When God closes a door, he opens a window. (A window is still way more annoying to go through than a door though.) When me, Nick and our friend Lydia decided to go on holiday together, we picked Taiwan as our destination of choice, mainly (at least from my point of view) off the back of a couple of nice pictures and the promise of steamed buns. Tickets bought, we happily went round telling everyone we were off to Taipei; sure, we'd checked the weather forecast and seen that there'd be a lot of rain, but we'd still have lots of fun splashing around in a new country, right? We even spent a few hours in a weird labyrinthine hospital waiting to get jabs.
The day before our departure, I woke up in the living room (the only room with air conditioning, I slept on a futon there the whole month of July). Nick was prodding my head with an expectant finger, telling me there was a 'super-typhoon' on the way to Taiwan. A lot of stressful discussion and phone calls followed. We all eventually decided our best option was to cut our losses and cancel the trip. It's easy to get complacent about typhoons when you live in Nagoya; it's in central Japan and typhoons usually come up from the south, vent their rage on Okinawa and Kyushu and then peter out to a brisk wind by the time they've reached us. However, this typhoon seemed particularly strong, and we didn't feel comfortable with the risks of being in a foreign country where we don't speak the language. (Is it interesting that I didn't think of Japan as a 'foreign country' when I wrote that? No? Okay.) Instead we booked a flight and a bunch of different hotels here in Japan, and planned an itinerary, all in the same morning. Phew. (Oh, and when we came back no-one seemed to have been worried, even though they thought we were in Taiwan when the typhoon hit. DON'T WORRY, I'M FINE YOU GUYS.)
We went to Hokkaido, which was a touch unimaginative since Nick and I went at the exact same time last year, but we still had lots we wanted to do and it was easier to go somewhere vaguely familiar at such short notice. Plus, I really cannot describe to you how nasty the summer heat is in Nagoya. Escaping to the north is the only true relief.
Anyway, here are some highlights:
- Takikawa. This rural town of around 20,000 people was where we stopped over for about half an hour to change trains, but it easily makes it into the highlights. I believe it exists somewhere outside the bounds of time and space, and might possibly act as some sort of purgatory like that island on Lost (if you still haven't watched Lost and are angry at spoilers, don't worry, it's shit and you would have wasted your time). An eerie breeze tickled our ears and swept softly over businesses that must have been closed for twenty years. We saw a lone man selling balloons outside a deserted-looking shopping centre, and when we turned round for a few seconds and then turned back - I promise you this really happened - he had vanished. Through dirty windows we saw that the second floor of an abandoned dance studio had collapsed and left a big hole with wires and Polyfilla hanging out, dangling over the vegetation that was quite happily growing through the foundations. On the stairs of another shop there was a massive mural of a prawn, painted to look like it had tripped and was in the process of rolling down to the basement. Everything in this town was magical.
- When we said goodbye to Takikawa and went to our actual destination, Furano, we felt music booming through the ground just outside the station. A hundred yards down the road some kind of mini-music festival was happening, with a 90s punk cover band, food stalls and everyone having a good time. A couple apprehended us, pointed to a stall selling venison and chortled "it is the meat of a deer?!". One of the things I love most about Japan is the spirit you feel at festivals and other events - everyone's just drinking, laughing and enjoying themselves, and you never get the feeling that someone's going to start threatening a glassing. After a drink and an amble down to the hotel, I made use of the open-air bath, which was empty seeing as it was almost midnight. I enjoyed the freedom of bathing under the stars with all the town spread out in front of me, at least until a massive cranefly came along and forced me to beat a hasty retreat.
- Sheep.
- Asparagus ice cream. 6/10, would recommend to a mildly tolerable acquaintance. I had this at a cheese factory in Furano, where we all failed miserably on a dairy-themed quiz aimed at children. The only way to relieve the shame was to have a delicious pizza in the sun at their restaurant, followed by novelty ice cream (other flavours included pumpkin, corn and - of course - cheese). I asked if I could sample before I bought and was told no, which makes sense since no-one would buy a full scoop of these flavours if they could just try them all for a laugh instead. In this particular game of Russian Roulette I think I did all right - I wouldn't eat it again but the taste was fresh, grassy and creamy. Also there was a tractor on the lawn in front of the factory, but I didn't get a go on it because there were bloody children on it the whole time.
- Lavender ice cream! Near Furano is a well-known lavender farm, which I think I've even seen cropping up on some Buzzfeed '23 Amazing Things That You Just Can't Even' type of list. My camera didn't quite do justice to the scenery, but it made me very happy (for all I'd like to think of myself as some brilliant underappreciated genius, there aren't many things that make me quite so fundamentally happy as seeing lots of pretty primary colours). One interesting thing about Hokkaido is that it reminds me a lot of Europe - maybe because of the milder climate, or the dairy farms, or the Western influence in its architecture - and I find that strangely comforting. It's almost like it's the closest thing I can get to coming home.
- This place is unremarkable but I want to put it here because this is where I smelled the worst thing I have ever smelled. It coincided with Nick opening and eating a dried pepperoni stick, so at first I thought it was that. Only when I moved away from his affronted person and found myself still smelling it did I realise it must have been something else. It was like cowshit and dog food, but much more sour and bitter and pungent, making me feel physically sick. I can still remember it now.
- Another stalwart of Buzzfeed's 'These Gifs of Hamsters Reacting to Jaw-Dropping Sites of Natural Beauty Will Totally Make Your Day'. Aoike (Blue Pond) is actually not a natural pond (I know, I know, Buzzfeed lied to you, it's okay), but is a fortunate side-effect from when a levee was built nearby. It is believed that traces of aluminium in the water create the vivid turquoise colour. Sadly, despite being very popular with tourists it is almost completely inaccessible without a car. We only had about fifteen minutes there before having to catch the bus, since another one wouldn't come for about four hours. Also I hate buses in Japan because I don't take them very much and every time I do, I mess up because I don't understand the payment system and the driver can barely mask his contempt for me.
- The Sapporo TV Tower. TV towers in themselves are only mildly interesting, but the real gem here is the souvenir shop. How do you feel about fridge magnets which take Hokkaido-themed things and superimpose the faces of angry bears on them? Or shirts featuring a giant bear tearing up the tower as they fight the Sapporo Self-Defense Force? (We bought seven of them, enough to make the cashier feel pressured to give us a free gift.) Sweets with the rather inadvisable brand name of "Yukky"? How about a loincloth with "My Tower" written on it? All of these bounties and more are available at Sapporo TV Tower's souvenir shop.
A notebook with Sapporo's clock tower on the left, the TV Tower on the right. The TV Tower is asking "What are you writing?". The clock tower replies "It's a secret"
Maybe see you next year, Hokkaido?
No comments:
Post a Comment