Strange Places, Great Company

Memoir essay I wrote for my literary non-fiction class. This is based on my trip to Spa World, a lovely recreational center in Osaka, Japan.

            Steam rose from the rippling water; the thought of being boiled alive had surely crossed my mind at multiple points throughout the day.   Scalding, but not boiling, water is strangely comforting when December’s icy winds threaten to chill you.  Kinza, Bryan, Tori, Jen, Kristen, and I relaxed in the bubbling, naturally fed hot spring as we reflected upon our day of fun.  In just a few short weeks, we would all be returning to our homes.  Our trip to Spa World was one of the last times that we got to hang out during our time in Japan. 

“Go-chui kudasai,” or ‘please be careful’ in Japanese, advised the intercom as the door to the limited-express train opened.  We stepped behind the yellow line in the subway station.  Once we got behind the point of safety, the red and black train headed to its next destination leaving the four of us behind.   I say “the four of us” because our friends Jen and Kristen had decided to stay behind to do homework. 

            Tori asked, “Where should we go from here?” Thankfully, one of us had a crumbled-up map printed on a standard sheet of copy paper�"thank you Google Maps.  According to the map, we were somewhere in Osaka, Japan and we had gotten off at the right train station. 

            We calculated that our destination, Spa World, was a five-minute walk from the Shin-Imamiya Eki (station).  The four of us tried to hasten our escape from the station’s dull-grey walls, peppered with posters that advertised events with Japanese script.  Sadly, we couldn’t read most of them.  We then navigated the maze-like station, going up and down the yellow-painted stairs, while dodging sarari-salary men and mothers with bags of groceries in hand.  Despite the relative cleanliness of the station, the handrails felt grimy to the touch.    On this particular Sunday afternoon, the station was packed with people, but we were able to climb out of the station’s underbelly without difficulty. 

As typical of most metropolitan-area subway stations in Japan, food courts guarded the exits to the outside world.  Their tantalizing treats, whether savory or sweet, were the only obstacle to the outside�"each stand sought to take the money of busy travelers.  The four of us overcame temptation as we passed establishments with donburi-mounded rice bowls often served with fried bits of meat and eggs,  and takoyaki-fried, round balls of batter with a chunk of octopus meat cooked inside; they are served with a tangy brown sauce and topped with powdered seaweed, and dried fish shavings.  A number of vending machines, filled with hot and cold teas, coffees, and sodas lined the walls. 

The power of our numbers prevailed as we made our way up the last flight of yellow stairs.  Paint chips, worn off from years of wear, were missing from many of the stairs to freedom.  “Five minutes from Shin-Imamiya Eki,” I thought as we adjusted our eyes to the bright outside.  Up the narrow, barely two car wide, streets we walked.  To either side of us were concrete and glass slabs that reached into the sky, partially skewing the sun’s rays.  Being early December, winter had just started clutching her cold hand around the island nation.  The temperature was chilly, but it was not frigid.

As it turned out, Google Maps could not have been more correct.  After about five-minutes of dodging cars and bicycles, we reached the ten-story entertainment complex called Spa World.  The architecture outside was a combination of styles; Grecian columns marked the entrance-way, while its tall, yet compact feel reminded us of Japanese architecture. 

A blast of warm air hit us as we walked beyond the columns, and through the electronic doors.  The interior of Spa World was a lot to take in.  The first four floors were visible from the atrium.  On the left half of the first floor were rows of lockers that were just big enough to hold a pair of shoes and a wallet.   The right half had a gaming establishment filled with claw machines, arcade-style video games, and everything to keep a pocket-change loaded kid happy.   The sounds of laughter and computerized bleeps and bloops filled the atrium.

“Don go and see how we buy tickets; you speak the best Japanese,” Bryan urged.  The three friends that I trusted, that I made this difficult journey with, pushed me forward.  The counter attendant looked a little terrified.  We were intimidated as well.

“Doko ni kippu wo kaemasu ka? Where can we buy tickets?” I asked.

He uttered something but I didn’t understand it, so I asked for a little help from the others.  Unfortunately they didn’t get what he was trying to convey either, so I used another phrase that I knew.

“Etto, zen-zen wakarimasen.  Mou ichido itte kudasai?  Um, we don’t understand.  Can you please repeat that?” 

Instead of trying to explain himself, the timid man shakily pointed his finger near the entrance.  Much to his relief, and ours, pointing is a universal language.  We had walked right past the ticket purchasing area which was located near the entrance.  It had several glowing buttons, each with a different price.   After the ticket machine swallowed our coins, we chose the ticket that read大人-otona, or adult.  It was made up of the Chinese characters for big and person.  The Japanese utilize Chinese characters in their writing system, so knowledge of basic ones is a must in Japan.  Our tiny admittance slips were spat out by the machine after it made a mechanical whirring noise.  We finally had tickets for Spa World. 

As we walked to the elevator, Kinza let out a bit of a squeal.  The excitement probably got to her.  Tori cracked jokes the entire elevator ride, many of them being too appropriate to mention.  I stood silently near the back of the elevator listening to them all chat away.  The elevator had mirrors on one side and it was covered in a red carpet.  Japanese elevators talk, unlike American ones�"it’s convenient if the displays are not working correctly.  Bryan and I listened for roku kai de gozaimasu-we are on the sixth floor, because it was the “male only” floor.   The girls had to go up to the seventh floor.  Spa World, like most places with onsen-hot springs, was gender segregated for reasons that I will not delve into. 

