Breakfast

Since Tomakomai was a day trip and not a full-on expedition into the heart of Japanese culture and nature, we took our time getting up and getting ready. We enjoyed a lovely breakfast while figuring out the train schedule from New Chitose Airport. It looked like it was going to be an easy journey. Besides, I was looking forward to the train ride and exploring the city a bit, while my partner was looking forward to doing some shopping for Japanese fashion to add to her wardrobe.

Southbound

After breakfast, we made our way down to the train station beneath the airport and started our journey south. Armed with our Kitaca cards, we bypassed the station agent and ticket kiosk and walked straight onto the next train heading our way. We knew we had one transfer a few stations down, but it was smooth and largely uneventful.

The only bit of “drama” was walking up the stairs to cross to the other side of the platform to catch the correct train, which is to say, it wasn’t drama at all.

As usual with Japanese trains, the trip was peaceful, and our fellow passengers were mindful of their surroundings. Joy and I were probably the loudest people on the train, thanks to being slightly over-caffeinated from breakfast, but we kept our conversation quiet. Nobody seemed to mind our hushed musings and shared jokes.

Second Breakfast

The countryside rolled by, and we noticed broad stretches of pasture on our way toward the city. Gradually, the scenery thickened, buildings crept back in, and before long, our stop arrived. We got off, walked through the station, and, without realizing it, straight into a shopping center housing a MEGA Don Quijote.

We resisted the urge to go in immediately.

Instead, we chose a quieter path and stopped at a local donut shop for second breakfast, coffee, and elevensies. Joy and I are big on food, both as a necessity for her and a source of sheer pleasure for me. I’m certain that if reincarnated into any fantasy world, I’d be a hobbit. We probably both would be, but I know for sure that I would be one.

Back to the story.

Deep Water Runs Here

From our small table in the donut shop, we watched the world go by, and I was struck by how different cities can feel from one another. If Otaru is a quaint town on the northern shores of Hokkaido, steeped in its own cultural heritage, then Tomakomai is its grittier southern cousin—one that wouldn’t feel out of place in a cyberpunk novel.

This is still a working industrial port town, with a base that feeds the rest of the country and, by extension, the world. You can even catch a ferry from Tomakomai to the main island of Honshu if you want to take the above-ground route to Tokyo. The city looks like it has seen some things. When you step out onto the streets, you sense that deep waters move here, and unless you know how to navigate the currents, they can pull you under.

That isn’t to say Tomakomai is dangerous or falling apart. It’s more like the disheveled old man at the end of the bar drinking alone in silence—someone everyone understands has been through things. The locals know his story and hold him with a mix of respect and caution. He’s there if you need him, but don’t bother him unless it’s important. He values his quiet, knows who he is, and isn’t to be tested. Respect is earned, not given, in his world, and no one is eager to learn that lesson the hard way.

As I mulled this over, Joy finished mapping out the store she wanted to visit. We sat quietly through the rest of our donuts, each lost in our own thoughts, then stood up and walked toward the shop. It was only about a ten-minute walk, and it felt good to stretch our legs.

Material Culture

The moment we stepped inside, I was blown away by the sheer volume of things contained in the space. It was a secondhand store that carried everything from washing machines and furniture to anime figures and designer handbags. We gravitated naturally toward what interested us: Joy to handbags and vintage clothing; me to fishing rods, computers, and anime memorabilia (don’t judge me).

This is where my inner historian kicks in.

Suddenly, material culture is firing on all cylinders. I’m taking in the provenance of everything around me. You can learn a lot about a society by examining the quality and diversity of objects in its secondhand stores. And here, the variety was excellent, well-curated, and thoughtfully displayed.

As I wandered, I realized these objects told stories of people who valued quality but weren’t afraid to let things go once they no longer served them. In many ways, that mirrors Japanese attitudes toward housing. When property is evaluated, the land holds the value, not the house. Once a structure has outlived its usefulness, it’s often demolished or rebuilt to suit new needs.

After my mental exercise, I found a backpack I planned to leave in Japan for my next return to Otaru, along with an anime statue I found delightful, despite having no idea who the character was.

Satisfied with my acquisitions, I went to find Joy.

Checking on Joy

One of my favorite things about her is coming across her midway through whatever she’s currently doing. She might be balancing a ten-foot length of PVC piping for a future project she hasn’t mentioned yet, or teetering on the brink of something collapsing. Either way, glitter usually enters the equation somehow, even if it wasn’t present at the start. I’ve learned not to ask too many questions. I simply enjoy discovering her in whatever scenario she’s landed herself in.

I approached quietly—not stealthy but not announcing myself either. She was examining a purse while a nervous attendant hovered nearby. Joy was deep in concentration, scrutinizing stitching and seams far beyond my comprehension. Honestly, had she chosen anthropology as a field, she would have thrived.

I went to speak, and she raised a hand—silencing me immediately.

I waited.

She flipped the bag, examined the bottom, set it down, then gave the clerk a serious look, like a rug merchant preparing to negotiate in a high-stakes deal. The clerk glanced at me, at her, and back at me. I shrugged.

Joy looked at me, then the clerk. I shrugged again. She thanked the clerk, then turned to me.

“What was that?” I asked.

Her eyes lit up. “That was a vintage Louis Vuitton bag priced so low I had to check every detail to make sure it was real.”

That is well outside my expertise, even with my background in material culture. “Was it?”

She smiled. “It was. And I almost bought it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She sighed. “Because we don’t have the space, and I wouldn’t want it in our checked luggage anyway.”

Fair enough. I suspect she’ll own it someday. Just not today.

She did leave with a new outfit and a few items for the shrine back in our house in Mogami. We paid, wandered down to the nearby park near the port for a few quiet moments, then made our way back to the station for the return trip to New Chitose.

Northbound and New Chitose

The train ride north was just as peaceful as the trip south. We transferred smoothly, like seasoned pros, and made our way back to the hotel, where we took a short break before heading out again for dinner.

One thing I’ve come to appreciate about airports in Japan, and Asia more broadly, is that they function as destinations unto themselves, not just transit points. People go to them deliberately for food and shopping. The quality and price of goods reflect that. They’re not catering to captive audiences.

We ended up at a ramen shop where ramen is very serious business. You order, you eat, you leave. There’s no lingering conversation. No ceremony. Ramen is a transaction, and if you can’t respect that, you shouldn’t be there.

It was easily the best ramen I’ve eaten in my life.

Afterward, we wandered elsewhere in the airport for coffee, where the pace slowed again. Sitting there, watching traffic flow past us, I had a realization. When we first arrived in Japan, places like this airport felt chaotic—almost intimidating. Now, they felt normal.

Life ebbing and flowing.

Some people were arriving. Others were leaving. Some paused on their way across Hokkaido. When you understand that, the airport becomes more than infrastructure. It’s an oasis—a place of rest, transition, and quiet comfort. There’s even an onsen, a museum, and a movie theater here.

American airports rarely feel this cozy.

That night, back in our hotel room, I stood by the window watching airplanes come and go and thought about how much we’d grown in such a short time. Japan had become part of us. For the first time in my life, a place truly felt like home.

Soon after, I climbed into bed. Tomakomai had been a perfect stop for our final full day in Japan. Tomorrow will be two long days of travel, crossing the international date line again.

I checked us in for our flight and made a lowball offer to upgrade us to first class—because if we’re blowing the budget, we may as well travel in style. First class is a rare treat, even domestically.

As I drifted off to sleep, my phone buzzed.

The offer was accepted.