The human race is but a monotonous affair. Most of them labour the greater part of their time for mere subsistence; and the scanty portion of freedom which remains to them so troubles them that they use every exertion to get rid of it. Oh, the destiny of man!

Goethe, “The Sorrows of Young Werther”

Generally speaking, I dislike Hebrew. I hate how every single word has a gender, and prefer to write in English, even though I’m not a native speaker. Plus, my stories don’t deal with Israeli or Jewish themes, so it never made sense to me to write them in Hebrew.

Having said that, I think Hebrew names are among the most beautiful in the world. If I’m not mistaken, at least half of them are unisex (which is ironic for such a gendered language).

Kesem is an example of that. It’s a rare unisex name that means ‘magic’.

I came across it in the summer of 2022, and immediately fell in love with it. It works better with non-Hebrew speakers; Omer is annoying to pronounce in English and Japanese. One time a Turkish girl named Özlem told me that Omer sounded “different”.

Interestingly enough, Kesem can also be written in Japanese using the kanji 気仙.

気 can mean spirit, mind, air, atmosphere, and mood.

仙 is a hermit, or more specifically, an immortal and magical being who lives alone in the mountains.

Maybe in the next life.

24 October 2023

• Kakunodate samurai village (1h)

Kakunodate Samurai Village

This morning, I helped in the kitchen, loading one industrial dishwasher after another. Owner fixed breakfast for me: instant mushroom soup, sunny side up, spinach, bread with butter and homemade prune jam, and aloe yogurt.

At 13:00, I borrowed one of the guesthouse’s bikes and cycled to the samurai village. Back in August, I’d allowed myself to visit only the free residences. This time, I’d visit the better, non-free clans.

I started off with Ishiguro samurai residence, where the family still resided, and Owner’s friend worked. Here the financial manager of the town had lived during the Edo period, the highest rank possible. The main house was 210 years old, the oldest building around. I received a five-minute explanation in Japanese and toured the exhibition room for another five.

Overall, I found this attraction a bit pricey for a ten-minute visit, but such was the cost of traditional houses-turned-museums in Japan. Once in a blue moon one would encounter a house just as impressive for free, such as in Shikoku’s Ochiai village.

Then, Aoyagi: the biggest samurai mansion in town. Stretching over almost 10,000 square meters, the six galleries including lacquerware, pottery, dolls, antique records players, clocks, armors, guns, and Akita Ranga (the first western-influenced Nihonga in Japan).

This residence cost as much as Ishiguro yet took me thirty minutes. I picked up a katana sword and put on a samurai helmet. Yet the highlight for me was simply wandering on the tatami mats, pleasant under my wool socks in the cooling weather.

The samurai village was swarming with either Chinese or Taiwanese tourists; I wasn’t sure. Taiwan would be the next country for me if I could afford it. Maybe there I’d learn how to tell more ethnicities apart.

On the way back, I stumbled upon a teahouse in front of Aoyagi selling Cremia ice cream. I could not under any circumstances pass on another opportunity to eat the tastiest cone on this planet. This time, I picked chocolate.

I cycled back to the guesthouse and did the dishes after today’s lunchtime diners. Then I cycled to the station to make a reservation at a rental car agency for a day trip.

The cars were all booked.

The only other agency in town was fully booked as well, for tomorrow and the day after. Friday onwards would be rainy.

I cycled back to the guesthouse, worried that a lack of vacancy, rather than money, would obstruct me from witnessing Hachimantai’s kouyou. Then I saw that the tourist information center would close soon.

So… I cycled back to the train station. The tourist information center said that Hachimantai’s kouyou had already withered, and that there was no public transportation up the mountain. Nyuto Onsen’s kouyou was now peaking instead.

From Kakunodate, Tazawako, Nyuto Onsen, and Tamagawa Onsen, which I’d visited in August while staying in Morioka, were on the way to Hachimantai. My plan was to rent a car and stop along the way at the onsens. All four stops were possible with a car in one day.

I cycled back to the guesthouse. The Kiwi guy, who’d already left Kakunodate, confirmed the information center’s forecast about Nyuto Onsen.

Prime Sushi and Friendship

In the afternoon, the Taiwanese family returned to the guesthouse as well. I chatted with the siblings in the common area. The girl, 26, with big, curly hair, was studying Japanese because she liked J-Pop. The guy, 27, with cropped hair and rectangular glasses (Asian guys usually opted for oval), was studying Japanese because he liked manga. The three of us were around the same level.

