The city of apples. Lanterns. Land of snow and seafood, or just somewhere very close to Hokkaido. Last winter, along about the first few weeks of spring break, my friends and I booked a trip to Aomori, located at the tipping edge of mainland Japan.

 

My friends and I all got frostbites from little warm clothing and had to rub our tender feet throughout the night, and we even missed out the festive fish market at the break of dawn; but outside of that, Aomori fits in every dreamy fishermen’s town’s cliché, only even better. It watered-down my already strained relationship with buzzing big cities.

​

Sometimes during the punch in days there are moments when the silvery layers of snow and the raw smell of fishing boats and the luscious breakfast cooked by fisherwomen along the bay make me wish for the serenity of a quiet land surrounded by blues.