There was no response
He tried again. “Tara, it’s Sam. Can we talk?”
Nothing.
Then the door next to Tara’s room opened and Heidi, a recently arrived New Zealander, looked out.
“Oh, it’s you. Tara’s not here – she’s gone away.”
Sam was taken aback. “Where’s she gone?”
“Huh, like I’d tell you! You know, you’re a real shit, Sam, treating Tara like that.”
Sam frowned. “I haven’t done anything that…” he paused. “Will you at least tell me when she’s getting back?”
She threw him another disgusted look and closed her door firmly.
Bloody women! Why were they all so unreasonable?
Yoshi caught him as he wandered back to his room.
“We plan our trip now, Sam-san?” said Yoshi.
Sam nodded slowly, his mind elsewhere.
“Yeah, sure. Just give me 10 minutes. I have to write a letter.”
Yoshi bowed and they agreed to rendezvous in the nearby coffee shop for a late breakfast. Yoshi’s favourite place was Mr Donut, where you could order a pastry of poached egg and ham. Sam had never been able to figure out how they got the poached egg to stay runny in the middle of a pastry. To Yoshi, this was the most English of breakfasts.
Sam sat at his desk, his head in his hands, thinking about what he wanted to say to Tara: words that would over-ride what she had thought she’d seen, what she must have imagined had happened. Eventually he picked up his pen and began to write, the words flowing more quickly as he moved down the page.
When he’d finished, he folded the sheet of paper twice and ran back up to the floor above, throwing an irritated glance at Heidi’s room, and pushed the paper under Tara’s door. He hoped she’d at least read it before she ripped it into shreds – she’d looked pretty angry. He couldn’t blame her for that – seeing Elle in his room like that, it must have looked so… he tried to push the memory away.
Yoshi looked up happily when Sam walked into the coffee shop.
He was easy company and his joyful view of the world lifted Sam’s spirits.
“Now we plan our road trip, Sam-san: on the road like Easy Rider!” He stumbled slightly over the second word. “You ride motorbike, Sam-san?”
Sam was surprised. He couldn’t imagine Yoshi on a motorbike, but then again, Yoshi was full of surprises.
“Yeah, I guess. I had a little 150cc when I was a kid. But not since then. Are we going by bike?”
Yoshi shook his head. “It is 800 kilometres to Sapporo, then 100 kilometres to my family in Furano. We will fly to Sapporo: it is the largest city in Hokkaido; fourth largest in whole of Japan. We stay there one night, then take bus to Furano. It is resort in the mountains. We are by Daisetsuzan National Park: many bears, very wild. Is very distant place: no trains, no buses. We will go camping, I think, if you like? I borrow motorbikes from friends.”
Sam grinned.
“That sounds brilliant. I’ve read there’s some serious hiking up there.”
And it did sound brilliant: in fact it was just what Sam needed.
Yoshi laughed happily at the real enthusiasm in Sam’s voice.
“I have checked flights. We can fly to Sapporo this afternoon, Sam-san,” he said, “and stay night in capsule hotel. Then I have small chance to show you Sapporo: is very interesting city.”
They had a plan.
Even better, they were leaving immediately.
Sam stuffed some clothes into his duffel bag, including a warm fleece. Yoshi warned that the mountains could get cold at night. It would be a relief to leave the heat and humidity behind.
Paul came and sat in his room while Sam packed.
“So you’re going to be camping, huh?” He shook his head. “All that nature stuff when you could have come to Bangkok with me – it’s gonna be pretty wild. Sure you don’t want to change your mind?”
Sam smiled. “No thanks. I’m looking forward to seeing the sky for a change. Besides, I have a feeling it’ll be a lot healthier than what you’ve got planned.”
Paul laughed. “Binge drinking with strange women in foreign countries – it’s the American way, my friend. Well, hasta la vista. See ya in a couple of weeks!”
Half of Tokyo appeared to be heading for Sapporo that afternoon. The queues at the airport wound relentlessly through the departure lounge, people waiting patiently, chewing on rice balls. Sam’s luggage was searched thoroughly by a stony-faced security officer.
“He think you might be drug tourist,” explained Yoshi loudly.
Several foreigners turned and stared.
“Why would he think that?” said Sam, uncomfortably.
Yoshi shrugged. “You gaijin.”
As if that were explanation enough.
The flight was full. The Tokyoites were taking their summer break, fleeing the stifling city, stocked up with latest hiking gear in their new backpacks, and ready for the cooler air of the mountains.
