I don’t know what it is about Japan. It’s not something I can easily or succinctly articulate but I am continuously drawn to it, even after all this time. It’s a place I think about constantly. If I were forced to give the simplest explanation as to why it would be: the endless shrines, temples, and gardens; the meticulous attention to detail in virtually everything; the random acts of kindness from strangers. For me, it’s a place defined by chance encounters, moments of unbridled clarity, the recession of ennui, even if fleetingly, a seemingly endless number of possibilities.
To be clear, I am under no illusion that Japan is not without its issues (just as any other society is not), and I imagine that as I continue to visit I will gradually gain a truer depiction of reality; however, for now, I can safely say that I am still in the honeymoon phase (even after all this time). I have had family, friends say things like, “Once you’ve seen one temple, haven’t you seen them all?” to which I privately roll my eyes in response and hardly bother to refute. Instead, I’ve accepted that most people don’t understand and never will. Despite how disorientating it can often feel both as a foreigner and a solo traveler (more on that later), the magnetism of Japan nevertheless persists, and I have yet to resist it.
It’s as if a piece of myself is still there, a piece I’m unable to take with me, and the only way to be reunited with it, even if temporarily, is to return and return often. There is the here and now, the life I have always known, and a time, a place halfway around the world, a kind of portal to another dimension, and separating the two is a world between worlds, the space composed of memory, nostalgia, dreams. This is not to fetishize the East. I can only express how I feel. What follows is that.
Karauizawa (and Other Mishaps)
One of the reasons I was so excited about going back to Japan was the idea of seeing plum blossoms (ume) and kawazu-zakura (one of the earliest-blooming cherry blossoms in the greater Tokyo area), particularly after having just seen fall foliage only two months ago. The notion of experiencing this contrast within such a short time and just before the peak sakura season (including the associated crowds and price hikes) was very enticing. Given this, I’m not sure why I decided to visit Karuizawa. In hindsight, it felt misplaced, thematically incongruous with the rest of the trip.
On the one hand, the wintry ambiance that characterized my stay at Shishi-Iwa, one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever visited, was a stark contrast in itself from Tokyo. When I arrived everything was encased in ice, something that according to the staff at Shishi-Iwa, some of the nicest people I’ve ever met, was incredibly rare. Multiple staff on multiple occasions spent time explaining various aspects of the property, specifically SSH No.03, one of three resorts that comprise the property and the one I stayed at, including the design choices made by Ryue Nishizawa, the same architect of the Teshima Art Museum. Bear in mind this was all for a solo traveler.
It’s strange reflecting on my time there. It has a profoundly evocative effect. The aromatic hinoki cypress, the quiet pristine snowfall, the calm meditative aura, all of it resurfaces to the forefront of my mind. Yet, the image did not last. What should have been a deeply restorative experience, and in many respects was, was ultimately juxtaposed with insomnia.
Early on in my trip, I struggled to get deep, restorative sleep. Often, I was so keyed up, thinking about the next day, eager to execute tomorrow’s agenda. Despite being exhausted at the end of each day, I would frequently wake throughout the night and have difficulty falling back asleep. I have no doubt the insane amount of matcha I consumed each day contributed to this, and, in hindsight, I think implementing a cutoff (no caffeine beyond say 1:00 PM) would have been wise. Instead, my insomnia culminated in something I am very embarrassed to reveal – leaving my backpack (complete with my passport, wallet, and keys) behind at Karuizawa Station.
Of all places for something like this to have happened, I am incredibly fortunate it was Japan, and to the JR workers of Annakaharuna Station, you are truly unsung heroes. I cannot thank you enough for helping me locate and secure my bag. To those of you who ever find yourselves passing through Annakaharuna Station, I implore you to show every kindness to the incredible staff there. They are the embodiment of Japanese hospitality. Needless to say, any other snafus I experienced during my trip paled in comparison to this incident.