They were planning to visit Tazawako and Nyuto Onsen tomorrow with their mom using public transportation. With Hachimantai off the table, a return to Nyuto Onsen would be my best way of witnessing this area’s kouyou. We decided to go together.

Our conversation flowed so well, that when Owner came to pick me up for dinner, she made small talk with the three of us, and asked if I’d rather stay here than go out with her. The enjoyment must’ve been evident on my face.

I changed to my samue before leaving to her friend’s sushi restaurant. Owner and the Taiwanese siblings complimented it.

We treaded for a few minutes through dark and desolate Kakunodate. She picked streets more brightly lit owing to recent bear sightings in town.

This year, due to climate change, bears had begun descending the mountains in search of food. Here, in Akita prefecture, one had entered someone’s backyard, while another had killed two hikers. Owner had begun carrying a golf club when walking her dogs.

The restaurant was small yet fancy. Only us and two other Japanese patrons. We sat at the counter while her chef friend prepared sushi in front of us.

It was among my best sushi meals. The fish were high quality, and the chef kept adding more and more pieces to my plate. More than the amount I usually allowed myself to order. He also kept pouring me hot sake. I tasted clam sashimi for the first time. A potato and scallop soup.

The conversation flowed with her and the chef. He and the Japanese patrons complimented my samue. I’d begun worrying in the last few days that it was foul of me to wear it.

“Dessert” was raw firefly squid pickled in vinegar, salt, and sake. The same squid I’d encountered in Toyama in April, during their mating season. Toyama in April, as a matter of fact, was the only place where one could witness them glow in the dark before they mated and died. Back then, I’d braved a tasting of a fried firefly squid – and, embarrassingly enough, right in front of the ladies at the market who had served it to me, spit it out. It was that abhorrent.

Now, the raw firefly squid was very salty, and a known delicacy of heavy drinkers of sake. The best I could say was: I tried it.

We walked back to the guesthouse, on the lookout for bears. What an amazing dinner.

Then my night got even better.

The Taiwanese siblings were hanging out in the common area. I chatted with them again. We created an itinerary for tomorrow involving multiple means of public transportation. I’d intended to spend tomorrow sleeping (for a change) and running all my errands…

• Call the offices the Sapporo help desk had contacted for me
• Contact the Jewish / Israeli community in Tokyo
• Research Japanese language schools in Sapporo / Tokyo
• Contact my airline company for a refund
• Translate Hebrew videos about the war to Japanese (I’d agreed to do this voluntarily last week, yet hadn’t found the time)
• Write about the tumultuous last week
• Call friends whom I’d promised a phone call

Yet the Taiwanese siblings were so fun to be around, that I postponed all this to the day after tomorrow, because tomorrow afternoon the Taiwanese would depart for Tokyo.

In particular, the guy and I spoke endlessly. He was a math and English teacher jaded by capitalism and boring vocations. In February, he would finish working, and go on a one-year working holiday in New Zealand, in farms and hostels, akin to my experience in Japan and Korea.

We talked a lot about the war in Israel and the looming invasion of China in Taiwan. Every single person I’d talked to in the past eight months about my desire to visit Taiwan had urged me to do so sooner rather than later. They’d all agreed that China would invade in around two years.

This idea of an enemy country starting a war simply to conquer your home country was another experience we bonded over.

I adored the way he spoke, so soothingly and slowly. His pronunciation was quite clear, almost stiff, whether in English or Japanese. We spoke both languages in equal parts.

Most of the time it was just us two in the common area.

I enjoyed how, when pondering upon something, he’d click his tongue with his lips, as if tasting a sauce. “Tum tum tum.”

He reminded me of the Japanese guy from Matsuyama I’d met in Busan and immediately talked for hours with. The former cried like an anime character. The latter reflected like a chef.

He offered me sweets and grapes and a soft drink. I learned that he enjoyed eating whole lemons, peel included.

I told him about my current predicament (no money, war back home, contacting workplaces on a daily basis, unable to find a visa sponsor), and how people had been urging me to find a job.

“I wouldn’t worry so much about that,” he said. “You’re already going to various places and talking to people. You’re making steps. Something will happen, even if you don’t chase it.”

With his soothing voice of reason, everything about our conversation was refreshing and amiable.

Then a 28-years-old Japanese girl from Kumamoto checked in. She was traveling by herself in Tohoku with a rental car. Her itinerary for tomorrow: Tazawako, Nyuto Onsen, Tamagawa Onsen, and Hachimantai.

God.

We realized our intentions aligned. Yet she said four people would be too many to fit in her rental car. I wasn’t sure why. But it was indeed a lot to ask from someone you’d just met.

