Happiness only real when shared.

Alexander Supertramp

• Add Joyce saying the quote to me and us bonding over Into the Wild

6 August 2024

• 9:50-10:25 Jumonji station to Omagari station local train (Ou line), 11:10-12:15 Omagari station to Morioka station bullet train, 12:35-13:30 Morioka station to Shin-Aomori station bullet train, 13:45-13:55 transfer to Aomori station by local train (Ou line)
• Aomori Nebuta festival (2.5h)
• 21:15-22:25 Aomori station to Misawa station train (Nebuta liner)

Miso and Soy Sauce Factory

My host had returned at 3 am last night. He dropped me off at the station again. But before that, he said we’d have enough time for him to show me around his miso and soy sauce factory.

It was three houses down the road. Less than a minute’s walk from his home.

An old school building, with traditional wooden architecture, and a strong smell of soy sauce. Jars with yeast extractions he had been fermenting himself. A stylish restaurant and shop.

“Last month, an Israeli company came and interviewed me,” he said, to my shock.

Finally, he walked me all the way to the ticket office inside the station.

Aomori

On the way from Jumonji to Omagari, I met a Norwegian girl here on the one year working holiday – the only other foreigner around. She’d attended Kanto yesterday as well and slept at a hostel by Jumonji station. I’d had a reservation there as well, but cancelled at the last minute after finding my host. She was headed to the same area as me – Hachinohe, for accommodation near Aomori.

At the tiny NewDays kiosk inside the station, where the food wasn’t even labeled with English translation, I’d bought what turned out to be the best onigiri of my life. Lightly salted, with rice grown in Akita prefecture, and a salmon that was cooked ちょうどいい, just perfect.

On the Shinkansen to Morioka, I sat next to an old woman from Sakata, who’d attended Kanto yesterday and would attend Nebuta today as well, gave me a snack called Karakara Senbei, a local specialty. A triangular-shaped rice cracker containing a surprise souvenir. Kind of like the Japanese fortune cookie.  

Then, the craziness that ensued on the platform of the local train to Aomori station. I barely managed to squeeze inside the train at the last second.

A frantic search for a coin locker at Aomori station (barely twenty lockers in total?!) led me at 14:20 to the pyramid-like ASPM building in the bay, where I could store my luggage for double the cost, between 15:00-20:30. Until then, I rested in front of a view of the sea and Osore-zan in the northeast, which I would visit tomorrow, and straight ahead, Hokkaido mountains in the horizon. My favorite prefecture.

Aomori city had a different pedestrian crossing sound. A pleasant tune, rather than the usual beeping and whistling. My previous two times in Aomori (in February), I’d only exchanged trains at Shin-Aomori station. Now, the only other place in Japan I recalled having a different sound was the eerie 8-bit video game music in Uji.

After stocking up at Lawson, I found the perfect spot for the festival at 15:45 again, at the intersection in front of ASPM. Also like yesterday, there were only three people there.

But the sidewalks quickly filled out, perhaps because, unlike yesterday, the sun wasn’t shining directly on us. Many people were already walking around with the haneto dancing outfit, bells whistling with every step.

I took off my shoes and sat on a newspaper from yesterday. My feet wet the paper with sweat.

Aomori Nebuta Festival

The wait was boring, until, at 18:10, everyone got up and started moving toward the road. Police officers were about to shut down traffic, and everyone wanted to secure a better spot in the middle of the road. I dashed alongside two girls, American soldiers stationed in Misawa, where I would be sleeping tonight. We were all squashed together, sitting in uncomfortable positions, hot, sweaty, cramped. It would’ve been better to stay where we were and just stand. 

Tonight’s flutes and drums were even more deafening. Nebuta’s chanting was different – “Rassera! Rassera!” (a contraction of “come and join” in the local dialect).

A lot like Yeung Deung Hoe, the Lotus Lantern Festival in Seoul, back in May. Except Aomori Nebuta was way bigger – on a completely different scale. The floats were gigantic, up to 9 meters wide and 5 meters tall, depicting gods and demons. Carried by guys underneath them, with water being sprayed for the bearers’ sake. I spotted a girl or two among the bearers.

