Yamagata Steam and Snow

Looking for adventures has always been one of my favorite things, and I enjoy going on trips to close and remote locations just as much. But there is one question that I keep asking myself: when does a trip become an adventure?

Night Bus

First, let me define an adventure and what it means to go on one. What comes to your mind when I say this word? Searching for treasure on a remote island, hiking in the misty mountains, or maybe exploring an intricate network of caves and tunnels? How about a mission you have to work on in secret for months? Or having your spacecraft crash on an alien planet and look for materials to repair it?

Simply talking about these situations invokes the spirit of adventure in me. But what do they have in common? While most of them mention specific settings, they all make an accent on the verbs - your actions are more important than the stage they take place on. This little detail, which might seem insignificant at first glance, has led me to rethink my approach to the creative process over the past couple of months. But it all starts with an adventure.

It is almost midnight in Tokyo, and it is time to get on the night bus to Yamagata. While not as comfortable as a bullet train, there is no better way to start an adventure than a night ride.

Close the curtains on both sides of the seat, only leaving a small gap at the bottom of the window, which turns the light from the street lamps we pass into the heartbeat of the journey. Doze off and wake up at the first stop. Doze off again and wake up to the gentle sound of snowflakes hitting the window. Outside - pitch-black villages crammed between ominous-looking mountains. There are still almost five hours left. I need to try and get as much rest as I can since the moment the bus arrives, the adventure begins. Close my eyes for now.

Snow Storm

For some time now, I have had the idea that adventures are not all about the places we visit. On the other hand, some trips do end up becoming adventures. Where is the line that divides the two? Or, more importantly, what do we mean when we speak about the latter?

As I am asking these questions, my bus arrives in Yamagata. There are a couple of hours left of the night and almost six more until the hotel bus that will take me to the mountains. My first stop is Kajo Park, which in reality is a castle with walls and several layers of moat.

The blizzard, which has been going on all night, has covered the ground with a deep layer of snow. People who woke up before the rest of the city are only starting to clear it now. It is even worse inside the park, but luckily I encounter a person with a hand-operated snowplow and walk behind them.

White everywhere. I am starting to think that it might be time to put the improvised raincoat on my camera. The snow that does get stuck to it does not seem to be melting too fast - besides, the camera should be waterproof, right? Yes, but only until there is water in the circuits. As I take a photo of the inner Yamagata Castle, it stops responding to button presses. I need to find a dry and warm place.

After walking back to the city center, I head to one of the few places open at this early hour - an observatory at the top of a skyscraper. No matter how much I try to look down upon the city, it is almost impossible to see anything behind the thick white veil. An approaching train slowly coming out of the snow suspension. Mountain silhouettes in the distance. Close one eye, for now, close the other one after getting on the hotel bus.

Steam and Snow

If some adventures begin with a trip, what are other things that could spark one? We have given enough examples of situations that qualify as an adventure, but simply naming a few is not enough. Trying to list all of them would not be enough either. So, where does the border between the two lie?

The next and final stop is Zao onsen, a hot spring and ski resort up in the mountains. As the bus climbs higher, the amount of snow on the road only increases. The slope leading to the hotel is not an exception - it is covered in ice, and I have to get off a little early to finish the climb on my own.

First things first, find a comfortable sofa after going inside. Sit down, then take a walk around the lobby. The few guests and the snowstorm going on outside would make today a perfect day to write a certain detective novel, but I am here to take photos.

While well aware that this area is famous for its hot springs, I was not expecting the smell of sulfur to be permeating even inside the hotel. I must have missed something while taking a nap on the bus.

Leave most of my gear in the room and head out to explore the town. It is somewhat quieter than I expected. Locals clearing snow with shovels, machines, and even a bulldozer. Tourists with skis over the shoulder heading to and from the ropeway. If nothing goes wrong, I will take it in the morning.

Finally, I can see where the sulfur smell is coming from - numerous hot spring streams are creating an intricate network of canals running through and underneath the town. Some have bridges over them, and some disappear into the ground only to flow back to the surface on the other end of the street.

There do not seem to be a lot of paths I can take - I would be able to snap a picture of every single house in the area even before my one-day trip is over. After some planning, I decided to follow a habit I developed recently - to begin the photoshoot by first finding an elevated place to capture a landscape photo and visualizing the town layout in my head.

As I walk up the hill, the slope gets steeper and steeper. It will be a challenge treading, or most likely sliding, back down. I can only hope my equipment does not get damaged in the process.

