Japan Series (Part 2): Tourist

This is a three-part series about my year as an exchange student in Japan.

I embraced Japan throughout the winter break alone, with friends, alone again, with friends again… Revisiting the same cities so often it felt like a homely chime would greet me with each return. Learning about the country and one’s own style of travelling is what makes the journey so fun. I was happy to do the intense checklist visiting-style as well as I was to laze in town, basking in the atmosphere.

Both boys brought their Swiss army training with them, and traveling with them was a fun bootcamp - walking the mandatory daily 20km was at least rewarded with good food, shopping and warm onsen. This was different from traveling later with my best friend, whose routine imposed breakfast at noon, and shopping, strolling through cafes until the evening set.

With the boys, things were very competitive and their opinions were definitive. They continuously judged which place felt more “authentic”. Kyoto was disqualified due to its large roads, clumsily modern infrastructure and temples seeming a staged setup. South of Nara we stayed at a lovely temple complex deep in the mountains, but with prayer sessions offered as price packages, the spirit of religion was reduced to a commodity. We went to Kawaguchiko - and there it was. Fresh mountain air. We arrived in a twilight rain, and guided by stone lanterns we passed through a shrine, hearing dieties’ dance in the bells. In the morning, dawn hug around Fuji-san like a silk scarf, and the town glowed golden. There was our “true Japan”.

With my girl friend, it was the hunt for “the classic Japanese vibe” which preoccupied us. Armed with Japanese language skills and an understanding from living in Sapporo together, we marvelled at how radically different each city was. Osaka was very “retro” and fun, and their men were dangerously gorgeous. Kyoto weighed its charm on us, deep and calm. We saw the deathly beauty of the golden temple as Mishima had seen, the bright façade almost bursting into flames as we looked at it. Nara felt like elegant history shying away, enjoying a stroll in common clothes with its guardians the deer, before retreating into ancient courthouses. Tokyo was everything and more, more, more. I believe we concluded that the classic Japanese vibe was only found in certain streets in these cities, those places touched by magic of our memories.

Traveling alone felt like a whole different experience. I was vulnerable, and although I had planned things well, I always felt a little lost. I made a slow crawl down south, for the places my friends wouldn’t stop by on their big Japan checklist. A deep lung sickness had seized me, and the January cold left the smaller towns empty and strange. Through glazed eyes I strove to find kindness and beauty in the dark, and I was relieved to see the temples as gorgeous as ever, and people open up to me through small offerings of food and conversation. Empty towns were softened by rain, and seeing pottery, families and students on bikes, I felt almost a part of a course of life.

The coast of Japan in winter smells of bamboo: hollow and fresh. On a little island I nursed my solitude among curious bursts of retro art and undiscovered temples. Himeji, Okayama, Naoshima, all the way to Hiroshima. Humanity’s deathly terror scattered the city, but the people were terribly good-humoured, as if the burns were a reminder to enjoy the present moment. Vicariously gnashing at the stuff of life with laughing teeth. My body, crushed by sickness and the feeling of defeat which pervaded the place, was healed by humanity’s truth. The people which brought me in were generous, curious, and genuine, and it was in this city of ashes that I was born again into the world.

I carried on my travels with renewed courage, and a feeling of affection for each city. Each place felt like my own, and I belonged to it.