All of a sudden, the bearers rotated the floats 360 degrees.  

My jaw dropped. So unexpected. So gigantic.

Demon exorcism outfits and dancing (a rabbit-like skipping). Gigantic sets of drums hauled by dozens of men. By 20:00, I was as hypnotized as the Dutch girl at the drag club in Itaewon on July 14.

I counted around 23 floats overall. There were also a lot of small floats of different sponsors, such as JR, oi ocha, the green Jagarico, Lawson, Panasonic, the post office, the police… even the new Pokémon games. An ojiisan was wearing a Pikachu paper lantern as a hat.

I couldn’t participate in the dancing because I couldn’t afford to buy or rent a haneto. At least I’d danced in Morioka.

I left at 20:20 and rushed to retrieve my luggage.

Misawa

Inside the slow train to Misawa, again through a dark, vast land, a young Japanese couple next to me ate a tofu bar before departure. Shock. Never seen someone consume something in public transportation in Japan.

Then I met a group of Americans who lived there and worked at the military base. One of the girls saw me journaling in Hebrew and said a few words (she was Jewish). I heard her saying she was throwing a middle eastern dinner at her house, and found out there was a Turkish restaurant in Misawa serving real tahini and hummus.

I checked into a hotel right in front of the station. The only option I could find for tonight was a private room without a toilet at a large yet mostly empty hotel, dimly-lit and creaking, with a crumbling and abandoned vibe. A Japanese-style room, though, so tatami and futon.

The shared bathroom was an ofuro – a Japanese bath, kind of like an onsen, but not containing spring water. I was there alone. Lucky, because entering an ofuro for the first time since early May made me break into laughter.

Soaking in hot water. What a relief, especially after a long and sweaty day! I never wanted to go another month of my life without this physical sensation.

After a while, I got out and took a cold shower, as so many people had been recommending me to do. During Round One, I couldn’t really get into it, but now, I survived the cold shower, and went for another soak.

As always, I stayed inside until my head started spinning. Indoor baths weren’t for me. But still, what a return to form. I looked forward to my first rotenburo on this trip.

The pillow was western style, rather than buckwheat-filled, and the thin blanket wasn’t of the thick kind with the cutout in the center. But I still felt cozy. Especially with the now-usual dark, rural view and symphony of bugs.

Things I missed about Japan:

• Going back to wearing masks
• Slow trains wading through the countryside
• The anti-bird sound they play in stations
• Middle aged Japanese women saying 「ほら」(“look”) when showing me pictures on their phone

Today’s highlights: the Akita NewDays onigiri; the distant view of Hokkaido; Aomori Nebuta festival (particularly the rotation of the nebutas); soaking in an ofuro.

7 August 2024

• 9:50-11:07 Misawa station to Shimokita station train (Aoimori Railway line), 11:20-11:50 Shimokita station bus stop platform 1 to Osore-zan bus
• Osore-zan (1.5h)
• Bodai-ji temple’s onsen (1h)
• 15:55-16:30 Osore-zan to Shimokita station bus, 17:05-18:05 transfer to Noheji station train, 18:10-18:55 transfer to Aomori station train
• Aomori Nebuta Festival – fireworks (1h)
• 20:30-21:40 Aomori station to Misawa station train (Aoimori railway line)

Osore-zan

I dashed to the train station this morning without eating breakfast. There was not even a miniature kiosk to buy something from. No konbini in sight in Misawa.

The slow train to Shimokita was one car only. Not even in Shikoku had I taken a train this short.

During the ride, an ojiisan went to stand in the front and ate yakisoba. An ever bigger shock than yesterday’s, because the train was moving.

My original plan for this evening was to take a train straight to Aomori to watch the fireworks of the last night of Nebuta festival. The nebutas would be placed on boats and ferried around the bay against the background of the fireworks. Yet after the train last night to Misawa had unexpectedly cost me money (Misawa wasn’t a JR station), I’d decided not to. I wasn’t particularly passionate about fireworks to begin with. And I’d have three opportunities to see more in Morioka, and, of course, Japan’s number one fireworks in Akita.

