“Spring is still far away here,” I thought as I got off the train and stood at Goshogawara station.
I got on the last bus to get to the Japanese hot spring hotel.
I knew that Hotel was located in the deep end of Tsugaru, but even so
I began to feel as if I was going to be taken somewhere else as the little bus kept going in the snowy landscape of the mountains.
“Welcome Ms Takizawa” the elderly lady’s voice echoed as I entered the huge entrance of the Hot Spring Ryokan hotel in Oku-Tsugaru.
“The whole hotel is yours today! As you are the only visitor!” she said, her face full of smiles.
I followed the old man who had been silent since he said “This way…”
He slowly climbed the steep wooden steps and the room was right at the end of the corridor.
“This is your room, Apple Room.” He smiled slightly.
The Iwaki Mountain’s impressive silhouette was raised clearly against the twilight.
Were those apple trees, which continued faintly until the bottom of the mountain?
The orange tinted water drops sparkled on the humid window.
The Kohakuiro（amber color）lights shimmered on the Japanese bamboo mattress.
After while I went down to the canteen for supper.
In front of the huge tray which were filled with numerous dishes, there was a wooden sign saying ‘ Ms Takizawa, one person’
The fish pot began to make boiling sounds.
I looked back as I felt someone’ eyes on my shoulder, and
I saw a middle aged square faced man in workman’s cloth through the half transparent glass door.
He was just standing still, facing the wall in front of him.
I went back to my room, changed to a Japanese bathrobe and walked down to the public bath in the basement.
The long steps and corridor were lit up with fluorescent lights, which were clogged with dead insects.
The changing room was filled with harsh light.
I felt embarrassed even before I undressed as the room was lit so well.
Even though I was so tired I couldn’t sleep somehow.
As I was trying to sleep I observed out of the corner of my eye. The flimsy lock, which was hooked on the Japanese paper door. As I was staring at the light on the ceiling, I thought of the story the Japanese girl who had just moved to London from Tokyo told me.
Her 90-year-old grandmother walked into the night sea to committee suicide.
Every time she thinks of her grandmother’s death, she has the urge to be lit by Japanese Fluorescent light
“The dark naked lights of Europe are not good enough to kill my fear of my grand mum’s death, it has to be that Japanese harsh white artificial light, “she said.
The images of the old lady entering the night sea and the girl who is alone in the room of the night city kept flickering in my head.
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