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By miteyak , December 13, in General off-topic discussions. Nothing quite like a cold beer in an onsen after a hard day on the slopes, snow falling. Gets a bit boring by yourself though. Anyone know of any onsens in Hakuba to which one can go with one's partner if you're of the heterosexual persuation? Yo yo, please disseminate your priceless information! As to there being mixed onsens, yes, there are alot dotted about, yes, it is allowed. Sounds like what's known as a 'family buro' that you can rent out and use as you like. Buy one of the onsen guidebooks and it should be in there as part of the price info, unless it's in one of the lodges and is only available to guests. It's nowhere near Hakuba, but one onsen I can recommend with a family buro is Marukoma Onsen. It's right on Lake Shikotsu in Hokkaido. I haven't been in that bath, but the men's part was wonderful. I've never heard of a mixed onsen in Hakuba. If you're there after late March, you can go to Obinata no Yu which is probably the pick of what there is. It's way up the road past Omoshiro Hasshinchi and closes pretty early. It's really primitive no shampoo or showers, just a bath , but it's outside and the view is very good. Otherwise, I would recommend the one at the bottom of Hakuba Highland. It's quite high up, so you get a nice view across to Happo. Maybe worth a try when the ski jumping is on. Unless I've got the wrong end of stick, there's a mixed bathing konyoku area at Kuzu Onsen in Omachi. It's a lovely place, but is located around half an hour from Route You could call in on your way home, I suppose, but it's too far from Hakuba to be worth a round trip. Wow, I never knew about this Any other places where they have them In Echigo Yuzawa, my ryokan had a private rotenburo that you could lock and use on a first come, first served basis and therefore you could have it for as long as you want, with whoever you want. In Zao, there's that outdoor place up the mountain closed in winter, just avoid the snow ploughs at night and jump the fence. When we hiked up there at 11pm, there was already a couple there canoodling, but we joined them in the pool and retreated to the far side to let them keep their privacy a lot of steam created a barrier. They left later, and then it was open season ;-. Just take care of your extremities in those sulphurous baths, if you know what I mean. Too long doin' the wild thing there and your little pinky won't be happy with you afterwards! Near the bottom to the right side, you should see a little bridge that you ski over. It's right there. Just don't attract attention climbing the fence. Several mixed onsen here in Yamanashi, nearest one to me is Enzan, about a 30 min drive from my house! One I went to tucked away by the river in Gumna of route 17 a few miles up from Numata heading towards Naeba has a nice mixed onsen called colufuru onsen, has small indoor baths with a large outdoor bath over looking the river, very nice in winter when it is snowing and white everywhere. General off-topic discussions. Mixed onsens in Hakuba. Recommended Posts. Posted December 13, Link to post Share on other sites. Guest Posted December 13, I thought that mixed onsens were not allowed in Japan? Is that not true? Nat 0 Posted December 13, Yes there is a mixed Onsen, very beautiful. You will never forget the place once you go there. Well I really didnt know that. Please tell more! My wife and I want to try it. NoFakie 45 Posted December 13, Any near Tokyo? Yeah, I didn't know about any of these places Jinja 0 Posted December 13, God no, Ecstasy and an onsen would be lethal! Just say no kids ;- In Echigo Yuzawa, my ryokan had a private rotenburo that you could lock and use on a first come, first served basis and therefore you could have it for as long as you want, with whoever you want. They left later, and then it was open season ;- Just take care of your extremities in those sulphurous baths, if you know what I mean. Interesting, is this. I also didnt know about this thing, so its cool to find out. But there seriously arent many of them are there? Mr Bob! Posted December 15, Originally posted by rachael: Interesting, is this. Guest Posted December 25, Posted December 25, Sukayu Onsen in Hakkoda-Aomori is excellent. Posted May 13, I have been to several mixed onsen around the country actually with my wife! Tubby Beaver Posted May 13, Followers 0. Go to topic listing. The independent guide to skiing and snowboarding in Japan Online since snowjapan. Sign In.

