Honshuu to Hokkaido - Snow sculptures and snow shoe adventures

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Sooner than planned, I find myself back in Japan.

After an impromptu ‘lets plan some adventures together’ as a local idea became international, and with several online clicks and searching my contacts from the last snow visit, it was happening. P1 and P2, power of two, 16^th letter in alphabet and on a travel booking (sushi) roll.

Departure day from Auckland dawned by spin bike to mitigate a coming day of sloth. Could the pace of companion travel be hacked, asks Pop? Pays to be organised said P1, and a repeat of our Kyoto memory, dragging a suitcase uphill for lack of coin locker availability at the train station, was not on the agenda

Goodbyes said, passing through customs swiftly, and a pencil bought for my bloke so crosswords could be had, lead us to board one of the new Air NZ 787 Boeing.

10 hours passed rapidly, faster than past flights, with multiple musical, drinks and horizontal sleeping interludes, thanks to a spare seat. ‘Unavailable’ versus ‘occupied’ by definition on Air NZ’s website, we lucked in.

Narita was every bit as usual on arrival. Seeing this trip through fresh traveller’s eyes brought an excitement to the familiar airport hotel fare. Queues aside, bringing in NZ snacks for a trip without hassle and we’d landed at a modest Radisson hotel, primed for sleep and future fun.

The anticipation of Sapporo the following day mounted. Would Jetstar fly or not?

Being 1 and a quarter hours away, and farther north, our modest delay set us back 45 minutes only to have mixed guidance on reaching our air bnb. A packed flight, filled with locals, many Australians and one particular whom roamed the aisles declaring by t-shirt his ‘love of his sausage’ (Hellers). And we in turn ruminated on our love of sausage, silly sausage said.

On arrival, the typical response of face-saving dialogue, and expressions of dismay at our kanji written address, yielded a goose chase in Sapporo’s outskirts, resulting in forking out yen for a gloved taxi driver to take us 300m from the Seico convenience store in Hongodori precinct. Taxi first, walk later, a lesson repeatedly learned.

An into our shoe box abode we strode, key box and instructions of entry as accurate as a Japanese train departure. Adachi, had a 10 square metre box consisting of kitchenette, mini shower/ bath combo, futon and single bed, washing machine, table and chairs, TV and welcome alcove. Compact, functional, and a curly interpretation of double bed, it was “watashi tachi no yasumi no uchi” (home sweet holiday home for silly sausage and I)

Amazingly, we had time to make a beeline for ICI sports, to get snow pants sorted for P2, and hover around central Sapporo catching a glimpse of Odori park. Hunger and fatigue setting in, chain restaurant fare hit the spot and soon we were home, hosed and a half load of musical, tempo laden, wash-cycle fashion. Groovy, HAI, like a Harajuku girl.

Takino winter park was our goal for part one of day two. Dawning on blue skies, we headed to our local subway station, Nango nana chome, and via Odori routed to Mokumanai at the end of the Namboku line. A bus took us further to Takino itself, half an hour more away. Snow lined paths gave way to wooded forest that breached at a clearing of rolling countryside, used alternately in summer for biking and walking

Free hire of snow shoes made our day, and although limited by distance, the terrain was modestly powdery to satisfy our photographic and walking urges even if silly sausage was still seeking his snow legs after many years.

Returning to Odori, later in the day, we used the pedestrianised underground walkway in central Sapporo to reach the transparent sculptures just ten minutes from the main site of Odori. Amongst neon lights, the reflections were superb and accentuated with camera flashes of the sizable mob around it

Returning to Odori, we weaved from massive 3 to 4 story sculptures lit by coloured light/ music themed shrines, to Japanese anime, Shakespears Globe theatre, to that paying homage to the shinkansen (bullet train). 12 blocks of park space and equal distance sculptured, it was a sight to behold amongst the hot beverage, food and merchandise sellers. Shepherded along between as many photos as P2 could wrangle, and we reached that pinnacle of fatigue and hunger again that drives anyone to temporary insanity. Home again, let’s go.

