I say goodbye to Nagoya after spending five days there, realising that I could have used my time better, particularly during three of those days. The travel costs me ¥1950 and takes two hours. During the train ride, I manage to read over half of my new book, ‘South of the Border, West of the Sun.’ Interestingly, it is around the time I change trains at Toyohashi Station that a scene in the book unfolds in Toyohashi itself. I’ve nearly given up trying to attribute too much thought or meaning to these coincidences.

I arrive at Hamamatsu just before two. I would have arrived a bit earlier if two of my trains hadn’t been running late – not very Japanese-like. It’s unexpectedly warm outside. Sitting on a dull, air-conditioned train is quite deceptive, especially after the frankly terrible weather in Nagoya for the last few days. I immediately notice the distinct lack of tall buildings here.

I find my hotel on the map, it is probably a five minute walk. I take an unnecessary shortcut through a small shopping arcade. There are no voodoo dolls hanging here, but there might as well be. Every shop is closed or abandoned, and there’s no music playing. “Welcome to Hamamatsu,” I mutter to myself.

I notice that a significant number of signs here are in Portuguese. “Você está aqui,” says the map. Perhaps Hamamatsu has a large Portuguese-speaking population. My suspicions are somewhat confirmed as I pass a Brazilian imported goods store and a small boarded-up Portuguese restaurant.

Opposite the front door of my hotel is a construction site. However, it seems to be a day off because there are no workmen with flashing red sticks. Inside the hotel lobby, there’s a cream grand piano. It serves as a nice centrepiece for the room, but it also appears slightly lonely and seldom used.

I can’t check in for another twenty minutes, so I leave my bag and take a quick walk around the block. Behind the hotel, there are some incredibly old-looking Japanese houses. I can’t quite tell if they’re still inhabited or not; they seem to have weathered quite a bit, as if the Big Bad Wolf has paid them a visit.

On this side of the train tracks, I count two Seven Elevens and one Family Mart. Every now and then, the pavement bears etchings of musical instruments; they look old and worn, as if they were made many years ago.

At 3 p.m., I check in. This is the second hotel in Japan where I’ve stayed without any wireless Internet. I can’t believe it. The building itself resembles more of a block of apartments than a hotel. I decide to rent the hotel’s laptop for both nights at ¥500 per night, which is actually not that bad.

My room provides only the basic amenities, but the hotel does have ¥180 cans of beer on the vending machine floor, although it’s only Kirin Beer. The hotel information seems quite standard, except for one exciting detail: “We offer free curry and rice from 17:00 to 20:00.” There is a neat, hand-drawn ink line through this particular piece of information. Not available today, it seems.

The laptop itself loads sluggishly, which is a common issue I’ve encountered in Japan. It’s so old that it doesn’t recognise my camera, preventing me from uploading any photographs. I search for the nearest Internet cafe and after a considerable effort, it finally locates a Popeye Media Cafe. Perfect.

I head toward the Internet cafe, taking the underpass beneath the train tracks. On the other side, I’m greeted by shrubbery and flowers; it’s like entering a different world.

The area here is bustling with shops, restaurants, and people—a lively hub of human life. I navigate using a photograph of the map and the GPS on my camera. In Japan, pedestrian crossings typically emit a loud drone or a repetitive beep-beep, beep-beep, or one of two tunes, all permanently etched into my memory. However, not in Hamamatsu. Here, classical music resonates from the loudspeakers. I cross the road to the tune of Chopin’s Nocturne in E-flat Major, Op. 9, No. 2.

After some time, I finally arrive at my destination, thanks to Google. Looking around, I realise I’m in the middle of the woods. Insects buzz loudly and mechanically around me. Surprisingly, there’s not a media cafe in sight.

I walk through the woods for a while and stumble upon a castle. There’s always a castle, it seems.

It’s half past five, yet the castle gate stands wide open, tempting me to wander inside. This is one of the smallest castles I’ve come across—deserted, with only the castle tower and gates standing tall.

Right next door to the castle sits the Hamamatsu Municipal Museum of Art. They’re hosting a special exhibition for the next two weeks: ‘The Genesis of Ultraman 1966-1980.’ How interesting.

To return to the main roads, I need to trek through the Sakusa Woods. Roughly five minutes into the woods, a Suntory Boss vending machine appears, offering either a welcome reward or a disruption to the tranquillity, depending on one’s perspective.

After ten more minutes, I might be lost in the woods. Endless loops of footpaths and stone stairways wind back and forth. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of the city through the trees. However, every turn I take towards it seems to carry me further away.

After twenty minutes, I find myself back at Hamamatsu Castle. From there, I retrace my initial steps and eventually discover an exit. It’s no wonder this small castle has survived for so many years. None of the advancing armies could locate it amidst the tangle of woods.

Abandoning my search for the media cafe, I make my way back to the train station. Along the way, I pass by a massive Yamaha store, the Watanabe Music Company, a shop named Viola, and three guitar shops. There’s an unmistakable musical vibe to this city.

At the station, I make my way towards what appears to be the tallest building in Hamamatsu, known as ‘Act City.’ It turns out to be a vast concert hall, but the next performance isn’t until Friday. I ascend the steps to an area named ‘Chopin Hill’.

Standing proudly atop the steps is a statue of the Polish composer Frédéric Chopin—a 1:1 scale replica of the famous bronze statue crafted by Wacław Szymanowski. Interestingly, the original statue resides in Warsaw, which happens to be Hamamatsu’s sister city.

I stroll to the open terrace and enjoy a splendid view of the train station below. The city appears lively from this side of the tracks, even quite beautiful.

I head to Seven Eleven for some food and decide to sit outside the shop for thirty minutes, making use of their free wireless Internet to upload my photographs.

Just after 7 p.m., I leave the land of the living and return to the side of the train station that contains my hotel. The atmosphere is eerily silent. On my way back to the hotel, I encounter only one other person—a young woman who, amidst the desolation, could easily be mistaken for a ghost.

There is one positive thing though, the pavement this side seems to be fairly new, and very flat. The perfect surface for running on, or for running away from ghosts.