Konichiwa dearest readers from Japan, land of the rising sun- though up here in the wild climes of Hokkaido that sun is kinda hard to see through the bucketing snow. I've given up my barefoot meanderings (temporarily) to shove my feet into the thickest of socks and warmest of boots, and bunkered down for the winter in Niseko, the much-famed powder haven of northern Japan.
Time, that slippery creature, is racing by as per usual- I've already been here for just on two months, and it is hard to believe that when I landed there was not a snowflake to be seen. We're now averaging 20cm of fresh snow to wake up to every morning, with the snow banks on the side of the road approaching head height and showing no sign of curbing their growth any time soon. I've quickly learnt my way around the different snows to be experienced- after another keen bean Aussie and myself went on a hike in what we thought was snow (but were actually informed was hail) a particularly fantastic Canuck lass took us in hand and gave us the low down. Turns out, small balls of ice that pelt into your jacket hood with considerable force- not snow. Icy sleety mess that stings the eyes and makes driving a pain- also not snow. I've marvelled at just how big snow flakes get and how incredibly slowly they can fall, seeming to deny laws of gravity and other such earthly rules. I've also learnt the hard lesson that once you're immersed in a few metres of those big, fat snow flakes that just drifted on down, getting back out again is nigh on impossible. Turns out, there is no way at all to get any purchase in metres of powder. I've done some fantastic whaling around in an attempt to claw my way to freedom on many occasions, normally with a snowboard still firmly attached to my feet.
Japan is a fascinating country, and while we live in a pretty strange foreigner-heavy bubble in the Niseko area I've made a real effort to engage with all the Japanese culture I can find. Luckily I've made a group of like-minded pals up for all sorts of adventures, and we've had a great time throwing ourselves at the sheer fun of experiencing life here (basically eating all the food and visiting all the onsens). I've found the Japanese language to be a bit of a brain-breaker, but the delight on the face of a local when you can make some pidgin sentences makes the effort and confusion totally worth while (I'm fully available for a why-are-there-so-many-Chinese-characters-that-aren't-used-for-their-original-meaning-or-pronunciation-also-why-three-writing-systems-why-not-follow-Korea's-example-and-sort-this-mess-out rant at any time. Talk to me long enough and you'll probably get one if you're asking for it or not). I'm very grateful to have some wonderful friends here who have spent years mastering Japanese- they have been invaluable shopping and eating companions, as even with a solid command of Japanese explaining 'vegan' here is quite the task.
Yes, that segues into food. Glorious food. One of my absolute favourite topics- as my guests quickly realise, when they ask for my recommendations and leave half an hour later looking like they've stepped out of a wind tunnel and with a map completely covered in red pen circles. One of favourite parts of one of my favourite things (food)(in case there was any chance of you forgetting) is the complete chaotic joy of supermarkets in new countries. Oh, how the humble shopping trip becomes a thrilling adventure, fraught with having no idea what the bloody hell is going on. Sometime during my first shopping trip I bailed up Nat, a Japanese workmate, dragged her over to the miso aisle (there is an entire AISLE for miso) and demanded, in a somewhat flustered manner, what on Earth was going on with there being 4 billion types of miso and which ones, if any, could I imbibe in? With miso sorted I repeated the process with soy milk, and from there on all was pretty much gravy. The kanji for milk and meat and such non-Lucy friendly foods are the same as the Chinese characters, so I quickly figured out that not all soy milks are dairy free, not all tofu does not contain shrimp and bonito (fish flakes) lurk around every corner. My first few weeks here I felt super fresh and light- living off miso, home-made gyoza (dumplings) and soba noodles (buckwheat noodles that are incredibly delicious and oh so cheap). And then, dear readers, I discovered mochi. I have since composed songs about mochi, spontaneous haiku about mochi, gone out in blizzards just to find mochi, almost cried out of excitement when I discovered mochi in my cupboard that I had (inconceivably) forgotten about... What, might you ask, is this manna from the heavens?
Rice. Dumplings.
Nothing more, nothing less and yet these humble rice dumplings have become pretty much my reason for getting out of bed. I have currently limited myself to one mochi a day but that started today and I've already eaten four so I'd say that limitation thing is going swimmingly. There are so many types of this delicious treat- most filled with red bean paste, but also savoury mochi that I can toast in our little fish grill and wrap in seaweed, and dango, which are small mochi on a skewer and coated with some sort of paste/sauce, often sticky sweet soy that you will get all over your face but trust me the caring shall be zero. I've made particular friends with a groovy hipster snowboarder who sells homemade dango from the back of his van, and shows you pictures of him doing insane things on a snowboard while your sweet soy sauce warms. Living the dream.