Kyoto (and the Importance of Being Present)
Kyoto was not on my itinerary. Rather, I decided to make a brief and entirely spontaneous detour, forfeiting the portion of my fare from Kyoto to Osaka in so doing, after seeing multiple posts about Jōnangū Shrine on Instagram and ultimately falling prey to the power of social media. Make no mistake, Jōnangū Shrine was beautiful, and I’m glad I decided to go, but when I went it was on a Saturday, late in the afternoon and it was absolutely packed, probably more so than any other place I’ve ever visited in Japan. Undoubtedly, it was one of the starkest examples in recent memory of Instagram vs. reality.
By the time I located a coin locker and figured out how to use it, which was actually very easy (if only I had recognized sooner how certain lockers accept IC cards and those that did offered instructions in English) and then finally arrived at Jōnangū Shrine, there wasn’t much time left in the day. But my initial difficulty with the coin lockers, like so many other things, was simply the result of failing to pay attention to what was right in front of me. I’m reminded of the pointing and calling system used by many Japanese railways and how I likely could have benefited from adopting a similar approach. Later, a very perceptive masseuse instructed me to stop thinking, which was yet another reminder to get out of my head, a common theme throughout my trip.
Osaka (and Proper Frame of Mind)
I don’t know why, but there’s something that’s just so draining about Osaka or at least this has been my experience every time I’ve gone. Maybe it’s the fact that Osaka is generally not as foreigner-friendly as Tokyo or how whenever I’ve visited it’s always rained and was in the middle of my trip or towards the end of it when I started to feel a little burnt out. Osaka’s proximity to Kyoto also tends to be somewhat misleading as the sheer size and scale of the city make something as seemingly straightforward as a hotel change (from Kyoto to Osaka) more complicated in practice. Finally, there’s the Kanjozoku, Osaka’s infamous street racers, the noise of which could be heard both at Mercure Osaka and more surprisingly W Osaka during my last two trips, respectively.
Still, I long to return. For one, there’s Namba Yasaka Shrine, which I’ve yet to see, and Shin-Osaka Station, a marvel in its own right that begs to be properly explored. While I’m extremely weary of one-night stays, I’m tempted to entertain just one more in order to squeeze Osaka into my next trip. The dilemma of course is balancing an impulse to see and do as much as possible with getting enough sleep to have the energy to do so.
Take street photography for example. This is something I enjoy, but you have to be in the right frame of mind for it. If you’re effectively sleep-walking, your powers of perception or lack thereof mean potentially great shots will forever allude you. Worse, the self-doubt that exhaustion naturally gives rise to will prevent you from taking those shots even if you spot them in the first place. In short, timidity and street photography don’t mix. This is apparent in the photos I took from my last trip as they’re almost entirely of inanimate objects (architecture, art, food). Those things are interesting of course, but it’s the people who tell the most interesting stories. I think back to all the times I hesitated but forced myself to press the shutter button anyway and it’s the resulting shots that make me want to force myself to step outside my comfort zone. I try to remind myself: life’s too short, take the shot.
Naoshima: Alone on an Art Island in the Middle of Japan
Arriving at Naoshima was both exhilarating and strangely disorienting. There is only one konbini (コンビニ) on the entire island. Compare this to a place like Tokyo where anything you could ever want is directly within reach. Most businesses are closed on Monday, and, as my driver relayed shortly after I stepped off the boat, there is no dentist. These things, along with the all-encompassing presence of art, are exactly what makes Naoshima so special. The absence of embellishment naturally facilitates introspection. My own experience with this began at Naoshima Ryokan Roka.
I remember vividly another solo traveler — the sort of inverse of me, a gaijin — this Japanese woman and seeing her every night at dinner, how she ordered a bottle of wine with each meal, the precise movements she made with her utensils (I’m not sure if kodawari (こだわり) is appropriate here), and thinking (selfishly) I wonder if I look like that, like I belong, that I’m here because I worked hard to make such a reality possible, or instead if I happened only to stumble into the proximity of such people. I often find myself curious about other solo travelers, their stories, how they arrived at the same time and place as me.
