And I probably never will. Even when living in Japan, Sakhalin was distant and semi-mythical. Now that I am back in Europe for the foreseeable future, it is difficult to imagine ever going there at all. As I’ve told you, Sakhalin was once a Japanese territory, tightly integrated into the colonial empire, but even more recently, up until Putin’s invasion of Ukraine, Sakhalin was not off-limits in the way it is now. 

Remember Professor Kaminaga? In our discussions of the previous century, my questions often drifted to a much less distant past. To the time when he himself lived there, in the far North, cold and misty. He spent one year on the island, much like I spent a year in Tokyo, buying produce on local markets and trying his best to cook up warm stew, and joining the Russians on their outings to their slightly muddy hot springs. Of course, the central reason for his stay was the study of the island.

He told me that the hot springs of Sakhalin smell like petroleum, for the oil that the Japanese Navy tried to conquer, seeps to the surface in some places. And just like the Japanese promote the many minerals of their hot springs deep in the mountains, so the Russians too love the petroleum in the water. It is good for the skin, and even, if you like, just as tasty as a cup of tea. Always staying polite, Professor Kaminaga told me that he refused the latter offer. 

But even back then it was not easy to travel through the Russian Federation. Still today, after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the enormous country is divided into constituent republics and regions, some of which are closed to visitors, both domestic and international. Professor Kaminaga explained that Russians not only have passports for travel abroad, just like any other country, but they also have internal passports. If you desire to travel from one region to the next, you might be asked to provide your documents, and request government approval. Especially in the case of sensitive or strategic areas.

Naturally, Sakhalin is one such sensitive area, and to reach it, even most Russians need extra paperwork. Not actually dreaming of travelling there, I nonetheless informed myself. Apparently, I could safely fly to the capital, Sakhalinsk, although not from Japan of course. Again, since Putin’s invasion, I’d first have to fly to Beijing, from where I could catch a flight to Russia. But once there, once inside the Russian airport, my options were twofold. Either I could take the next flight home, or I could step out the front door and be arrested. As a Westerner, there was no chance they’d give me a license to roam and study the island. 

So I did the next best thing, and flew to Japan’s absolute northern extremity. From there I took a ferry into the cold waters of the Strait of La Perouse, between Japan and Russia, heading for the little island of Rebun. After a perfectly quiet night in my tent under the stars, I set out on a hike, climbing the tallest cliffs of the island’s northern shore. Quietly thanking the clear air of the beautiful summer’s day, I could just about make out the merest outline of Sakhalin’s mountains on the horizon. Most likely, that is the closest I’ll ever get.

The next few days, completely unexpectedly, I’d be invited by the resident archeology professor to dig for bones. Whales, bears, and human bones!