2015-2016 Northern Hemi Snow Season

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A snowboarding extravaganza in backcountry Japan and a few charmed days and nights in Tokyo. Some last sun-rays flicker sparks of gold off the tip of its wing. Swiftly we gain in altitude, the darkly green landscape opening up beneath; a densely patterned carpet of round and jagged islands on that vast strip of land, connecting the Baltic coast of Finland with the White Sea of Russia. The hypnosis of air travel has already taken hold — the purring buzz of the engines has unfolded a steady trance, people are accommodated, drinks have been served, entertainment has been chosen and blankets are gently wrapped around children who have only now slipped into slumber. It merely sinks down gently, never really closing its plum-shaded curtain. As soon as the European sundown has flamed out on the horizon behind us, the serene luminescence of the Asian dawn is setting in. We are traveling against the clock, shortcutting the new day drastically. Outside, the sky above the Barents Sea remains a foreboding ice-blue, frosty, and eternally indifferent. Minuscule snow stars gather innocently in the round corners of my window; the air on its not so far side is lethally cold. For hours we cross the night skies over frozen forests, parted by thick bands of rivers, taking their slow, winding courses under the March moon. A lonely party of lumberjacks perhaps, some tripping trappers, or a meeting of spies on a KGB outpost? Leaning back into my seat, I take a long sip from a rather strong Bloody Mary, put on my sunglasses, and listen to Headhunter and Photek on my powerful AKG travel headphones. I awake to the sight of Japan below, miles and miles of brownish-green squares with metal irrigation pipes and agricultural hi-tech. It is my first one in Japan. He arrived a while ago on an earlier flight and looks a bit bedraggled, slightly jet-lagged, and pale, probably just like me. Naisi is from Vienna, a snowboarder, mountain biker, photographer, magazine editor climax-magazine. Naisi is also of exuberantly joyful temperament. Because his perspective is permanently positive, possibilities are sprinkled on his path like cherry blossoms. How auspicious for a snowboarding trip. I myself decline to be photographed with him in a fit of modesty and general horror of displaying fan behavior — and, of course, regret missing the opportunity to this day. O n the blue and white Skyliner train from Narita to Tokyo, the first thing I notice is how similar to some parts of Austria the semi-suburban countryside is: the vegetation, the backyards, the occasional collection of malls, and building projects flitting by. It is known as a playground for traveling pros. We ourselves will be bound for Myoko Kogen, right in the middle of the main island Honshu, for a week of freeriding. But this trip into the silence of the Japanese Alps is still a few days away, which we intend to spend as wisely and as foolishly as possible, in the capital Tokyo — among 13 million other humans. Sakura and Yachiyo, the towns we pass by, are just another collection of settlements along the tracks like you could find them in Bavaria or Pennsylvania. I see patches of small dusty conifer forests, dried long reddish reed grass, the skeletal foliage trees, and the post-winter sleepiness of the staccato-cut street scenes, as the train flashes by, under a soft blue sky. I do so by looking at the signs and glancing over to the mostly Japanese passengers on the carriage. As we are about to arrive at Shinjuku station and stand up for the doors to swing open, I start to feel as if I were wrapped in cotton wool. Drowsily I lean on my bagged board, swaying gently, and thus slightly alarming the other passengers who have no idea of my concealed weapon of joy. Quickly I lose any sense of orientation on the platform, all signs being Japanese. We stand and stare in bewilderment, as the crowd streams around us like shawls of fish in a perfectly choreographed time-lapse sequence. My astral self, of course, is still somewhere behind me in the confusing limbo of transit. We politely end our quickly crumbling communication and move on — bags and snowboards still in tow, of course, feeling as misplaced as a Jamaican bobsleighing team on some dune in the Sahara desert. Eventually, we find our path out of the concrete maze, and successfully hail a cab, its uniformed driver wearing white cotton gloves and never once smiling, while at the same time unfailingly displaying utmost grace and pride in his profession. As we patiently glide through the morning traffic, I open the window and take in the spring air, uncommonly fresh for a big city, Seaside fresh almost. The scenes and the pace of the people passing by are reminding me of a more futuristic sort of Manhattan: everything is a bit more round than edgy, more colorful, diverse, and toylike in its appearance, and gentler in its demeanor. Also, there is not a speck of dirt on the streets and the sidewalk — not even dust. We take a room in the stunningly stylish Monterey Hotel in Akasaka, on the far side of a large park. I will not bore the reader with the facts of Tokyo, and move forward swiftly to the wildest dreams of snowboarding in the winter wonderland to its north, but I must say, as a first-timer, that I liked Tokyo immensely. In the few days we spent there, I found it to be refined, silent, and far ahead of its time concerning urban life. I