Hakodate to Kuromatsunai to Otaru
I am always anxious when I go back to a place I lived. I worry that over the years, I’ve remembered and polished memories so often that subsequent visits can’t possibly compete. I fear that the people who I knew won’t remember me or remember me fondly. You see, our memories are stuck at a point in time–for the people who live there, life goes on, but for those who leave, time stands still. My return yesterday to the small town of Kuromatsunai was one of those moments. Yasuko and I lived there for three and a half years – our children were born while we lived here. I hadn’t returned in 19 years, which is a long time. I was nervous.
The day started with breakfast at our fantastic Hakodate hostel. Kei had terrific French toast – thick and tasty with amazing maple syrup- and excellent coffee. We took the street car to the central station in Hakodate, where the morning fish market is held – there was tons of fresh seafood and expensive fruit, which was very popular with tourists and locals alike. Kei had to try some squid – thinly sliced with soy sauce and rice, and I settled for an ebi-tendon (ebi-tempura on a rice bowl – no suffering – one of my favourite dishes).
We returned to the Hakodate station, which is a large station, but only a few people were on the platform. We boarded the express train for Sapporo, planning to disembark in Oshamambe to get a local train for Kuromatsunai. The train rumbled out of the station, heading north on what felt like an incline – I could feel the train gear down as it lurched forward. It was less slick and smooth than our Shinkansen yesterday. We heard the faint whistles as the train entered tunnels, and the fields and farmlands moved past our window. We cut above the small town of Shikabe, on the ocean and famous for Konbu seaweed, heading for Oshamambe. I remember going bodyboarding with Kurt in our late 20s to Minami-Shikabe and getting pounded into the sand by the rollers. Kurt was much more skilled – darn Australian. It seems like a lifetime ago. I remember the large hostel on the ocean, miso soup, grilled fish and rice for breakfast. Some of my best memories. Why does it seem our best memories are our old memories?
I think the town of Shikabe is where my mother (travelling across Japan with only a few Japanese phrases but plenty of Moxy) mistook a dressed-up community center for a restaurant, only to find out it was the date of the town festival. I bet all the food and fixings looked pretty good as it awaited the festival goers. A distraught English teacher was called in to explain the situation–I bet this story has been entered into the town’s history and talked about every year. ‘Do you remember that crazy Canadian lady that walked in on our festival dinner?’ followed by hysterical laughter. My mother told me the food was fantastic.
Our train stopped at Yakumo, a small town where Kei was born; then, it was off to Oshamambe for our transfer to the local train to Kuromatsunai. Our ride to Kuromatsunai was a single-car local train with four people on board – somewhat different from Tokyo the previous day. We were the only ones that got off at Kuromatsunai. It is such a small town that there wasn’t any staff to monitor the station – just a train station cat. I remembered the streets well (not too difficult when only one main road was running through the town). Despite the passage of many years, I found our Ryokan quickly.
We slid open the door to the older, two-story Ryokan and saw Miyuki’s parents for the first time in almost 20 years. It was a strange feeling, wanting to say so much but not having the time or opportunity to express it clearly. We dropped off our bags at Koma Ryokan and explored the town. Koma Ryokan is owned by my friend Miyuki’s parents – wer coached the local swim team for a few years while we lived here. It is a one-traffic signal, two-gasoline station kind of town – only a little to see. We passed a group of middle school kids and bumped into a gaggle of elementary school children. They stopped and looked bewildered. They figured Kei looked ‘most Japanese’ and asked him, ‘Who’s the foreigner?’ talking about me. By the end of the day, the whole town knew we were there. David had returned.
As the sun went down, we hopped on a mini-van, which took us to a large parking lot with two large tents covering hibachi BBQs. If you have yet to live in small-town Japan, this is as good as it gets. The charcoal smell, the warmth from the hibachis, the sizzling meat and everyone talking while eating and drinking beer. There was thinly sliced pork and lamb, veggies, and scallops. The most enormous scallops I’ve ever seen – grilled in their shell with a dash of soy sauce that went perfectly with tasty onigiri. This is last meal territory – so good. Five of the kids I coached 20 years ago made the reunion with their parents. It was great; there were some tears, but even more laughs and good-natured teasing. Kei was accepted right in like a family member; it didn’t feel like a 20-year blank. The BBQ was followed by a second party at one of the parents’ houses with snacks, games, and more beer. The welcome was overwhelming, to be honest. The swimmers are now in their early 30s, and some have swimmers of their own, but they will always be kids to me.
The following day, I went by the local board of education where I worked. I walked up to the front kiosk and asked for Ms. Imada – my supervisor when I lived in Kuromastunai. I heard a loud ‘Is it David’ from the back room. She took Kei and me on a town tour to see some new highlights. We visited an ice cream factory where Yasuko worked and a space where Yasuko ran a small store. We visited the widow of Mr. Oumi, who had hired me many years ago. We brought shortcakes and other sweets and were treated to hot coffee. She was lovely – she told me he had asked after me as his health declined. I had missed seeing him by one year. I left Kuromastsunai around 1998, so there was no internet, and I had only just started connecting with a few of my swimmers. I didn’t know he was unwell. One year – don’t wait for a better time – you now might be as good as it gets. Don’t hesitate, act now.
One of the swimmer’s parents offered to drive us two hours North to the city of Otaru so we wouldn’t need to take a train to meet up with Yasuko’s parents. The kindness was incredible and so appreciated.
It was great seeing Kei’s grandparents – it had been what seemed a lifetime since I saw them last. We talked about our photos and travels and had dinner at a great ‘kai-ten sushi’ restaurant over looking Otaru harbour. So much fun.
We will be in Sapporo, where I lived for ten years, tomorrow.
This was written in Fall 2018.
Travel Tips;
1. In restaurants in larger cities in Japan, you’ll often find baskets beside the table; these are for your bag, purse, shopping, or whatever, so your items are off the floor, table, or chairs. You get extra points for knowing this one!
2. Slippers are really important in Japan, as you know, but the MOST important slippers are the BATHROOM slippers. You will surely get someone’s attention if you traipse around the Japanese Ryokan with bathroom slippers on. You take off your shoes at the entrance of the Ryokan and put on slippers (often these are rather small, and I end up mincing down the hall), which you take off outside your Japanese-style room. When you go to the bathroom, you travel in those slippers but change to the bathroom slippers as you enter the bathroom to take care of business. Make sure you take them off before you leave the bathroom and put your ‘travel’ slippers back on for the trek back to your room. This will apply to people’s homes too… It’s important.
3. Watch the heat in some public baths – I could not climb into the Koma Ryokan tub without burning skin off my body. I was content with the shower portion of the excursion.
