May 11, 2025, Hokkaido, Japan. I slept restlessly and woke around 6 a.m. I couldn’t get back to sleep for a couple of hours and kept turning over whether I wanted to go to Europe with Shawn in September. After packing, I thanked the hotel staff at La Jolie Motomachi. It was my favorite stay on this trip—very spacious room, comfortable beds and pillows, a nice couch, and lots of amenities in the lobby, including delicious milk tea and snacks. Ironically, it was also much cheaper than most of the other places we stayed.

I told Shawn I wanted to carry my own bag from now on. I was tired of feeling resented and the way he seemed to use acts of help as leverage for unspoken anger. It’s hard being around someone who stews silently, especially when I’ve clearly said, “You don’t have to—I’ll do it.”

At 7-Eleven, I withdrew ¥10,000, thinking it would be enough to last the rest of the trip. That turned out to be wrong. I stopped for a lovely cappuccino at my favorite cafe in Hakodate, DIVA&RAM, then headed to the train station. We boarded the limited express train to Sapporo using our IC cards, not realizing that we needed to buy a ticket. A conductor sold them to us on board, and we were bumped from our seats at the first stop we had not paid for a reserved seat.

It was frustrating trying to find a comfortable spot with a view. Many people close the window shades and sit right by the window, making it hard for anyone else to see out. Given that it was a four-hour ride, I really wanted to watch the landscape go by. That’s a huge part of why I love traveling. It’s why I usually prefer having a car—being able to explore less accessible areas is important to me. Train travel, especially in Japan, often takes you past heavy industry zones, while I tend to seek out the countryside. Still, being a passenger has its perks. It’s relaxing not to have to think about driving.

We arrived in Otaru around 3 p.m. and walked up the hill to our Airbnb. I couldn’t get into the apartment at first since I didn’t have the code for the lockbox, but the host replied quickly with the info. Shawn and I split up, and I immediately walked into the old part of town near the waterfront. I saw some great views and wandered toward the north side of the port. There’s a railway museum over there with a collection of train cars, which I recommended to Shawn for the next day since he loves trains. I nearly made it to the botanical garden but decided to turn back. On the way, I found an old rail line and enjoyed walking along it. It felt like the most authentic glimpse of what the town was like in its glory days—once the most important city in Hokkaido due to its deep-water port and the coal railway built in the late 1800s.

For dinner, we went to an Indian place Shawn liked because of the naan, though I didn’t enjoy it much. It was too crispy and not doughy enough for my taste, though the curry sauce and meat were quite good. We shared mango and banana lassis, then headed back to our Airbnb. Our room had a lovely view of the port and an old house with a Japanese garden just below.

May 12. As usual, the search for cappuccino was a top priority. Shawn found a café called B3 Otaru, run by an Australian man and his Japanese wife. The owner, Cameron, was fascinating. He shared his life story—once a professional skier who met his wife in Tokyo, he ended up working as a currency trader for a major international bank after they had a child. He mentioned dealing in the tens of millions and pointed out how Japan’s banking regulations were much stricter and safer than those in the U.S., where the Glass-Steagall Act no longer applies. He was entertaining, but after about an hour, I wanted to explore.

I walked to the base of Mt. Tenguyama, which has a gondola to the top and a museum with Tengu masks. I didn’t think the 1,800 yen ticket was worth it, so I walked back another way. On the descent, I passed a small temple with a woman tending the garden—something I’ve seen often here. It feels like so much of Japan is held together by these older women.

From there, I made my way to the canal area, where I wanted to visit the history museum housed in old warehouses. The canal, once much wider, was partly filled in after coal lost prominence as Japan’s main energy source. The museum turned out to be really interesting, with a beautiful painted screen showing how herring was processed back in the day. There were also recreations of a ship magnate’s office, a Western goods shop, and exhibits about the same sea trade route mentioned in Matsumae. The natural history section mostly consisted of taxidermy, which seems to be a trend—noticed it at the botanical garden museum in Sapporo, too.

