Nothing impresses the macaques of Nagano like an onsen.
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The troop of enchanting Japanese macaques bathing in their mountain onsen (or hot springs) at the Snow Monkey Park in Nagano Prefecture, Japan, is one of the most wonderful sights I have ever witnessed. The bus from Nagano City is a bit of an eye-opener, too.
I have been sold a ticket on the service, but every seat is taken. Then, as if from nowhere, more seats appear. A dozen or so foldaway platforms snap into the aisle, offering a central column of rickety perches for extra passengers.
This would be great if we were all Japanese - or, for that matter, snow monkeys - but many of us are Australians raised on Happy Meals and it's just too much of a squeeze.
But we only have to wait 20 minutes for the bus company to raise an extra vehicle for the 45-minute journey to the park.
Then it's a 40-minute hike into sumptuously snow-blessed mountains, along a narrow trail edged by Japanese cedar and a forest of oak, past a notice warning "watch your head" (which is a physical impossibility) to a pair of signs that point to the Inn Korakukan and the "onsen for human", and the "toiret" [sic] and "onsen for monkey".
I spot at least 100 as they pour down from trees, ridges and clifftops.
On the other side of the Yokoyu river, I can see four tourists soaking in the mineral spa at the onsen by the inn. Within moments they are joined in the water by two snow monkeys.
That's when I realise that the signage is observed exclusively by humans.
It was because of the monkeys' penchant for bathing at the inn that local people decided to build an onsen solely for macaques.
Their impossibly photogenic thermal bath sits down a hill, around a corner and over a bridge. Here, amid frail clouds of sulphurous steam, the monkeys squat, swim and groom one another, only a couple of metres from a small crowd of onlookers with hilariously unnecessary telephoto lenses.
These are the only monkeys in the world to bathe in hot springs. Their wizened, compelling faces seem world-weary and sardonic, as if they have seen everything there is to see and nothing has impressed them as much as their own onsen.
At 1pm, a park ranger scatters feed around the springs and, suddenly, the hills are alive with the bounds of monkeys.
There are about 160 macaques in the troop. I can't keep count, but I reckon I spot at least 100 as they pour down from trees, ridges and clifftops in a delighted and delightful procession that sometimes passes by my feet. It's so uplifting that it's almost sorrowful - because I know I'll never be a part of anything quite like it again.