            We had to go through a few wooden doors and down a couple of narrow, yellow-painted hallways before we could get into the hot-springs.  The locker room was a bit larger than the ones on the first floor.  Bryan and I put our belongings into the lockers after coughing up another 200 yen�"about $2.  By this point in my Japan trip money was very precious to me because I was almost broke.  Even 200 yen felt like a lot of money when you are on a budget of $100 a week in the most expensive country in the world.  The coin machine greedily gulped up the coins that I hesitantly put into its mouth, err, slot. 

            The rooms beyond the locker area were adorned with decorations from all over the world.    In December, men bathe in the European themed baths, while women have the Asian themed ones.  Each month alternates so visitors can experience both. 

The first room, Atlantis was painted deep-blue, and had numerous fish tanks around the walls, and some under the baths.  Finland was full of wooden bridges that crossed ponds of bone-chilling, icy water�"I don’t recommend it.  The Grecian themed bath had a Parthenon and a medicinal bath, a dark-brown hued bath that smelled heavily spiced, and oddly familiar.  It also featured a sweet scented milk and honey bath.  Spain was simply an open air foot bath and drink bar.   Refreshments like melon cream soda could be purchased here.  There were also several different types of massage rooms�"these were not included in the ticket price.  Bryan and I didn’t try the salt bath, but we did visit the adjacent, Italian-themed grotto that led connected all the rooms.   

            For the most part, we enjoyed the baths.  A few of them were too hot, and the Finland themed bath was too cold.  The milk and honey bath was probably my favorite because the water temperature was very warm, but not hot.  It was also dimly lit; rock, or pseudo rock, made the bath feel like it was within a cave. 

            Neither Bryan nor I were wearing watches because they would have been ruined in the different baths.  We left the bathing area after a short time, admiring the courageous elders who continued to endure the scalding water.  It was hard to avoid laughing at their persistence.   Once we backtracked to the locker room, we decided to go up to the tenth floor to the indoor, water amusement center which had several water rides�"also not built into the cost of the ticket.

            Bryan and I both wanted to try the swirling water slide and the reverse water drop.  The lines were fairly short, so the wait was not very long.  Japanese children attacked our raft as we plummeted down the slide, blasting water from the sprayers that had been mounted on the bridge .    Kinza and Tori joined Bryan and me after we had finished riding on the water rides.  A lazy river ran all the way around the perimeter of the building.  On the far wall was a realistic looking cave, sadly made of plastic, filled with more water sprayers. We all voted to go into the lazy river to access the cave-like structure on the far side of the mammoth room. 

            The gentle current guided us along the track�"multiple times.  Our friends Kristen and Jen, who we thought were staying to study for finals, showed up after a half dozen laps around the pool’s perimeter.  They had spent a little time in the onsen, but they also thought that the water in the baths was way too hot.  We were all pleased with the pool area, so we spent the rest of our trip there. 

            Our hands pruned with each passing hour.  We all decided to venture outside because we had heard about the panoramic view that the roof had, and the pool was getting a little crowded.  The hot tub, outside, would keep us from freezing in the dreary December weather.  The temperature outside was a little over forty-degrees, but snow was not falling, so it wouldn’t be freezing. 

            To get outside, we followed a little canal of gentle moving water to a family center called the “Bade Zone.”  I believe “bade” is a misspelling of bathe, which is very possible seeing as how almost nothing is spell-checked in Japan�"well at least for words of English origin.  Once in the “Bade Zone,” little swing doors, like the ones in western-movies, were the only things that were in our way.  The final stretch of the family zone was effortlessly crossed; cold air rushed in, chilling each of us. 

            Once outside the swing doors, the view of Osaka was breathtaking. Rails, on the perimeter of the building, prevented us from failing as we stared down at the busy alleyways and narrow streets.  Cars could be heard from ten-stories below, honking at pedestrians. The high-pitched screeches of car horns were not as loud from our height.  

To the front of us was a building, much higher than the one we were on.  People stared at us from the catwalk that bridged over top of us�"we could only imagine their comments; to the side of us were mountains which would eventually eclipse the sun during its final moments.  The brisk December air gave us goose bumps, so we all climbed into one of the circular hot tubs on the roof.  Steam rose, giving us the impression that we were being cooked alive.  At first, the water felt scalding hot to our flesh, but it only took a few moments for our slightly reddened skin to become accustomed to the one-hundred ten, or so it felt, degree water. 

            Within moments, the six of us were relaxing in a hot tub on the roof of a ten-story building�"in Japan. We sat still, submerged neck-down, reflecting the fun of the day.  Our trip, which ended shortly after, was a welcome break from the monotony of studying for finals.  In a few weeks, we would all be returning home.  Tori would be returning to England.  Jen, Kristen, and I would be coming back to Adrian.  Bryan headed off to Florida, and Kinza would be returning to North Carolina. 

            Ten months have passed, and I miss these people.  Even as I am writing this, I am thinking about how great it would have been if we could have all stayed for a year.  It is my hope that someday we will all meet up again.