The Only Time I’ve Been Truly Terrified While Travelling
And I wasn’t alone
At Globetrotters, we’ve been talking about stories only having photos taken by the author, which would exclude me from telling stories of my trips to Japan. And I have some great stories! Well, at least I think so. Amongst all these great stories in the friendliest country on earth was one terrifying tale. Stacey planned a road trip around Northern Honshu. I use the term “planned” loosely.
The Road Trip
We borrowed a car from one of her friends — it wouldn’t pass a roadworthy test here in Australia — so that was “fun”. Stacey is a “fly by the seat of her pants” kind of traveller, so we had no accommodation booked — but she had packed a little tent in the boot. It was only when we reached the first stop that we found that Japan’s camping grounds called camp-jo all close on 31 August; the end of summer. It was 3rd September and still 40 C degrees but that didn’t matter no camping grounds were open. We could sleep on the platform at the railway station — been there, done that — when I was a teenager or we could book a room at the “love hotel” where Japanese businessmen take their mistresses. I didn’t fancy that either.
Three Daily Necessities
Her plan was to drive around seeing as many of the art installations as possible
- Find an onsen, soak our weary bodies in the hot, hot water.
- Find somewhere to eat or at least buy some food.
- And then lastly, find somewhere to sleep that’s not a railway platform or a love hotel. These are minshuku (like a guest house or hostel) or ryokan (generally a little more upmarket, like our country hotels or motels)
This is where the kindness of the Japanese people surfaced, but I’m not going to tell those stories here.
Booking accommodation
After a couple of nights prevailing upon such kindness, I pleaded with Stacey to please book accommodation. I referred to my Lonely Planet book.
— This place looks nice.
— OK, OK, I’ll call them.
She called and spoke in Japanese. I confess I didn’t understand a lot of the conversation that followed. Admittedly, I was only hearing her side. The upshot of this call was the man she spoke to wouldn’t book us a room, but said something along the lines he wanted us to come to take a look first.
Stacey, who had travelled the whole world for a year, thought this was a little strange, but since we were close by, we’d go have a look.
The Ryokan
The front door to the lobby was open, but no lights were on. We walked in, Stacey calling Sumimasen (excuse me) all the way up the long hallway. All the doors to the guest rooms were open. We peeked in — they were gorgeous — they even had ensuite bathrooms. Much nicer than any minshuku we’d stayed at where we had a share the bathroom with other guests.
No one answered her call.
— There’s no one here. We could just stay in one of these rooms for free. (My suggestion.)
No answer from Stacey. She continued to walk and call Sumimasen loudly. I followed.
Where was the guy she had spoken to on the phone? Why would someone leave a whole ryokan open and unattended? These questions were running through my brain but remained unspoken.
In the semi-darkness (remember there were no lights on) so there was only the natural daylight from the guest rooms entering the hall) we reached the end of the long passageway, stopped, and looked at each other.
— Do you feel you’re watching a horror movie where two girls are lured to an empty building to be killed by a crazed axe murderer and you’re yelling at them “Get out! Run!”?
And that’s exactly what we did. We ran the whole length of the hallway until we reached the lobby. Still no one there. I was tempted to grab a beautiful carved wooden Russian babushka — I love those things — on my way out. Stacey glared at me.
— You have to be joking!
We ran to our car, jumped in, and didn’t look back. Did our imaginations get the better of us? We didn’t hang around to find out, but I’ve never forgotten that scary experience from our road trip around Japan all those years ago.