Being on that island alone for three days, trying to quiet my default mode network — succeeding at times but failing spectacularly at others — allowed me to obtain a kind of clarity that had long eluded me. I spent the majority of my time contemplating David Hockey’s works at Benesse House Museum or sipping matcha at Hiroshi Sugimoto Gallery: Time Corridors — Ryuichi Sakamoto’s async, and LIFE, LIFE in particular, playing repeatedly in my head. Later, when I arrived at Yayoi Kusama’s “Pumpkin,” gazing out at the Seto Inland Sea after dreaming about such a moment for years, the scene felt entirely surreal for that fact alone. Nothing was more illusory though than James Turrell’s Open Fields, the experience of which involved stepping into a seemingly two-dimensional wall of light.
I cannot stress enough how otherworldly my time was on Naoshima. The combination of solitude and art naturally facilitated something I will never forget. What’s strange to me is how one can have this incredibly memorable, deeply personal, if not life-changing than certainly pivotal experience…and no one knows (here, I’m reminded of Kurena Ishikawa’s No One Knows, something that would later resurface to the forefront of my mind back in Tokyo and towards the end of my trip). They don’t know because it’s impossible to express — at least in casual conversation — and frankly, most people don’t care, which is fine — it just adds to the strangeness of it all.
As with many places in Japan, I have a strong desire to return to Naoshima. There was so much I didn’t get to see, including the Red Pumpkin, Naoshima Pavilion, the Ando Museum, Art House Project: Go'o Shrine, The Naoshima Plan 2019: “The Water” (I believe this was temporarily closed when I went), Benesse House Oval, and, most notably, the neighboring island of Teshima. While I’m tempted to return on my next trip, the effort associated with doing so, along with a desire to prioritize street photography, means I will likely save Naoshima for another trip, perhaps in the spring of 2025 (if I’m crazy enough to go back to Japan a fifth time, which I imagine I am).
Tokyo, I Adore You So Much
Without a doubt, Tokyo is one of my favorite cities in the world. It just has so much to offer. Every neighborhood is unique, and there are so many of them. The city’s proximity to places like Kamakura, Hakone, Takao, and others, its representation across so many popular anime, and the fact that it served as my introduction to Japan (as it did for so many others I imagine) are all part of what makes it so special. Everything I could ever want – from onsens to omakase to omikuji and beyond – is in Tokyo. I could easily spend my entire time there whenever I visit Japan, something I’ve seriously thought about doing.
There is something strangely but immensely satisfying about leveraging past experiences, lessons learned, and an increasing familiarity with Tokyo in particular to facilitate a richer experience across future endeavors. My only reservation is that this comes amid a time marked by overtourism and potentially rising anti-tourist sentiment. The overt disrespectfulness of some is truly disheartening but it’s the cluelessness of others that I’m often worried about replicating. Has anyone seen the video (I’m sure there are many) of a JR worker yelling repeatedly over the loudspeakers at a train station, trying to prompt a tourist to step off the yellow lines on the platform? I would die if something like this ever happened to me.
Questions
- Dates: Nailing down my dates is probably the most important thing I need to do. When I visited last fall, I went from Wed, 11/15 to Mon, 12/4. Currently, I’m thinking about Sun, 11/17 to Sun, 12/1 (or possibly longer). Last time I missed out on a lot of the winter light displays in Tokyo (I remember one in Shibuya in particular) so I’m curious if that’s one reason to extend my dates to have more time there in December. A 14-day trip is really a 12.5-day trip if you exclude the arrival and departure dates. I’m tempted to go for 15 or 16 days but I need to figure out my dates.
