Obihiro, Hokkaido – A DIY Busker’s Fog‑filled Whirlwind
i just stepped out of the rust‑stained train at Obihiro station feeling like i’d forgotten my headphones in a snow‑drift. the city looks like a half‑finished neon puzzle with beef‑laden grocery aisles smelling like fresh hay and a fog so thick it could cut a haircut out of the air. i checked the weather app and it’s 4.66 °C with a humidity that’s basically a swamp - 99 % - and a pressure of 1019 hPa, so the air feels like a gentle hand on my neck. it’s not a crisp January chill; it’s a soggy blanket that makes every coat feel like a second skin. hope you like that kind of thing.
i dropped a pin and realized i’m standing right over the exact coordinates that are basically a foggy ocean of asphalt. the first place i hit was the stretch of sidewalk right in front of the Obihiro City Hall, where a lone fountain hiccups water like a shy teenager. the locals told me it’s a gold‑mine for passersby because office workers take lunch breaks there, and the mist makes any snare hit sound like a distant echo. i tried a makeshift drum kit from empty plastic bottles and a broken wooden plank, and some commuters actually stopped to stare for a split second. that’s the kind of tiny win that keeps a busker from throwing the kit on a curb. i also tested a kazoo made from a toilet‑paper tube, which made an old lady at the market giggle and give me a spare chopstick.
the weather never really falls; it just drips in slow‑motion like an old TV test pattern. i can see my breath turning into tiny steam clouds as i talk, which makes the scene look like a low‑budget music video. the fog’s got a habit of swallowing the streetlights, so neon signs flicker on and off like my battery life between sets.
if you get bored, the coastal town of Rausu and the quieter lakes of Shikotsu are just a short drive away. a fellow traveler told me that Rausu’s boardwalk feels like a place where whales whisper through the mist, while Shikotsu’s mountain vistas reflect in glass‑like water like a mirror. i might add those to my next itinerary if i ever need a vibe change.
someone told me that the nightly open‑air concert series at the Museum Plaza is actually a secret audition for the city’s folk band, and the real trick is to bring a ukulele that makes the crowd think you’re a tourist. i heard that after one guy tried a banjo, the locals started clapping like they were at a karaoke. a drunk barfly pointed to a TripAdvisor thread that claimed the Obihiro night market’s best ramen broth i ever saw was written by a guy who’d been on the bus all night and still couldn’t find the exit. i also got a tip from the city’s busking permit board website that forms are handed out in Japanese with more kanji than my last sushi order. you can find it at https://obihironet.jp/busking-permit, a 30‑minute walk from the post office, and if you’re lucky you’ll meet a street vendor who will translate the sign for free. TripAdvisor’s review of the Obihiro night market is hilariously drunk - it’s basically a list of ramen broth observations that could double as a beat‑making sample. Yelp says the hidden yakitori stall recommended on Yelp has a four‑star rating, but the real stars are the grill marks that look like abstract art.
i grabbed a bite at that yakitori stall and watched a local make‑up artist use busker‑size cardboard to sculpt a giant whale. i also checked out the city’s main library, which hosts an open mic every Wednesday and has a vintage drum machine you can borrow for free; see it on TripAdvisor https://www.tripadvisor.com/Attraction_Review-g298210-d1642445-Reviews-Obihiro_Library-Obihiro_Hokkaido.html. for a visual fix, here are some street‑level vibes from Obihiro:
the whole day turned into a soggy‑sound experiment, and i learned that a busker can make a living out of anything - broken bottles, soggy cardboard, even the mist itself. if you ever wander into a fog that feels like it’s made of cotton candy and regret, just remember you can always tune the city’s ambiance to your own beat. keep an eye on the locals, because they’ll whisper the next great spot if you’re paying attention. and maybe, just maybe, bring a spare pair of socks - the humidity will thank you later.