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IHG ANA HOTELS in Japan. Check it out.
Here,we introduce hot sightseeing spots and cultural information from the areas
close to IHG ANA HOTELS in Japan. Check it out! |
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Everybody in the lobby was wearing
the same cotton bathrobe as I was. Blue for the boys, deep red for the girls.
I'd died and gone to a paradise where the angels wore yukata. Everyone was wearing
the same, everybody had the same plans - a bath before dinner then a good night's
sleep. Put it that way and it doesn't sound like much. If I tell you that one
night in this paradise cost me \30,000, I've certainly got some explaining to
do.
Just as naturally as the water from hot springs bubbles up from the ground, the
Japanese channel it into stress-melting baths. In many places around Japan, whole
towns have been built where springs gush forth and they take the name "onsen".
It's a welcome silver lining for a country bedeviled by seismic activity. The
violence of volcanoes and earthquakes are some distance from the mind as you soak
in a mineral-rich hot tub with a view.
Arima Onsen is one of these towns and one of the most sought after at that. High
up in the mountains, with city folks doing city things at ground level, Arima
doesn't pretend to be anything more than a village of ryokan, dedicated to the
pleasure-seeker. Ours was the Arima Grand, a traditional Japanese ryokan - all
nine floors of it.
Don't be misled. Many of Japan's most renowned traditional-style inns are as large
as a Hilton, and modern enough to be at home in New York. What puts them in the
same class as more historic establishments is the way that you want for nothing
for the time you are there.
Our kimono-clad attendant matched the peachy tones of the carpet and walls perfectly.
She led us to our room, and while we were sipping the green tea she had promptly
made and enjoying the traditional sweets laid on for us, she stowed our grizzled
trainers, replacing them with identical pairs of open-backed slippers. After she
handed us our yukata (bathrobes), I got the impression that we weren't meant to
leave.
In fact, quite the point of the modern ryokan is to give you the best night in
you could possibly have. All the essentials are in place. Starting with the baths.
In Japan it's traditional to bathe before dinner. A long, hot bath where getting
clean is really only a preliminary. You wash thoroughly first - outside the baths
of course - with the showers and taps that line the walls. Then you take your
pick. I began with the sauna followed by the cold bath shock treatment. I felt
like I had to earn my relaxation with a bit of hardship first. Slipping into the
piping hot bath afterwards was tentatively done but only a few minutes after getting
comfortable, I spotted an irresistible door leading outside.
The rotemburo (outdoor bath) was lined with wood and overlooked the tree-clad
valley. Strategically-placed shrubs hid our nakedness from any passersby who cared
to look from far below, but as I stood after a good while to get a better view,
it was them that looked sillier, bundled and trussed in all their clothes. I was
pure and free, like the steam rising off my body.
Being reduced to a kind of human jelly by the heat reminds you of things that
your body tries to tell you. Aches disappear that you didn't realise you had,
tension simply melts away. Most of all though, it makes you hungry. Dinner comes
relatively early at a ryokan but it's something to be savoured over a long period.
Dinner isn't compulsory and many ryokan offer room-only rates which are significantly
cheaper. But why miss the Ferris wheel at the funfair? Kaiseki ryori at a top
class ryokan is not to be passed up.
My dinner tray was a miniature landscape of morsels, each in its own little dish
of rustic pottery or deep, black lacquer. Not everything was identifiable, but
matching flavours to colours and shapes became part of the adventure - and that
first spread was only the beginning. The next dish arrived and then the next and,
pretty soon, harking back to the beginning of the meal was like revisiting good
memories. What's more, I didn't taste the same thing twice and after 15 different
courses, I couldn't touch the plain rice served at the end. I was, however, assured
that it was delicious.
After dinner, I milled around the souvenir shop. The angels drifted by in little
clusters. Young couples smiled contentedly, groups of wizened old friends clucked
over the neatly packaged regional delicacies - you can always try before you buy.
Already, I was looking forward to breakfast the next day. It turned out to be
rice (I'm glad I got to eat some in the end), pickles, boiled egg, dried fish
and tofu. I swallowed my preconceptions about what was breakfast food and what
wasn't and didn't regret it.
But that was still a good night's sleep away. Ambling past the discrete entrance
to the hotel's very own pachinko parlour, I made a plan to visit the 9th floor
baths before breakfast was due to be brought up. Bathing in the morning is not
traditional in Japan but there were plenty of people breaking the rules with me.
We were treated to a gentle dusting of snow drifting down and to one side of the
rotemburo roof. Some of it was wafted under the canopy by the breeze and the odd
flake melted on my forehead. Each one was ample reason to stay exactly where I
was, as if I needed further convincing. Other snowflakes went straight to hell.
Frozen water from the sky meeting water bubbling up from the earth's inner rumblings.
But that was a yet to come. By and by, our maids laid the futons out and bed beckoned.
Here again the yukata comes into its own. It's fine to sleep in as well as spend
the day in so I didn't even have to change for bed - having nothing to do had
never been such a pleasure. In my standard issue robe and slippers I wondered
how much more relaxed I could be when I had even left my everyday clothes behind. |
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