They invited me to join them for the after-party after the show. The owner would cook Hakodate style yakisoba. He assured me that I wouldn’t be able to find this in a restaurant–anyone who wanted it would just go to their mom’s house.
Someone showed up with two paper bags full of liquor.
As we drank and ate, I found out the owner was a Zen Buddhist and an old punk. I hadn’t met anyone into either of those things since I moved to Japan. I felt at home. Towards the end of the night, we played some music together and then I walked back to my hotel. I blacked out the moment I set foot inside and woke up with the lights on, my shoes on, and an open yet full beer on the table.
I didn’t have time to do much of anything, so I drank as much water as I could and checked out of my room without a moment to spare. Walking towards Hakodate Station, I was filled with regret that I was leaving. I had had such a great time in the city. I went into the station and over to the information center. After looking over some brochures, I decided to just ask the desk clerk about the ferry schedule.
She spoke English very well. She told me my options and offer to call me a taxi or explain the bus route to me. She assured me the bus would be simple because I could speak Japanese.
I went out to the bus stop in front of the station and caught a glimpse of the sea. I looked around and saw there was a hotel around the corner. I got out my phone and booked a room, then walked over. I didn’t need to be back at work for a week.
I wouldn’t be able to check-in for a few hours, but they let me store my stuff there. I wouldn’t be able to borrow one of their bikes until I checked-in, but I felt light as a feather relieved of all my camping equipment anyway.
I made for the old warehouse district. There was a clown-themed burger place I had heard was another must-see place to eat, and another burger sounded good. I rationalized that it was still a local specialty as the chain was only in Hakodate, and I’d be going to the original Lucky Perriot with vibrant clown and circus imagery all over the place. I’d also get a nice walk down the boardwalk and see the old red brick warehouses shopping district in the daylight.
I decided I may as well see what was for sale in the old buildings. For the most part, it was nothing special. But it was love at first sight when I saw Dr. Heming Grand’Pa.
Dr. Heming Grand’Pa was a cartoon character loosely based on Ernest Hemmingway made by a local artist, sporting a baseball cap, big glasses, and bushy white beard. It was the silliest thing I had ever seen. I controlled myself and just bought a hat with the logo on it rather than purchasing everything else in the store, picked up a few marimo moss ball souvenir keychains for some friends, and made my way down the boardwalk to Lucky Perriot.
I walked in just as some Australian people were, so the lady at the counter, who had the silliest high pitched voice, figured I was with them and I nearly needed to step in to cross the linguistic barrier to rectify the situation, but she figured it out in context before I needed to say anything (the Australians did not appear to speak Japanese).
I ordered their classic burger that came with some mysterious sauce, and I got a clown-themed soda of indistinguishable, yet sweet, flavor. It wasn’t a bad meal, but it was far more touristy and underwhelming compared to Hot Box. No burger would ever really amount to much compared to Hot Box, though.
It was late enough to be able to check-in to my hotel, but I decided to stop at the department store on my way back. I picked up a shirt I could wear for work, a green t-shirt, and a pair of gray jeans (after mistaking another customer for an employee several times before he informed me that he didn’t work there).
At the hotel, I asked if they could bring me up some shaving cream and a shipping box. I went ahead and plugged my phone in and tore the tags off my new clothes while I waited. The shaving cream and the box came, I shaved, took a shower, and put my new clothes and hat on. I packed a good bit of my camping supplies and asked the people at the desk to send it to my apartment. Out of my camping clothes and crust-beard, I felt more like a regular member of society. After pondering the options on my phone for a bit, I decided to walk around town and look for good looking places to eat and drink.
I found a nice looking place, but the meal wasn’t particularly memorable. Then, I stopped at a bar and had a mojito while I consulted a map. There were two big parts of town I hadn’t been to yet, but both were rather far away and the past few days of near-constant walking were making the respective treks sound like a bit much. So I decided to go back to the jazz bar from the night before.
Much like the first night, no one else was around. I had vermouth and left. I went back to Bar Boozer after that, but Taeko wasn’t working. I had a drink anyway and found myself suddenly feeling fairly drunk just after leaving. I decided to call it an early night.
The following morning was a repeat of the one before: outside the train station, I decided I wanted to see more of the city and booked a third hotel room.
Read Part IV, Part V, and Part VI.
These days, I’m just tellin’ stories.