At Sapporo, despite the fact that it had been a domestic flight, they were separated again. And, once again, Sam’s luggage was subjected to a thorough search. He found himself wondering if they’d be getting out the rubber gloves any time soon: he really, really hoped they wouldn’t; as it was, scenes from Midnight Express ran in nightmarish images through his mind.
In the end, the security officers released him into the care of a worried-looking Yoshi. It occurred to Sam that he’d probably just experienced the first act of overt racism since arriving in Japan. It was a strange feeling, compounded by Yoshi’s obvious embarrassment at the less than generous welcome his guest had received.
Sam brushed it off to save Yoshi’s consternation but it reminded him that he was very much a visitor – a barbarian, a gaijin – and, at times, only just tolerated.
Once they’d escaped the airport, their first stop in Sapporo was to drop off their luggage at the capsule hotel Yoshi had booked for them. Sam had heard about this peculiarly Japanese form of accommodation but had never before experienced it. Capsule hotels were an invention of the seventies, which in Sam’s book, hadn’t been the most stylish decade.
The word ‘hotel’ was something of an exaggeration but there was no doubt the capsules were useful: each tiny hutch provided bedding and, in some cases, a TV and wireless console; they were popular and well used by salarymen whose inebriation, caused by after-work team-building drinks, often made it unsafe (or unwise) for them to travel home.
But it was cheap, which was the whole point.
The capsule hotel in Sapporo was surprisingly busy. They checked in and went to find their sleeping quarters. The beds were stacked in two rows, one sleeping block on top of another. They reminded Sam of a vet’s, where poorly pooches were stashed into oxygenated cages… except these were without the oxygen.
Yoshi looked at the capsule and looked at Sam. He frowned, his brain doing the obvious calculation.
“Capsule is two metres by one metre by one-point-two-five metres: how tall you, Sam-san?”
Sam smiled. “I’ll be fine, Yoshi. I’ll just try not to stretch out.”
He shrugged: it would be an experience, albeit not one he’d like to experiment with for more than one night – not if he wanted to avoid a permanent crick in his spine.
Yoshi looked relieved: he was eager to make Sam’s stay on his home island as perfect as possible.
Sapporo was a surprise: for a start, it was laid out like an American city in a grid pattern. The streets were wide and tree-lined, and public parks sprouted greenly in all directions.
“Sam-san,” said Yoshi. “You want to visit famous botanic gardens or Sapporo beer museum?”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “There’s a beer museum?”
Yoshi giggled. “Yes! Is very famous. Is only beer museum in Japan. You like to visit?”
“Sure!” said Sam. “I’ve never been to a beer museum before.”
Which was true, unsurprisingly.
The museum was contained across three neat floors in a European-style red brick building. After a quick tour of the history of the factory that included miniatures of the building and an inspection of the brewing equipment, they headed for the museum bar, where they were enthusiastically encouraged to sample the products. It was very mellow, sitting overlooking the garden, imbibing a century and a half of history.
After an hour of R&R they were both feeling in need of a more solid form of refreshment.
“You must try jingisukan, Sam-san!” giggled Yoshi, his face rather flushed. “You have heard of Jingisu Kan, of course?”
Sam screwed up his eyes, trying to remember. There was something familiar about the words.
“Famous Mongol warrior!” said Yoshi.
That jogged a memory.
“Oh, right. Genghis Khan. Sure! What does he have to do with food, because I’ve got to tell you, Yoshi, I could eat a horse.”
“No, no, Sam-san,” said Yoshi in consternation. “No horse meat: jingisukan is lamb dish. Very tasty. But perhaps you prefer seafood: crab is very famous in Hokkaido. Also best place for dairy products – our agriculture is very good. My family are farmers, but mostly soybeans and sugar beet.”
Once again Yoshi had surprised Sam: he hadn’t guessed that Yoshi was from a farming family – he seemed so much of the city, at home in the urban sprawl of Tokyo.
“Do you want to go into farming, Yoshi?” asked Sam, curiously.
“Yes, certainly, Sam-san,” said Yoshi, seriously. “My father expects me to be farmer. I will not disappoint him. What your father want you to be Sam-san?”
Sam looked away. “I wouldn’t know. I never knew my father.”
Yoshi looked sad. “Is hard thing not to know your father, Sam-san.”
“That depends on the father,” said Sam.
