The GPS said Furano, but my heart just said "purple." I'd driven north from Sapporo for three hours on roads so smooth and orderly they felt almost fictional, passing rice paddies and mountain towns with names I couldn't quite pronounce. Now I stood at the edge of Hokkaido's most famous lavender farm at 9 AM on July 7th, and the entire hillside in front of me was exactly the color I'd spent three months imagining.
Sometimes things turn out better than you hoped. Sometimes you drive eight thousand miles from home and find yourself crying over flowers.
How I Ended Up in Japan
I teach English in Seoul. Not dramatically—I'm not a digital nomad or a spiritual seeker or any of those Instagram categories. I work for a academy, teach teenagers English grammar, correct their essays, watch them graduate and move on. It's fine work, steady work, and it pays enough that by early July, I'd saved enough for two weeks off.
Japan had never been on my list. The conventional wisdom is that Japan is expensive, crowded, and structurally difficult for solo travelers who don't read Japanese. But I'd met a girl named Yuki at a conference in March, and we'd become friends in the way that confuses people who ask "are you dating?"—no, but also, I'd been counting down the days until I could see her again, which is different.
Yuki lived in Hokkaido and worked as a photographer. She'd mentioned, casually, that July was lavender season, and the most beautiful place to see it was Furano, about 90 minutes from her hometown. "You should come," she'd said, not looking at me. "For photography."
So I came. And now I was here, standing in a sea of purple, and Yuki was three hours away in Asahikawa, and I had a rental car, and I suddenly understood why people write poetry.
The Rental Car Adventure
Renting a car in Japan requires an international driving permit (get one before you travel), your home country license, and a surprising amount of patience with parking attendants who seem genuinely concerned about your ability to navigate left-side driving.
I'd spent forty dollars on the IDP in Seoul. The car rental—a little Honda Fit—was $35 per day. This seemed fine until I realized gas costs $1.50 per liter, or about $5.70 per gallon. Hokkaido is rural, and distances are deceptive.
But there's something magical about driving in Japan that justifies the cost. The roads are immaculate. Driving etiquette is hyperaware. Stop signs mean stop, even at midnight on an empty road. Speed limits are obeyed like laws of physics, which they are. No one honks. Everyone politely merges. It's like driving in a civilization, which I suppose it is.
The rental counter agent, a woman maybe sixty, noticed I was solo. "Hokkaido beautiful for alone," she said in careful English. "No dangerous. Very safe place."
She was right, but I didn't tell her the whole truth: I wasn't exactly alone.
The Context
This is a story I should probably tell straight, but I'm not sure how.
I am a woman. Yuki is a woman. We'd met four months earlier at an English teaching conference in Bangkok, where we'd both given presentations on how to teach literary analysis to teenagers. Her presentation was better than mine. I was annoyed and impressed simultaneously. We got drunk at the conference dinner and talked for six hours about nothing in particular—hiking in Hokkaido, good restaurants in Seoul, why teaching is impossible and worth doing anyway—and when we exchanged contact information, I'd somehow immediately known this was different.
We'd messaged constantly since March. Long voice notes at midnight. Terrible jokes about Korean grammar. Photos of our neighborhoods, our students, our coffee. Nothing explicitly romantic, but also: everything was romantic. The economy of words between people who understand they're communicating something they're not quite naming.
"Come in July," she'd said, finally. "For the lavender."
I'd come.
The Farm
Hokkaido Lavender Farm is commercialized in the way that famous places are—there's a gift shop, ice cream, expensive lunch sets, signs everywhere. It costs about $10 to enter. But the actual field is real and honest and exactly as purple as I'd imagined.
I arrived in the late morning and rented a bicycle (extra $5) because the farm is large enough that walking exhausts you. I pedaled through purple in daze-state, stopping constantly to take photos I knew no one would ever see because posting pictures of flowers on Instagram feels like admitting you came for someone else's validation, which I didn't, I came for my own, but also partly for Yuki, though I wasn't supposed to say that.
The light was perfect—Japanese July light, which is bright and humid and clarifying in a way that makes even normal landscapes look like watercolor paintings. The flowers were at peak bloom. Everything was working. Everything was conspiring to make this moment seem important, and I let it.
Around noon, I sat under a tree with a bottle of cold Hokkaido milk (which is actually excellent) and texted Yuki: "I'm here."
"I'm leaving work early," she replied. "One hour."
I stopped breathing normally for a moment, then started again.
The Practical Stuff
If you're considering the Hokkaido lavender road trip:
Best timing: Peak bloom is July 1-15. Before that, it's sparse. After the 20th, flowers start fading.
Furano farms: There are several, but Hokkaido Lavender Farm (Farm Tomita) and Gorgeous Furano Lavender Garden are the main ones. Tomita is bigger and more touristy. Gorgeous Furano is quieter but slightly less purple.
