Monkeys were the main attraction of the weekend. To be more precise, Snow Monkeys. These peculiar looking simians roam the mountainous Nagano region of central Japan, and are treated with reverence in Japan. They are a source of inspiration for Buddhist myths and are thought to be the inspiration behind the expression “See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.”
Martin, Reuben and Russ and myself drove in a snow storm to get to Yamanouchi, Nagano - about a three hour drive from Iida. This area had a place called Jigokudani Park which was populated with a community of snow monkeys, who had their own heated onsen to relax in. Despite planning the trip for weeks, we still had trouble finding the park once we arrived in the freezing town of Yamanouchi. When we asked for directions from passers-by we couldn’t gleam any useful information. One person gave woeful instructions along the lines of: "OK, go straight, then take a straight and make a straight at the straight."
Remarkably, we found the entrance to the park off a small side road. Our excitement was dented when we read a sign by the entrance which notified visitors that the actual park was a one mile trek on foot through a forest. By this point in the early afternoon, the snow was relentless, which made for icy temperatures. No one in our group could convey our disappointment because it was too cold to speak. All we could do was chatter our teeth to one another and look depressed. We still had time to take a photo outside the park entrance. Russ, Reuben and I did a see no evil, hear no evil and speak no evil pose, thinking we were so clever in doing so. As started to trek towards the park, another group of lads did the exact same pose as ours. This dented our pride, and with slumped shoulders we staggered through the snow along a narrow path surrounded by a malevolent forest, which made for a spooky experience. We never knew when we would see a monkey. They could have been lurking anywhere. This was not a reassuring idea because I had seen photos of them before the trip and they looked like they could pack a hell of a punch to pestering tourists. With this in mind, we tried hard not to disturb our surroundings in case they were sleeping but this was made impossible because the forest echoed back everything we said. We first realised this when Reuben became irritable about walking and screamed, “This place is colder than a witch’s tit!”
The echo of the word “tit...tit...tit,” had us all diving for cover in case we were confronted by an army of angry monkeys ready to spill blood. Realising the coast was clear we valiantly trekked on, keeping focused on not falling down the large crevasses on either side of the trail. This was made more complicated by Russ, who is a serial snow ball thrower. Just when you breathe a sigh of relief after surviving a particularly dangerous pathway littered with rocks, ice and huge drops on either side, you'll get a big lump of snow thrown in your face by Russ, who would then laugh wildly before scampering off to reload. It was unnerving to see him dart ahead with a fresh snowball in his hand and hide behind a tree or rock. Even though he was unseen, we could hear his foreboding laugh echo around the forest. It was straight out of Deliverance. Half way through our trek to the monkey park, Reuben, Martin and I decided to quash Russ' merry little game by surrounding him and pummelling his shocked face with a fierce snowball attack. Not one snowball was thrown by him after that.
After the uncomfortably cold walk, we entered a wide clearing which looked like a mini-valley. The small hills were cloaked in snow, and the bridge that connected the two hills was iced with stalactites. On top of one of the hills was a small tavern with a welcoming light twinkling at the entrance. Business must be pretty bad because the four of us were the only ones inhabiting this Gothic clearing. The wind was howling in this open space and strange sounds were being emitted from above a set of steps that snaked to the top of the hill opposite us. It wasn't a human sound. More like a wild beast. A colourful thought swept through my mind as I surveyed the surroundings. Perhaps this small valley was the monkey park and the monkeys were actually running the tavern and admitting the tourists with ticket stubs. This would explain the patent lack of human tourist guides and helpers.
The bedraggled, toothless old bartender inside the tavern was the first human being we had seen in an hour, yet he was more delighted to see us. When he saw us come into his inn, he jumped in the air with joy and made a strange yipping sound. The sort of sound a Chihuahua might make if you stamped on its tail. He then sprinted to the counter to take our orders. Judging from his reaction you'd have thought we were the first customers he'd seen in 30 years.
I ordered warm sake which was a comforting beverage considering the below zero temperatures outside. We sat on a tatami mat next to a heater and drank like drains. It was a unanimous decision to numb our senses with alcohol before we were exposed to the freezing cold again. Not only were we successful in numbing our physical senses, but we also numbed our mental ones because we found ourselves doing monkey impressions by jumping around on the tatami mat, and disturbing the other drinkers in the process. After slurping the last of the sake we said goodbye to the oddball landlord and staggered out into the fresh chill. We ambled up the twisty stairs on the hill opposite the tavern and in our pissed state we all felt it fitting to hum the Indiana Jones theme as we charged up the dangerous and archaic looking steps.
Finally, at the top, we found what we were looking for: The Snow Monkeys. There were at least 50 monkeys patrolling the wide clearing. At the centre was a small pool of steaming water. On closer inspection, the water was warm and inside the little pool were monkeys soaking up the atmosphere and having a good old time. It was their own personalised onsen I had read about. On account of the freezing weather, monkey families clung to each other to keep warm. It was a wonderful experience to see little baby monkeys snuggling up to their parents with dreamy eyes whilst the mum and dad would look authoritative as they protected their little kid. This truly breathtaking moment was ruined by me crassly remarking, "This is like David Attenborough shit!"
Stupid and glib comments aside, the scene was remarkable and I managed to get many close-up photos of these monkeys. Most were obliging, apart from one grumpy git. This particular monkey was appealing to me because his gnarly face was weather beaten and old. He looked like he could tell a fine monkey tale round a camp-fire. I slowly crouched down before him and attempted to make reassuring and friendly monkey sounds. Hearing my monkey grunts, Old Git Snow Monkey looked up from the ground and made eye contact with me. He was obviously unimpressed by what he saw because he looked straight back down to the ground again with a grunt. I crept closer to him and started to focus on his face with my expensive camera. The picture was going to be perfect. The snow was gently settling on his forlorn and wrinkled face creating a potential magical shot. Just as I was arrogantly saying, "National Geographic, here I come." Old Git Snow Monkey bared his teeth and made guttural growling sounds that were definitely not mentioned in the tourist brochure. I let that sound pass, thinking he would calm down and quit being such a big baby. I resumed focusing the lens on his face. Suddenly, one of his friends came ambling over and nuzzled him in the back, creating the potential for an even greater photo.
Just as I was about to take my snap, Old Git Snow Monkey and his furry pal both growled simultaneously and bared their teeth. I gathered they wanted me to piss off so I crept backwards whilst profusely apologizing for being such an annoyance and resumed photographing less skittish monkeys. Perhaps Old Git Snow Monkey has seen one too many tourists in his lifetime, and my suffocating presence was the last straw.
We spent about an hour at the monkey park but I could have stayed all day. The weather, however, was unforgiving and our group were only five minutes away from turning into ice. The monkeys, too, felt the cold because they were bunching together in mass huddles to keep warm. At the moment we felt our fingers would drop off at any second, we waved goodbye to the monkeys. As I passed Old Git Snow Monkey, I threw him my business card in case he changed his mind and actually likes the idea of having his head-shot taken.
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