Waking early, I surveyed the buildings around my hotel from my little window. At 6.00, Abashiri was cold,
very cold. Apparently a place well-known for its prisons, both an old one that's now a museum, and a shiny new one. Even if correctional facilities aren't your thing, there seems to be a
surprising amount to do and see in
Abashiri, but unfortunately I was on a mission - a mission to get back to Hakodate by nightfall. As I peered around, a little way away something
caught my eye; a bridge over the Abashiri River with a pair of bird statues set into the central point at either side.
Leaving my hotel and setting off down the way I'd skated the previous night, I stopped by for a
closer look. The statues were of the
Red-Crowned Crane, a creature synonymous with the winter scenes all over Hokkaido (and the subject of many a postcard set). People from all over the world come to birdwatch as these cranes arrive from Siberia in January and do their mating dances, and my time in Hokkaido has been peppered with posters, statues and signs indicating their place in the hearts of the local population.
Not having long, I carried on my way, stopping only briefly to attempt a picture of my Speaks' carrier bag next to the
helpful signs down the side of the road. I should explain:
Speaks is a shop in Keighley that sells all sorts of hiking/outdoor wear, and a tradition amongst its customers is to take a picture of themselves in a far-off place clutching one of their carrier bags. Go inside and the place is full of such pictures, and upon buying my trekking boots for the trip, I decided that I would join them. Thus in Hokkaido, just about as far away from Keighley as you could get, I was looking out for suitable places, preferably with a sign of the place I was in, to take a picture.
On each of the pavements was a 3ft drift, which, if it would take my weight, would allow a good picture of both the bag and the signage. Unfortunately, a good 10 minutes were wasted aligning the camera and the bag whilst being blown by wind and sinking slowly into the drift.
This is the best I could get. Looking at my watch, I decided that would have to be it for Abashiri, and perhaps this was the time to get to the station. I hurriedly made my way along the
icy paths and got there with a few minutes to spare.
The Ainu
Outside Abashiri station is a statue of one of the indigenous
Ainu people, a race all but suppressed from Japanese history who still live in small groups in the northern areas of Japan. Far from being perfect, as I may have given the impression until now, the Japanese still have unresolved issues in many areas of society, and their treatment of the Ainu race is one of them. Even the name itself has become derogatory in the Japanese language. However there is some recognition in some regions of Japan and this is one such example.
Anyways, my travel from Abashiri to the next destination,
Kushiro, was going to be an interesting one. The connectin
g Senmō main line is one of the least ridden around Japan. Consisting of a single track, narrow gauge, the line is ridden back and forth between the two towns by a
single train carriage, and the one I was taking was leaving at 6.40. The next was hours away.
And so we set off. The only passengers to get on at this point were a couple of older residents of either Abashiri or Kushiro, (it was hard to tell), but as the train passed
local stop after
local stop, it slowly filled up with schoolchildren who chattered and gossiped amongst themselves by the doors, no doubt including the strange-looking foreigner in their conversations more than once.
The
views were
cold and
harsh-looking, but had
raw beauty. Once out of Abashiri, the track roughly followed the east coast, moving inland and then back out again, passing through some of the most rural and traditional sights perhaps remaining in the country, and where it
brushed the coastline, it would have been pefect for travelling on one of the icebreaker ships that take tourists round the cape. Inland, eagles, foxes, bears, cranes and kites were all spotted darting away as the train clattered by (largely too quick for my camera unfortunately).
As we hit
Midori, the children got off to go to school and the rest of the way the train filled more with elderly residents heading to the south coast. A little further, the train entered a tunnel, and when it emerged out the other side, we were in the
Akan National Park. This train line is unusual in that its the only one in Japan that is allowed to go through a national park, and some of the views were
fantastic.
Finally, we started to enter some civilisation once more. The
snow receded a little and buildings began to spring up. As we got off at Kushiro, it felt like I was finally on the return leg. With a half hour or so to spare, there was just enough time to
poke my nose out of the station, and look briefly in at their
steam railway display, though unfortunately not enough to take the train further still to the east to
Nemuro, which is just about as eastern as you can get (that will have to wait until I return). Just outside - a perfect photo opportunity for my Speaks bag - so I rope in a semi-willing bystander to take my picture, and
this is the result, now proudly hanging somewhere in Speaks.