In Shimokita, I dashed to a convenience store, grabbed a bunch of random things, and made it to the infrequent bus to Osore-zan just in time. I had my first sip of water of the day, but couldn’t eat during the ride.

The weather had turned from sunny to cloudy up the mountain. The bus entered fog, and I felt a déjà vu to Shodoshima. Murky woods up a faraway mountain. I loved it.

The smell of sulphur in Osore-zan was so strong, that it reached my masked nostrils before even alighting, while inside the bus. Never had I missed a stench this much.

A guy at the bus stop counted the number of people coming to the mountain.

Osore-zan (“Fear Mountain”) was nicknamed Hell Mountain due to its unique landscape. Gray, barren rocks with the occasional greenish-orange sulphatic tinge. It seemed like a wasteland, a sick and dying natural reserve, and the colorful paper flowers, shoved between the rocks, swirling constantly in the wind – a memento for unborn children – made for an extremely eerie juxtaposition. Today the mountain was misty and drizzling. The temperature was quite cool.

I could not believe I was inhabiting such an otherworldly place. It was disturbingly quiet. A few crows here and there. Mostly wind blowing and the handful of visitors stepping on gravel. Sickly greenish rocks, grayish white. Sickly yellow vegetation. Lush green trees. Fog and mist up the peaks. Distant rustling of leaves. A sign warning again mamushi (deadly viper) in Japanese. Spiderwebs with dew. Soft raindrops, charred black stones, and neon-yellow sulphuric streams.

Never had sulphur stank this strongly in Japan for me. Perhaps only when standing close to Iou-zan in Hokkaido’s Kawayu Onsen on February 13.

Exploring this Buddhist version of hell, I understood the meaning behind its nickname, and why it was one of the three most sacred sites in Japan. I truly felt like I was on another planet. The sulphur painted the ground yellow, orange, brown, even bright turquoise. Vivid pops of colors in a vast, gray wasteland; like the flowers, they made this place even weirder and creepier. But also mesmerizing.

I had to take some of those neon rocks with me. I’d never seen anything like them. May the gods forgive me.

How had each day back in this country gotten progressively better? How come every attraction of the last few days felt like it had taken me to greater heights? Why was I so happy in this land?

My disrespect toward the gods continued when I hid in a restroom and shoved some food into my mouth. 12:45, my first bite of the day.

I knew this was temple grounds. But I hoped that 70 stamps and prayers at shrines and temples during Round One would suffice.

The lake was a vast body of clear water, turquoise with the occasional yellow twinge. Lonely paper flowers swirling on the white sand. It felt desolate and sad. The fog made the horizon impossible to see, and I felt like I was in a place with no bounds, no limits, no earthly rules of nature.

Quiet and tranquil. Bird chirps and water streams – those were the only sounds. A surreal combination of horror and marvel. Beauty and sadness. Life and loss. Barren and vivid. Colorful and gray.

Some of the sulphuric streams were bubbling so gently, that only when approaching one did I hear and notice that.

I inserted my hand into the water, wondering if it was poisonous. It was warm, and painted my finger pale yellow. I picked up a leaf that had changed colors.

The geysers were too scalding to get close to. Posing next to one for a picture was worth the heat.

After an hour and a half of dreamlike exploration, I went to the temple’s onsen. A rustic cabin with two small pools. There was no shower area, which was a bit strange; everyone simply rinsed themselves using buckets. I’d forgotten to bring a towel. In the Japanese countryside, this was always a fatal mistake. In Round One, I’d always carried a small, quick dry towel in my bag.

I spent one hour inside the onsen, longer than anyone else. For Japanese people, onsens weren’t special, so 5-20 minutes sufficed. For me, it was the first time since April.

That first second of entering the acidic, hot water… one of the best physical sensations on this earth.

The water was acidic and milky white. A small window was ajar, which helped. A five-minute soaking, a five-minute break. I stayed until my head was spinning. I needed a rotenburo.

I passed some of the time with a half-white, half-Japanese, tall, lean guy from Yokohama who now lived in London, having attended a high school in Ealing, where my family resided. According to him, the largest Japanese community in the UK was there. In Korea, I’d met two guys from there.

