Going North

I gaze out the window at the Hokkaido countryside as my train speeds north to Wakkanai. Japan's north island is all rolling hills and grassy plains. There are mountains in the distance, and as we make the journey north we pass through and sometimes under them.  Storm clouds cover the sky, with patches of sunlight poking through and creating the traditional "Ray of God" effect.

Time passes. The sun dips lower, and the day grows dim. It is as though my travel north is taking me to a darker, wilder place – a place of windswept hills, meadows, coastlines. A place where the ocean meets the land, and life is a hard struggle against natural forces beyond the control of men.

A place for Northlanders.

Time passes, and I begin to realize how long this journey will take. I set off in search of the furthest north point in Japan, known as Wakkanai. A few hours ago, I climbed onto a train bound north. My lack of language knowledge kept me from knowing the arrival time, but I'd guessed it would only take two or three hours.

Four hours into my journey, with no end in sight, I begin to drift off to sleep.

The train rocks gently from side to side, occasionally shuddering. The passengers are all silent, and if I close my eyes, it's easy to imagine that I'm alone, hurtling toward an unknown destination, with only my knowledge and skill to help me on arrival.

My eyes open. It is dark outside, finally. A glance at my watch shows the time to be only a quarter past five. We must be far north for the dark to have come upon us so quickly and so early. An elderly Japanese man is staring at me from across the aisle. His toothy grin is both menacing and reassuring. Using my rudimentary Japanese, I ask him the questions most pertinent to my life at this moment.

"Semasen?" The word is "excuse me," "I’m sorry" and "good day" all rolled into one. The old man nods, which I take as permission to continue.

"What time?" I point at my watch. "Wakkanai?" Like a Google search, when communicating in English with a person who doesn't speak it, use keywords.

"1815." The Japanese businessman behind my seat responds, not looking up from his newspaper. The old man grins wider, somehow, and nods.

"Arigato gozaimas." Thank you very much. The two Japanese men nod, and the train is silent again.

We speed steadily north.