“Everywhere we’dbeen, locals could
be found perfor ming
even the most menial
daily tasks with care,attention and a kind ofZen devotion.”

SLOWSNOW

In one traditional Japanese village, a snow holiday moves at a gentle pace, rich in local culture
and history, far from the bar-hopping hordes. Tim Baker soaks it up
Oddly, it was while hurtling through the Japanesecountryside at 300 kmh, enroute to a popular ski
resort, that I realised why I found Japanese culture
so delightful.
As a uniformed lady wheeled a food and drink
trolley to the end of our carriage on the bullet train,or Shinkansen, she paused, turned to face the rowsof seated travellers, and slowly bowed, then turnedand continued on her way.
It was such an unexpected, small show ofgracious courtesy while we enjoyed the latest
in high-speed travel that it gave me pause forthought. As we sped from Tokyo to the snowfields
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of Nagano, I realised that the teeming metropolisof 13 million souls we were leaving behind could
only function, and not descend into chaos, becauseof the countless small courtesies its people display
every day. Everywhere we’d been, locals could befound performing even the most menial daily tasks
with care, attention and a kind of Zen devotion –whether preparing squid balls, sharpening knives,
serving breakfast or selling train tickets.
But my regard for Japanese culture was about tobe elevated to new heights by the beguiling charmsof a quixotic, snow-coated, farming village built
over hot thermal springs.

Nozawa-Onsen is a town of just 3800 permanent
residents that swells with visitors each winter,attracted not just for the bountiful snow and worldclass skiing, but also for the charming traditional
onsen, or hot thermal spring baths, that havesprouted throughout the village. Tradition and law
forbids drilling to reach the hot thermal spring waterthat runs under the village and so the onsens havearisen around natural springs, where the piping-hot
underground water naturally pushes to the surface.
Ornate buildings that resemble temples have been
built around the hot springs and house free publicbaths that attract locals and visitors, day and night.
55slow magazineThis is a world far removed from the popular
Japanese ski resorts overrun by loud Australians
determined to ski all day and party all night. Its
traditional charms first attracted Australian travellerMark Baumann back in 1991 and he’s still here,running Nozawa Holidays with his Japanese wife,
Yoshiko, and now with two young children. He calls it
not a tree change or a sea change, but a ski change.
Mark first arrived as a young backpacker looking
for work, after running out of money in Tokyo andheading to the country, where he camped by ariver and literally begged the local bakery for oldcrusts of bread. He spotted a job as ski patrol in aplace he’d never heard of called Nozawa-Onsen
and managed to score the job. He fell in love withthe traditional village life and untracked powder
and eventually decided to start his own businessintroducing other visitors to this little known, winterShangri-La.
“If you come to Nozawa you don’t just comefor the skiing (which is world class by the way), youcome to Nozawa to also get a taste of a traditional
Japanese town,” says Mark. “Nozawa is a special
place even for the Japanese tourists. The temples
and shrines, the amazing local food, the Onsen
baths and most importantly the friendly locals.”
The annual Fire Festival each January celebrates
births in the village and banishes bad luck. The
festival focus is a six-story wooden shrine that is
set alight by villagers carrying flaming torches.
42-year-old local men sit atop the structure, and25-year-old men defend its base from the crowd,

but eventually concede defeat and the shrine goesup in the flames, but not before the 42-year-oldshave scampered to safety. According to Japanesetradition, these two ages are considered unlucky
and the dramatic pyrotechnics are meant tocleanse them of misfortune.
The ubiquitous Dosojin statues visible
throughout the village depict a pair of young lovers,
and are said to be fertility Gods. “They must beworking as we have had two kids since we havebeen living here,” says Mark. Indeed the number ofmarriage proposals, weddings, honeymoons and,yes, even conceptions that seem to have occurredamong visitors over the years lend weight to thelegend.
The onsen is at the heart of village life. Thirteen

especially for the local women. Elderly locals can beseen shuffling to their nearest onsen each evening
at the end of a day’s work, carrying the trademark
basket containing soap and towel. They remind meof the senior citizens from the movie Cocoon who
have discovered the fountain of youth.
Indeed, after 14 years without skiing, my ageing
body remained remarkably ache-free throughout aweek skiing fresh powder every day, I’m convinced
in a large part due to a regular soak in the onsen.
It was not all smooth sailing with our onsen
experiences, however.
We had enjoyed a family onsen at our ryokan (atraditional guesthouse) in Tokyo, where you could
lock the door and have the bath to yourself. But
my first experience at a public onsen in Nozawa

