure to do so.

Returning to my Birthday Ryokan

The bus ride up Tokachidake onsen to my birthday ryokan… I remembered everything from February. It was like returning to the digital detox ryokan in Tohoku or gate 163 in Narita airport. I couldn’t believe I was back.

Most of the trees hadn’t changed colour, yet but every now and then, I spotted brilliantly orange leaves, some borderline purple, that made me gasp. My first time seeing autumn foliage.

I checked into the ryokan. The guide who had taken me on a private, televised trek to the frozen waterfall on my birthday welcomed me. I couldn’t believe I was talking to her again!

She seemed to recall my initial stay just as well. Small details from our trek, and saying goodbye during my check-out with the British guest. We both remembered our final words, expressing our desire for me to come back.  

The visibility today couldn’t have been worse, though.

My plan to hike to a nearby crater couldn’t come to fruition. Instead, she offered to drive me to a rotenburo down the road, which the farming family had recommended to me.

I cried a little while waiting for her in the lobby. It wasn’t just the memories from February flooding me. That was seven and a half months ago, a week into my trip. Back when everything had felt possible, and just beginning. Now, it was nearing the end.

Fukiage Onsen

We arrived at the rotenburo at 10:30.

It was a couple of open-air baths on a cliff overlooking a valley in a forest. Anyone could walk there and enter. No entry fee, no building, nor gate. Just step into the forest and relax.

This meant that everyone could see the naked soakers. There was no division between the gender-segregated baths. Women entered theirs clothed in coverings.  

Leaves inside the bath. This was a proper nature onsen. Not inside a building. Not neat or squeaky clean. Spring water streaming down the baths to the valley, creating thin, forked waterfalls.

It was the hottest spring water I’d soaked in. Dipping my toes felt like touching lava. I entered slowly and gradually. One minute of soaking, rapid heartbeats, resting on the stones, and enjoying the autumnal view. Soak and repeat.

Every person who arrived greeted the soakers with konnichiwa. Everyone was chatting and talking loudly, laughing, men and women alike, all conversing. It dawned on me that this was my first time experiencing such camaraderie at an onsen.

Onsens were serene places of reprieve. People went there to soak, to relax, to enjoy some peace and quiet. This one, however, was like a soaking party. The women joined the men’s bath. A husband and wife even asked everyone’s permission to snap some photos (which was impossible without the other soakers photobombing). I had no problem with this, and even asked for some photos of my own.

My skin turned pink, on the verge of suffering first-degree burns. It didn’t stop me from staying for a full hour, for the sake of this exceptional atmosphere. The clear water wasn’t like my previous, coffee-like soaking, yet the sylvan location and sociability made this yet another spectacular rotenburo, in my opinion.

After this, I walked for ten minutes to another rotenburo, recommended to me by the guide. She’d given me a ticket to it as a present.

There was an indoor bath, three rotenburos of varying heat, and four mixed gender rotenburos. I didn’t have a swimsuit for the mixed gender baths (since when did men wear a covering to those?!), and spent around forty minutes inside the men-only rotenburos, enjoying the drizzle and mossy rocks.

My First Time Seeing Autumn Leaves

At 12:30, the guide returned to pick me up. The sun was beginning to come out.

I went to the ryokan’s terrace, full of elderly Japanese guests taking pictures of the mountain with huge, mounted, professional cameras. Green trees with pops of and yellow, orange, and red, even crimson. What a sight.

Lunch was instant noodles with a clear view of Furano town down the mountain. Trees in the midst of changing colours filled the windows of the dining hall. Dessert: pistachios coated in chocolate, and asparagus coated in chocolate (delicious).

Recreating My Birthday Trek to a Frozen Waterfall

After lunch, the guide drove us to the location a little down the road from the ryokan where we’d done a snowshoe trek to a frozen waterfall on my birthday.

I hadn’t realized a river was streaming here. Back in February, it had been buried under snow.

We walked along the river and crossed it at times. The view on either side of it looked totally different. One side, a light brown wall shaped by magma. Another side, low terrain with rocks.

There were brightly coloured rocks among those – red, yellow, sulphuric green, even turquoise. But the star of the show was the leaves that had changed colour. Most of the trees were still green, yet among them, red and orange were peeking.

I picked up a perfectly red leaf. What a marvel.

Then, in half the time it had taken us during a snowstorm in February, we reached the waterfall.

No longer frozen. Rain had fallen this morning, strengthening its crashing. I could not believe I was inhabiting the same place again.

So many memories.

So many fond memories.

A moment of joy.