After the onsen, I prayed at the temple. I had to repent.

At the bus stop rest area, I ate on tatami mats by a low table. First time eating on the floor on this trip.

As I walked to the famous red bridge – birds atwitter, rain hitting leaves, a cold wind making me shiver – sea water bubbling with sulphur – I recalled walking along the shore of the Sea of Okhotsk on February 12, in freezing, tiny Utoro, one of the most memorable days of my existence.

The Dutch girl from Japan had stayed at Bodai-ji temple after I’d left the country. Seeing her pictures had pushed me to add Osore-zan to my Round Two itinerary. I couldn’t afford to sleep here, which was unfortunate, because it struck me as remarkably existential and unique.

I wouldn’t have marveled at Osore-zan this much had the weather been sunny. The fog added to the mystery and mystique.

It became an instant addition to my favorite places in Japan, and one of the most dreamlike days of my life.

At Shimokita station, the ticket office told me the train to Aomori would be covered by my JR pass, but not my return train to Misawa (like yesterday). Since the return trip to Misawa would cost me anyway, from Shimokita as well, I decided to go see the fireworks, after all.

During the slow train to Noheji, I chatted with a half-white, half-Japanese, tall, lean guy from Tokyo who spent half his time in the UK’s Southampton.

What? Another guy of the same background? Also on this faraway, hellish mountain?

He’d attended Kanto and Nebuta festivals as well, and Sendai Tanabata tomorrow, like me. The things on his list around Sendai – also just like mine.

Pro tip: if you want to meet tall, lean, half-Japanese, half-white British guys who speak both languages, visit Osore-zan.

At Noheji station, he continued south to Sendai, while I west to Aomori. Inside the next train, I sat next to a bunch of American guys and girls. We didn’t talk, but I had a feeling they were Misawa soldiers as well.

Aomori Nebuta Fireworks

Once I alighted in Aomori station, I entered a different sort of hell.

Well, not really, because everything was in perfect order. But the city was teeming with so many people, one could barely move.

The Bay Area was as congested as physically possible. I looked and looked for a good spot; there were none. The ASPM viewpoint from yesterday, with the closest, unobstructed view, was reservation-only. Already sold out.

The floats had begun being ferried around the bay. More chanting of “Rassera”, like yesterday. Then, fireworks.

It was quite a unique sight, the nebutas on boats, and the backdrop of fireworks.

Most of the time the floats were far on the other side. But the fireworks were splendid. People clapped and exclaimed すごい. It was a nice moment, but I couldn’t understand why Japanese fireworks were always an hour long. Five minutes for me were enough. So at, 20:00 I left.

Misawa was cold and windy at night. A constant drizzle. After weeks of dying of humidity and heat, today felt like a preview of autumn.

I took a quick soak at the ofuro and dozed off, warm and cozy in my futon. 

Things I missed about Japan:

• The stench of sulphur
• Onsens
• ONSENS
• Did I say ONSENS?
• Soaking in hot springs with naked strangers
• Umbrella holders in public toilets next to sinks and urinals
• People rotating their shoes to face the exit when taking them off inside buildings
• Straight Guys having long nails, wearing pearl necklaces…

Things I didn’t miss about Japan:

• Some buses still being cash only
• Over reliance on cash in general

Today’s highlights: a one-car slow train ride through the countryside; every single thing in Osore-zan; the onsen; eating on tatami mats; the train ride to Noheji; nebutas and fireworks.

Stray observations:

• I’d lost so much weight since my Round One in Japan that now, if I eat only konbini food, I can cut my daily food budget by half.
• Generally speaking, Japanese guys wear baggy t-shirts and long, baggy pants. Korean guys wear tighter t-shirts and short shorts.
• Japanese girls gravitate toward the same fashion.

8 August 2024

• 10:35-10:55 Misawa station to Hachinohe station local train (Aoimori Railway line), 12:37-14:00 Hachinohe station to Sendai station bullet train
• Sendai Tanabata matsuri (~30m)

This morning, I met in Misawa station a couple of missionaries stationed here. They wore formal outfits with ties and name tags; obviously not soldiers. After meeting Christian missionaries in Hirosaki in February, I supposed a mission or the army would be the main two reasons to see foreigner residents in Tohoku region. One of the two guys from Misawa had also lived in Hirosaki.