I had hoped to squeeze in the railroad museum, but by the time I finished, it was already 4:50. I explored more of the old warehouses and then walked up to the botanical garden for sunset. It was a lovely place to wind down, with lots of trees and a peaceful path back into town.

That evening, I met Shawn at the izakaya. He had befriended the chef at the coffee shop earlier. The food was excellent—4,500 yen each—but totally worth it. We decided we’d stay late the next day just to eat there again before heading to Sapporo.

May 13. Today we had planned to leave for Sapporo, so I was eager to check out a few sights that I hadn’t yet seen. The steam clock and the old shopping district were at the top of my list. After checking out of the Airbnb, we stashed our bags in lockers at the train station and returned to the café. It was crowded with a group of eight people from Singapore, so it took 30 minutes just to get our coffee. Cameron asked us to sit behind the machine, but I felt claustrophobic and moved. I worried afterward that he was mad about it, and I apologized the next day. The banana bread was warm, buttery, and came with whipped cream, which I paired with my cappuccino—perfect.

I had decided to take a day trip to Yoichi, a small rural town a woman had recommended. I arrived around 12:45 p.m. by bus and loved the atmosphere—apple orchards and open land. I tried to visit the Nikka Whisky Museum, housed in a beautiful brick building that looked like a European manor. Unfortunately, a security guard told me it was reservation-only. I noticed another old house nearby, probably the founder’s residence, but it was inside a gated area.

I walked down to the river instead. There was a peaceful path along the bank, and I listened to The Story of a New Name as I strolled. I passed a rural indoor market featuring local apple products and tried the soft cream—absolutely delicious. A misting machine watered the apple trees nearby, and I stood for a while just watching.

Eventually, I made my way back via a different route along the seawall and caught the 4:03 train, planning to meet Shawn again at the izakaya by 5. Everything was going smoothly until the train suddenly stopped. After 30 minutes of announcements in Japanese, I asked a fellow passenger, who kindly translated: there had been a fire on the tracks, and the delay could be hours. I asked whether we could just walk from there—Otaru station was only a three-minute walk—but the conductor said no. The rules are very rigid here, and no one else seemed upset. “It can’t be helped” seems to be Japan’s collective coping strategy. People are incredibly resilient and tend to laugh off setbacks.

Eventually, the train started again. I thanked the man who helped me and rushed to the izakaya. Shawn wasn’t there yet. Dinner was a bit disappointing compared to the night before. They gave us mantis shrimp—a local specialty featured in a summer festival—but I didn’t like it. It tasted like raw shrimp. And despite lacking the croquettes or long sushi rolls from the previous night, the price was the same.

At the station, I saw long lines at the bus terminal—never a good sign. Sure enough, the announcement said no trains were running. We tried to join the bus queue, but a staff member said no more people could be added. Stuck again. I looked up taxi options and found one, but the fare was nearly ¥19,000. When I mentioned this, Shawn got upset and accused me of being negative, then said I could go alone and he’d find his own place.

To my surprise, he ended up finding a great little place called Garden House. We had a big Japanese-style room with extra pillows and a futon, and breakfast was included. The walls were thin, and a Turkish couple talked late into the night, but it finally quieted around midnight after I asked them. For only ¥6,000, it was a great decision. I was genuinely glad he found it.

The place even had an onsen. I took a quick bath but felt a bit self-conscious because another woman was there. I worried she was watching to see whether I washed thoroughly before getting in. I made sure to follow all the steps.

Later, I walked back down to the steam clock, hoping to see it go off. Just as I connected to a pay phone to call Lamplight Books in Sapporo, the steam clock chimed. I had emailed them earlier to say we had an emergency and couldn’t make it, but wanted to follow up by phone. Thankfully, they agreed to refund our stay. I was really glad I’d taken the initiative to reach out.