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Five hours north of Tokyo and twenty degrees colder, I climb into a taxi in Hakodate City. My driver furrows his brow as I clumsily explain to him where I need to go. “No,” he says firmly. “There is no winery in Hakodate.”
Panic sets in. My Japanese peaks at restaurant level and is certainly not sufficient for a pantomime of “oh no there isn't/oh yes there is” with a stubborn taxi driver. As I frantically scroll through emails, maps and screenshots in search of supporting evidence, he shrugs and starts the engine. Perhaps he's decided that, even if this proves a waste of both our time, he'll at least earn the smug satisfaction of being right.