Read Part I
I arrived in Hakodate feeling like a wildman. I had never camped in a city. It would only be my second time camping alone, with the first being the night before. I looked at a map and decided I’d spend the day walking around, checking out the greener bits of the map. My phone battery was low, so I continued to keep my phone off whenever I wasn’t using it. I knew it would be a chore to navigate like that, but it was more important to find lodgings before sundown than to find a place to chore my phone. I had bought a battery-powered phone charger, but I neglected to test it before I left and it didn’t work. I figured I would buy a charger and find a place to charge it after I found a place to camp.
I was uncontrollably pulled south, towards Mount Hakodate. I was from a featureless bit of midwestern America, so mountains were endlessly fascinating.
Looking out the window of the streetcar, seeing Mount Hakodate rise before me, seeing the entire face of the earth slope towards it as we got closer, I was already sure I had made the right decision to spend some time in Hakodate. To think that before I had been planning on just having a meal in town on the way to and on the way back from camping.
The first green part of the map was incredibly disappointing. It was a tiny square of grass in the middle of what appeared to be a low-income neighborhood. No shelter from the street, no trees.
The second wasn’t much different.
After reaching the third location like that, I started to think about getting a hotel room. I looked at some on my phone but noticed there was a hostel a few blocks away.
Like a scene out of a corny movie, I compared the photo of the front from their website to the reality and was pretty sure I wouldn’t want to stay there. Nonetheless, I went inside. After dropping a few “hellos,” with no reply, I decided it was best to head back downtown where almost all the other hotels were.
I walked into the nearest hotel. The front desk attendant was surprised that I hadn’t booked in advance. And perhaps by my camping supplies. And that I was speaking Japanese to him. I gladly took their only vacant room and considered getting a cigar since it was a smoking room.
I put my stuff down in the room and promptly went across the street to the convenience store to buy a phone charger, a beer, and some dried squid.
Back in the room, I plugged my phone in, put my beer in the mini-fridge, and took a shower. I looked at some nearby restaurants on my phone after I got out. A lot of places would be closed for a few hours until they started serving dinner.
I didn’t eat much meat at the time, but in Japan, I tried to eat whatever the local specialty was and after a certain point, I ate meat on and off but never cooked any. Still, all the cattle in Hokkaido and my incredible appetite made the burger place a few blocks down the road sound like a good option. It had good reviews online, and the name reminded me of my weed smoking glory days back in America. It was called Hot Box.
It was easily the best burger I had had in my life and was one of the greatest restaurant experiences that I could have asked for. It was small, only big enough for about 3 small tables, a small bar by the counter, and another 4-person bar by the window. The music was incredibly funky. A man and a woman were the only ones working, and I later found out they were married. He was covered in tattoos and did all the grilling while she did whatever else needed doing. No one else was really around because it was about 2 pm, so my food came out promptly. I had a cheeseburger with a fried egg and avocado, polished off with a gin and tonic. I took one of their business cards, assuming I’d frame it if I came to own a house with a mantle, and the guy recommended a night club that his friend would be playing equally funky or funkier music that his place at night at a place called Bar Gomez.
With no other real plans for the day, I figured I may as well have a drink somewhere. I had beat my sunset deadline by a large margin. I had heard of a few craft beer breweries in town, and one had a taproom that was about a mile away. It wouldn’t be open for a few more hours, so I just started walking around. I went past a jazz bar that was closed, and another promising looking bar called Bar Boozer that was also closed. Soon, I was back at Hakodate station. I decided to head towards the water. Walking down the road behind the station, I could hear someone practicing the trombone. Soon, I could see them practicing, looking out into the Port of Hakodate.
I saw some monuments and an anchor on the dock and went to get a closer look. It was some sort of museum, and it was closed. I continued down the coastline, fascinated by the view of Mount Hakodate ahead, trying to stop taking mental notes of places that looked like I could spend the night at.
I worked my way through the old brick warehouse district and found myself at one of the local breweries. I had the beer sampler and some local seafood appetizers and decided I would head back to the jazz bar on the other side of town. I took a different road back, but it was much less interesting than the seaside and the old brick buildings.
The jazz bar was just opening when I arrived. It was dark, filled with instruments and records, and cozy. No one else was there. They put on an old record and I had a martini.
We made small talk. He told me about an upcoming jazz event near where I lived in Iwate, and then he told me about some good hiking and camping spots in the area. I didn’t really have the heart to tell him I wouldn’t be around long enough to take advantage of his advice, and left after my first drink. Then had to see Bar Boozer. With a name like that, I had high expectations.
It was small, with just a bar and a single table. The bar was relatively long, so I was able to get a seat and still not sit next to anyone. There was a particularly cute bartender working. We made small talk. She was really into records, particularly American rap, like NWA. She also mentioned Bar Gomez but didn’t think it would be open.
There was a trashed old man at the end of the bar who would occasionally interrupt us. I couldn’t understand a word he said. Taeko, the bartender, explained that it was a mixture of local dialect and drunken old man nonsense. I was going to leave after one drink, but the old man left, and the other two customers left, and I liked the idea of being alone with her, so I ordered a second drink. We were starting to talk about seeing each other after she finished work for the night, but some other customers came in and she had to attend to them. I finished my drink, and she walked me out the door. Outside, she gave me her business card (because that is a thing in a Japan) and told me she wouldn’t be available until around 4 am, so she understood if I wouldn’t be able to stay awake, especially since I’d be catching a ferry in the morning. I told her I’d be able to sleep on the ferry.
At this point in the night, I was drunk as all get-out and did the only thing that was natural–I had some Hokkaido-style ramen at the nearest place that had a very old man working behind the counter. That’s how you know a ramen place is good: someone there had apparently dedicated their life to the craft.
I figured I should have another beer with the ramen, but the ones they served in the restaurant were so small that it just left me wanting to go to another bar. and then I thought about how I had no plans of any kind. I went by Bar Gomez and saw that it would still be closed for several hours–it was only about 9 pm. So I started wandering around town, looking for something, unsure of what. I thought about asking the palm-reader and she seemed to know. She gave me a bit of free advice: “You know what to do.”
Down an alley, I caught the unmistakable sound of live drums. I took a left deeper into the alley system, passed karaoke places and massage parlors, all but elbowing street women out of my way, following my ears to a venue. Outside, it sounded like Nirvana was playing, but it was definitely a live band. I found the door and went upstairs. The man at the door met me with incredible enthusiasm. I could barely hear him over the Nirvana cover band.
It was a convincing band. I got in for half price because the show was half over. I still got the normal two drink tickets, though. I sat down to watch the band and noticed there were about fifteen other people around, all of them at least fifteen years older than me, and nearly all men.
They played one more song before there was a break for the next band to set up, and the guy from the door came around to introduce me to everyone.
They were all thunderstruck that I could speak Japanese and also that I had just wandered in off the street. After some small talk, I went and cashed in a drink ticket for a beer. To my surprise, it wasn’t a Sapporo, but a Heartland. The big bottles, no less. I went back to my seat and watched a local punk band with relish. They were wearing leather jackets and had pompadours and everything. The vocalist had a The Stalin shirt on, too. In between songs, I asked the guy from the door if it was the The Stalin that I thought it was, and he looked at me as if I had fulfilled some prophecy.
Read Part III, Part IV, Part V, and Part VI.
These days, I’m just tellin’ stories.