Just before leaving, I happened upon a stall in the middle of the station foyer selling what appeared to be sweets, but on closer inspection, werent. They were bits of dried and cured fish and seafood delicacies, put in shiny foil wrappers like sweets would be. Spying a potential customer, or perhaps finniky foreign victim, the lady behind the counter gave me a free sample to try, which as I'd made eye contact by now, I felt I couldn't refuse. Opening the wrapper, a small, compacted 'thing' appeared. Something that looked as if it was once gills, or some sort of pipe from one organ to another. I took a breath and popped it into my mouth, trying not to think too much. Initially hard, it became chewy and after the first minute of shock my taste buds actually quite liked it, though I couldn't see myself popping a dozen or so slobbed out in front of the telly. Even so, a little bit of culinary Hokkaido could be sort added to the list.
As the train departed from Kushiro, and the last of the taste had been washed away with some Pocari Sweat, my camera batteries packed in just as a
fog descended over the area. Top tip: Always bring spare batteries. The train line slowly made its way north-east towards
Shintoku, where I departed for a more direct route to Sapporo. It's a shame the batteries had died, because the trip between Shintoku and Sapporo was one of the most picturesque views I had seen of Hokkaido, though that may just have been because I wasn't looking through a viewfinder all the time.
Back in
Sapporo, I had a little time again, so I bought some nosh, and a few spare batteries, and then headed for the only sightseeing location to hand: the
JR Sapporo Tower. Even though it was part of the station, the entrance to the damn thing was difficult to find. However as had happened many times before, I was able to find someone to help me get there. In this case, a businesslike-looking gent, instead of pointing me in the right direction as I had expected, actually led me halfway across the station and acted as my interpreter as we solved the Sapporo Tower riddle of where the hell the lift was. At the top, I was greeted with
great views of the
surrounding city, but I had stayed a little too long and my intended other destination, the internet cafe I had visitied on my way through Sapporo the first time, was going to be a rush. I quickly bought some postcards as souvineers from the
shop (which I had done elsewhere since postcards were some of the few things to fit my already overfilled backpacks) and sped out and down the street.
Entering the cafe at some speed, I had about 20 minutes to get my card into a slot and upload my photos. Typically, the place was packed, and 5 minutes were taken up waiting for a terminal to become free. Things got worse still when my PC of choice was knacked, and a dodgy connection somewhere meant that the power failed twice before even getting onto my email account. Sweating and annoyed, I went back to the counter and tried to explain in my slightly-less-than-shouting-at-foreigners voice that I couldn't and wouldn't pay, because my machine was crap and I had to get a train. Eventually between us I got through to them and made my train to Hakodate, during which I cursed more than once as I watched the sun
set.
Back in Hakodate, the daylight had disappeared and I was tired. I got my bag back from the place it had been for the past 24 hours or so (fortunately no-one had thought to nick it) and tried once more to get on the hotels free internet, succeeding this time, and probably staying longer than I had a right to uploading photos and sending mail.
Yet again, I had spent time in Japan and yet somehow had not. Hokkaido was just one big blur, and by this point I had decided I was coming again and doing it slower, savouring the sights and not having to worry one moment to the next about when the next train leaves. Three and a bit weeks is just not enough by a long stretch. However, this was trip #1,
one more day of mad rushing around on trains, I thought, and then things begin to slow down a little once I'm back in Honshu.
Rounding the cape towards the Tsugaru Strait, the morning view was much nicer than the darkened reflection of myself I had ended up looking at for a few hours a few days earlier. Villages and farms peppered the coastline and the sun shimmered on the waves as we chased cars along the sea fronts and worked back inland to the snowy hills and forests. The occasional good view missed by my camera lens largely due to another passenger who had the tenacity to reserve the window seat next to me. The Seikan Tunnel came quickly and went, and then I was finally back in Honshu. 
Good old Honshu. A quick tot up revealed that the last 3 days around Hokkaido had involved roughly 1800km of train travel, and perhaps 2-3km of actual sightseeing. I sighed, both pleased at the coverage and lamenting the missed opportunities and experiences.
Walking underneath, its underside was completely clean and devoid of the 'street art' that such a structure would be subjected to in the UK, and on the other side, a couple of odd-shaped buildings hugged the coastline. One of them, in the shape of a giant chunk of toblerone, is the Aomori Aspam building. This was the main sightseeing centre for Aomori and its top floor contained a viewing platform looking out to the bay (I later learned.. grr). By now I was right on the coast, and across the port lay a ship in dock. At one point in busier times it was one of the ferry ships, but now, looking a little dilapidated, it had been modified into the Hakkoda-maru Ferry Museum. The front part had been gutted and turned into the museum and the back part (including the viewing deck) had become a beer gardens. During summer it still occasionally gets used for its original purpose of taking passengers onto the sea, but not all the way to Hokkaido - it just does a circle and comes back.
