The Japanese Adventure, Part IV – Sausages & Shins
The summit of Mt. Fuji.
Having completed our trek up and down Mt. Fuji, with my leg in a degree of controlled agony, my eyes almost cemented together through lack of sleep and my underarms more malodorous than twelve-hour roadkill, getting naked in a Japanese hot-spring (onsen, in the native tongue) was not my idea of relaxation. I couldn’t have been more mistaken.
The onsen was basically a public bath-house. With my prudish English streak in overload, I felt bloody uncomfortable about climbing into some massive communal bath with my Crown Jewels exposed for the entire orient to see. This, of course, highlights the typical male ego; no one really wanted to look at my member, for they were of course washing themselves and not rampantly drunk homosexuals bent on assailing my genitalia (though I’m positive an old fellow kept eyeing me from the jacuzzi…). After a somewhat timid first soak, it was relatively easy to feel, well, at ease, though I’m sure it would have been a lot worse if the bath-houses hadn’t been gender divided. Oh, that would have been dreamily awkward…
Me big European man…
I do apologise, I was…fantasising…
Ahem.
There were several hot baths (some incredibly hot) and one extremely icy cold bath that I suppose had some sort of cleansing, homeopathic healing thing that my increasingly hippie mum would probably buy in for. I lasted about twenty seconds in the sauna before I felt like my body would implode. How can anyone breathe in those damn things? I thought I was experiencing some sort of mild heart-attack. The outdoor bath was certainly the best, despite the view of several Japanese men sunning themselves on the loungers. With such fine Japanese weather, the cooling breeze and the warm water would’ve easily put me to sleep. Regardless, it was an experience I wouldn’t forget, and one that become twice more familiar in the coming week.
We left the onsen at around two o’clock in the afternoon and got back to Tokyo at about four, arriving at H.’s an hour and a half or so later. As I lay down in my room, I was aware that my leg ache was still very much there; trying to ignore it, I closed my eyes in a vain effort to sleep, but to no avail. The pain was too overpowering. Considering my options, I knew I would have to act. Realising a trip to the doctor would be in order, I told H. and was whisked off to the local hospital.
Early comments from the hospital receptionist said that any sort of x-ray or scan would cost upwards in the region of €500. With only about €350 left, ‘concerned’ would have been putting it lightly. A young chap saw to me; he was extremely polite (with truly awesome hair) and H. did all the translating for me. The doctor was left rather puzzled – he gave no ultimate diagnosis, as I seemed to have no pain in the areas he expected me to have any, and pain in the areas he didn’t. After climbing Mt. Fuji, it was also pretty difficult to pinpoint exactly where the ache was coming from. He said I had a 1% chance of having developed DVT (in my hypochondria, I had linked my dead-leg incident on the plane to my shin) but considered it very unlikely at my age; eventually, he said it may have been the side-effect of some sort of flu as I appeared to have a mild fever. Bizarrely, he overlooked the glaring yellow bruise complete with matching lump on my lower leg, instead prescribing aspirin and heat-wraps. Being a startling delightful fellow (or more likely thinking, “Haha, you dumb fuck, get travel insurance next time!”), he charged nothing for the consultation.
Considering my mind had been put at ease, I immediately felt better. A little internet research in the evening revealed that my ache had probably been caused by a bone bruise. The bruise itself would disappear in days, but the lump could remain for months or more. Indeed, it’s only been this month – the start of November – that I have noted its more-or-less complete absence. Funnily enough, I still get the odd pain there, depending on the weather. Frightfully unspiffing of it. Still, I rather preferred that over an aneurysm or tissue-eating necrosis.
The weekend passed lazily. D., disappeared off for a few hours to meet some of his work-camp friends in Tokyo (he had been in Japan a month prior to my arrival), and H. and I traipsed about the local vicinity, checking out the large, sprawling malls and arcades. My gods, do the Japanese know how to shop. And play arcade games. And drift RC cars.
Arcades in Europe *seriously* need to catch up.
Frightfully moreish Japanese snacks.
A Nakagawa mall, with its own RC racing track. Oh yes.
My leg was recovering well and I felt spritelier than I had before. We spent our idle hours planning the next week’s agenda – Nagoya, Nara, Osaka and Kyoto were all on the cards. It was going to be very busy, indeed.
Leave a Reply