If you watch enough Looney Tunes cartoons (as I did as a kid), you’ll eventually see a scene where one of our heroes has been captured by their enemy and placed in a stew pot. The nemesis might be Elmer Fudd. It might be Native Americans. It might be aliens. Our hero might be Bugs Bunny. Or Daffy Duck. Or the two of them together. Inevitably, they’ll treat the stew pot like a bath tub, enjoying a little relaxed bathing time until they realize the vegetables floating in the water are an indication that they’re actually in trouble, and their goose (or rabbit or duck) is about to be cooked. Literally.
My own Looney Tunes experience occurred while traveling in Japan’s Wakayama Prefecture. On paper, Engawa Guest House looked like an incredible find: an affordable farm B&B with vegan dinner and breakfast included. What are the chances of finding something like that out in the middle of the Japanese countryside?!! When describing the reality of Engawa, the word that comes to mind is “rustic.” We’re talking chickens and goats. A small wooden toilet (with questionable plumbing) at the bottom of the stairs. A traditional bedroom upstairs with futons and such but without tatami mats (very unusual in rural Japan). In short, we slept on a hard, wooden floor.
Which brings me to the bath.
Now, I’m an old hand when it comes to Japanese “ofuros.” Generally speaking, I have no problem at all jumping into an outdoor hot tub, even if it’s been shared by other people in the Japanese way. Easy Peasy. But the ofuro at Engawa is a different kind of animal. Imagine a big round metal bowl (somewhat resembling a stew pot), with a wood fire blazing underneath to heat it up.
Unlike hot tubs at home, however, which are quite deep and have a place to sit, Engawa’s bath tub is just a shallow bowl. To bathe in it, I must place a circular wooden palette in the bowl, cross my legs and position myself on top of it. As my weight sinks the palette to the bottom (protecting me from over-heated-metal burns), I slowly submerge into the bath, just about to chest level. To wet my shoulders, neck and head, I need to either splash myself with warm water, or ease the palette forward a bit so I can gradually sink down. It’s nutso!
“Hey Daffy, pass me a carrot!”
“This ain’t a bath tub, Dave. The cannibals are having you over – for dinner!”
But like all weird experiences in life, there’s a silver lining. As I crouch in my wood-fired wok, trying to stay warm, I’m able to look out at the rolling, green, Japanese scenery all around me, the sun slowly setting on traditional Japanese houses nearby. Everything is quiet and still, the only noise coming from the cluck-clucking of the chickens and the soft, susurrous bleating of the goats. It’s absolutely idyllic. There I am, simmering to perfection in an outdoor ofuro in rural Japan, having a one-of-a-kind experience, awaiting a delicious, organic meal made with local produce.
Not with me as the main course, hopefully. 😊
(In travel and in life, it can be a struggle to find a silver lining. If a loved one dies, for instance, or you slip on a rock and break your leg, or your bookkeeper embezzles $20K from your account (that last one happened to me!), it’s definitely going to take a while before you see the good in a bad situation. But it’s always there. Your loved one was suffering and now has found relief. That broken leg allows you to slow down and reassess the direction of your life. Your crooked bookkeeper spurs you to tighten up your security procedures and practice forgiveness. Sometimes a bath tub is a contortionist’s stew pot; other times it’s an unforgettable travel/life experience. No need to be Pollyanna about it. You don’t have to always “put on a happy face.” Give it time; feel what you need to feel. Then search for the silver lining. It’s always there eventually.)