Do you ever have daydreams about disappearing? Are there moments when you plot how you might make your escape and where you’d go? More importantly, do you meticulously plan how you’d get there, what you’d take along and what you’d do once settled into your new life? Do you think about who might be the first to notice your absence and raise the alarm? Would you go so far as to muster up a disguise?
Two weeks ago I was confronted with a rare open window – a free Saturday in Tokyo. With no meetings, no shave appointment, no must-see sights or friends to meet, was this my opportunity to slip out of the hotel in the early hours and make a speedy dash out of the city? Or, in typically Japanese fashion, should I rehearse first and save my disappearance for another day? Given that I vaguely recalled committing to late-night drinks with colleagues, I opted for the latter but still set myself the challenge of getting as far away from the city as I could, as quickly as possible.
This being the land that invented high-speed rail, fast escapes are plentiful, comfortable and well catered. With pointy-beak shinkansen (bullet trains) hurtling out of the city every few minutes, it’s also rather straightforward to be hundreds of kilometres away before anyone might notice you split town. But what to pack?
In the dark hours of Saturday morning I opted for a low-key canvas tote and kept the contents to the basics: wallet (fully cashed-up), passport, pens, diary, notebook, three copies of The New Yorker, sweater, sunglasses and a very large travel scarf. This being the land of the convenience store, I could buy toiletries and pretty much anything else I’d need while zig-zagging across the country. But where was I going?
With no meetings, no shave appointment, no must-see sights or friends to meet, was this my opportunity to slip out of the hotel in the early hours and make a speedy dash out of the city?
I instructed the cab to take me to Tokyo Station and 20 minutes later I was staring at the departure screen and had decided on Aomori: snowy, plenty of apple juice and as far north as I could go while still remaining on the main island of Honshu. I could even sample Gran Class – a step up from the usual premium “green cars”. On the platform, the Hayabusa-class shinkansen was humming and ready to depart. Perhaps the most extreme design of JR’s shinkansen family, the nose looks part crocodile, part platypus while the jade-green livery must have been designed for maximum stand-out during the snowy season. On board, the Gran Class concept didn’t disappoint – slippers, eye-masks and woolly blankets were available at every seat and the pair of attendants offered up Japanese or western breakfast bento boxes and cloudy fresh-pressed apple juice. So far, the act of disappearing was shaping up to be both comfy and tasty.
At a little over three hours, the journey up to Aomori offers plenty of time to get a glimpse of rural Japan. After Sendai, the settlements thin out and the villages and farms start looking a little less prosperous, the forests thicker and the snow deeper. It also allows ample hours to get lost in thought and think about the next steps of your disappearing act. Yes, the real estate is going to be cheap and you’ll be able to buy a lovely farm. No, it’s not going to be that easy to blend into the Japanese countryside and you might have to give some more consideration about what country you choose when you put the plan into proper action.
As is the case with many Japanese cities, the shinkansen doesn’t pull into the city centre and you’re left out in the suburbs needing to connect to a local train. I jumped on one and a few minutes later was in the impossibly snowy centre of Aomori – ahead of me a new-ish suspension bridge and the Wonderwall-designed A-Factory selling a lot of apple products and various regional wares. As first impressions go, they’re a good pair as they divert your attention from a decaying urban core and show that a bit of good design and retail can do a lot to help lift a brand.
The settlements thin out and the villages and farms start looking a little less prosperous, the forests thicker and the snow deeper
Inside A-Factory I bought some utensils made from hiba wood, bunaco bowls and all kinds of apple snacks. If the exercise was to help stimulate regional producers, I more than did my bit. Out on the streets, my trainers weren’t quite ready for the snow but I carefully made my way down a deserted main street and took shelter in a charming, if very faded, Sakurano department store. Untouched since the early 1980s, this is where the Aomori action was as the floors were full of shoppers and there was quite a bit of excitement about the chocolate festival on the shop floor. In the aisles of the homeware department I decided I’d have no problem stocking up for my new home but the menswear department offered little promise – save for a wide selection of thermal undies.
On the way back to the station I passed streets dotted with empty shops, rusty awnings and little in the way of life. Could this be the place to set-up a new shopping precinct? Would Aomori be the place to one day reappear as a landlord with a portfolio bursting with smart little businesses from across northern Japan? Could this place be jolted back to life? Perhaps. The disappearance dress rehearsal was over and an evening of whisky highballs were waiting for me back in Tokyo.