Some paths branching off the main road are closed off - should not be a surprise in such a heavy snowfall. Cars and busses have chains on the wheels - they would not be able to get up the slope any other way. The town itself is hardly visible between the layers of snow and steam. Take what I call the classic landscape photo, and it is time to head back to the hotel.

I have a restaurant pinned on my map, but for now, some fried chicken and strawberry milkshake, which turned out to have no milk, will do. I have no confidence to say I would survive a single day without a convenience store nearby.

Return to the hotel and get a little rest before dinner. Watch skiers from the comfort of a warm room while getting the gear ready for the night shift. Lie down on the tatami mat floor using my knit hat as a pillow. It is time to close my eyes.

Night Shrine

In the end, every adventure is an internal endeavor. It is not what we find in our wanders that is important - it is how we let it change our lives that matters.

Looking to discover something in the outside world is just a way of priming our minds for inner discoveries. Go to a tropical forest, and you will start wondering how many species of insects there are and about their place in the ecosystem. Enter a dark and damp cave, and you will begin looking for pockets of light, trying to figure out how many times the light rays bounced off the walls to get this deep into the cave. Enter a mountain tavern to get some rest, and you will end up making bets on how many times a year bears knock on its doors. But none of those are adventures when you write them down like this.

For an activity, whether it is a journey or a thought process, to become an adventure means that the destination, or at least some part of it, has to be unknown. Only when we look for things that we cannot explain - things that exist outside of our picture of the world, do we truly begin our adventures.

To put it even simpler, it is an act of challenging oneself. The challenge could be physical or mental - as long as it gets you out of your comfort zone. And remember, nobody said you could not combine the two.

What is the simplest thing that has the known on one end and the unknown on the other? I consider a very basic process, the one of asking questions, the elementary particle of all adventures. An adventure starts by asking a question and is built up by asking some more. Ask different ones, and you will get to a new conclusion. Ask more, and you will get another result. Ask them in reverse order, and you will have yet another discovery.

The moment you are on this track, nothing stops you from falling deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. At some point, you start asking things such as: “how many questions are there? “ or “what is the question that would require knowing the answers to all the other questions to answer?“. But let us not dive in too deep just yet - now that we have the tool, it is time to get back to the fieldwork.

Wake up just in time for dinner. Go down to the almost unnecessarily big dining room with a view of the snowy mountain. What at first looks like a manageable number of dishes keeps getting bigger by the minute. Opening the pot lids does not make it any better. I can only hope that I will not end up taking another nap afterward.

After one long meal, it is time to go out to the town again. All the people, even those outside during the morning snowstorm, are now gone. The streets went silent. The only reminders of the human presence are the snowplow at the top of the mountain road and a few customers inside the bar.

The steam rising from the hot streams, hardly visible behind the heavy snowfall during the day, is now illuminated by red and purple lights coming from the bathhouses. Follow the misty road to find a shrine with steps almost completely covered in snow. I should be able to get to the top of the hill.

However, my winter boots, which I am using for the first time in two years, seem to have different plans - the sole on the left one gets almost completely torn off. As I am only halfway up, I do not want to find out what happens when I get all the way to the top. Retreat to the hotel.

After midnight, it is the perfect time to go to the hot spring attached to the hotel. It is my first time visiting one, so it would be a lie to say that I am not feeling a bit nervous. The shower room is filled with steam to the point where I have trouble navigating to the faucet. I better head outdoors before I get lost completely.

The outdoor bath is an open area surrounded by a tall fence. Volcanic streams coming from under the ground leave yellow deposits on the rocks. The water temperature is high - even in winter, having only your legs submerged will keep you warm for a while. Minutes fly by as I watch the soft steam rise and get pierced by the falling snow. It is time to start creating a narrative for this trip, which will be completed long after I return home.

Steam Town

In the morning, the town looks as though it had changed overnight - ski enthusiasts walking on both sides of the road, cars passing by every minute, and everyday life that you expect to see going on as usual. The steam rising next to every street and alley is now being lit by the blinding sun and looks even more prominent than last night. Icicles, some of them several meters long, are hanging off every eave in town. Avalanches coming down the rooftops are not an uncommon sight.

Walk around the town once more before going back to the city to ride the train home. Having to wear a broken boot is a little bit of a challenge, but I cannot resist not squeezing out every single opportunity to take a photo in such great conditions. After all, I am on an adventure.

An adventure begins with a question. What lies beyond the horizon? How do people live in a small town up in the mountains? Can I invent a gadget with the same capabilities but of a smaller size? How can I become strong enough to lift this weight? My adventures start with this one, and this one begins with a simple question: when does a trip become an adventure?