I could’ve ditched the Taiwanese family and asked the girl if I could join. But I chose to travel with the Taiwanese guy instead, pay for a bullet train to Tazawako, and miss Hachimantai.

At 23:00, the Japanese and Taiwanese girls went to bed. The Taiwanese guy and I were left alone.

We talked to no end. About war, religion, colonialism, capitalism, silly governments, and teaching gigs. A flag of Taiwan was sticking out from his backpack while traveling because he didn’t like to be mistaken for a citizen of the Chinese government. He expressed so many sympathies for Israel, that one would think we were in the same boat. Perhaps, in two years, we would.

“How amazing is that two souls – one from the far east, one from the Middle East – can have such different experiences, and yet think the same…” he said.

We sat close to one another and lowered our voices, his family being in the adjacent dormitory.

He confessed things in hushed tones. His private thoughts about certain nationalities and his family dynamic, not unlike mine. It had propelled both of us to travel as far away as possible.

Then he was mulling over possible solutions to my problems, as if they were his own. People I’d considered friends hadn’t reached out to me since the war’s inception, from Japan, Korea, Australia, etc. Those that had simply texted “Is your family okay? I hope everything works out.” Only Cowboy and The Ukrainian girls had been going above and beyond for me. And now this guy I’d just met.

He said Taiwanese people liked to help too much, stupidly so, such as their government donating one billion dollars to China in relief aid after the 2008 Sichuan earthquake – even though China had cut all support to Taiwan following the 1999 earthquake.

“But I’m not like other Taiwanese people,” he said. “I only help people I care about.”

He offered to pay for tomorrow’s expenses for me. I declined.

Our conversation grew quite philosophical, with various encouraging phrases on his behalf. I’d forgotten most of them.

“Yesterday, when I saw you for a second, I thought, ‘this one seems tough,’” he said.

I was never good at first impressions. Now, he kept calling me his friend.

Once he suggested exchanging contact details, I asked for his name in Chinese characters, and showed him mine in kanji.

“In Chinese this can mean a god,” he said about my second kanji. “The Master of Energy. You should start calling yourself that.”

His eyes twinkled as if this was the coolest thing on Earth.

I asked about the meaning of his name.

“In that case, you’ll be the Expert of Autumn,” I said.

We considered the watch on the wall. Past midnight.

“We should go to bed,” he remarked.

We continued chatting.

Alas, tomorrow would be an early rise, so at some point, we finally said good night.

His mom snored like a 3,000 horse power engine, per his (not so wrong) description. He and his sister breathed audibly. My dormitory was a cacophony of noises last night and tonight.

I went to bed at 2:00 knowing I’d barely sleep. Yet again. Tomorrow was supposed to be a day of errands, sleep, and rest. Zero sightseeing; tasks and writing instead. Somehow, it turned into another day of sightseeing, socializing, and minimal sleep. I already looked forward to it.

Today’s highlights: trying on a samurai helmet; Cremia ice cream; hanging out with the Expert of Autumn.

25 October 2023

• 10:00-10:13 Kakunodate station to Tazawako station bullet train, 10:40-11:14 Tazawako station to Aruba Komasaku bus stop bus, 11:15-11:30 shuttle bus to Tsuru-no-yu
• Tsuru-no-yu (1.5h)
• 13:20-13:37 Tsuru-no-yu to Arupa Komakusa shuttle bus, 13:55-14:05 bus to Gariba Onsen
• Nyuto Ganiba Onsen to Kyukamura Nyuto Onsen-kyo walking trail (1h)
• 15:34-16:20 Kyukamura Nyuto Onsen-kyo to Tazawako station bus, 17:12-17:29 bullet train to Kakunodate
• English language class in the evening

Nyuto Onsen

I woke at 7:45 after five hours of sleep. The Taiwanese family was eating breakfast in the restaurant; Owner had fixed the same Teishoku as theirs for me. I washed everything afterwards. She declined my offer of payment.

We took the bullet train to Tazawako. It lasted only thirteen minutes, so the fare wasn’t too steep. At the tourist information center, we booked the free shuttle to Tsuru-no-yu (reservation was mandatory).

Curious about working at such a place, I approached a foreign girl who seemed in the middle of a shift. She turned out to be a Russian geologist who’d been living in Sendai for eight years, having done her Master’s and PhD in Tohoku University in Japanese. Now she was researching the surrounding mountains.

Apparently, one could make gold from the acidic water in Tamagawa Onsen.

