Two Weeks in Japan
July 2023
Tokyo
Amidst the overstimulation of Shibuya, a hunger gripped me as I navigated the bustling crossing from all directions. In a chaotic scene, I observed an ambulance patiently holding its position while pedestrians hurriedly dispersed, all done with a surprising sense of politeness.
Inside Family Mart, my cravings found solace in the form of a thinly sliced cabbage salad, ume onigiri, conveniently prepared cold ramen, and a chilled Asahi beer. These choices managed to dispel the mental humidity that had encroached upon my thoughts.
In this foreign land, where stringing together a coherent sentence was a challenge, I found myself both invigorated by the prevailing warmth of politeness and yet gripped by an underlying fear as I embarked on yet another solo journey.
Kyoto
Arashiyama
I didn’t get much sleep after a night of bar hopping but I continued to walk until my legs gave up. My phone and map, once considered essentials, were casually stowed away in my pack—tools that I realized I seldom relied upon. A momentary pause at Otagi Nembutsu Temple marked the initial phase of my day's wandering journey.
In the discomfort of a sweat-soaked back and clammy hands, I encountered a sizable glass display brimming with delicate silk worm cocoons adorned in miniature fabrics. Each cocoon featured a hand-drawn face, crafted with meticulous black ink strokes. A beckoning sign urged me to draw nearer, and so I obliged.
The shop, named Adashino Mayumura, appeared deserted, leaving just me in a room with a myriad of a hundred cocoon dolls. The hum of the AC created a subtle rhythm, and I found myself unconsciously swaying in sync with the suspended figures.
On this scorching day, I found respite on a bench outdoors. My gaze fixated on the maple trees, gracefully inclining under the influence of the breeze. The notion of seeking shelter indoors barely crossed my mind. Instead, I was drawn to the idea of basking in the heat, aligning myself with nature's inhalations and exhalations.
After a few moments, an elderly woman descended the staircase from the second floor, likely her residence, and was soon joined by a middle-aged man. Their invitation to enter was accompanied by the offering of hot tea, and we engaged in conversation, amused by the similarity in our names.
Maemura (前村) / 前: signifying "in front" or "before" / 村: meaning "village" or "town"
Mayumura / mayu-doll (cocoon doll)
Despite my limited fluency in Japanese, I found myself capable of communicating with them effortlessly. I appreciate my character traits which I have nurtured a hundred times before. This sense of connection brought contentment, as time was not a hurried concept. Within their company, I could simply sit, appreciating the ebb and flow of their dialogue, witnessing their animated enthusiasm as they discussed shaved ice restaurants in the town of Arashiyama.
It was the closest semblance of interaction I'd experienced since my own "obachan" passed away in March. Her presence evoked a yearning to remain in the calm aura of someone who mirrored a fragment of her essence. Their warm reception made me feel embraced and understood. Words fail to encapsulate the sentiment I experienced then—perhaps it was a blend of endearment and love, or maybe an unknown variant of emotions. Something I hope to feel again.
As they bid me farewell, the trio stood before their shop, waving with smiles. Their invitation to return echoed in my thoughts as I departed, armed with this newfound token of appreciation and kinship. It's a promise, of course I will.
From that moment onward, I carried myself with a sense of lightness. There was no rush to be anywhere, no thoughts demanding my attention—just the space to fully experience and feel. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: should I have even left that cocoon doll haven behind? I could have easily spent the entire day immersed in a now familiar company. However, I reminded myself that this kind of support, especially during solitary journeys, was exactly what I needed in that very instant.
As I strolled further along the road, passing by residences punctuated by quaint shops and eateries, I mused about the countless times people might have overlooked the beauty surrounding them. The sight of a Pottery Tanuki, a pottery shop, caught my eye. A lone craftsman moved gracefully within, acknowledging my presence as he attended to vases and shelves. Similarly, Ogura Chaya, an udon restaurant, left an impression. Savoring my meal indoors, I reflected on my saviors in the bittersweet heat. The Sagano Bamboo Forest provided a brief refuge from the sweltering heat. Seeking solace, I found respite in a shaved ice establishment. A welcome relief to the bittersweet warmth of the day.
Continuing my journey, I meandered through the residential corners of the historic street until I reached Gio-ji, a mossy garden boasting its own bamboo sanctuary. Sunbeams pierced through the gaps in the maple tree canopy, illuminating the scene as a group of news reporters traversed the path. The camera operator gestured towards particular mossy spots while a woman interviewed an elder gentleman. Uncertain whether to move aside or linger, I chose to wait, allowing them to document the scene as I had done in minutes past.
Craving cooler temperatures, I diverted onto a side street, away from the bustling center. An unwanted encounter with yet another news camera prompted me to discover a small shaved ice shop. There, I devoured in dango, red bean paste, and frosty matcha shaved ice. The animated chatter of Japanese women nearby intrigued me, though I couldn't understand their conversation. Nonetheless, their lively reactions to their served food caught my attention.
I marveled at baby macaque monkeys nestled with their protective mothers as I spent an hour at the touristy Monkey Park Itawayama. Exiting, I found myself at the Katsura River's edge. A long boat glided past, while couples rowed blue vessels to a hidden spot among the trees. Following the sound of a generator, I stumbled upon Kotogase Chaya, a riverside restaurant specializing in “syokudo” and “teishoku,” casual and set meals. The rain began to fall as I ate somen, dango, and drank a beer by the river. As the day reached its peak, I reflected on its entire beauty. While struggling to adapt to the heat, I was emboldened to brazenly embrace further exploration.
