In my experience, Japanese hotels are always clean, comfortable, and safe. Usually they are great value. Sometimes they come with a twist.
I’ve stayed in a bicycle hotel, an art hotel, but, until this trip, I had never stayed in a hotel modeled on a nursing home.
I stayed at this nursing home-themed hotel in Hokkaido when I was hiking Akan-Mashu National Park. It was run by a pleasant, hard-working elderly couple. Everything was clean, modern, and functioning. The Web site claims “universal design,” a set of principles that meets my approval, but I found universal design skewed towards infirmity.
For example, my reading of universal design principles precludes railings in corridors.
Railings become important when you become infirm, they seem outside the bounds of universal design. You install them when you need them.
My room, like all rooms in this hotel, was geared for wheelchairs.
Apart from the owners, I was the most elderly. The other guests were young, able-bodied families. Nobody needed a wheelchair.
The control buttons in the bathroom were bigger than usual, for people with low vision.
The washlet buttons were big, but pretty standard. Oh, how I appreciate Japanese washlets.
But it was this button that confused me. Should I push it?
[wp_quiz id=”2776″]
I really, really wanted to push the button, but I was concerned it might summon an ambulance. Where are my young nephews when I need them? They love to push buttons, and it’s easier to apologize for their curiosity than my ignorance.
Google Translate came to the rescue.
Oh, of course, push it to flush the lav.