Ryokan etiquette

I haven’t blogged for a while as I thought it might be a bit insensitive to rave about the joys of travel while so many people’s holiday plans were going up in (volcanic) smoke. But now the ash crisis is subsiding, I’ll continue my account of my recent Japan adventures.

One of the highlights of the trip was a stay in a traditional ryokan guesthouse in the small mountain town of Yudanaka. I was particularly looking forward to this, but I couldn’t help feeling slightly nervous about the prospect of complying with ryokan etiquette – a subject which took up no less than five pages in my guidebook.

Often billed as peaceful retreats from modern life, most ryokan retain a traditional aesthetic, with tatami mats, sliding paper screens and caligraphy scrolls. Rooms are simply furnished, normally containing nothing more than a low table and chairs, a hanging scroll and a flower arrangement, although the twenty first century has now crept into many establishments in the form of flat-screen TVs, techno toilets and power showers.

The rules in many ryokan are similarly traditional and you may encounter curfews, strict arrival times and enforced early nights. Strict ryokan protocol also requires you to leave your shoes at the door, where rows of slippers sit waiting for guests. The slippers must then be shed before you step onto the tatami and we soon got used to shuffling them on and off as we moved from room to room. Less easy to grasp, however, was the separate pair of slippers provided for use in the loo and on several occasions I was greeted by disapproving glances when I accidentally wandered into the public areas sporting white rubber footwear emblazoned with the word ‘toilet’ in neon letters.

My boyfriend quickly settled in to the relaxed pace of ryokan life and fell asleep, while I occupied myself by trying on a yukata, a light kimono-style robe provided for guests to wear around the hotel. I was careful to tie it with the left panel overlapping the right, as wrapping it the other way is how the Japanese dress the dead and is considered a major faux-pas.

When evening came a maid arrived to set out our futon beds, kneeling and bowing as she entered the room. I was expecting to find the futons and the traditional rice pillows to be rather uncomfortable, but I enjoyed a blissful sleep. Our room also remained cosy throughout the night, despite the lack of heating and the freezing weather outside, thanks to the double duvet and the suprisingly effective insulation provided by the paper walls.

We continued with our strategy of total immersion the next morning by opting for a Japanese breakfast and it was then that I encountered my one and only craving for the familiar. At any other time of day, I would have been delighted by the miso soup, sushi, rice and vegetables which greeted us in the dining room, but all my stomach wanted at 8am was carbs and within a few minutes I found myself raiding the box of cornflakes discretely left of for wimpish Westerners.

The suprisingly comfortable futons in our room

Trying on a yukata

The view from our outdoor onsen

On our last evening, we decided it was time to experience another great Japanese tradition – an onsen hot bath. Public onsen normally require bathers to shed all their clothes – a daunting prospect for many foreigners – but the owner of our ryokan was happy to drive us to a private outdoor onsen perched on the top of a mountain. The extra cost was worth it and we spent a relaxing hour lazing in the steaming water as the sun set over the snow-covered valley below.

I didn’t think it was possible, but I slept even better that night.

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