Fushimi Inari Taisha, Kyoto
Having spent the entire night awake doing laundry, I clung to a profound sense of gratitude and embarked on a 5am side quest to Fushimi Inari Shrine. As elders stretched their limbs, temple cats lazily yawned. I fixed my gaze upon the reflection of the water. I remained in this contemplative state until I felt prepared to leave my reflective prayers within the vivid vermilion torii gateway, allowing them to take their place within the sanctum and drift into the clouds.
Osaka
A mere short bullet train ride away, I arrived in Osaka four days into my trip. I had allocated only a single day here, following my dad's recommendation, considering it a strategic interim stop. My first steps led me into the vibrant chaos of Dotonbori, a sprawling shopping district that seemed to teem with life, yet felt overwhelming and draining. If Dotonbori were a person, its exuberant demands wouldn't align with my energy. Seeking solace, I ventured to Hoshino Coffee for an iced coffee, where I gazed down at the river below.
For lunch, I made a reservation a month prior at Jiyaki Unagi Hozenji Yamakazu, a family-run eatery renowned for its delectable eel bento. Made directly in front of me, I consumed my meal quickly. I then wandered around with no skeleton of a plan, not even a backbone of an idea, something that is very rare in my approach to planning. I entered a pachinko (gambling) mall, didn’t play but I looked at the prizes and ignored how loud the machines were and rode the escalators for the AC.
My path eventually led me to Osaka Castle Park, where I embarked on a half day of exploration by bike. Pedaling became my preferred mode of transport, granting me the freedom to traverse vast stretches of the city. On a lengthy sidewalk, I shyly uttered "sumimasen" and heard "gomenasai" in return. The route guided me along the riverside, where people played tennis matches and stretched out on benches. Crossing a bridge, I observed a group of young children practicing a dance routine. Venturing beneath a highway, I reached a corner market for a ramune popsicle and a steaming bowl of ramen. At an outdoor mall, I ate another bowl, this time of cold udon. The bike was my vessel of wonder, allowing me to observe Osaka with childlike enchantment and fascination.
Hiroshima / Miyajima Island
Navigating the transportation system in Japan was bewildering at first. Many destinations were color-coded and the touch screen provided the exact yen fares which alleviated the energy and time put into my confusion.
The larger the station though made for a difficult and exhausting time. Throngs of hundreds of faces passed through daily. Commuters, independent children, salary men seamlessly maneuvered through the crowd of fleeting glances, slithering in between people as their mouths were almost always concealed behind protective covid masks— shields of both safety, comfort, and societal conformity. I wore one too out of safeguarding and alignment with the collective commitment.
I rode the four-hour shinkansen to Hiroshima during poor weather conditions. Not even midway there, the train stopped at a station. A rapid steam of words blared through the speakers but of course I didn’t understand. I waited for the English translation and looked around to observe those around me. Some remained unfazed while others walked off the platform. I grappled with concern and discomfort, feeling the need for a safe back-up plan as I looked out the window with a frantic look. The Japanese, though, always seem to move with natural deliberation, and soon the train resumed its movement forward again. I sighed in great relief.
In Hiroshima, the rain fell harshly. With a skeleton of a plan, I waited for the weather to cease but it never stopped crying. Determined, I navigated the Peace Memorial Park while clutching an American umbrella that barely shielded my body from the downpour. Yet I smiled through the drench. I stood under a tree which failed to offer dry refuge. Nothing seemed to be going well so I decided to return to my hotel to regroup. With a clear Japanese umbrella that protected all my sides, I made my way to the ferry port. I needed to see Itsukushima Shrine on Miyajima Island, and so I braved the rain once more.
Kagoshima
I sat in the outdoor onsen at Shiroyama Hotel for all of my four mornings and evenings. Amidst the beauty that unfolded before me, the rising steam merged with my contemplations, crafting an ideal haven of tranquility. My gaze then shifted to Sakurajima Island, its towering active volcano summit adorned by a massive cloud that never moved. I stared and got lost, and as time held on, I absorbed the mesmerizing sight, a memory now etched deep within.
I watched flash flood warnings on NHK previously. On the ferry ride to Sakurajima Island, I was immediately met with pouring rain. My shoes were drenched and made that annoying squishing noise as more and more people scurried to the ferry building. When I said I would do something, I always complete it. The visitor center was empty. Dinosaur Park was empty. Due to an unfortunate incident, I ran for my life down the cement path when I was approached by a stranger. After taking the wrong bus, I made it back to the hotel then went straight to the onsen. I resumed staring at the volcano from afar where I felt the most safe and protected for a day until I was ready to explore again.
Ibusuki
In the oceanside town, known for its hot sand bath and the faint Hawaiian music in the air, I felt the sweltering embrace of the sun in Ibusuki. I didn’t realize I had paid extra for the special Ibusuki no Tamatebako train, and it was a nice surprise to see conductors happily wave when we passed through southern Kyushu. I reciprocated the gesture with a quick wave of my own. Whether they saw it was questionable since the ride was bumpy as hell.
In a state of solidarity, I strolled through the somewhat desolate surroundings. I observed independent children wearing yellow hats on their own journeys, their destinations shrouded in mystery. I could have walked but I took a taxi to my destination, Saraku Sand Bath Hall. The entire beach was empty to my surprise. I thought it was summer! Where were the local families? They were lying next to me as the employees shoveled hot sand over my body. The temperature was bearable just how I remembered it when I was younger. The onsen was minimal but did its job for a moment. At the bus stop, another Hawaiian song played as I waited with an older couple. We rode the bus to the train station then separated ways. I reversed my steps to the industrial downtown area of Ibusuki. Shops were closed, abandoned just like the broken yellow bench someone had forgotten to collect. All aboard my return special train ride, I stared at the ocean until I reached Kagoshima and aimlessly walked into a gyoza restaurant.