am still touched now, thinking back to the half-dozen female employees who would gather at the front door of a massage place to wave Goodbye to me at the end of a session, as if I was a beloved seafaring relative setting sail for Surabaya. Then we both take a bow as if we had performed an important cultural exchange. The arrangement includes a geriatric Superman and Catwoman, in plush slippers, having passed out in her armchair with the TV remote control in her limp hand. I fancy myself as a solitary, self-reliant character in a Murakami novel. The sheen of the moon lies on the flanks of Fujiyama, rising in the far distance, unperturbed in its Zen silence. Look at the sunrise! I can hear the birds waking in the valley! But what a pity to say so! As we head back to the hotel somewhat lightheaded, snowflakes dance furiously through the streets of Tokyo. On a warm Kodachrome morning, we wander through imposing stone gates into the compound of the Kokyo, the old Edo period palace: I remember the Samurai quarters, their architecture exuding stocky strength; buildings that retreat in themselves, layered like armors; English lawns, cropped short, but still dry and brown from winter; the abandoned teahouses in Ninomaru Garden with their low, projecting copper roofs and sunburnt wooden walls; the wind sighing in a bamboo grove; dreamy stone bridges with simple, but captivating patterns; a bent-up, sky lifting roof slope of the fujimi-yagura Mt. Fuji view keep , touching the flatted, storeyed crown of a majestic cedar. A few days later, we board the Shinkansen bullet train and zip through the countryside for an hour and a half towards the Olympic city of Nagano. Looking out the window, our hearts sink with every mile: There is not a patch of snow to be seen since we left Tokyo. Nevertheless, we hold on to our snowboard bags and our hopes for a sudden comeback of winter. As the door swings open, a flurry of cool wind tousles our hair and clothes. High in the evening sky stands a golden stratocumulus cloud of otherworldly dimensions. Almost daunting is its sublime immensity. Feeling diminutive, we retreat into our Japanese-style double room, made of thin canvas, tatami mats, and tenuous woodwork. The next day begins with a breakfast buffet. It includes a dark salad of fried grasshoppers — jagged legs and all in shiny honey-soya-sauce —, algae rolls, perfectly poached eggs, and strong green tea. Then the keeper of the ski storage space hands us our boards and we step outside onto the village streets. Only, they are gone. Overnight it has descended and it is shedding its heavy load. A divine call seems to have been made and now the spirits of the sky are at work. It will continue to snow relentlessly for the next three days, the forecast says. The woods are sinking fast under huge white pillows, as we glide up the Myoko resort chairlift. His name is Richard Hegarty, and he has an air of suave confidence about him. Richard looks like a certified engineer of a fun time, and he is a professional member of the global snowboard- and ski community. Japan is a neuralgic point in this loose and self-organising network, chasing the winter and wandering with the weather. So much for the lusciously lush life of the traveling powder hound. Snowboarding soon became popular among mountain lovers, surfer types, and skate punks in the US by the early s and came to Europe by the end of that decade. The hype that happened to the young sport in the mid-Nineties is gone now, in But we are still here and we have reached the end of the lift. It should be mentioned, that all the while even though the chairlift runs silently Japanese pop music is blaring full blast from the tops of the pillars, to be heard on either side for hundreds of meters into the misty distance. Irritated at first by this stomach-churning noise, I find it enhances the acoustic orientation significantly to hear the plastic beats not too far away when, later in the day, we get lost in the winter wilderness of the more secluded gullies, canyons, and alternative runs. Naisi, Richard, and his Aussie pal Phil are already strapping on their bindings and cleansing their goggles. I estimate that the snow grows at a rate of 12 inches per hour. On a flat field, which leads to the run back downhill, I lose speed and immediately sink hip-deep into the dry, silky powder. I almost have to dive down with my head under the surface to undo my bindings and dig out my board, so I can strap it on again over the surface. To no avail. The snow is just too deep for that — terrifyingly deep. I should maybe mention at this point, not to boast but to put in perspective, that I am not a beginner but an experienced snowboarder who grew up skiing as soon as I could stand upright, like every regular Tyrolean child. I ride with pride! And now I feel like a Dutch housewife who won a three-day introduction to snowboarding sorry Dutch housewives! While my buddies are already gone, I have to fight off a small panic attack, being left behind and all but drowning in powder. All I can do is plant my board edge first into the heaps of white before me, and pull myself towards it again and again. After five minutes I am sweat-soaked and exhausted, but I have reached a steeper part of the slope, which allows me to put the board back on my feet and let go. Finally, I am getting the hang of maneuvering in such crazy conditions, and I catch up with my mates, who, of course, chastise me sarcastically