Ohdairajuku Pt. III: The Bottom of a Suntory Bottle

This will be the final installment in my saga over our weekend camping trip in the Edo-period mountain post town, Ohdairajuku, located just north of our home-stay city, Iida. When we last left off we were taking a midday respite after a day of hiking and wading in an ice-cold stream. After resting up, a few of us headed up the road with our professor in search of friendlier waters.

We came across a shallower creek with bubbling waters coming just above our ankles. The shallower water was still cool, but much less so than the turbulent, deep-running stream we'd been in before. We walked a ways up the water before rejoining the road and going in search of a waterfall our professor swore was nearby.

About a half mile up the road, we found a small pool just off the beaten path that did indeed have a small waterfall feeding into it. The pool was nearly as cold as the first stream, but the water was not running near as fast.There was a bit of rock face and undergrowth on either side the waterfall, just enough for someone, I don't remember who, suggested we might be able to climb it.

Suddenly the waterfall was a jungle gym and we were back in elementary school. Slowly but surely, several of us
attempted to climb up the sides, a little more than a 20-foot scramble up some slipper, moss-covered rocks. Four of us made it to the top, where naturally we had to strike triumphant poses a la Usain Bolt and Captain Morgan as the water rushed around our feet toward its eventual drop.

With that challenge completed, we worked our way back down to the pool below and our waiting friends. We took turns submerging ourselves in the icy water and seeing who could stay under the longest. You know, like adults. After having our fun we decided it was about time for dinner and started back towards camp. We dried off and had a bit of a lull while dinner was prepared.

Here was where the evening took a turn, at least for me. During the day, a new group of travelers had moved in to the building across from ours and in order to decrease visibility of the valuables, some of us, myself included, had hidden our computers under our pillows or futons. Unfortunately, during the course of the day, someone had stepped on my futon, just where I had hidden my laptop. I opened up the lid, to see a spider-web crack across the entirety of the screen.

As many of my fellow Millenials can probably appreciate, I had my whole life, not to mention connections to back home, on that computer and I was somewhat devastated to see it so banged up. I was so distraught, I made the brilliant decision to walk off my frustration with a personal hike up some of the paths we'd been shown the day before, accompanied by my good friend, a full bottle of 80 proof Suntory whiskey. For those of you unfamiliar with Suntory, watch the Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson film "Lost in Translation."

It wasn't a long walk, not more than an hour, but by the time I got back to our cabin, I found myself short half a bottle of whiskey. Upon my return, I found that dinner wasn't quite ready and so I adjourned to a side veranda overlooking the forest and continued with my drink and my thoughts. I was joined by some of my friends as we took in the night air and I felt the whiskey slowly mellow out the anxiety I felt over my cracked screen. By the time dinner rolled around, I was left with what could hardly be called a fourth of my bottle left and as ever, good ol' Suntory had done its job.

This all happened within the span of about two and a half hours, so I was only interested in about half of my beef stew, delicious though it was. I set it down next to me as we sat around the cooking fire, folded my arms and promptly fell asleep. At some point, I woke up and stumbled the few feet over to my futon and there I passed out until the morning. I woke well-rested, albeit a bit groggy, with little to no hangover. Our last morning at camp was short-lived as we had to immediately start packing and cleaning before some workers from the city were scheduled to pick us up and return us home.

The ride down the mountain was much smoother than its ascent and we arrived back in Iida to our waiting host families in the early afternoon. I can honestly say this is one weekend, one set of memories among countless I experienced over the course of my stay in Japan, that I will always hold dear, even if that last night didn't have the happiest ending.