Eating out here has been a bit more of a challenge than the supermarket- dashi (fish sauce) pervades Japanese cooking and while the tofu here is incredible drowning it in fish sauce is not quite so much to my taste. However, favourite haunts have been acquired- from the snow-covered izakaya (Japanese tapas) to the crazy little Korean joint with DragonBallZ figurines, to the best deep-fried tofu in the world at Mina Mina and to the glorious hot chips from the food trucks in the centre of town, oh so alluring after days on the slopes.
Did I say days on the slopes? With the temperature up the mountain hovering around -20 degrees these days, hours can become a bit of a stretch. That's one thing I'll definitely say about winter, especially after studiously avoiding it for several years- it is cold. Oh so very, face-freezingly, cold. As in so many other snowy lands though, the Japanese have their steamy way of countering the freeze- the onsen. Onsens are natural hot springs, and an integral part of the snow-life culture here. The Canuck of snow-education fame (her name is Maggie and she rocks) and I broke into the onsen world together, at a wonderful low-frills pool in the very bottom of Hirafu village. Onsens are completely nude and gender segregated- as we climbed down the steamy stairwell into a dark basement, completely naked and separated from our menfolk, we certainly questioned whether this was the start of a strange kinky horror movie but emerging into a wonderfully snowy outdoor pool soon steamed our worries away (though our hair kept freezing which was somewhat uncomfortable for the noggin- have since learnt to wrap hair in towels).
Along with all these adventures I am of course working, and have lucked out with an awesome crew to both work and live with. I've a wonderful roommate who's been living in Japan for a while now- her cultural insights have been invaluable (though the iodine gargle she gave me when I was sick was not so great) and her company priceless. Work is busy but fun, and my snow driving skills have come along from non-existent to pretty fly. Part of our training was ran by the Japanese police, and they had us slipping and sliding around on ice (intentionally) to learn how to counter such slipping and sliding, though after I did a full 360 and took out the majority of the traffic cones I'll admit I was none the wiser on how to counter such happenings. Life is, as life does, settling into a routine of riding, working, eating, soaking, sleeping, dancing, mochi, mochi, mochi... you get the idea. While I'm not loving having to layer up just to head out for a drink (remembering days spent on Cocos being barefoot in the pub certainly fill me with yearning), I am in love with the winter colours and the Japow (got all the lingo) even when I do get stuck up to my eyeballs and have to flail around like a walrus.
Time, that slippery creature, is racing by as per usual- I've already been here for just on two months, and it is hard to believe that when I landed there was not a snowflake to be seen. We're now averaging 20cm of fresh snow to wake up to every morning, with the snow banks on the side of the road approaching head height and showing no sign of curbing their growth any time soon. I've quickly learnt my way around the different snows to be experienced- after another keen bean Aussie and myself went on a hike in what we thought was snow (but were actually informed was hail) a particularly fantastic Canuck lass took us in hand and gave us the low down. Turns out, small balls of ice that pelt into your jacket hood with considerable force- not snow. Icy sleety mess that stings the eyes and makes driving a pain- also not snow. I've marvelled at just how big snow flakes get and how incredibly slowly they can fall, seeming to deny laws of gravity and other such earthly rules. I've also learnt the hard lesson that once you're immersed in a few metres of those big, fat snow flakes that just drifted on down, getting back out again is nigh on impossible. Turns out, there is no way at all to get any purchase in metres of powder. I've done some fantastic whaling around in an attempt to claw my way to freedom on many occasions, normally with a snowboard still firmly attached to my feet.
Japan is a fascinating country, and while we live in a pretty strange foreigner-heavy bubble in the Niseko area I've made a real effort to engage with all the Japanese culture I can find. Luckily I've made a group of like-minded pals up for all sorts of adventures, and we've had a great time throwing ourselves at the sheer fun of experiencing life here (basically eating all the food and visiting all the onsens). I've found the Japanese language to be a bit of a brain-breaker, but the delight on the face of a local when you can make some pidgin sentences makes the effort and confusion totally worth while (I'm fully available for a why-are-there-so-many-Chinese-characters-that-aren't-used-for-their-original-meaning-or-pronunciation-also-why-three-writing-systems-why-not-follow-Korea's-example-and-sort-this-mess-out rant at any time. Talk to me long enough and you'll probably get one if you're asking for it or not). I'm very grateful to have some wonderful friends here who have spent years mastering Japanese- they have been invaluable shopping and eating companions, as even with a solid command of Japanese explaining 'vegan' here is quite the task.