She recommended a website with jobs for foreigners to me. But my mind was focused on my Sendai friend who’d given me a ride in late August after Omagari fireworks. He’d been curious to meet a Russian girl for quite some time now, yet couldn’t speak a word in neither Russian nor English. I realized this was my chance to return the favor.

As the shuttle bus drove us through Nyuto Onsen’s forest, the landscape around us turned orange.

Tsuru-no-yu’s mountain view, green during Obon, was now a mesmerizing yellow. Still was the stench of sulphur. Milky blue water, orange leaves, and rustic cabins. Less hot and crowded than in summer. It was worth spending a whole day on a return here, especially with my current company.

The Expert of Autumn exuded a calm and stoic energy, somehow happy and optimistic at the same time. He was patient, altruistic, and ruminative. War and capitalism depressed him as much as me – but he still spoke with stride.

We took the shuttle back to a bus stop outside Nyuto Onsen. Yesterday, a bear had roamed this very spot. Why was I so unlucky in running into one? I had yet to see one out in the wild.

A couple of Taiwanese ladies who’d taken the shuttle with us told us of a nice walking trail inside Nyuto. We took a different bus back there with them to Nyuto Ganiba Onsen and entered a forest.

No bears.

Instead, yellow and orange leaves. Peak kouyou.

Apparently, an anime film called Suzume no Tojimari was based on Magoruko Onsen, which we crossed. When we reached Kuro-yu (“black hot water”) Onsen, I said hello to the owner, a friend of Kakunodate’s Owner. They’d offered me a temporary job here until the onsen closed in mid-November, which I couldn’t commit to.

The friend immediately knew who I was, and gave me tons of black eggs cooked in the Onsen’s sulphuric water. They reeked in the best way possible.

The rotenburo here looked even better than Tsuru-no-yu, because it enjoyed an unobstructed view of the mountain. We needed to hurry to catch the bus, but I resolved to return here in the future, hopefully in wintertime.

Back in Tazawako station, it was time for one of the most bitterly premature farewells. The Expert of Autumn and I had bonded so much, that we promised to cross paths again.

“I wish I could’ve met you on the first night,” he said.

I gave him a long hug and my last two snacks from Hokkaido, salted caramel pocky, and something with cheese. He gave me a boar keychain from Fukushima with his lucky number engraved on the leather. I added it to my collection of keychains – from the digital detox ryokan, my birthday ryokan, and a marimo from Lake Akan – attached to the zipper of my bag.

Both our bullet trains departed precisely at 17:12 in opposite directions. We waved at each other from the opposing platforms. The Russian geologist appeared next to the Taiwanese family, about to board their bullet train to Sendai. I waved at them all and entered my train. Two white guys who’d met today in Tsuru-no-yu, taken the same bus from Nyuto Onsen as us, and now continued in opposite directions, were doing the same.

English Class

In the evening, I attended an English class for adults in Kakunodate, voluntarily run by the four American teachers in town. The number of students, including Owner, was only seven.

One of the American guys said there was a bear at the schoolyard today. When he’d showed up, however, the students were excited by his presence instead. A foreigner in Kakunodate was rarer than a bear.

When I got up and introduced myself to the class, another guy blurted after less than a minute, “You should be an English teacher.”

I spoke about my experience. Everyone asked me questions. It was a nice experience, overall. A tiny village where people knew each other. On the way out, Owner and I watched a kyudo practice (Japanese martial art of archery), complete with skirt-like traditional garb.

As I got ready for bed, I mulled over certain people’s and place’s energy. Some of those aligned with who you were, and some, less so. Over the past 8.5 months, a simple “Hey, how’s it going?” had triggered intimate, hours-long conversations with strangers from around the world.

The Japanese guy from the digital detox ryokan, the German family from Iya Valley, the Dutch girl from Yoshino-yama, the Ukrainian girl from Kyoto, the British guy from Shinjuku, the Japanese guy from Honancho, the Korean girl from Nowon, the French girl from Hongdae, the Matsuyama guy from Busan, the Israeli girl from Busan, the German girl from the Korean temple, the Dutch girl from Hongdae, the Mongolian guy from Daejeon, the Korean guy from Itaewon, the British-Japanese guy from Osore-zan, the Chinese guy from Sapporo, the South African girl from Kutchan, and now, the Taiwanese guy from Kakunodate…

The list could go on and on, but the point was – none of these people came from the same background as me. And yet, somehow, something clicked. It was rare and ineffable. Yet it worked.

The bitter aftermath was when they didn’t seem to cherish this bond.

Today’s highlights: an autumnal re-soaking in Tsuru-no-yu; Nyuto Onsen’s kouyou; a sulphuric black egg.