May 4, 2025, Japan. I had really enjoyed our 3 day stay in Kakunodate. Before catching the 11:05 train, I rushed back to the Nishinomiya-Memorial complex, hoping for a second chance—and lucked out. A kind couple from Ohio, who were renting the beautifully restored storehouse for a measly (just kidding) $1000 per night, invited me in. It was impeccably furnished and very atmospheric.

I peeked my head in yet another storehouse, containing a collection of family-owned antiques, including quilted dolls, fine lacquerware, bento boxes, teapots, armor, and old documents. It was such a treat to get to see everything up close. I was glad I made the extra effort to see the complex.

I rushed back to catch the train. Fortunately, I had suggested we get our tickets early. Shawn had been oppositional—but in the end, he agreed. Good thing too— it turned out to be on a completely different platform, and we just made it. The Akita Nairiku Jukan Tetsudo Rail was a lovely, older train winding slowly through the mountains. I don’t think we realized what a special train it was when deciding on train schedules the night before. Beautifully appointed, with tables at each seat, it felt luxurious and relaxed. We had about two hours to enjoy the ride. I ate my salad and desserts, watching the scenery drift by at a leisurely pace. It was a real treat.

When we arrived in Hirosaki, we were a bit disappointed—the town felt less charming than Kakunodate. We left our bags at the hotel, which wouldn’t let us check in until 3, and then Shawn and I walked separately to Hirosaki Park. Hirosaki is famous for its apples, originally brought from Washington state. There were a number of sculptures of apples along the pedestrian walkway leading to the castle road. On the main road, I stopped at a historic bank building—a fascinating example of Meiji architecture—and read up on other buildings from that period.

As dusk fell, I wandered through the park and up to the castle, then exited via the North Gate to find an old preserved merchant shop and home across the street. A little further down was a preserved samurai district, lined with tall evergreen hedges and offering a stunning view of Mt. Iwaki. I found a small park with a beautiful old bathhouse. I finally found a samurai home that was open to the public, but it was closed for the night. I made a mental note to return.

As usual, Shawn was hungry and wanted to eat earlier than I did. I suggested 6:30, and we met to find dinner. The first place I found looked like a hostess bar—not ideal. Next, we tried a seafood place that smelled awful. Shawn’s pick, a sushi restaurant, was fully booked (it was Golden Week Saturday, after all). After trying a couple more, I spotted a quiet-looking place off the main street. I nudged Shawn to ask for a menu—he didn’t—but I suggested we go in anyway.

We ended up meeting Kimmie, a lovely, warm woman who instantly made me feel at home. She had moved to Hirosaki from Yokohama eight years ago and spoke fondly of her time teaching Japanese in London two decades earlier. She had hoped to get her green card and stay on, but hadn’t been able to. We spent hours chatting over delicious izakaya fare. She said she’d met the chef when she first arrived in town and still visits the place a few times a year.

The food was excellent—great fish, fresh flavors, a really enjoyable meal. I mentioned wanting to drive around the area since trains were limited. Kimmie offered to take us on a drive the next day. I said yes, and we agreed to meet at Starbucks near the eighth division HQ, on the edge of the park. It was one of those rare travel moments that felt serendipitous and personal.

May 5. The next morning, we had a wonderful bento breakfast at the Blossom Hotel (last service was 8 AM, but mine was still warm an hour later after microwaving it). Shawn and I went separate ways again. I tried to find a patisserie, but it was closed. We planned to meet Kimmie for a latte at the special Starbucks arrived, she hadn’t realized we’d wanted to have coffee with her, but we ended up chatting over coffee and talking about Hirosaki for a while.

Around mid-morning, we headed west toward the mountains and then north—her usual commute. She took us to a few special places, starting with a shrine decorated with carp streamers for Boys’ Day. Then an Oni shrine honoring a helpful giant or Westerner who once irrigated the surrounding rice and apple fields, leaving his tools behind. The region is known for apples, originally introduced from the U.S.

Next, we visited a shrine dedicated to the area’s first feudal lord. Inside were beautiful ema (wooden prayer plaques), including one dated 1729, and many featured horse imagery. There was a white wooden horse statue too. We also entered the lord’s mausoleum—Kimmie had never gone in before.

Afterward, we stopped at a Jersey milk farm for soft-serve ice cream (called “soft cream” here), made from the farm’s own cows—Jersey and Hereford, including two calves. The woman who served us was in her 70s and ran the farm with her husband. She was strict about no photos—perhaps guarding a secret recipe.