To think that I’d hiked here in minus twenty degrees or so, during a snowstorm, and got interviewed all the while! That this unforgettable celebration of my best birthday had been televised. That the waterfall was completely frozen, and the air was so cold, that I had put on two sets of gloves, as well as disposable hand warmers for the first time.

I hadn’t booked today’s trek with the guide this time prior to my coming. I wasn’t asked to pay for it. I wondered if she’d taken here me not as a guide, but as a friend. She seemed just as happy to see me today and revisit this spot.

My boots got covered in mud at some point, and I washed them inside the waterfall.

“If you come here next week,” the guide said, “you can see snow and autumn leaves at the same time.”

She showed me some photos to prove it. I hadn’t known such a combination was possible, and prayed to stumble upon it elsewhere on this island, before leaving Hokkaido.

My Favorite Onsen in Japan

We returned to the ryokan after one hour. A cloud was engulfing the building; the visibility was even worse than in the morning. Time to enter the ryokan’s onsen.

It was as I’d remembered it. A gargantuan boulder inside the indoor pool, God knows how it had been installed here. The water was a weak yellow, more grey, and its temperature pleasant and warm. Probably 37 or 38 degrees. Just right.

I soaked inside it longer than almost any previous indoor bath. Only the brown, 33 degrees one in Rishiri island was more tolerable. But less feel-good-warm.

Outside, the small rotenburo was cold. The water was as brown as in February. But the visibility was poor. The trees were mostly green. And the water wasn’t as silky as in the coffee onsen.

Still, this rotenburo held a special place in my heart. I recalled soaking here, surrounded by icicles and falling snow.

No rotenburo I’d been to in Japan had possessed the holy trinity. The best water, the best view, and the best temperature. They always featured two of the three. It wasn’t easy, as a result, to declare a clear winner. I appreciated them all for the different qualities and experiences they’d offered me.

I left after one hour to catch the sunset over Furano. Up here, at 1280 meters elevation, the air was 10 degrees during the day and 5 at night.

For dinner, like any fine dining meal I’d eaten in Japan, half of the time I had no idea what I was inserting into my mouth. But everything was delicious. Particularly the sashimi – as good as Toriton’s.

I wrote in the evening and mused over the symbolism behind the vivid colors I’d witnessed in the last few days. Red for lovelorn pain, yellow for life, blue for sadness. And, of course, rainbows.

There was also the coffee and brown of the onsens. Perhaps they represented the shittiness of existence.

When walls caved on me, and I travelled to a spot in Japan that astounded me, I felt alive. If only this trip could last forever.

Today’s highlights: the breakfast; returning to the ryokan; the first rotenburo; the second rotenburo; my first autumn foliage; returning to the waterfall; the ryokan’s onsen; the dinner.

4 October 2023

• Hike to Ansei Crater (1h)
• Mt Sandan – going up (1h)
• Mt Sandan – summit (30m)
• Mt Sandan – going down (1h)
• The ryokan’s onsen (20m)
• 13:37-14:20 Tokachidake Onsen to Kamifurano station bus, 15:00-16:15 bus to Asahikawa station

Ansei Crater

I woke up in my birthday ryokan, cosy and snug under two thick blankets. Everything about this accommodation suited me.

Then I saw that the sun had come out.

Today’s weather was finally clear. The terrace offered visibility all the way to the snowy peaks of Daisetsuzan. I ate breakfast while watching this view in the restaurant.

My original plan was to do Ansei Crater, a 1-2 hour round trip from the ryokan. The guide who had taken me to the waterfall recommended combining it with a nearby mountain peak as well, to create a 5-hour round trip.

I didn’t know where I would be sleeping tonight. The bus down the ryokan’s mountain departed only three times a day – at 8:52, 13:37, and 17:37. So I decided to take the last one and find a hostel somewhere. The guide said I would be able to re-enter the ryokan’s onsen today after the hike for free. 

She also said that there was no need to worry about bears.

I set off at 9:30. The trail began at the ryokan’s parking lot, where hikers registered their details in a book. All elderly Japanese with walking sticks and bear bells.

The path to Ansei Crater was quite flat, and lined with kouyou (autumn foliage in Japanese). A beautiful and pleasant path.

As I approached the crater, I took a wrong turn, climbed an impossible slope with falling rocks, and realized I was headed to no man’s land. An Ojiisan noticed me from afar and guided me. From here on, the path was steep and ill-marked, with hard-to-spot arrows painted on rocks.

I reached the hell valley at 10:00, the stench of sulphur greeting me first. Steam, vents, kouyou, a cold stream of water, ground hot to touch, and neon-yellow-grey boulders: like Noboribetsu, Tamagawa Onsen, and Osore-zan, all at once.

