Caution: What follows is a long story. Read on if you like. I won't be offended if you don't. = ) Can I just say I am soooo thankful February is over? I never do so well during this time of year, and I thought it was just in the States, but apparently it applies anywhere in the world (at least anywhere with a cold winter). I'm glad whoever made our calendar way back when decided to make the second month a little shorter. The word "March" is just filled with so much more hope than the word "February." I believe in some extreme cases, "February" could even be considered vulgar enough to be used as a curse word... But. March is here, which means we can celebrate the end of winter. Which is exactly what 8 of us girls, Tomoko sensei (Mr. Maki's wife), and Kono sensei (a very attractive male teacher at Wakakusa) did last (not this, this weekend was relaxingly uneventful). A few weeks ago, Encho sensei (Mr. Maki) made the announcement, "Winter is ending, so to celebrate, we will all go to Hawaii." So, last Sunday, to "Hawaii" we went - a water park in Iwaki, a sea-side town about an hour from Funehiki. *Side note: I find it odd and a bit ironic that I've lived on an island for almost 6 months and still haven't seen the ocean... Anyway, back to Hawaii. We all gathered at 7:40 AM (ok, so it was more like 7:43, which stressed Tomoko sensei out more than can be expressed in words), and made our way there - only to arrive early and have to wait in line outside, next to an annoying speaker playing an incessant theme song over and over. Once we got inside, though, any irritation the song caused melted away, for we beheld a scene very much, in fact, like Hawaii. The air was about 85 degrees, there were palm trees everywhere, and water could be heard swirling and falling from surrounding waterslides and pools. I was so happy I almost started to cry. Ok, so not really, but it was really nice. After walking around quite confused for a little while (I forgot to mention that neither of our two leaders, Tomoko or Kono sensei, speak very much English) we eventually figured out that we were supposed to follow one of the women bustling about and looking very much like they fit into the Hawaiian scenery, uniformed in screamingly loud orange flowered dresses. She led us through a labyrinth of stairs and hallways until we reached our very own room in the traditional style of Japan. The floors were covered with greenish-tan tatami (grass) mats, which required us to remove our shoes – so that the toes faced away from the door – before we entered. We entered and exited through a sliding door that was made of a wooden tic-tac-toe patter holding pains of opaque glass. The only piece of furniture in this particular room was a traditional table – about 1 ½ feet above the ground, with 8 silk embroidered cushions arranged around it to sit or kneel on. At first this type of room would make me tense just at the sight of it (especially knowing that I’d probably have to sit in “seiza” style (on your knees) for hours at a time), but after many experiences with these rooms in the last few months, they’ve come to look and feel somewhat normal. We didn’t end up spending enough time in the room to even worry about seiza-style sitting, though. We changed as fast as we could and headed straight for the water. The joy of splashing about in a body of water still hasn’t lost its luster for me, and I’m not sure it ever will. Lis and I spent the morning making fun of each other’s butterfly strokes until we abandoned that activity for the more “adult” one – the onsen. This is my second experience with an onsen – a traditional, outdoor, hot spring public bath that is now, in modern times, separated by gender. Kate had told us the onsen here was stunningly beautiful, so we were eager to experience it for ourselves. Unfortunately, this park was HUGE, and we most definitely wandered about for ½ hour unsuccessfully attempting (and walking through places we probably shouldn’t have in the process) to discover this legendary “bath.” Eventually we saw some Old Navy flip flops in a shoe rack outside a locker room, and were relived upon entering to find Kate, who showed us where we wanted to go. Let me tell you, the search was worth it. My English skills are rapidly deteriorating (as has been pointed out by more than one friend or family member recently), but I will do my best to describe, as the sign on the wall said, how we, “Had a good aesthetics.” Lis and I entered the onsen area through an all dark wood hallway, lit by tiny lights from the ceiling. We passed through a doorway, screened by hundreds of deep red silk chords, and on the other side were directed to our right (the women’s side) and kindly instructed to remove our shoes by a smiling, hospitable woman in deep-colored kimono. We placed our shoes on a floor-to-ceiling shelf, and headed through another screed doorway, down another hall. This hall, too, had wood on both walls, floor, and ceiling. Along these walls, however, were reminders of Japan’s rich culture and history. On the left wall were two large paintings with scenes of an olden-day public bath in right blues, creams, yellows, and spurts of red. Along the right wall were garments worn in the past by rice farmers, lining the wall, one after another. Each outfit consisted of a simple deep blue robe, with a slightly cone-shaped straw hat gracefully draped overtop. As we sauntered down the hallway in our bare feet, a koto (traditional Japanese stringed instrument laid on the ground and played while kneeling) could be heard faintly from somewhere overhead, making me feel as if we were traveling back in time – allowed a momentary glimpse into the ancient culture and history that modern-day Japan is rooted in. At the end of the hallway was a wooden sliding door, and, upon pushing it open, we stepped out into the frigid February air. Along the right side, where we walked, was a long wooden “deck” of sorts, covered by a slanted wooden awning connected to the building we’d just stepped from. Along the wall were (again, wooden) lockers to store clothes and anything else “unclean” that shouldn’t enter the pure spring water. We entered the onsen by stepping (cautiously) down 5 or 6 stone stairs. The water is pumped from natural hot springs under the earth (and therefore is very hot) into the onsen, in this case, a very large, stone-bottom bath, winding in, around, and through trees, rocks, flowers, and even an old-fashioned wooden boat. Since it was a chilly day, heavy steam rose form the water, and combined with the gray skies, the ambiance was melancholy, serene, even a slightly mystic. The air smelled of fresh-cut wood, and the cool rocks and sprinkles that soon began to all offered a perfect balance to the intense heat of the water. It was enchanting. And our muscles spoke their thanks as they soaked in the soothing, steamy pool. As wonderful as it was, and as much as it heals away achy muscles, there’s only so much heat one can take, so after ½ hour, Lis began to get curious, and wandered around, opening and peeking in doors that to me looked off-limits. I begged her to stop, mortified that our American mindset had followed us into such a richly Japanese experience. In the end I benefited from it, though. She discovered a natural sauna. The sauna, too, was made entirely of wood, and was steamed by the water from the natural spring. In the center of the room, on top of the steam source, sat a short, wide basket, lined with a linen cloth, and filled with what appeared to be woodchips. My theory was that they were sugar maple chips, because the thick air smelled sweet and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was back in the sap house at my grandparents’ farm. That building no longer produces the sweet, sticky treasure of the trees, but I’ll never forget the scent of the steam as it rose from the boiling sap. The sauna smelled just the same. The rest of the day was filled with other “good aesthetics,” too – a Hawaiian dance show, a buffet of Japanese junk food, more time splashing in the pool. But, as close as some sections of the park resembled our country’s island state, I was thankful, soaking in the hot spring water and later inhaling lungfuls of sweet steam, to be fully in Japan.