About the only thing Japanese at the Rusutsu Ski Resort, a 90 ride outside of Sapporo, was the name. Otherwise it felt like we were in a cross between Disney Land and the California Hotel in Las Vegas.
This year’s ski adventure focused on Japan. With the reputation and expectation of wonderful powder, historically huge dumps of snow, inexpensive prices and the allure of Japan with all of its culture and history, it was worthy of exploration.
We were lucky and had 5 out of 6 days with good weather, including a few with acceptable and a few with excellent ski weather. There was no day that I couldn’t ski although on one of our days, I was one of the first on the mountain plowing through freshly manicured corduroy runs before the clouds descended and the sky turned an eerie paralyzing white out with 2-3 feet of visibility starting at noon. Still had 13 runs over 16 miles, max speed 35.7mph, over 4 hours 13 min including the last snail-paced descent fighting the total blinding white out.
Three mountains, very few greens, reds that were advertised as advanced blues that felt like easy blues, and blacks that I was told were no more than advanced blues. No blues in Rusutsu; reds are the blues there. Overall the mountains felt modest at best, maybe half as many runs as I’m used to but it was OK for the 6 days we were there, everything considering.
The snow at its best was outstanding, but the conditions were not always such. Sometime too much snow would be pushed into mounds of mogul like projections that were truly unpleasant for a 73 yr old male to navigate. And then a few days the snow seemed hard, other days it was too slick and made me feel out of control, but a few days I was gliding down the longest runs on the Isola mountain with abandon as if I was floating in heaven.
While the skiers were not unfriendly, they were not particularly friendly, but there were many countries represented on the mountain including the Americans, Italians, and Aussies. A few played tricks on me and crossing my path from nowhere with no warning sending me into panic. Fortunately, there were no physical disasters for me on that mountain, and I returned in one piece. Probably show off kids, the kind that can destroy an older person’s life in an instant to satisfy some pent-up testosterone or progesterone surge, and the urge for speed and danger.
The infrastructure at Rusutsu ski resort was only OK. Feeling one’s age at just under 30 years, the lifts seemed safe and well maintained, although the gondolas needed painting and the plexiglass lined containment was scratched into oblivion, ostensibly from years of use and abuse. A little parsimonious if you ask me; a little sanding and fresh paint, replacement of the aging, cracking plexiglass, and you would have a fresh-looking gondola. Or maybe it was a lost cause since the darn thing would explode with thunder every time it entered the gondola station as it bumped, and thumped, and scratched its way into the tracks while approaching the unload area.
It was also no fun walking from the resort to the first lift on the West Mountain, or on later days of the week, all the way to the gondola station that would take us to the East mountain …..maybe a 10 minute walk. Of course, I’m more than a bit spoiled after skiing in Big White where 10 steps out of the hotel is all it takes to catch a run to any one of a number of lifts.
Of course, one thing I always look forward to is taking a mid-day break on the mountain, warming up, loosening my boots and having some warm soup or chili. Expecting beautifully wooden structures, open ceilings, comfortable seating, fire places to warm the hands and feet and dry the gloves, all make the place homey and comfortable. Foods of various selection are available in an orderly and well-designed section. What a shocker to see the dismal, dirty and experience the incomprehensible process it took to get our first day’s lunch break at the foot of the East Mountain under the gondola station. Like a prison cafeteria at best. The other days were better on the Isola mountain but the facility itself was still lacking, all metal and boxy in construction, the food selection limited but overall the experience was acceptable. And five out of the 6 days I had miso ramen! Add this to the miso ramen I had in the Sapporo Airport (the New Chitose Airport) on the way home, I was very pleased and satisfied. If you didn’t know, Sapporo is famous for its ramen, and now I know why.
The Resort itself was a mixed bag. More like an amusement park, several good Japanese restaurants and one good Chinese restaurant, the Italian restaurant was bad except for the Caesar salad. There were two buffets that we could eat at, both decent, and both crowded with skiers attempting to enjoy a bite to eat before and after a presumably long day of skiing. Enough variety of food, I particularly liked the French toast at the Oktoberfest Restaurant (funny name for a restaurant in Japan). There was a merry-go-round, a game room for teens, a prefabbed stage band of wooden shaped animal structures playing contemporary music for entertaining young and old, and an assortment of fast food like stands, a Shirokiya like food court with lots of noodle shops, chicken curry and draft Sapporo beer which was pretty good.
The skis were stored in assigned locker on the ground floor of the resort which was very convenient and accessible. As mentioned, it was an annoying walk getting to the first ski lift but once there it could be used to gain a head start on skiing toward the gondola station toward the East Mountain and Isola Mountain.
One thing Japanese typically revealed itself in the evening and sometimes in the morning. Pajamas were available in the rooms, a tan colored matching top and pants that many couples and kids wore at night. The ladies, children’s and men’s version were identical, the tan color bland and amorphous loose fit added to the indignity, especially for such a famous resort. It reminded me of prison wear. Ostensibly these folks were on their way to or back to the spa, which seemed very popular but I didn’t share in as an experience. I did however, thanks to the generous gift of my roommate, have a one-hour massage in the Relaxation Center, just adjacent to the Spa. It was a good but not a great massage, but the environment there was very relaxing in any case.
Overall, I was disappointed with the service at the resort, perhaps expecting a higher standard of service from the typically OCD Japanese worker that I have grown to expect and respect. Perhaps the work ethic of the Japanese has loosened up over time, as the Japanese economy has faltered and flattened, and the decades of hard work and striving for perfection has taken its toll. And maybe the tendency for the Japanese to copy both American and other cultures has backfired to some extent as it seems like there was truly nothing that resembled anything I have previously experienced in my eight previous trips to Japan. Indeed, one noodle shop that looked like a characterless box, a 7-11, and a 7-11 look alike were the only structures that we could reasonably get to, out of the resort. And the people that worked at these establishments were very strange in behavior, not sure how best to describe them.
So in the end, if wanting to experience skiing in Japan, Rusutsu is probably not the place to go. Some restaurants and lots of Japanese speaking people, Japanese couples walking in their jamas to BF and the spa, but not much else. The resort workers lacked a working knowledge of English, making it embarrassingly difficult to get things done or set things straight. Once on a ski run, we encountered an injured skier and skied down the mountain to try to find someone to call the ski patrol. Well that was probably more challenging than any skiing we did that entire week – finding someone who worked there who could understand what we were saying to help this young girl in pain. Oh well, back to Big White in Canada next year….can’t wait.
And I won't miss Hawaiian Airlines, which is not my favorite airlines and this experience cemented my view even further…….on my return to Honolulu, it took 75 minutes for the luggage to appear at the baggage claim. They gave a lame excuse. The seats in first class were only OK and not up to modern day standards despite the price being charged. The service was deficient although the staff were nice, but the poor communication between staff left the first-class passengers with uneven service and attention.
Finally, while I’ve never have put these thoughts on paper, I feel it is appropriate to end this blog with an expression of joy that I feel every time I’m on the mountain, including at the Rusutsu resort. Ski resorts are, after all, a figment of someone’s ingenuity and imagination, the ski resort is a way of climbing the mountain with ease, witnessing the vast terrain, pointed and rounded mountains, snow ghosts, and the hordes of boarders and skiers skirting around each other like ants in an ant colony. Every new snow fall empties the belly of heaven onto the mountain, covering the sins and the noxious litter of living things, painting a fresh coat of forgiveness and purity, white and delicate, pristine and fresh, ubiquitous and blinding. If there was ever any notion that God forgives man for his sins, it is immediately apparent after a big dump of snow effortlessly blankets the earth with a layer of cleansing absolution.
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