At Hachinohe station, I thought about paying a visit to the seagull shrine the Dutch girl had told me about, but I didn’t have enough time. Instead, I met a Cyprian guy doing a PhD about air pollution in Tokyo. At least half of the foreigners I’d been meeting in Tohoku were residents capable of Japanese, also on a festival tour.

Then I met an American soldier stationed in Misawa. Every person like this I’d been meeting had assumed I was living in Japan as well. I longed to say that I was.

Perhaps I should return to Misawa before leaving Tohoku, I thought.

Sendai Tanabata Festival

Alighting in Sendai was hard. This was where I’d last seen the Miitaka guy. Standing on the Shinkansen platform, recalling him waving at me through the train window… a moment I regretted like no other.

I consoled myself with a zunda shake. My number one reason for returning to Sendai. He was the one who’d told me about me. Many Japanese people had never heard of it.

Heaven on my taste buds. This, and my first tamago since coming back.

The train station was already adorned with Tanabata decorations. I waited inside for my couch-surfing host for the night, recalling standing in the same spot on that day in February. As if nothing had changed since then. (Apart from all the decorations.)

After we’d agreed to meet at 14:00, it took him an hour to reply, only to suggest meeting at 17:00. Had I known this would be so, I would’ve delayed my Shinkansen, and visited the seagull shrine in Hachinohe.

Instead, I passed the time writing inside the station, cursing it for having no seating area (a nightmarish detail I’d remembered from February too well). Everywhere was extremely congested, especially with large group tours of elderly Japanese.

At 17:00, I met my host. He was 22, with longish, parted hair and a square jaw. Last month, he’d returned to Japan after six months of foreign exchange studies in Sweden.

My host had invited an American guy from couch-surfing who had searched for someone to hang out with in Sendai. That guy had moved to Tokyo two months ago after 12 years in the army. He was 25 minutes late, and showed up without apologizing.

The three of us walked around a couple of streets in Sendai, full of Tanabata decorations. Sendai’s Tanabta festival was the last of the Three Great Festivals of Tohoku. Dozens of colorful streamers, soft to touch (made of bamboo and washi), hung in the shopping arcades. A thousand paper cranes streamer as well.

It was a pretty sight, but… that was it. The festival was just a couple of avenues with streamers.

I wouldn’t have called it a Great Festival on the same level as Akita Kanto and Aomori Nebuta. In fact, I’d anticipated this, and wasn’t that disappointed. The mixed guy from yesterday had already texted me about it.

So 25 minutes of strolling around beautiful streamers were enough.

To make matters worse, something about the American guy felt off. He didn’t smile once, and seemed rather bored. Barely talked or gave answers that were more than a few vague words.

He’d been using couch-surfing strictly as a means of hanging out with people (never staying at their place).

The Japanese guy and I ate Osaka-yaki, a new dish for me (basically just fried egg and batter with okonomiyaki sauce, delicious), while the American guy just stood there.

At 18:00, we had an early dinner at a conveyor belt sushi. The wasabi in my cucumber rolls went straight to my nose. Tears welling in my eyes. I let my host try it – shockingly enough, for a Japanese person, he didn’t like wasabi – and the rolls turned him redder than me.

At the end of the meal, while talking about travel, the American guy mentioned a recent trend in hotels in Egypt, where guests were subjected to security checks every time they went in and out.

“Okay,” I said, familiar with the dangers of the Middle East, “so what’s the problem?”

He explained that this bothered content creators, who had to give their multiple, fancy cameras for inspection every day.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I find it hard to sympathize.”

“Well,” the American guy said, “you seem to be very opinionated, so…”

“Sorry it’s just –”

“I should get going, I’m meeting someone,” he interrupted, got up, threw too many bills at the table, and left.

What.

We tried to tell him it was too many bills – he threw an extra one – he dashed out of the restaurant.

I chased him down to give back the surplus of his money, but in the congested shopping arcade, full of decorations, he was already out of sight.

