World Traveller January 2020

JAPAN
‘
MOST TRAVELLERS FLOCK TO JAPAN
FOR SPRING CHERRY BLOSSOM, OR TO
SEE AUTUMN LEAVES TURN – BUT THEY
DON’T KNOW WHAT THEY’RE MISSING
’
While Japan nails the whole cosy-winterhibernation
thing, I didn’t want to
spend my entire trip holed up. I filled
the following days exploring the Alps:
Takayama, one of country’s prettiest
towns, its creaky wooden buildings
housing atmospheric teahouses and
fragrant saké breweries; Ogimachi,
peppered with ancient gassho-zukuri
farmhouses – pointy, snow-strong
structures that look transplanted from
Switzerland. Then Matsumoto, with
its grand old castle and artisan soba
noodle shops. The time flew by in a
flurry of snowflakes and soon it was
time to make for Hokkaido, Japan’s
northerly isle, a 90-minute flight away.
I hoped it would be the perfect wintry
(snowcapped) peak to my trip.
If I thought it was cold in Jigokudani,
I hadn’t felt anything yet. Stepping
out into the city centre in Sapporo,
Hokkaido’s capital, I faced a new level
of freeze – piercing, breath-snatching.
Under a startling blue sky, long, straight
boulevards radiated out from the
central station, empty. Below ground,
however, was a hive of activity: a web of
interconnecting sub-surface walkways
ferried scarf-wrapped workers and
hooded shoppers across the city centre.
They’d pop up from this underground
city when they reached their desired
stop, like dolphins breaching for air, and
dart across windswept intersections
into towering silver office blocks.
Hardened to the chill, these locals may
grit their teeth on the most blistering
of days, but they rarely complain. If
Tokyoites are like Londoners, whingeing
over a light chill and shaking umbrellas
through winter, Sapporo’s residents
are stoic Scandinavians – brave in
the face of this vast, great iciness.
That evening, I wandered south from
my hotel along the gritted streets to
Suskino, Sapporo’s nightlife district.
Tummy rumbling, I shivered past
warren-like izakaya pubs and a lanternlit
alleyway lined with tiny ramen
shops, filled with laughing students
lapping up miso-rich bowlfuls. I longed
to enter a shop’s warming embrace,
but held firm: on a tip from a Japanese
friend, I was out for jingisukan – a DIY
Mongolian BBQ, the city’s speciality.
I found the restaurant – and the queue.
It was below freezing outside and yet a
row of brave faithfuls stood undeterred
snaking down an icicle-lined alleyway
outside cult-favourite Daruma. I joined
them and minutes ticked by; gradually,
I lost feeling in my limbs, from the
ground up. But when the door finally
opened on my turn, an hour later, I was
rewarded for my persistence. Perched
on stools around an oval wooden
counter, chattering couples sipped
drinks, while grilling marbled lamb
on domed hotplates, fired by glowing
charcoal. I squeezed in and ordered a
cockle-warming feast, with a flourish of
fluffy rice, kimchi and a sesame-garlic
dipping sauce. As I griddled my hunks
of lamb, fat dripped gorgeously down
the grill to soften golden onions. By now,
I’d forgotten all about the cold outside.
Sapporo and its charms unveil
themselves slowly, like a gradual
spring thaw. You can spend a day out
at frozen lake Shikotsu, enjoying its
illuminated winter display; another
soaking at a geyser-studded onsen in
Noboribetsu town, a train ride away;
yet another watching rare red-crowned
cranes dance across fields of ice. Or
simply keep to the city centre, walking
through the fish market, stocked
with lithe, prickly crabs; it’s a treat to
dine on the sweet, perfectly in-season
meat in any no-frills restaurant.
Japanese tourists flock to the city in early
February. Some ogle the towering ski
jump, a remnant of the 1972 Olympics;
most sip frothy brews at the rambling
Sapporo brewery. But all are here to
watch artists from around the world
chisel vast ice sculptures, competing
for glory in the annual, city-wide Snow
Festival, the biggest and busiest event of
the year. On my trip, it hadn’t officially
started yet, but even the largest of
scaffolds couldn’t hide the elaborate
masterpieces taking shape in Sapporo’s
central Odori strip. Elaborate lifesized
temples, enormous carvings of
horse-racers and panoramas of J-pop
stars all rose proud in the icy mix.
On my last day, I spent the afternoon
in the park. Not wandering, as I might
in spring or autumn – but cross-country
skiing, past silvery larch trees, over
gentle, hilly drifts. This being snow
country, one can hire skis, sleds or even
show-shoes at Moerenuma Park for
three hours. I didn’t last quite that long:
two hours in, my face was whipped by
wind and my toes were unresponsive
in my boots. After a couple of slippery
falls, I felt the chilliest I’d been yet
and needed to get out of the frosty
air, fast. So, as dusk washed over the
city, I hopped in a cab back to vibrant,
raucous Suskino and took the lift up to
the second-floor Nikka Bar, overlooking
a humming traffic intersection.
Cloaked in dark polished woods
and rich leathers, the bar’s walls
were lined with glimmering bottles.
Socialising salarymen were cloistered
in corners. I thumbed through the
menu, before a suited barman poured
my drink of choice as if it was liquid
gold. Out the window, in the streets
below, bundled-up commuters darted
between tumbling snowflakes. Settling
into my squishy chair, I felt my cheeks
warming and my limbs thawing. Then,
my drink appeared before me and I
raised the glass to my lips, taking a
long, slow sip. Rolling it across my
tongue, I savoured its sharp heat – and
the frosty hit of ice. Shiveringly good:
the very essence of winter Japan.
Inspired to travel? To book a trip, call
800 DNATA or visit dnatatravel.com
Credit: Alicia Miller/The Sunday Times Travel Magazine/News Licensing
54 worldtravellermagazine.com