I ate a horse

Well, part of one anyway. It happened very naturally on the return leg of an extended snowboarding weekend to Nagano prefecture, Japan. We had left Tokyo about eleven o’clock Friday night and endured the eight-hour (including four stops of various lengths) bus ride to the base of the aptly named Komaruyama (Small Round Mountain).

Upon our arrival a light snow was falling. The air was crisp, but not too cold, and it was pleasantly quiet after the noise and bustle of Tokyo. A few minutes later the quite was shattered by the rumble of a Snow Cat, which was to take us up to the ryokan half way up the hill and past the mid-sun Shinto shrine. Once checked in the rental gear was brought out, with a bit of a wait while one of the staff took a snowmobile down the hill to get boots to fit the Westerners in the group.

Soon we were geared up and the lifts were running. The silence of the morning was long forgotten and not to return. One feature of Japanese ski areas is the extensive systems of loudspeakers which sit atop the lift towers and blare music all day. The selection this day was a mixture of US top 40 and gangsta rap. (It became so unbearable that we asked the ski patrol to change the music – a request that was thankfully granted. Though not that much better musically, it was at least a change of songs.)

There had been some big snows the previous week and there were still a few stashes of untracked powder for us to exploit. And we did, until it was gone and had to move on to more out of the way places. The light snow of the morning came off and on through the day, but did not add up to much.

In the evening the lights kicked on and slopes emptied, making a couple of us late for dinner. (“I think we have time for one more run” becoming a mantra.) Our group was the only in the lodge, which meant when the lifts stopped (along with the music) we had a very peaceful place to ourselves. The staff is quite friendly, efficient and, like all good ski resort employees, there to enjoy themselves. After dinner we were invited to join them in a few glasses of sake and a chat.

The talk turned to the abandoned building just up the hill, at the top of the first lift. The old hotel had been abandoned for the past decade, maybe more, and was reputed to be inhabited now by a family of ghosts. Whether they were friendly or not was a matter of some debate, but they seemed to keep mostly to themselves. In contrast to the deceased dog of one of the long-time ryokan employees, which was said to follow its former master around the place.

Defying logic we mounted a snowmobile and drove the thirty meters up the hill, flashlights in hand and half moon above. We pulled open the door and stepped inside. We looked from where we were standing and then exited the building. Hotels abandoned for decades, we finally decided, were not going to present the best places to be wandering around after sake and dark, particularly those that house ghosts. Nothing approached us before we made our exit, but simply looking in the window from the outside proved odd enough. The room we could see into was littered with old futons, blankets, single ski gloves, other scraps of rags and a few unidentifiables.

We hopped back on the snowmobile, whipped under the snow machines and, once back at the ryokan, headed for the bath. Typical of ryokans the bath was a common one for the hotel and the water in the bath hot enough to cook king crab, but felt great after a day of boarding.

The next day the skies cleared, the sun came out and it was like spring skiing – everything was wet and heavy (including our heads). Having tracked all the good snow the day before we made our way around the mountain sticking ever closer to the trails’ edges for the little bit of fresh snow there was.

Our final day was started with rain. This was a first for me – snowboarding in the rain in February. But we made the best of it and ensured that we would be as soar as possible by attempting the newly opened half pipe and rail. We stopped in early afternoon, returned our rental gear and mounted the Snow Cat for the ride back down. From there it was back on the bus.

Our bus made fewer stops and made much better time on the way back. It was this first stop where it happened. At this particular rest-stop/gift shop/restaurant there was a somewhat limited menu. They offered the typical ramen noodles, tempura, udon (another type of noodle) and Japanese curry (which will never be confused with the Indian original it is rumored to be based on). In addition, they had Sakura.

There is a tendency in Japan to call foods with the pinkish hue of the sakura (cherry blossom) Sakura. Thus, with its pinkish color, horsemeat is called Sakura. It was served as sushi, cut in thin strips, raw and laid over balls of rice. The taste and texture is that of high quality beef. And so it was that I ate a horse.