What joy to make it to this piece of nature! To be a part of this earth. Jumping from one brightly-coloured boulder to another, the tip of my nose growing cold, I couldn’t take the smile off my face.

Climbing Mt Sandan

I hiked back and reached the intersection to Mt Sandan at 10:35. The path grew narrow and muddy. Both trails this morning were so steep at times, that I had to get down on all fours. Not even Fuji-san or Seoraksan were like this.

Every morning, near 11:00, the self-defence army based in Kamifurano, at the foot of the mountain, would start their practice. I heard booming sounds that made me think a thunder was heralding a storm’s coming. I had no idea what this army was doing there, but such artillery-like booms surprised me, in this peaceful land.

I climbed on all fours for an hour without stopping to rest, checking out the view behind me every now and then. The ryokan, surrounded by an autumnally colourful forest, overlooking the Kamifurano valley. The perfect location for a getaway.

Then, at 11:30, I reached Mt Sandan’s summit (1,748 meters). Panting heavily, removing my gloves and jacket. The sun was shining, and I felt more tired than cold. 

But the view… worth every struggle. A 360-degrees outlook of the already-snowy peak of Tokachidake (2,077 meters), neon yellow with sulphuric vents; Ansei Crater’s hell valley; the autumnal forest; and Kamifurano.

It immediately became one of my favourite mountain views, up there with Fuji-san, Miyajima’s Mt Misen, Bukhansan, and Seoraksan.

One of the elderly Japanese people who were eating lunch at the top gave me a mikan – an orange-like fruit I hadn’t encountered before. It was sweeter than orange, and refreshing, and delicious.

At 12:00, on the way down back to the ryokan, I held on to branches. My fingers grew sticky with a substance from some leaves. A steep, muddy, and gluey descent.

I returned to the ryokan at 12:50, after almost 3.5 hours, instead of 5.

Farewell to My Birthday Ryokan

The next shuttle bus departed at either 13:37 or 17:37. I rushed to the ryokan’s onsen to make it to the former.

After yesterday’s cloudy weather, today the view from the rotenburo was perfect. Full visibility of the snowy mountains, the kouyou, and the hell valley. The water was again too cold for my liking. I couldn’t recall it being this cold in February. Yet this rotenburo boasted the best view in Japan, in my opinion.

I had to force myself to leave it. I wanted to stay inside for hours. To see this landscape on a regular basis. I couldn’t have been sadder about leaving this ryokan again.

I warmed up inside the indoor bath. Such a perfectly warm temperature, I had not experienced in the fifty, sixty, maybe even seventy plus onsens I’d visited. I had to force myself out of it as well.

Finally, I bid the guide an extremely sad farewell. The last souvenir in my suitcase, a pair of Totoro chopsticks, was now hers.

The staff said they were already looking forward to my return. I asked if I could buy the ryokan’s yukata. The guide offered to give it to me as a present, but I insisted on paying. She settled on a minuscule fee.

As we rushed to the bus that was already due to depart, I asked if they were looking for employees. She said they were open to hiring foreigners to work the front desk and clean the rooms and bathrooms. Then I had to board the bus.

We waved goodbye and did heart signs as the bus drove away.

What grief, to leave this place again. But what bliss, to have returned here – to behold kouyou for the first time, soak in one of my favorite onsens, eat luxuriously, return to the waterfall, hike to slices of heaven, and know that the guide would be there for me, if I ever found a way to pay for my return.

The staff at the digital detox ryokan, tied with this ryokan for my favourite ones in Japan, were a bit like the stereotypical distant and cold Japanese person. But here, even in February, at minus twenty degrees and under blankets of snow, I’d felt warm.

I couldn’t imagine another trip to Japan without a return to those two accommodations.

The former has given me more heartaches than moments of joy, though.

Back in February, the guide had taken a picture of me and the British guest upon checking out. He’d asked me afterwards if I could get my hands on it, explaining that his Hokkaido trip had felt very special to him. Today, seven and a half months later, the guide sent me our photo, and I was finally able to share it with him.

Godforsaken Asahikawa

I took two buses to Asahikawa station and entered the tourist information center. My mind was racing with a million questions about Daisetsuzan’s kouyou spots, how to get to them, and how to get to Kawayu Onsen next.

Every answer I got was bad.

For starters, the amazing spots near Sounkyo – Ginsendai trail, Kogen Onsen – were already closed to vehicles. They closed every year on October 1^st, regardless of kouyou forecast and the weather.

Furthermore, this year, bear sightings in that area had been worse than usual. The ladies at the information center advised me not to go there at all.

