Bathtime

by Eleanor Dillon (United Kingdom (Great Britain))

Making a local connection Japan

It had never occurred to me to estimate how much a monkey weighed. It wasn’t knowledge relevant to my everyday life. I wasn’t interrupting conversations at parties with – “roughly 11 kg!” – that’s the average for a male Japanese Macaque (thank you Primate Info Net). But when I heard the surprisingly heavy plunk of something landing on the slanted roof above, it was information I wanted to know. As someone used to only birds, or maybe the odd cat, being overhead I found the noise unsettling at first. But the skittering of small feet soon became a familiar sound during the time we spent at Jigokudani Onsen Korakukan. The traditional Japanese inn, or ryokan, is nestled at the base of the Jigokudani Monkey Park and the monkeys are not shy about making their presence known. The ryokan is sloped against one side of a valley with the river and path propped up on the other side. The dark wood of the walls and stairs mutter of old age but everything about the place still stands solid. The inn has natural volcanic hot springs, or onsen, which guests use to wash. There are two outdoor onsen that the monkeys are known to use as well. The entrance of the ryokan is lined with framed pictures of guests sitting, side by side, in the hot spring with macaques. The people in the photos looked serene against the snow, at ease with their unusual bathing companions. During our first evening I was eager to visit one of the onsen. Where else in the world could you have a bath with a monkey? The main outdoor onsen is by the river, in full view of the ebb and flow of tourists walking through the trees to the heart of the park. I opted instead for the female-only outdoor onsen which is shielded from view within the ryokan building but must be used naked. The lack of swimwear bothered me but I didn’t want to be someone who’s uptight about nudity and feigned an air of unconcern as I removed my robe in the small room leading to the onsen. I held the thin plastic bucket used for washing tighter that I needed to. Sliding the door open, I stepped into the stone courtyard. Slumped at the side of the onsen, a few metres away, was a large macaque. At the sound of the door opening, the monkey sat upright. Firm orange eyes gave me a shrewd look. The fur around the monkey’s soft pink face was misted with the steam from the hot spring. There was a faint hint of sulphur in the air. A few seconds passed where neither of us moved before the monkey began to sidle towards me, not breaking eye contact. There is being naked and there’s feeling naked. And then there’s a combination of the two. I felt raw and exposed in that moment, as if my skin was suddenly thinner, the blood too close to the surface. Another person wouldn’t have felt so vulnerable. They would have walked calmly towards the pool, embracing the opportunity – and maybe even the monkey too – cementing this as their favourite story from their time in Japan. A personal connection with this animal that could only be made in this moment, only in this place. I was not that person. I yelped, hands flapping. I threw the bucket roughly in the direction of the advancing macaque but with such poor aim and little force that anyone watching would have lowered their estimate of my survival chances was this the hunter-gatherer stage of human existence. I hastily closed the door behind me and stood back, listening for noises from the courtyard but all was quiet. This hadn’t gone to plan. It is easier to feel bolder in clothes. After a few minutes, with my robe tied tightly, I built myself up for a second attempt and peaked around the door. My monkey had gone. As had the chance and opportunity of that moment. I walked to the onsen and sat on the side. I looked at my reflection in the warm water and sighed. Who we are limits the stories we are able to tell.