Looking back at the watch, my hour was almost up so I headed back to the station and got on my train. Aomori to Akita was quite nice, especially towards Odate, where the snowy countryside returned and was joined by forests and suspiciously pyramidal hills.
Alighting at Akita, I passed a miniature train that actually carried people along a track, and a drum you could beat if you were feeling annoying, flanked by a rather large mask. At the ticket office, I was told connecting trains to Niigata left in 3 minutes and 3 and a half hours. Not able to convey my need to get the second one to the patient ticket clerk, (I was hungry for a little more sightseeing) I left the counter with a ticket for the former. Leaving and looking a little bothered (I'd missed the former and would need to go back in and try to explain why I needed another one) a guy walked up to me and asked in plain English if there was anything wrong. A little confused at suddenly having to use my native tongue again I explained the situation and me and him waited once more in the queue patiently. Introducing himself as Taki, he explained how he had studied for 4 years in London and when it was our turn once more got them to swap tickets for me. Walking and talking, Taki asked what I needed and without thinking asked for an Internet Cafe, which he duly took me to. Waving goodbye, he said he would return in a while to see me off, then left me to catch up with uploading images and dealing with emails.
By now, the light was fading, and the views of the coast were getting dimmer. I reached Niigata again at about 8pm, seeing little of the western coast. However, the bustle and neon and tall buildings I had last seen in any number in Sendai had returned, and the relative warmth and contact with living souls sped my through the streets to the hotel which was not more than 5 minutes away. The hotel room was small, but comforting after the commute, and had the by now familiar features - heaters labelled incorrectly as air con, deep baths in a cramped bathroom (complete with electric loo) and wash robes with an elastic belt folded into the familiar pentagon. Shame about the view.
Taking it to the nearest vets their first reaction was 'put it to sleep' but we argued the point about an otherwise healthy bird (who was by now far calmer, almost welcoming the strokes we were giving it and nearly going to sleep in the blanket) should be given a chance at a decent life. After all, who were we to pick it off the road where it was at least surviving and condemn it to death? Eventually they agreed and after a lot of waiting and cooing by fellow pet owners, we managed to get someone to take a look, who agreed after examination that it shouldn't be put down, but needed food and water and a home where they would be taken care of by a specialist. However the places he rang all said no as it would never fly again, so we took it back home with little hope other than a couple of numbers of different sanctuaries to try.
It was 6:20 am, and though my eyes were blurry and my legs not pointing in exactly the intended direction, I headed towards the lift to the ground floor of my hotel. I asked the receptionist to call the hotel I was heading towards to tell them I would probably be late; the journey today was not a lot different to yesterdays, when I had been in the busy but mild climate of downtown Tokyo. The milage was going to be a little less, but the trains were slower up here and my intended journey twisted its way through a dozen cities on trains that weren't in peak fitness. My Japanese was not brilliant so after asking them in my best phrasebook-parrotted Japanese, the hotel staff on duty helpfully rang the number for me (the bit I could do) and then promptly handed over the receiver for me to tell them (the bit I was hoping they would do). I garbled what I could down the phone (a slightly re-translated version of the one I had done for this hotel the previous day) and hoped for the best.
Clattering along, I checked my little travel book. Tomakomai was a few stops away and it had a science museum. Located a good 10 minute walk away from the station, the Space Station Mir exhibition hall had just that; a complete replica of the Mir spacecraft that you could climb into and look around, complete with what the book referred to as a scary contraption for going to the toilet. I was allowed one stop on my way today so with a description like that I decided it would be this one.
Back at the station, I jumped aboard another green Super Hakuto LEX train which sped me to Hokkaido's 'capital', Sapporo through another section of freezing countryside. Famous mostly for its beer, I spent a short time in Sapporo as the connecting train didn't take long to arrive. (literally, take a couple of pictures outside, head to an internet cafe and upload pics/email, then speed back to the station - I'd be back in Sapporo to see the sights tomorrow anyway so I wasn't too bothered)
We pulled into Hakodate station and I felt relieved, although that was tempered by the bitter chill that greeted me as the doors opened and my watch saying 8:10pm. While central Honshu basked in the feint glow of spring sunshine, Hokkaido was still decidedly wintry. In fact, the first thing that grabbed me about the place when I exited the station into the cold, wet and dark was how 'Russian' it felt. Remnants of snowdrifts everywhere, big cylindrical woolly hats on what few people were there, an old tram system rattling around, and a sense of everyone being inside in the warm. Perhaps it could have been something to do with the fact that the tip of Russia tickles the eastern edge of Hokkaido, so closely that the little intervening islands are still disputed as to whose nation they belong.