Second, the weather in Daisetsuzan starting tomorrow would be horrendous. Cloudy and stormy, heavy rain. Until Sunday.

Every year, kouyou peaked in mid-to-late September, before snow started falling in early October. This year, kouyou was ten days late, yet the snow was not. It had started snowing yesterday. Asahidake peak, the tallest in Hokkaido, was already turning white.

In other words, peak kouyou was right now. As in, the snow would ruin the flowers by next week.

Yet this week’s weather was so bad, that the tourist information center advised me not to go there, either.

So what was I to do? I’d come to Asahikawa specifically for Asahidake. This city seemed to me so boring, that none of its meagre attractions spoke to me. I could not continue from here east to Sounkyo. Either I went to Asahidake tomorrow and braved the weather, or didn’t go at all.

Then there was the problem of Kawayu Onsen. Yet again. From Asahikawa, or even Sounkyo, there was only a direct bus to Lake Akan, which I’d taken in February. Then, a bus to Kawayu Onsen, which departed once a day, early in the morning. If I took those two buses to Kawayu Onsen for my reservation on the 6th, I’d have to sleep in Lake Akan first. Then I would have to return to Lake Akan for an unmissable festival there between the 8-10th.

I would not have time to go to Akan first, nor did I feel any inclination to do so.

A rental car would be the faster, cheaper way to go. Yet there were zero branches in the Kawayu-Akan Mashu national park area where I could return a car rented in Asahikawa. I’d have to return it to Asahikawa after 6 days in the Mashu area.

Financially, this was a no-go.

Accommodation in Mashu national park was already expensive, being a famous resort area, not for broke, twentysomething, solo travellers like me.

The only solution would be to take multiple methods of public transportation for 9 hours to get from Asahikawa to Kawayu Onsen in one day.

The last two days at my birthday ryokan were not only among the best of this trip, but of my life. Everything – even the bad weather yesterday – went smoothly. The joy I’d felt there was unmatched.

Now, as soon as I arrived north in snoozy Asahikawa, things went south.

A frustrating hour like this at the tourist information center was followed by an entire hour of me trying to find accommodation in Asahikawa at the last minute. The affordable places were already booked out. This was peak kouyou.

Finally, at 18:30, I managed to find a hostel, and went to check in right away.

It was clean and modern, with cats roaming freely between guests’ feet, yet as cramped as hostels in Korea. One could barely move.

As the manager explained to me the hostel’s rules, a 26-year-old guy stepped out of my dormitory.

“He is also Israeli,” the manager said. “Israeli guests stay here often.”

Here, as in, Asahikawa?

Since the morning of September 25, until today – the evening of October 4 – I’d interacted only with Japanese people, apart from a brief chat with a Chinese couple in Shirogane Blue Pond. Ten days of Japanese.

Moreover, the last time I’d met in Israeli person was for a minute or two on June 29, at a hostel in Seoul.

Now, I was speaking in Hebrew with the guest. And English with the other guests, who were all foreigners.

A Canadian girl, a British girl, a French guy, four Swiss guys… I’d forgotten what it was like to stay at an international hostel. Especially one where everyone was friendly and sought to socialize in the common area.

Thus, we spent the evening together. I needed to run errands, plan my next few days, text some people I hadn’t managed to in the past ten days, and maybe, just maybe, get some sleep. Instead, I found myself participating in the conversation.

Everyone was doing more or less the same itinerary, except on different days. Some had hiked Asahidake today, on the last good day, and showed me sunny, enticing photos. Some would visit the blue pond tomorrow. The Israeli guy would do Asahidake the day after tomorrow. He was disappointed to find out that, like me, he couldn’t hike from there to Kurodake, east of Asahidake, and finish in Sounkyo.

No guest was going east from Sounkyo, though. I couldn’t rent a car with anyone.

After two hours like this in the common area, I was in a bit of a cultural shock. I went down to grab dinner at Seico Mart, where I heard Hebrew.

A twentysomething Israeli couple who had hiked Asahidake today was going to Kawayu Onsen with a rental car tomorrow.

Shame. I missed their schedule by a day.

I returned to the hostel to eat and socialize. At midnight, I went to bed, knowing full well I’d sleep less than six hours before a day of hiking.

That was, if the weather even permitted me to take the ropeway.

At least today, before my arrival to Asahikawa, was perfect.

Today’s highlights: the ryokan’s sunny terrace in the morning; breakfast in front of this landscape; Ansei Crater; Mt Sandan; the ryokan’s onsen; goodbye to the guide; evening in the hostel with the international guests.