Don’t get me wrong: Otaru, Japan is not Fisherman’s Wharf, Time’s Square, or Niagara Falls. But it’s cut from the same cloth.
It’s a town that I was prepared to adore. A port city on Hokkaido (Japan’s northernmost island), Otaru sits on a bay about 90 minutes northwest of Sapporo. One of the first towns to open up for trading with the US and Britain in the 19th century, it’s known for its glassworks, music boxes and sake distilleries. Otarua is probably most famous, however, for its central Canal, lined with scenic historical buildings and converted warehouses.
Tourists (many if not most from China) flock in droves to Otaru –– and perhaps the problem. It’s hard to find the “old” city vibe here. Oh, the canal is quite pretty, all 2 blocks of it. But after that, the main drag (Sakaimachi Street) in the city center is crammed to the bursting with tourists shops of every shape and type imaginable. The signs are oppressive, ever-present, and often in commercial English: “Come in and browse our selection of music boxes! Buy one and get the second for 10% off.” “Special glass snow globes today.” “Try our chicken skewers.” “Premium Gelato!”
A “traditional,” historic Japanese town this is not.
Still, I don’t entirely hate the place. The Japanese “cute” factor almost redeems Otaru. I mean, here you find mini quiches on sale in the shape of bunny rabbits! There you discover a Hello Kitty super-store inviting you to have tea and scones with the mouthless one herself. What’s that straight ahead? Rice balls in the shape of bear cubs! Come on! Call it “adorable tourism.”
What validates my trip to Otaru is one little soba noodle restaurant about 10 minutes off the beaten track. Opened in 2022, Nakaya isn’t a flashy place by any means. It’s pretty much the opposite of downtown…simple, unassuming, plant based. Everything feels comfortable in Nakaya. The wooden tables. The big stove in the middle of the dining room (to help survive the cold winters I suppose). The menu written in flowing, hand-written Japanese script. (Thank you Google Translator!) Even the business cards are special, printed on hand-made washi paper.
And I haven’t even spoken about the soba yet: fresh, tender, expertly crafted from homemade flour in a simple broth. I learn later from the owner (a one-man show) that the soup stock is mainly made with cat’s foot kelp from Nemuro, Hokkaido, log shiitake mushrooms from Shintoku Town that are free of pesticides and chemical fertilizers, dried daikon radish, and Kurosengoku soybeans. Apparently he’s also very particular about his soy sauce, mirin, and salt.
This is the kind of Japanese experience I’m particularly drawn to. Not the country’s pop culture, its cutesy souvenir swag, its modern robot technology… Give me a traditional Japanese restaurant every time where they do things the right way, with extreme attention to the detail.
After savoring my bowl of noodles, the master brings to my table a small red pot with a ceramic white.
“What’s this?”
“Sobayu. Enjoy!”
It turns out that “sobayu” is what good soba restaurants serve after your meal: a sampling of the hot water that the noodles were cooked in. Apparently, the starch and nutrients from the buckwheat flour are considered extremely healthy. Hence “sobayu,” which to be honest, isn’t half bad once you get past the concept.
I slurp down the whole pot and feel restored, refreshed and ready to run the gauntlet of bunny cakes and quiches on my way back to the station. Maybe Otaru isn’t so bad after all.
(A common theme of my posts – and travel in general – is “Don’t let expectations spoil the experience before you’ve even arrived.” It’s like my mom used to say, “If you don’t like that bowl of Lucky Charms because of the marshmallows, then don’t throw it all away. Pick out the marshmallows!” There’s always a gem to be found in even the most touristy travel location. And the same is undoubtedly true for people and relationships. Those who stick around and delve deeper into the experience are bound to be rewarded with a hidden treasure. Don’t let the marshmallows hold you back!