Yes, that segues into food. Glorious food. One of my absolute favourite topics- as my guests quickly realise, when they ask for my recommendations and leave half an hour later looking like they've stepped out of a wind tunnel and with a map completely covered in red pen circles. One of favourite parts of one of my favourite things (food)(in case there was any chance of you forgetting) is the complete chaotic joy of supermarkets in new countries. Oh, how the humble shopping trip becomes a thrilling adventure, fraught with having no idea what the bloody hell is going on. Sometime during my first shopping trip I bailed up Nat, a Japanese workmate, dragged her over to the miso aisle (there is an entire AISLE for miso) and demanded, in a somewhat flustered manner, what on Earth was going on with there being 4 billion types of miso and which ones, if any, could I imbibe in? With miso sorted I repeated the process with soy milk, and from there on all was pretty much gravy. The kanji for milk and meat and such non-Lucy friendly foods are the same as the Chinese characters, so I quickly figured out that not all soy milks are dairy free, not all tofu does not contain shrimp and bonito (fish flakes) lurk around every corner. My first few weeks here I felt super fresh and light- living off miso, home-made gyoza (dumplings) and soba noodles (buckwheat noodles that are incredibly delicious and oh so cheap). And then, dear readers, I discovered mochi. I have since composed songs about mochi, spontaneous haiku about mochi, gone out in blizzards just to find mochi, almost cried out of excitement when I discovered mochi in my cupboard that I had (inconceivably) forgotten about... What, might you ask, is this manna from the heavens?
Rice. Dumplings.
Nothing more, nothing less and yet these humble rice dumplings have become pretty much my reason for getting out of bed. I have currently limited myself to one mochi a day but that started today and I've already eaten four so I'd say that limitation thing is going swimmingly. There are so many types of this delicious treat- most filled with red bean paste, but also savoury mochi that I can toast in our little fish grill and wrap in seaweed, and dango, which are small mochi on a skewer and coated with some sort of paste/sauce, often sticky sweet soy that you will get all over your face but trust me the caring shall be zero. I've made particular friends with a groovy hipster snowboarder who sells homemade dango from the back of his van, and shows you pictures of him doing insane things on a snowboard while your sweet soy sauce warms. Living the dream.
Eating out here has been a bit more of a challenge than the supermarket- dashi (fish sauce) pervades Japanese cooking and while the tofu here is incredible drowning it in fish sauce is not quite so much to my taste. However, favourite haunts have been acquired- from the snow-covered izakaya (Japanese tapas) to the crazy little Korean joint with DragonBallZ figurines, to the best deep-fried tofu in the world at Mina Mina and to the glorious hot chips from the food trucks in the centre of town, oh so alluring after days on the slopes.
Did I say days on the slopes? With the temperature up the mountain hovering around -20 degrees these days, hours can become a bit of a stretch. That's one thing I'll definitely say about winter, especially after studiously avoiding it for several years- it is cold. Oh so very, face-freezingly, cold. As in so many other snowy lands though, the Japanese have their steamy way of countering the freeze- the onsen. Onsens are natural hot springs, and an integral part of the snow-life culture here. The Canuck of snow-education fame (her name is Maggie and she rocks) and I broke into the onsen world together, at a wonderful low-frills pool in the very bottom of Hirafu village. Onsens are completely nude and gender segregated- as we climbed down the steamy stairwell into a dark basement, completely naked and separated from our menfolk, we certainly questioned whether this was the start of a strange kinky horror movie but emerging into a wonderfully snowy outdoor pool soon steamed our worries away (though our hair kept freezing which was somewhat uncomfortable for the noggin- have since learnt to wrap hair in towels).
Along with all these adventures I am of course working, and have lucked out with an awesome crew to both work and live with. I've a wonderful roommate who's been living in Japan for a while now- her cultural insights have been invaluable (though the iodine gargle she gave me when I was sick was not so great) and her company priceless. Work is busy but fun, and my snow driving skills have come along from non-existent to pretty fly. Part of our training was ran by the Japanese police, and they had us slipping and sliding around on ice (intentionally) to learn how to counter such slipping and sliding, though after I did a full 360 and took out the majority of the traffic cones I'll admit I was none the wiser on how to counter such happenings. Life is, as life does, settling into a routine of riding, working, eating, soaking, sleeping, dancing, mochi, mochi, mochi... you get the idea. While I'm not loving having to layer up just to head out for a drink (remembering days spent on Cocos being barefoot in the pub certainly fill me with yearning), I am in love with the winter colours and the Japow (got all the lingo) even when I do get stuck up to my eyeballs and have to flail around like a walrus.
