Hokkaido Continued and Concluded

“The sea was angry that day my friends …”
-- George Costanza
Not wanting to expose Jonas to the elements any further, we dug deep into our dwindling wallets and left the campgrounds behind for the rest of the trip, opting for budget-busting hotels the rest of the way. I suppose you can’t put a price on your child’s health. Believe me, I tried. Tricia, however, would sooner shove me off the ledge of a mountain in order to prevent her baby from falling and skinning his knee, so hotels it was. Actually, the accommodations were a nice change, and at least one of them, a traditional Japanese ryokan, was a new and thoroughly enjoyable experience.

Leaving Daisetsuzan National Park, we hopped on the expressway (which was everything you’d hope for in an expressway. The speed limit appeared to be turned off (an observation confirmed by fellow Hokkaido traveler Andrew) and the traffic was nonexistent. But unregulated speed comes at a price. The expressways in Japan can be expensive – a trip that might cost a few dollars in America cost us around $60 in Japan. This forces drivers to choose between frugality and swift travel. We opted for swift travel). We sped past Sapporo, drove around the port city of Otaru, which is alleged to have a famous canal area, and ultimately decided to bypass both, heading to Niseko, one of the top ski areas in all of Japan, and a beautiful place to hike around in the Fall.

After a white-knuckled drive to the top of the mountain, we stopped and ended up staying at the first place we crossed – a small but spectacularly comfortable Japanese inn. Breakfast, dinner and a round-the-clock onsen were included in the price. The place had a capacity of about 20, and when we arrived, there were only two rooms left. In addition to six couples, there was a group of rowdy Japanese dudes, who dined in their own private room and, from the sound of things, were there to live large. They threw down an astonishing amount of beer and Sake, as evidenced by the parade of bottles heading from the kitchen to their dining area. So I was surprised to find them not only awake and ready to go early the next morning, but also middle-aged and very conservative looking. Even more puzzling, four of them were dressed head-to-toe in hard-core hiking gear – and two of them wore gray suits. One of the hiker guys asked me to take a picture of the group posing in front of the inn (a very Japanese thing to do, it seems), which I did, before they all piled into a stretch minivan and took off together, disappearing into the mountains.


Once again, we loved the onsen, and dinner stood out as the top meal we’ve had in Japan (a close second would be the restaurant near the zoo, where entrées featured a piece of meat from one of the zoo animals). The dinner consisted of numerous small and delicious dishes -- crayfish, sushi, vegetables, rice -- and a large pot of soup with chunks of fish, leek, potato, and more crayfish. Breakfast was just OK, as neither of us are really down with the traditional Japanese breakfast, here or anywhere. You can only adapt so much.

We left Niseko, did some fun hiking with some very serious Japanese mountaineers (pics below). One glaring difference between Japan and America: the high numbers of extremely active old timers here. The mountain was filled with oldsters who take there hiking, and stretching, very seriously. They were all decked out in extensive and serious-looking hiking gear, so serious that I began to worry whether the hike would be too much for us and little Jonas, whose balance isn’t the best even on level ground. As you can see below, I needn’t have worried. All that gear for a stroll on a wooden, man-made path.



Along the way we stopped off at a dairy where, among many highlights, was a goat tethered to a stake in the middle of a field where dozens of kids were playing. The ice cream here was delicious. And the goat, well-mannered.

We spent an unremarkable night in a cabin by a lake, then met friends Andrew and Mary Ellen for beers (so-so) and dinner (pretty good) in Hakodate, the final night of our trip. It was here where Jonas, for the first time in front of my eyes, clearly bowed to another toddler upon first meeting him, drawing laughs from all the Japanese onlookers and surprise from me (Tricia was inside still eating). It was a well-executed bow. I was proud.

After a night of good sleep, and finally, Internet access, we boarded the super-charged, two-hour ferry boat that would speed us from Hokkaido to the main island in luxury and comfort, before a short drive home. Those were our plans.

I started the ferry ride by inhaling a $10-dollar sandwich consisting of oddly colored meats and cheeses. This was a mistake. Not only was it overpriced and far from great, I would struggle the next two hours to keep it down. Getting on the ferry, I hadn’t really noticed the rain and whipping wind (the only bad weather the whole trip). I should have. The nasty weather, coupled with a ferry that promised to be twice as fast as its competition, made for a nauseating combination. In other words, once the ferry got going, it really got going. Scores of people – by my guess, at least 50 – got sick. People vomited on the floor, into barf bags, into just about anything they could get their hands on. Trash cans overflowed with sagging bags of vomit. A line of sick, sweating and green-hued Japanese snaked out the bathroom door and down the hallway, trying with everything they had to maintain their composure. The ferry workers, who ran around wearing sanitary masks, actually ran out of those little air sickness bags, and started handing out full-sized trash bags for people to lose it into. It was a long, stomach-turning two hours. Surprisingly, the three of us managed to hold it together, and hold everything in -- a truly remarkable feat for me, as a winding road can turn my stomach. Tricia was nauseous, but held steady. Jonas was oblivious, although he fell down a lot. It was a rough closing to our trip, but at least the weather saved its worst for last.