Anyone who spends a few days crossing the island notices that the names sound unlike the rest of Japan: Wakkanai, Noboribetsu, Otoineppu, Kamuikotan, Shumarinai, Rumoi, Tomakomai. They are not Japanese words, which is why they resemble neither Kanazawa nor Nagoya nor Yokohama.

A black and white photograph of two metal signs on legs on a station platform: one advertises a lake and the other is the station nameboard, with the name in syllabary, in characters and in Latin script, and below it the two neighbouring station names.
Shumarinai, with Soeushinai on one side. Two consecutive stations, two names ending in “-nai”.Hahifuheho / CC0·CC0

01 Eight names out of ten

The island was annexed, colonised and renamed Hokkaido in 1869. Until then it was known as Ezo, and those who lived on it were the Ainu, who had held their own map for centuries: every river, every cape, every valley had a name.

When the settlers arrived they did not rename the territory: they kept the names that already existed and moved them into Japanese writing. That is why the toponymy survived almost entire while the language was lost. Ainu today has very few speakers; the map, by contrast, is still in Ainu.

02 Two endings that explain nearly everything

The first is “-betsu”, from the Ainu “pet”, meaning river. It appears everywhere: Noboribetsu, Monbetsu, Bekkai, Shibetsu, Furubira. If a Hokkaido place name ends in “-betsu”, there is almost certainly running water.

The second is “-nai”, from the Ainu “nay”, a stream or a valley with water running through it. Wakkanai, Shumarinai, Soeushinai, Horonai, Otoineppu, Osamunai. Like the first, it is a hydrographic mark: the town is where it is because there was water there.

With those two words the map reads as what it is: an inventory of watercourses made by people who moved along rivers rather than roads. And it explains something otherwise puzzling: why so many towns on the island sit in places that now look arbitrary.

A wide, shallow, fast river between gravel banks, a slope of dense woodland on the right, trees in white blossom and low mountains behind under a cloudy sky.
What the words “pet” and “nay” name: the running water that organises the island's entire map.Adam Jones / CC BY-SA 2.0·CC BY-SA 2.0

03 The characters do not mean what they seem to

Here is the detail that makes this useful rather than merely curious. When those names were written down, characters were chosen for their reading, not their sense. In Japanese this is called ateji: characters borrowed for their sound.

So “-betsu” is usually written with 別, which in Japanese means “separate”, “apart”. And “-nai” with 内, which means “inside”. Neither has the slightest connection to a river. Someone who knows Japanese and reads the kanji understands something that is not there; someone who reads the Latin transcription under the sign gets far closer to the original sense.

Which makes the practical rule counter-intuitive: in Hokkaido, to understand a name you should look at the line in Latin script and not at the characters.

04 Four names to test it on

Sapporo comes from “sat poro pet”, which translates as “dry great river”, a reference to the Toyohira that runs through the city. The island's capital carries the name of a river almost nobody looks at any more.

Wakkanai, the northernmost settlement in Japan, comes from “yam wakka nay”: cold water stream. Kamuikotan, a gorge on the Ishikari river, means “village of the kamuy”, the entities of the natural world in Ainu culture. And Shiretoko, the peninsula at the north-eastern tip, comes from “sir etok”: the end of the land.

A wide, empty street in a small town, freshly marked asphalt, wooden power poles, low metal-clad houses with blue gable roofs and wooded hills closing the view.
Otoineppu, in the north of the island. The name is Ainu; the town dates from the colonisation.Mister0124 / CC BY-SA 4.0·CC BY-SA 4.0

05 Why this changes the trip

For two reasons, one practical and one not. The practical one: the names are geographical information. Knowing that a “-nai” or a “-betsu” means water lets you anticipate the terrain, the bridges and even where the next town will be while driving a secondary road with no signal.

The other is about reading. Hokkaido presents itself as the modern, planned, recent part of Japan, and in its architecture and its farming it is. But every road sign repeats, quietly and in another language, that somebody named this map first.

How to read a Hokkaido map
  1. Ends in “-betsu”: there is a river
    From “pet”, Ainu for river. It is almost always written with the character 別, which in Japanese means “separate” and has nothing to do with it.
  2. Ends in “-nai”: there is a stream
    From “nay”, a stream or a watered valley. Written with 内, which in Japanese means “inside”. Also unrelated.
  3. Read the Latin script, not the kanji
    Station boards carry the name in Latin script underneath. That line preserves the original Ainu sound; the characters do not.
    the trick
  4. A name is not a translation
    None of these place names was translated into Japanese: the sound was transcribed. The meaning only appears if you go back to Ainu.
    sound, not sense

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Lucía Montes

Worth Knowing editor · Flowtravel

Lucía Montes chases the fact that changes how you look at a place, and follows it through.