In the last six months of traveling Japan and Korea, I’d had a relatively low number of interactions with American. Probably no more than fifteen. Compared to hundreds of Europeans.

Out of those fifteen or so, only two interactions with American didn’t leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Each time, something was off. Awkward; dare I say, rude. Even the soldiers from the last few days. The only one who hadn’t given me that vibe was a girl from today, who’d waited next to me in line to the bullet train to Sendai. She was bright, and nice, and fun to talk to.

Maybe because she wasn’t white.

Anyway, my host and I took a short metro to his apartment in the outskirts of Sendai. Practically the countryside, like he said. It was as big as my Tokyo friend’s small apartment. Still bigger (and cheaper) than my studio apartment in the UK.

We bought some food and drinks at a nearby grocery store. So cheap that it was insane. Amazing discounts. Ridiculously cheap sashimi. As we ate the latter in his apartment, he remarked that the fish wasn’t the best. I said that, for an Israeli person, this was heaven. The fish was delicious and fresh.

He let me try frozen yaki-onigiri – just soy sauce and rice – very good, for a frozen product.

As we talked and talked, I wrote down dozens of words in Japanese on my notepad. I didn’t know why he taught me more than anyone else. Either every Japanese person I’d been talking to had been dumbing themselves down to meet my level, and he felt comfortable enough not to – or he was just really smart. Probably both. Words not used every day by Japanese people.

One of my Japanese friends texted me at some point. A typhoon was approaching Tohoku. A region that rarely experienced such weather. Perhaps I’d get to see a typhoon for the first time.

I slept on a thin mattress (not a futon) with a towel for a blanket. Still better than the Seoraksan mountain shelter and three-hour nap in Haneda airport.

Today was the least exciting day since my return to Japan. But that was okay. I’d disliked Sendai ever since my first visit in February, and reckoned Tanabata matsuri would be underwhelming. My number one reason for coming here was a zunda shake.

Also, a private tour of a sake factory, which would happen tomorrow.

Mania

I went to bed mulling over the end of my Tohoku festival marathon. 5 cities, 4 towns, 6 bullet trains, 4 festivals, and 6 blissful days. Since landing in Japan, I’d felt no need to rest.

A lot of thoughts had been floating in my head. But they’d all paled in comparison to the fact that I was back in my favorite place on earth.

Seeing Japanese people wear traditional clothes outside Tokyo for so long was unusual. Asakusa; Morioka Sansa Odori; Akita Kanto; Aomori Nebuta; Sendai Tanabata. Five consecutive days.

Taking super express trains; hopping from one festival to another; soaking in hot springs, cycling across the countryside; exploring natural wonders, and meeting friends. Was this not how life was meant to be lived?

True, I’d gone back to moving from one place to another on a daily basis. This barred me from spending enough time with certain people, let alone meeting people, which created loneliness. But that was hardly a new thing for me. The advantages definitely overshadowed this disadvantage.

Mortal existence was so fragile and precious – why couldn’t it be a party?

So many countries were in shambles nowadays. The political situation in Israel had been worsening unbelievably, frighteningly so. The country was losing its democracy in real time, and becoming a theocracy. All while Japan was busy celebrating life, instead of fighting.

I recalled my sadness at leaving Korea and feeling as though my trip had peaked. What a ludicrous moment. I was back in Japan; back on my beat.

The number one word I’d been hearing Japanese people exclaim since landing here: 「暑ー！」 (“so hot”)

And the number one word I’d been exclaiming: 「嬉しい」(“happy”)

Taking Shinkansens day and night for a new festival every day – I could spend the rest of my days like this.

Life became a party again. Even if, most of the time, I was by myself.

Things I missed about Japan:

• Apartments being bigger and cheaper compared to Israel and the UK
• Conveyor belt sushi
• CHEAP GROCERY STORES WITH DISCOUNT PASTRIES AND SASHIMI

Things I did not miss about Japan:

• Sendai station having NO CHAIRS

Today’s highlights: zunda shake and tamago; Osaka-yaki; conveyor belt sushi; yaki-onigiri.