for being so slow. The general mood among us from this moment on is pure childhood days happiness. Over the Sea of Japan, the winds pick up the vaporizing ocean water, which adds salt to the snow clouds, acting as a coagulant. Thus the snow is made of large crystal clusters that make it light and voluminous, fluffy and puffy — the best you can hope for as a skier or boarder. A lthough the vision on the slope is almost flat, we are whooping with joy, practically all morning. At lunchtime, we retreat into a mountain restaurant, red-cheeked, with ruffled hair and wet clothes. We order noodle soups, dumplings, and lasagnas by printing out small sheets with dish numbers from a photo wall depicting the culinary choices in that usual bleached-out and rather unappetizing way of most food images everywhere in the world. Then we have to stand in line, handing our food tickets to a cook who returns with our dishes pronto. Most guests in the mountain restaurant are Japanese families there are about 8 million skiers and snowboarders in Japan , but there are also many Australians, French, Swiss, and some Americans. To our embarrassment, we are being camera-interviewed by some very nice but very talkative folks who eventually put out the resulting film on youtube. With our tattoos, we are left pretty much to our own devices. Thus we have the onsen all but to ourselves. After a thorough cleansing wash, we smilingly sink into the hot mineral-rich water coming straight out of the volcanic depths of Mount Myoko, still visible in the dark of the evening. The water level is about thigh high, standing up, and the pools are tiled with flat slabs of stone. The onsen is built into the indoor space and continues outside in wintery temperatures. All heated and cozy I lean back on the rim and let the snowflakes land on my face. When we have soaked enough in the onsen we usually go out to enjoy pescetarian snacks and spirituous drinks at the only hip place in town, just down the street from our hotel. A young couple runs the bar. He is tall and lanky and prepares the food with ease and precision, she — tiny, funny, and pink-haired — entertains the guests and serves Asahi beer and warm sake in quick succession between tasty mouthfuls of seafood and sashimi. With some excellent Japanese hip-hop beats bouncing in the background, the small international congregation of guests soon turns into a gregarious party. On our way back we run into a group of sozzled Japanese businessmen in white bathrobes, giggling like teenage girls and slipping on the snow, which results in spectacular, divesting falls and adds more hysterical giggles to the scene. We gladly join in. O n the third day, the sun comes through between fresh snow clouds for long spells and opens up a blinding panorama. Above us looms the active stratovolcano Myoko-San, a trapeze-shaped lava dome, engulfed by a round rocky ridge. Comforting years ago, the volcano erupted for the last time and carved out this crown of a caldera. Myoko-San has a distinct personality, laid-back and sovereign. Together with his brother peak Hiuchiyama, he oversees the wide half-moon bay of the Japanese Sea and the flats of Echigo, as well as the fine folds of the high Japanese Alps, rising to the North and East. The white hills, outlined in pencil-drawn precision, are clad in dark laces of underbrush with russet tops. The forests, seen from a distance, look soft as velour. Every shape in the landscape is delicate and minute, every branch is bent in filigree finesse. We enter the woods — and practically never leave them for the entire day, exploring the more secluded valleys, and enjoying the computer-game-like inurement of repeating tree runs until we know every turn by heart. Muffled by the snowy forests, the freeriding is soft and noiseless, and the steep terrain allows for great speed. In Japan, tree runs are frowned upon among locals: the ghosts of dead folk, the spirits kami-sama of the mountains, and the raccoon-like trickster of mythology tanuki live here and are better left to themselves in their white world of silence. With all due respect, we see ourselves as part of this world: for freeriders and freeskiers, these spaces out of bounds are a sanctuary, our only pollution here are our tracks soon disappearing under large snowflakes and our gift for the kami-sama is our communal spirit and individual style. Richard and Phil have left yesterday after their extra-extended stay, and so Naisi and I hike up a high ridge that will lead us over a shrubby shoulder onto a trail, freshly broken by a few Japanese shredders we saw from the lift. Now, after gliding through a bright birch forest, we have reached the last uphill part before we can enter a long, steep, and virginal powder flank. Again I have to take off my board and use it as a plank to pull myself after it. We clamber up a round pillow that I fear may collapse or break off with us, avalanching down the hill. Finally, we make it and Naisi takes the first run, just as the sun illuminates the entire mountainside. No slabs or avalanches follow him, so I push myself off the thick pillow and let it rip. The spray behind me keeps standing in mid-air for a long time, the wind is whistling in my ears. But it is imagination turned real, elementary, and timeless as a scene from a Hiroshige woodcut: two men with wooden planks under their feet, surfing a white volcano. It is a lasting moment.

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