Rebun is a small island off the Northern coast of Hokkaido, often compared to Scotland or Norway. Despite its sheer cliffs and green meadows, it’s mostly known for the more than 200 species of flower that burst forth brightly there, each summer. I arrived in search of cool air and solitude, giving up on the crowds and humid heat of Tokyo.

On my first evening, in search of dinner, I walked into Funadomari’s lone izakaya. I had not made a reservation, certain that the tiny community would not necessitate such formalities. But to my surprise, the lady of the house replied awkwardly that the room was fully booked all evening through. Apologetically eyeing her husband Aihara-san, the chef behind the counter, I started to move to the exit. But, as he took a drag from his cigarette, making it glow with a bright warmth, he asked if leftovers were okay. I couldn’t choose freely from the menu, he explained, but there were still enough scraps in the kitchen to put something together. When the scraps turn out to be sea urchins, juicy scallops, and delicate sashimi, I wonder what a ‘normal’ meal would be like.

We talked all evening, as naturally they were curious about this foreign tourist, of which there are almost none. They taught me about the seafood, which the chef caught himself, this morning at two after midnight. When I arrive at the explanation of my thesis, the native inhabitants of the Russian island Sakhalin just North of here, they smile with surprise. Two kilometres from here, in the hamlet of Hamanaka, an archeological dig is currently underway, led by the Japanese professor Kato Hirofumi, but mostly staffed by international students fulfilling their internship. They strongly recommend I return tomorrow evening.

Which of course I do. Walking in, they exclaim happily and apparently they’ve prepared everyone for my arrival. I get a seat of honour between Aihara-san, who’s prepared the most luxuriant meal, all with dishes and flavours I mentioned yesterday when he nonchalantly asked me what I like most about Japanese cuisine, and with professor Kato to my right. He explains the broad outlines of the project, apparently unique in all of Japan, and after a short summary of my thesis, he invites me to join him on Monday, at the Hamanaka site. I cannot believe it.

Immediately I throw any prior plans out the window, stay on the island a day longer than intended, and walk to the digsite at nine in the morning on that exact Monday. Incredibly friendly, they eagerly explained their different backgrounds, be it geo-archeology, lithology, sea mammal osteology, and much else besides. We talk while digging through the sand, finding first a dog skull, then a flake of crystal clear obsidian, shards of decorated pottery, and finally, a beautiful, dark spearpoint, split cleanly like two puzzle pieces. I learn so much, and instantly feel completely at home among these incredible people.

All because Aihara-san took a drag from his cigarette and decided not to let me walk home hungry.