The uncanny
beauty of the Japanese vending machines fascinates many. This project explores them at the snowy Hokkaido.
It reminds
me one day in May, on my trek along the Kumano kodō, the day before reaching
the waterfall in Nachi. I passed the last remnants of derelict teahouses and followed the ancient pilgrimage road, constantly going uphill. It turned out to take
much longer than my map estimated, and the dusk slowly turned into darkness. I
had to climb up a pass first, about an 800 m elevation, and my goal was to
reach the nearest rest booth where I hoped to seek shelter with my
sleeping bag. I took out my headlamp and tried to walk fast. But I had to be cautious. The
last marked place I passed mentioned it is a place where deities like to gather
“and chat over tea”. That gave me less worries than all the
bear warnings I had seen before. Long after sunset I finally
reached the pass with a stele bearing a carved poem. The darkness now grew
thicker and thicker and as I was higher up, the temperature also fell. Now I
found myself on a stony path in a pitch dark Japanese forest, and I carefully
started descending into a valley. May I have overestimated my skills this time? The stones became damp and slippery from a small stream and at the same time, in quite a wrong moment, my headlamp started to fade quickly. I tried to focus on each step, trying not to sprain an ankle. After a
while, I briefly saw a glimpse of light among the trees, and some minutes later
it blinked more often so I was sure that it is where I want to go. It gave hope
but I also was not sure what to expect. Are there any people? At last I
was on a small asphalt road, still in the middle of a forest, still no one
around… facing a vending machine, shining bright into the dark. Only then I
recognized there was also a toilet next to it and an unfinished teahouse.
