Sapporo, Hokkaido, JAPAN
The funny thing is, we never even made it to the arts-filled park. That was an initial plan drawn from some research I’d done pre-trip. I thought for sure we’d run there and that Chengye could also pop into some crafting workshops within the park. Primarily, I expected us to be running along the Toyohira River pathway in the center of Japan’s 5th largest city—like, on a daily basis. I’d read runners discussing its half-marathon + distance, with easy add-ons to a nearby university and some smaller parks and it seemed like the ideal spot for daily maintenance running. We also made a point to include a Half Marathon Challenge in our trip up north to help kickstart a new cycle of training. And what better time than while in JAPAN—on the shortest of short lists of the world’s greatest nations—and further northwards in late August where it would be cooler?*And that’s the funny thing about traveling…finding the unexpected whilst not doing what was expected. We barely even touched the Toyohira pathway (!), only running a tiny segment of it one night—ONE time—in a week spent in Sapporo. That time would not have even happened had it not been for us dropping our stuff spontaneously by some trees next to the pathway (——then coming back after what turned out to be a nice lil’ progression and changing beneath an awning straight out of Arachnophobia, huge spiders descending from webs directly over, first, Chengye’s head and then soon thereafter over my own). So, why in the heck were we not hitting the “hot spots” of Sapporo that everyone else was raving about? How could we have not even visited Odori Park in the middle of the city (although I did visit a bookstore by the Odori subway station twice; great spot for picking up newspapers)? Well, this is the magic of what happens while staying away from the city center—in a suburban-like neighborhood a mere 25-minute bus ride from what seemed like the closest part of downtown. Kazue’s home in the very quiet Kita-ku area of Sapporo—enroute towards the smaller city of Otaru—opened up a whole new world different from the typical guidebooks. Within these environs we ventured into little worlds previously not researched. Two blocks from “home” was an entirely different riverfront pathway, set down bank from the streets above. Seemingly virtually unused, it was a lushly green, peaceful place with asphalt path—occasionally crossing over some stones or bricks overgrowing with wild grasses—stretching on for what must be at least a couple of miles one-way. I’m still curious how far it goes on for, but going towards the sea we definitely found its terminal point. From there, we jaunted out into another new world of quiet roads traversing an industrial park. Doesn’t sound too welcoming, does it? Industrial park. However, if one takes the path less traveled to the side of one of these factories at road’s end, one is led along a beautiful gravel trail beside a channel of water leading directly to a beach and the Sea of Japan. Truth be told, the channel view is the best part. It feels so wild and looking out into the distance in between stands of small trees and vegetation, one feels worlds away from the 2 million folks living in Sapporo (although even that was always hard to believe because outside of the city center’s nightlife district, everywhere else is so calm and quiet, if not devoid of virtually all people in many places). Once upon DREAM BEACH (actual name), it’s a mixed bag of sorts. Hitting the sand is wonderful—as the soft sand replaces hard asphalt and stone. Salty sea air and tiny piping plover-like birds…wind gusts over the grassy dunes beneath hot sun…gazing out over miles of sea water in the distance…Emerald mountain ridge lines float out to the waterline, as if they are marching out into the open sea. But also a beach desperately in need of a beach clean-up, Florida-style. A bunch of us needing to descend upon its sand to pick up the loads of trash washing ashore. It’s sad. There remains beauty when one sees the essential nature of the place beyond its contamination by modernity. A ramshackle wooden outdoor cafe where everyone seemed to know everybody else found us washing up upon its shore at beach’s end. Shirtless Rastafarian-looking local guy with rainbow-colored hair extensions, skin deeply tanned, sold us some very overpriced ginger ale in 1950’s-type glass bottles. An older gentleman nearby rocked in a hammock as he burned to a crisp beneath the blazing sun. Everyone seemed surprised by us sauntering into their midst, but welcomed us onto their seemingly private club patio. Rasta guy asked for a pic with us—but he never asked us to send it to him. He posed wildly with tongue out, Hawaiian-like hand gestures. Then we were up and over the jetty cutting this beach off from its next segment, found by crossing over a bridge behind the cafe. Not much later—not much at all—we needed more fluids so we hit up the ol’ Japanese stand-by—a Lawsons full of its COLD 100% fruit juice selections. I love that stuff. And it’s so cheap by American standards. We stood out front of the konbini (convenience store), drinking our beverages, just across a narrow road from the beach with the Sea of Japan leading the eye far out onto the horizon. It felt a lot like being back in Florida, Satellite Beach-like, c. ‘92. Good feelings, good times. We wanted to keep running through the narrow beach town streets towards the nearby city of Otaru. I wanted to revisit The Garage just down the way for its winter cabin aesthetic—complete with wood burning cast iron fireplace—and excellent hand drip coffee. We’d gone there the one other time we ran through town—the day when the footage in the short video above was filmed. Alas, Chengye needed to return home by a certain time for another woodworking workshop with Kazue, a professional woodworker. We’d brought transit cards expecting to take a bus home, but figured we could more efficiently just run, even though it was like another 8km home and that number stung a bit considering I was already pretty well spent from the sun’s intensity beating me about the head. Running home through so many oddly quiet neighborhood streets we were able to get a real feel for what it would be like to live within such peaceful environs, where folks place a real premium on quiet, not bothering others.** [In a full week in this city of 2 million, I heard a grand total of 2 vehicles honking.]The architecture I’ve seen in many Japanese neighborhoods over the years has not been particularly eye-catching, it’s very different from the much larger (and at times ostentatious) diversity of styles I’m accustomed to in the US or even China. However, it is supremely functional, practical and with so many relatively smaller homes so close to one another alongside so many dollhouse sized streets, usually with a river or small canals nearby, it all comes together to form such a neatly organized whole. Together with the general atmosphere of safety, quiet and cleanliness, it becomes impossible to doubt the top-tier benefits children in Japan have while growing up within such surroundings.I actually thought these precise things, among other thoughts, as we ran our way through such precisely organized neighborhoods, occasionally compelled to say aloud: “They’ve put together a real nice society here.” It just cannot be doubted. Interestingly, what are considered “weeds” in the USA are allowed to grow freely along the streets of Sapporo, leading some sidewalks to become exponentially narrower as nature reclaims its space. Wildflowers and wild plants sprout from every direction, looking like miniature forests in places. Some plants have grown taller than me. It’s quite fascinating from an American perspective, where such greenery would’ve been long since mowed down with complete abandon, leaving bare concrete in its place. Back through the park with breathtaking mountain views in the distance, where we huddled with polite 9-year ol… Get full access to Vegan Marathoner at veganmarathoner.substack.com/subscribe
