The Fukudaya is a ryokan. Simple accommodations. Quiet neighborhood.
The visiting team of shoes lined up inside the door and the home team of slippers faced them from
the floor above. No one seemed to be competing with me for the largest size. Always a greeting
from the obaasan, even a bit of a conversation. It’s easy to talk about ”cold” and “wet” and “tired”
in pantomine. And it’s fun.
My room included two closets, a TV, a lamp, a futon that was aired everyday, a pillow filled with
beans and a low table, where each evening I would find tea in a canister, a teapot, a battery-
warmed thermous of water, and toasted rice snacks. A yukata and towel would be folded neatly
across my futon for my trip to the bath. I would relax here and look through whatever treasures
I found on my walks. With friends, the table would be crowded with snacks, liters of tea, ashtrays,
lighters and cellphones. Only then did 100 sq. ft. seemed inadequate.
I rose early everyday to bathe down the hall in a little tiled room with a shower hose. Wet down,
lather up, rinse off. Done. In November and December, you work fast between rinses. On my
second trip, I took a room with a private bath and a tub. Hot water to my chin. This is the way to go.
You walk on pavement for fifteen hours and tell me you’d prefer to stand in a quick American shower.
And the slippers in the toilet...I knew they stayed in the toilet.
Tidy lanes crowded with apartments and restaurants surround the Fukudaya. Deserted for the
most part, but for crows in the daytime and cats at night. Behind the hotel is a small park for kids.
I seldom found lawns in Japanese park, just dirt bordered by plants. I didn’t expect to see
graffiti, but it couldn’t have been anything else...