- Flights: What is the best way to fly to Japan from the East Coast (preferably via Star Alliance)? BWI is the closest airport to me, but flying out of IAD (a major United hub) is often significantly cheaper (as in almost $1,000 cheaper). It’s such a hassle getting there though. Flight prices are weird too. Usually, I fly from BWI or IAD to Tokyo with a maximum of one stop along the way. Recently, however, I’ve discovered that it may be cheaper to go from BWI to LAX (or a similar location) and then book a separate flight from LAX to Tokyo. Has anyone ever done this? I would stick with the same carrier (United and its partners) but I don’t know if this would minimize any risk of missing the second flight due to potential delay. Does anyone have any experience with Air Canada? Some of the cheapest flights I’ve seen among all Star Alliance partners are with Air Canada. Does anyone know if it’s possible to upgrade to business class with United miles when flying with one of United’s partners (e.g., Air Canada)? I’ve also thought about flying ZIPAIR (full-flat) from LAX to Tokyo but the introduction of another carrier would complicate things. Of course, then there’s the world of rewards travel, loyalty programs, and beyond, which adds another layer of complexity and can honestly feel a little overwhelming. Regardless, I don’t have enough points at the moment to do anything with them anyway. What I would love to do though is upgrade to business (at least for one of my flights) using a combination of points and cash if it’s relatively cheap to do so. Lastly, when should I book my flights — ASAP as in now if I intend to visit in November? Has anyone paid more to book fully refundable flights and then later canceled and rebooked either the same type of airfare or non-refundable flights if and when prices dropped?
- Trains: Is there any risk (aside from paying more) of waiting to book my trains once I’m there? As I said earlier, I decided to stop in Kyoto, which wasn’t on my itinerary, so I had to book a train for Osaka later that same evening. This was nice because I could leave whenever I wanted vs. having to rush to get to the station.
- Rough Itinerary: Currently, I’m in the early stages of developing an itinerary, but, as of now, I’m strongly leaning toward just doing the Golden Route (again). I know this might seem odd for a fourth trip but I have my reasons: 1) logistically, it’s super easy, 2) there will be no shortage of things to do, and 3) there is still so much that I want to see and do in those places. Social media is largely responsible for this last point, but most of the places I want to see I discovered not from prominent influencers but locals with smaller accounts where I typically need to translate their posts because everything is in Japanese. I briefly considered going back to Naoshima because there is still so much I want to see there and because I didn’t get to see Teshima last time but it’s a bit involved getting there and I would rather focus more on street photography, which means prioritizing the big cities vs. art islands. I’d like to spend the majority of my time in Tokyo and Kyoto. Beyond that, I’d like to do a day trip (or two or even an overnight stay) to Kamakura. I’ve been there twice but still have not seen everything I want to. The same goes for Osaka. I could go to Hiroshima or spend more time in Tokyo or do more day trips around Tokyo and Kyoto. While I’d love to see the Hill of the Buddha in Sapporo or Nanzoin in Fukuoka or take a ferry from Fukuoka to Jeju-do island, those are more ambitious ventures for another time. The idea of a more relaxed itinerary – sticking to the major cities, minimizing hotel changes, and leveraging my familiarity with places I’ve visited before – to make the next trip that much more frictionless (and hopefully enjoyable) is particularly attractive. In terms of dates, I had briefly contemplated going in the latter half of August, which I know isn’t ideal given the weather, but ultimately decided that that’s too soon. Instead, I am thinking about November. This is when I went last year (before returning in February). I think visiting in early November would be interesting but will likely opt for the latter part of the month to take advantage of the Thanksgiving holiday and increase my chances of seeing the fall foliage. See draft itinerary here.