The central highlands of Hokkaido were our home for the next few days with thoughts of white powder hauling us through a slow local train journey. After some hoofing it to Sapporo main station to begin with when P2 lost an expensive glove, we made a tight connection at Asahikawa on an unusually tardy arrival time to reach Furano. Our jolly seat mate, forced to remove his train picnic, all the while shared with us silly sausages his love of J pop and alpine sports. Resplendent with leg bells, he was the sound of Rudolph’s body and colour of Rudolph’s nose.

Welcomed before check in time at Suzuki ryokan, a homely tidy spot, we headed to find if our mis-information was indeed information. Getting facts on lesser popular sports right, like snow shoeing, took some sleuthing.

So our informant John from the Gong (Woolongong, Australia) at Alpine back country rental shed a ray of organisational light on our plans and within minutes we had settled on 3 days of gear hire, specifically snow shoe rental and trail advice on the local golf course.

Putting was not on the agenda, so off-piste snow hiking was favourable to losing one’s balls in the snowy mire. After several hours thigh deep in powder, and falling light to a purple hue, we had managed to bush bash and get slightly deviated from the fairways, that to be fair, returning to the 19^th hole at our local yakitori bar seemed in order.

Fukinmotou yakitori bar, run by Akiko san and her chef husband was an oasis of local culinary delight. Feet settled into a todana, strained at the knees cross legged, we indulged a mix of Japanese tapas that covered all food groups excluding fish heads or turgid squid. Downing our meal, returning to our ryokan and into the scratcher not long after.

So our plans continued into the next day, waking to a severe blizzard and minus 10 Celsius to start. The Sorachi river weaving through town was crossed after a tardy holiday start, and soon we arrived at the golf course for a round with our spiky shoes

Around the trees, fairways, and frozen toilet or maintenance sheds we stomped, our feet sinking like holes in one, and our walk far from ruined as some non-golfers believe. Two hours of silent trudging and flash Harry and I turned up damp, ready for coffee and a spot of shopping at Ningle Terrace, the trading arm of the New Prince Hotel.

Bowing to the elements, we bypassed the oscillating mice on a stick, ran for the 2.15pm bus when we missed the stop sign, and via a quick trek to our ryokan via the Ralse supermarket for supplies (thanks for the eats, Miss Organiser!) and our relaxation began.

However we have learned to never take instruction for certain. ‘10 to 15 minutes walking from Nakafurano station’ became a half hour to fourty minute icy snow hike road side, all the while viewing to falling light the mountain scape of the Furano range

And then our hot spring oasis began. Clothes off, locker and basket loaded up, and no refresher to P2 of onsen etiquette, and we parted for the experience as per Japanese tradition. This was no hot tub with the masses without bathing first, and with silly sausage inadvertently committing onsen crime, the result was no offence made. Next time, scrub a dub first, then soak.

Loose as two gooses, we caved to a taxi return, short train trip and before long it was a snowy night resplendent with sake, fish heads and turgid squid, followed by a surprise birthday cake courtesy of our favourite yakitori establishment. Oscillating lights, could this be a power cut? Could the ambience be All Black? Could there be a haka like at their friend’s wedding? Yet no, Akiko san, the attentive host, made this evening a ‘tokubetsu na yoru’ with her sneaky gesture.

Bidding heart arigatoos and promises to return, P2 sharing his birthday with the receptionist at Suzuki, and being one year older meant personally and chronologically nothing yet recreationally everything.

Furano was more than a brand of fishing apparel and equipment, it was our snowy heaven. Yet with only a few hours spare early the next day, we squeezed in a hike up the local park and hill alongside XC skiers amidst life that carried along around us. Post men, grader drivers, children on their way to school wearing the ear muffs that I should have brought from NZ Safety – all were there, and the silence of the park in the morning light was golden.

Trojan and time keeper then whipped back to John from the ‘Gong to return our spiky shoes, whilst P2 tried squeezing in more photos of that temple statue wearing a pink cloak. In between we got ready for our sojourn to Morioka, deep in a snow storms throes, and with 5 fine connections. Tight as a XC skiers pants.

An exceptional weekend for travellers leading out of the Hokkaido snow festival and into a public holiday on the 11^th meant we missed our connection at Hakodate, just for nostalgia. The much apologetic conductor and station staff ensured we met the next train, saving Plan B of a long taxi ride from Shin-Aomori from fruition, and in a bedraggled state rolled into bed at a station hotel after midnight. Oyasumi nasa!

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