Pet-Sitting in the South Park of Japan
“There’s no hot water in the shower and the toilet is a hole in the ground. There’s no air conditioning, but the weather might cool off in a couple of days which will help. Watch out for bears, they’re about 100 kg around here and are aggressive this year. It’s a 40 minute walk to the nearest place to buy beer, all uphill on the way back. The dogs might want to sleep with you, and they’re pretty stubborn so good luck keeping them out of the bed. The neighbours don’t like me very much, but hopefully they wont extend that to you. Most of them don’t speak English anyway. Otherwise, welcome to Nogura and enjoy your week!”
Welcome to Nogura indeed. Nogura is a town of 90 senior citizens south of Nagano in the Japanese Alps. It’s too small to show up on Google maps. It’s too small for a lot of things – too small to have a grocery store, too small to have municipal sewage, too small for an MLB team (sadly). I had gone there to dog- and house-sit and initially had my hopes up about spending a week in a rustic mountain retreat where I could write and focus. Rustic was obviously not strong enough a word, although the home had a lot of charm.
Cradled in the valley of two small mountains, Nogura is a peaceful little town that, bear-and toilet-concerns aside, really was a gorgeous escape… I just realized that you may read that and say “escape from what, you asshole?” Sorry about that. Escape from big city life? Not that I’ve been in the big city much… Escape from the sea? I definitely don’t need that… Fine, it was just a nice change of scenery ok? Can I go on?
Early in my stay the local architect and carpenter, Tetsuya, amiably invited me to the onsen. Japan’s public hot springs forbid tattooed bathers, but the town’s spring was private, and as long as I had an invitation from a resident it was fine for me to soak to my heart’s content. The spring was covered but open to the mountains on one side, which made for a beautiful vista to take in while the mineral waters turned my skin to buttered silk. Who needs hot water in the shower when every second day you can go scrub your flesh and soul with this view?
Gossiping, Tetsuya had told the coffee shop owner, Sasaki, that I wasn’t too barbaric, so one afternoon I got a knock and another invitation to the onsen. Despite my attempt to defer (that was two hot spring visits for me in one day), Sasaki was politely insistent, which I found amusing. Off we went for a soak while Sasaki curiously asked me about my travels and career and love life and Canada, etc. I guess living in a town of 90 people can get pretty boring. After we dried off, he then invited me to his studio (coffee shop owner and artist) for a beer, where he contrived to ask me for help building a log cabin… to which, of course, I said yes. I’ve never stripped bark off logs before. It’s hard work in 35 degrees, I’ll tell you hwut.
Later in the week, Tetsuya invited me to his house to help make a huge batch of croquettes with him and his wife Yoko. The three of us scrubbed potatoes and drank beer and chatted about Japan and pored over old maps and photographs stashed in their ancient home. The meal was amazing, although hardly a traditional Japanese one; other than the potato-and-beef croquettes, we had caprese salad, corn on the cob, and ratatouille, along with an appetizer of edamame. Yoko was a gin drinker (“She’s much more of a drunk than I am,” Tetsuya informed me matter-of-factly, to his wife’s horror) so we broke out the limes for dessert. I walked home in the dark through a shrine to the fox god. The evening ranks up there on the highlight reel of this trip so far.
Despite my busy social calendar (seriously eh?), I found time to walk the dogs for about an hour, twice a day. It rained regularly during my stay and the mountain paths were a sodden, muddy mess. I didn’t want to deal with three muddy shibas in the house, so I mostly kept to the roads while exploring. One road led up the side of the mountain and became my favourite route – if it was raining, the mountains were obscured but the trees and hillsides would be draped in a calm, timeless fog; if it was sunny, the view across the valley was incredible, and I could see all the way into the nearby city of Ueda, 20 km away. The countryside was littered with old shrines and temples, hidden down unmarked paths so you’d stumble across them by accident and be blown away by the history of the place.
The shibas were easy company during my stay. They’re a stoic breed and didn’t need much attention other than at meal times. One of them, P-chan, was a bit stubborn about going out for walks, and I’d have to carry her to the door, but then she’d trot along in front of the pack once we were on the road. I think she just liked having me be her personal taxi service out of the house. The male dog, Yoyo, was blind and would bump into things, bruising his quiet dignity somewhat. The youngest, Non-chan, looked more like a fox than a dog – she warmed up to me the most, and would cuddle in next to me on the couch in the evenings. It was fortunate that the dogs were less socially demanding than the neighbours, otherwise I wouldn’t have had a moment to myself.
My replacement sitters, a young couple from Singapore, arrived on the second-last day. I had been worried that the house’s… rustic charm might scare them off, but those girls turned out to be troopers and they settled in to make the best of it. It had been a good week for me, but I was ready to leave. The mountains were beautiful, but I missed the sea and I had a race to sail near Tokyo.
I also missed Tokyo’s singing toilets. Apparently I’ve become spoiled.