- Solo Travel: There are a lot of things that I like about solo travel, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel lonely at times. I can distinctly remember sitting at the bar at The Belcomo in the super smart, super swanky Aoyama Grand, a mid-century modern retreat in the heart of downtown Tokyo, and feeling notably out of place, surrounded exclusively by very obviously affluent Japanese people, all dressed impeccably, lost in conversation with their equally mesmerizing counterparts. I find it amusing how my affinity for some of the trendiest spots in Tokyo and, in turn, those that are frequented predominantly if not entirely by Japanese people is a surefire catalyst for imposter syndrome and impending anxiety. But it’s at these times that I try to remind myself of a quote from Why Buddhism is True by Robert Wright, which is actually a quote from What the Buddha Taught by Walpola Rahula: “According to the teaching of the Buddha, the idea of self is an imaginary, false belief which has no corresponding reality, and it produces harmful thoughts of ‘me’ and ‘mine,’ selfish desire, craving, attachment, hatred, ill-will, conceit, pride, egoism, and other defilements, impurities, and problems. It is the source of all the troubles in the world from personal conflicts to wars between nations. In short, to this false view can be traced all the evil in the world.” In other words, it isn’t all about me. Other people are wrapped up in their own worlds, not focused on me. Still, it’s hard to shake this feeling at times, and I suspect it’s inherent to solo travel to some degree. When I first visited Japan in 2017 I went with a group but often found myself wandering off to do my own thing, which I know sounds a little weird, but I had my reasons: wanting to linger in certain places or simply not wanting to be among the loudest, culturally inept group of foreigners in the underground. Satisfying an intrinsic, sometimes overwhelming need for connection is difficult for an introvert and admittedly someone with naturally antisocial tendencies. My capacity for social interaction is like a lithium-ion battery – operating within a certain range is preferred. I want to be able to weave in and out of social interactions as I please, never exceeding a certain threshold but never falling below one either. Wishing thinking I know. When I was in Osaka, and in a neverending quest to satisfy a desire for matcha, I stumbled across an English-owned, English-operated cafe, which was surprising, if not slightly disorientating. At the time, I arrived in the middle of some kind of cultural exchange event where participants had the opportunity to speak both English and Japanese across a series of timed Q&As. My Japanese is extremely basic, enough to get by, but nowhere near conversational. Needless to say, I chickened out and chose not to participate (despite the gracious invitation from the owner of the cafe to do so). My point though is that there are opportunities for connection and sometimes you just happen to stumble across them. The challenge is having the courage to pursue them.
- Skin: I would be remiss if I didn’t mention this last topic as it was something that affected so much of my experience. For months I had been desperately trying to combat seb derm and/or rosacea, which was a tremendous source of anxiety leading up to my trip – 1) because I didn’t want it to undermine my experience and 2) because I was afraid that traveling would only make things worse. Unfortunately, both of these things happened. All I could do was try not to let it get me down and nevertheless make the most of my time despite everything. I felt very self-conscious though being surrounded by Japanese people with seemingly flawless complexions and knowing just how much Asian cultures tend to value appearances. Moving from one extreme to another (e.g., the cold, dry weather of Karuizawa to the relatively humid Naoshima by comparison), consuming a high histamine diet (I love Japanese food but much of it is fermented, pickled, aged, etc., meaning it’s extremely high in histamine), ditching my sunscreen after it broke me out and proceeding for the rest of the trip without any kind of UV protection despite my fair skin and the fact that I was spending so much time outside each day, and staying at a ryokan (the one in Naoshima) that had a kerosene heater in the room (later I would read how this can affect certain people), all of it wrecked my skin. I wonder how much anxiety and lack of sleep or poor sleep played a role in this as well. Anyway, I know there’s no such thing as a quick fix, but I was so relieved to be back in Tokyo by the end of my trip because I had had the foresight to book an appointment with an esthetician weeks in advance. I would love any recommendations on English-speaking, foreigner-friendly estheticians and skincare treatments in general in Tokyo, Kyoto, and/or Osaka. I know South Korea is famous for this kind of thing. I’m not sure how Japan compares. Regardless, all I want to do is improve my skin and go back to Japan.
TL/DR: I apologize for the long post and self-indulgent ramblings, but I haven’t had the chance to really process my last trip, and even now there’s still so much I could say. If you’re looking for strictly practical travel tips delivered in the most sober manner possible this isn’t it. Instead, I’ve tried to focus on my subjective experience, particularly as a solo traveler. If anyone has any questions, if there’s anything I can do to help you with your own trip, ask away.
by denisonwitmer1