The drive from Sapporo: 2-2.5 hours on the Expressway. Tolls are roughly $25. Gas isn't terrible if you drive efficiently.
Rental car costs: Budget $40-60 per day for the car, $25-30 per day in gas if you're driving to the lavender fields and exploring. Add in parking (usually $3-5) and tolls.
Accommodation: I stayed in a small hotel in Asahikawa ($60/night, mid-range) which was close to Furano without being in the touristy center. Furano itself has hostels ($25-35/night) if you're budget-conscious.
International driving permit: Required. Get it from your home country's transportation authority before traveling. Takes 30 minutes, costs $20-30.
Driving on the left: It's surprisingly fine. Take it slow your first day. Get gas at Eneos stations (nationwide brand, good signage). Parking attendants will help you back in—just roll down your window and listen.
Food: Hokkaido is famous for ramen, corn, and dairy. Lunch sets (teishoku) at casual restaurants are $8-12. Convenience stores are fine if you're in a rush. There's an excellent ramen museum in Yokocho Ramen Alley (Asahikawa) if you have time.
What Happened Next
Yuki arrived at the farm around 2 PM. She'd changed into a sundress and done her hair, which she normally wore in a practical ponytail. She looked nervous. I was nervous too, which was stupid because I knew her, we'd known each other, but also I'd never actually seen her in person and that's different from knowing someone.
She found me standing in the middle of the purple field, and we stood apart for three seconds that felt like years, and then she walked toward me and said, "Hi."
"Hi."
"It's purple."
"It's very purple."
She smiled like she was the one who'd done it, arranged all these flowers just for this moment, and maybe she had, in the way that believing in something hard enough makes it partially real.
She had a professional camera, much better than mine. We spent the afternoon taking photographs of each other taking photographs of flowers, which sounds like it should be insufferably cute, but we were concentrating on composition and light, and the cute part snuck up behind and surprised us both.
Three Days
I had three days with Yuki in Hokkaido before I had to return to Seoul. We drove to other places—Biei, which is like Furano's quieter sister; a waterfall that was beautiful and crowded; a tiny village where we ate fresh corn that was still warm from the farmer's hands.
We didn't kiss until the last night, which might sound slow, but it was perfect pacing. We'd been kissing in messages for four months. Actually kissing took patience, deliberateness, a decision made twice that this was real and would complicate things and mattered anyway.
The last morning, we sat in my rental car in a parking lot overlooking Asahikawa and didn't talk much. There wasn't anything to say. I would return to Seoul. She would return to her work. We would figure out what this was, what it could be, whether long-distance between Korea and Japan was something people actually did or just something they said they would do.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
"Thank you for the lavender," I said, which was stupid, but she laughed and held my hand and we sat like that until I had to leave.
Epilogue: The Practical Reality
If you're considering solo travel for someone else (which is its own category of journey):
Be honest about timing: Peak lavender is a narrow window. Book your flights around that window, not around what's convenient. Two weeks would be a luxury. Four days is enough to see the flowers and have time with whoever you're coming for.
Budget extra for emotion: You'll want nice meals you didn't plan for. Nice hotels on bad days. You'll want to take a detour because someone you're with suggests it. Budget 20% more than you think you need.
Hokkaido is perfect for this: The landscape is beautiful enough that you never feel like you're just waiting around. You can see lavender, drive through mountains, eat excellent food, take photographs. It's a place where you can be happily alone and also happily with someone else.
International driving permits are annoying to get but essential: Don't skip this. Getting pulled over while illegal to drive in the country is a bad ending to a romantic journey.
Coming for someone is different from regular travel: It's more pressure. You want everything to be perfect. Nothing is ever perfect, and that's fine. The imperfect moments—the early morning before the flowers are pretty, the long drive in silence, the parking lot conversation—those are the ones that matter.
Six Months Later
It's January now. Yuki and I have figured out what we are, and what we are is "trying to make this work somehow." She's in Hokkaido. I'm in Seoul. We video call on Sunday mornings. We're planning a trip to Taiwan in March where we'll meet in the middle.
The rental car is long returned. The lavender died back in September and will bloom again in July. The photos are organized in a folder on my computer, and I look at them sometimes when I'm sad or happy or need to remember that I did something brave, which coming to see her was, in its own quiet way.
Travel isn't just about seeing places. Sometimes it's about going to see a person, and noticing the place they live in, and understanding that human connection is always the real destination.
The lavender was purple. The light was golden. Everything worked out exactly the way that luck and planning and hope can sometimes combine to make something beautiful happen.
I'd do it again tomorrow. In fact, I'm already counting down to July.
Consejos de viaje
Aún no hay consejos. ¡Sé el primero en compartir!