Elderly locals can be seen shuffling to their nearest onsen each
evening at the end of a day’s work, carrying the trademark basket
containing soap and towel
onsens are dotted throughout the small village ofnarrow, cobblestone streets, so one is never faraway. A soak in the onsen is a daily ritual for most
locals and strict protocols govern their use. There are
separate men’s and women’s baths at each onsen,
and users strip naked and wash vigorously with soap
and hot water before soaking in the bath. A quiet,
respectful decorum is observed, though social chatand laughter appears to be a key part of the appeal

with my young son was not without incident. It
was only when we approached the quaint timberbuilding a short walk from our villa that the realityof the communal bathing experience dawned onmy nine-year-old. “You mean we are supposedto get nude with a whole bunch of randoms?” hedemanded incredulously. I suspect it was only thechilly night air and the warmth emanating from thebuilding that even got him inside.
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Fortunately, we had the place to ourselves but
did a less than perfect job of removing the snow
from our boots at the entrance. We disrobed,
stashed our clothes and began to wash, when anelderly Japanese gentlemen arrived. He looked
disdainfully at the small mounds of snow littering
the entrance and barked his disapproval at us inJapanese. I attempted to apologise profusely andset about sweeping the snow out the door, whilenude, wet and cold. Finally we sank into the hotbath gingerly, feet first to become accustomed tothe searing heat, then legs, then slowly, gradually
lowering our bodies. My son took some convincingthat the heat was bearable but eventually
succumbed to its soothing effects. Just as I wasrelaxing into the cultural experience, he announced
that he needed to pee. “Don’t you dare pee in theonsen,” I warned in a hushed command.
“I’ll hang on,” he promised, grimly.
The spectre of disgracing ourselves on ouronsen debut kept our bath brief. We emerged
into the frigid evening deeply warmed to the core,
yet my son remained sceptical about the entire
arrangement. “That’s the grossest thing ever,” hedeclared.
The onsen tradition stretches back hundredsof years. The village was reputedly founded bya Buddhist monk in 724 AD during the reign ofEmperor Shomu, although ruins of dwellings andartefacts dating back 3000 years have recently
been found. By 1250 AD it was already a populartravel destination. The first private bathhouse wasbuilt during the Edo period, around 1700, and astrict set of rules, called Sodai, were framed for
its use which are still observed today. The freepublic onsens today are run and managed by town
members and small donation boxes allow for theirupkeep.
The geothermally-heated and mineral-richspring water flows directly into the baths fromnatural springs, and each onsen is said to have aslightly different mineral composition, suited toaddressing particular ailments. Outdoor onsens
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allow the more modest to soak in their swimsuits,
and one outdoor onsen is even used to cookvegetables.
Skiing peaked here in the ’90s when theJapanese economy was booming and skiing wasseen as fashionable, but numbers have dropped
dramatically since as economic recession hasbitten. While numbers of local visitors havedeclined, foreign visitors have been on the rise,
particularly over the past five years as tourists
search for a more authentic Japanese snow
experience, away from the bar-hopping hordes.
The exchange rate favours Australians and prices
are surprisingly affordable. Our family of four ateout, even on the mountain during a day’s skiing,
for a total of around A$40. Ski hire, lift passes andin-the wall sushi bar is run by an eccentric chef
who freshly prepares every order, wielding hissushi knife brazenly as he delivers a comic, running
commentary in broken English. A small cornerbar with no signage, just a small room with a long
wooden bar and a neat row of gleaming metaltaps, serves up locally brewed beers, including an
intriguing Soba Stout. An eighth generation sakebrewer produces an exquisite local sake. Nozawa
seems full of such quirky, family-run establishments
serving fresh, local, quality produce. Nozawana isa local, green, leafy vegetable that grows nowhere
else in Japan and is served pickled with almost
every meal, a necessary nutritional staple in winter.
There is local concern that Nozawa-Onsen
could become too popular and go the way ofA recent meeting of the local tourism board decided they already had enoughvisitors and they should now focus on attracting the right sort of visitors, thoselooking for a cultural immersion along with their snow holiday.
accommodation are also surprisingly affordable,
well below what you’d pay in the Australian skifields.
The village population has been in decline forsome years, from 5000 20 years ago to around3800 today. Yet it is being supplemented by asteady trickle of Japanese city dwellers looking
for their own ski change. Like the young couple
we met running the delightful Neo Bar, serving
an international array of beers, local-style hotpots
and crepes to a young, hip, snowboarding
clientele. He had left Tokyo to pursue his passion
for snowboarding and in the off-season works
on a local rice farm to make ends meet. When I
remarked that it was surprising to find a Japanesebar selling the Tahitian beer Hinano, he explained
his wife was a professional Tahitian dancer when
she wasn’t working in the bar – a career that
I imagine might not be in high demand in a
traditional Japanese farming village. A tiny, hole-other snow resorts overrun by foreign tourists andinvestment from those with little regard for local
traditions. The New York Times named it one ofits top 50 travel destinations for 2014, an honour
that alarms some like Mark, who hope to see theold Nozawa ways preserved. A recent meetingof the local tourism board decided they alreadyhad enough visitors and they should now focus on
attracting the right sort of visitors, those looking fora cultural immersion along with their snow holiday.
I’ll confess to some nervousness about even writingof the place, hopeful as I am of returning one dayto find it as I left it.
To wander down cobbled streets after a day’s
skiing, snowflakes fluttering from the night sky, thearoma of hot dinners beckoning from dozens ofeateries, warmed to the core by a recent soak in
the onsen or ingestion of local sake, all this makes
for a magical travel experience with few peers.
Long may it remain that way.
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