Most of the bars surrounding the capsule hotel were noisy and full of foreigners. They avoided those and found a quiet izakaya that the locals used. Yoshi insisted that Sam try the fresh crab, dressed with Hokkaido’s famous butter. Then he spread out a large map on the table and they spent a pleasant evening planning their route, Yoshi pointing out the places of interest and the famous outdoor onsen in the mountains that Sam was particularly looking forward to trying.
Then they wandered companionably back to the capsule hotel and climbed into their little Perspex coffins.
Getting into the capsule was a bit like playing a game of Twister. Sam rotated himself 180
o
with some difficulty and managed to slide out of his clothes: a manoeuvre he’d perfected on camping trips in tiny, one-man tents. The capsule, by comparison, was luxurious, if slightly more claustrophobic. He hoped they’d be turning on the oxygen sometime soon.
Alone in his capsule, Sam’s thoughts inevitably returned to Tara. He wondered if she’d read his letter yet – and what her reaction might have been. A more worrying thought struck him: would she still be there when he returned from this trip? He almost climbed out of his capsule to find a phone, but in the end decided that Tara wouldn’t want to be dragged out of bed at nearly one o’clock in the morning. Discretion seemed the better part of valour as he waited for sleep to take him. It occurred to him that if he couldn’t put things right with Tara, Julie might still lose her bet, not that he cared about that anymore.
Dawn came early in the northern summer and soon other customers were climbing – or falling – out of their capsules and queuing patiently for the showers, colourful in a range of rented yukatas, all wearing the ubiquitous paper slippers that were dispensed for indoor use. That was something of a problem for Sam, his European feet being so much bigger than the locals. Luckily the capsule hotel was used by enough gaijin for a range of larger slippers to be available. Plus, a person was expected to change into a special pair of slippers on entering the lavatory – almost always of a size that allowed him to push in a couple of toes, then totter dangerously towards the yawning pit. Lovely.
He saw Yoshi, eyes half closed, several places behind him in the shower queue. He looked a little the worse for wear.
After a quick breakfast of rice and fish at a small café, they headed for the bus station. Sam bought the tickets, pleased that he’d managed the transaction without needing Yoshi’s help and, if he’d understood correctly, been informed that the journey would take about two-and-a-half hours.
Like everything else in Hokkaido, the scenery was a surprise. If it hadn’t been for Yoshi sitting next to him, describing the history and people of the island from the Ainu to the present day, Sam would have sworn he was in southern France, passing field after field of lavender and rolling hills populated by sleek cattle.
“Is good agricultural land,” said Yoshi, nodding. “Many food and vegetables are grown here: Hokkaido is bread basket of Japan.”
Sam felt oddly at home in the green landscape: it was good to be free of the city, at least for a while.
Furano itself was the usual assortment of modern concrete buildings with the sweeping roof lines of old Japan.
“In winter is important ski resort,” said Yoshi, proudly. “In summer, big for hikers. You will see, Sam-san. Aah! Here is my sister, Yumi.”
A battered Honda rattled to a halt in front of the bus station. The passenger wing mirror was hanging off and the bumpers decorated with an array of battle scars. Not what might be called an auspicious start for the next leg of the journey.
Yumi was short and slight and with the same round cheeks as Yoshi but she wore a studious expression, intended to impress strangers with her seriousness of purpose. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Sam and her mouth popped open softly. But she greeted her brother formally and they bowed to each other, then Yoshi introduced Sam in English.
“Sam-san, this is my sister Yumi-chan.”
He used the diminutive reserved for children and younger siblings; Sam couldn’t help noticing that Yumi’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept them respectfully on the ground during the introduction.
He was surprised that Yoshi and Yumi didn’t hug each other but figured they could be feeling inhibited by the gaijin’s presence. Or maybe that was their usual behaviour; he couldn’t decide.
Sam was given the best seat in the car, that is, the seat next to the driver. But by the time Yumi had taken several blind corners at speeds of over sixty whilst arguing strenuously with her brother, Sam really wished he was in the back – preferably with a set of Kevlar body-armour. Yoshi didn’t seem to notice: so it was little surprise to Sam when Yoshi casually announced that Hokkaido had one of the worst records for automotive accidents in Japan – and Furano had the worst records in Hokkaido. He said it with a look of complacency on his face. Sam broke out in a sweat at the thought of riding a motorbike whilst drivers like Yumi were on the road.