From there, we drove to the coast, where we walked out to the tide pools near Kimmie’s workplace. There was even a small waterfall with statues, probably honoring waterfall deities. On our way back, we visited a beautiful shrine at the foot of the mountain. Kimmie instructed us to walk on the left side of the path, and showed us how to properly wash hands and mouth using the spring water. I bought a goshuin just before closing—thankfully, since they shut the stand moments later.

Kimmie wanted to find corn tempura, a local specialty known for being sweet and tender. She suggested we might try it at the fair. I mentioned wanting to stroll through the park to watch people, but her feet were sore. Then she asked if I’d like to go out to eat. I said I was hungry—so she called one place and made a reservation, then called another that was cheaper, served corn tempura, and wasn’t fixed-menu. When she tried to cancel the first place, they refused unless we paid anyway—¥6000 each!

We went anyway. They insisted we sit at a low table, even though regular tables were open (but “reserved”). To compensate, they offered two hours of all-you-can-drink. I don’t drink, so not ideal—but still, the food was fantastic. Shawn, of course, was thrilled just to eat. I tried four non-alcoholic drinks: cassis milk, peach milk, cassis peach, and one more. Kimmie opened up about her time in London and how hard it was to return to Japan, where she feels judged. I offered to contact Michael, a friend of Shawn’s, to see if he knew any paths to UK residency.

At 8:15 we were asked to leave—apparently the owner had a private party. It had been such a special evening, and I was glad we went. When we stepped outside, it was pouring rain with thunder and lightning. I had left food in Kimmie’s car and Shawn had forgotten his backpack. She kindly called me, and I met her outside Lawson after getting cash. She gave me a ride to the hotel, where I picked up my things.

May 6. After a good night’s sleep, I went in search of cappuccino and found Coffee Roaster Yagashiro. I ended up chatting with a Parisian expat about American exceptionalism and hubris—fascinating conversation. A sweet young guy from a local apple farm gifted us tie-dyed socks. He bikes everywhere.

The Parisian recommended PPP, a shop nearby, and said he’s lived in Hirosaki for 18 years, came to teach French, and met his wife here. I peeked in at PPP—gorgeous furniture—and could hear laughter from inside. Then I headed to the Neputa Museum. Loud drumming and flutes welcomed visitors. The exhibit allowed audience participation and celebrated the Neputa Festival (first week of August). There were beautiful displays of wood crafts once made by woodsmen for hot spring guests: tops, dolls, toys. A lovely pond and garden added to the charm.

After that, I visited several samurai houses—Iwate and three others. Shawn joined in. We got tours at the last two. Most of the samurai were quite poor; only the wealthiest had pets. I asked about cats. The guide showed where weapons like halberds would be placed. Homes were single-story for defense reasons. The final house was special: the doctor to the feudal lord had lived there. One side had wooden floors for exams, another for treatment—different spaces for different functions. The house had a beautiful yard and felt much more refined.

I passed through the castle grounds again, this time watching families enjoy snacks from vendors—grilled meats, seafood, candied fruits like apples and strawberries. ¥400 for two strawberries seemed steep, but I was already spending plenty on ice cream, so I didn’t judge too harshly.

I had tickets to the castle, the counseling museum, and botanical gardens inside the walls, plus the Fujita Gardens nearby. The castle itself was a disappointment—just steep stairs to a second floor. It took ages due to the crowds. I rushed through the botanical gardens, which I now regret because they were stunning. I especially loved the forest section, filled with birdsong and photographers with giant lenses. The pond with irises and walking planks was peaceful.

Fujita Gardens were the real gem. I thought they closed at 4:30 and rushed over at 4:10, but they actually stayed open until 5. I missed the mansion café and tea house, unfortunately. The upper garden offered a mountain view; the lower part was a strolling garden with a large pond, rentable tea house, and a waterfall. More manicured than the castle gardens, but equally lovely.

I left just at closing and walked to the 33 Zen temples established by a converted feudal lord. They lined both sides of a boulevard, ending with Choshoji temple and mausoleums. The peace of the evening, contrasted with the revving of boys racing cars, made for a memorable close.

At 7, I met up with Shawn. We ate at a place kitty-corner from the Blossom Hotel—not great. I wish we’d returned to the izakaya where we met Kimmie. That had been something special. That night I hardly slept—too anxious about packing and catching the train.