In February 2023, after studying Japanese since seventh grade, I traveled to Japan. I’d sacrificed my youth and social life to write fiction that no one wanted to read, and now, at twenty-seven, realized that I was a failure. So I hoped that creating this travel blog would get me published. It was my first foray into a non-Western culture (“I’ve Made It to Japan! | ????????“).
I started with Sapporo Snow Festival, where I saw snow for the first time since seventh grade; the romantic Otaru Snow Light Path Festival; and a drift ice walk in Shiretoko. This winter wonderland dazzled me so much, that I cursed humanity for using money and visas to gate-keep nature’s delights (“Life is Beautiful and Ugly | ?????????“).
Kawayu Onsen and Lake Akan birthed an addiction to sulfuric steams and onsens. The cultural shocks for a Middle Easterner in the Far East were many, and I broke my years-long vegetarianism to indulge on the best fish on the planet. At the highest ryokan in Hokkaido, I received a surprise TV interview while hiking to a frozen waterfall, in celebration of my birthday (“Birthday Boy | ???“).
Next, I marathoned to more snow and onsens in Sapporo and Noboribetsu, where I experienced xenophobia for the first time (“Stranger in a Strange Land | ????“). Then I left Hokkaido for Tohoku, where I visited Hirosaki and stayed at a digital detox ryokan nestled in snowy mountains.
In the absence of internet and reception, I sank into hot springs and loneliness. I lived in the present for the first time, and longed for a companion. After the return bus got stuck in a snowstorm, I hung out with a Japanese guest who made me feel something for the first time. He pampered me and tried to make plans to meet again, but I was too afraid of rejection to reciprocate. Regret haunted me through my first capsule hotel and first overnight ferry, from Sendai to Nagoya (“My First Time | ???“).
Kanazawa, Shirakawa-go, a farm stay in Ainokura, and Matsumoto warmed my heart with their frozen charm (“Heaven and Hell | ?????“). By the time I bid snow farewell and descended to Hakone and Fuji Five Lakes, so many problems arose, that not even Mt Fuji alleviated my regret. In vain, I searched for the Japanese guy (“Things Go South | ????“).
Hakone, Nagoya, Kiso Valley. I moved from one place to another on a daily basis. Friendships formed and dissipated within hours; I started scrapping months of planning for the people I was chancing by. (“Winding Roads | ??“). In Ise, Japan’s most sacred Shinto shrine defied my expectations. No amount of planning could have prepared me for discoveries along the way – nor for an explosion of fun in Osaka’s Universal Studios (“One Month in the Land of the Rising Sun | ??????????“).
Leaving the countryside for my first big city in Japan, I dipped my toes into Osaka’s queer nightlife, visited museums, and attended a sumo tournament. Most of my dates went awry. I was ghosted, and felt abandoned even after departing Osaka for Nara’s Omizutori Festival (“Ghostin Around | ?????“).
Blogging every day online helped me process all of this, but not get any readers. Even my best friends back home didn’t seem to care. During a temple stay in Koya-san, the most sacred mountain for Buddhism, I broke down at Japan’s holiest cemetery on a cold winter night (“Colour is Void, Void is Colour | ?????????“).
My entire life, I’d been looking for people who would see me as an equal. But I was a stranger in a strange land. And I no longer wished to be part of it.
I embarked on a four-day pilgrimage to grand Shinto shrines in the mountains of Wakayama. This was my first hiking experience, and it pushed my body and soul to new extremes (“Resurrection | ??“). Minshukus, mountains, and misty forests turned life existential. I posted the journal entry of my fourteenth birthday, where constant judgment had pushed me to hide my real self (“To Be Alive, Part 1 | ???????????“).
The more I hiked, the more layers I shed, by sharing my innermost thoughts on existence (“To Be Alive, Part 2 | ???????????“). By the end of the pilgrimage, I bonded with my hiking companions so much, and felt so exhausted and exalted, that I understood spiritualism, and experienced the most climactic night of my life (“To Be Alive, Part 3 | ???????????“).
Despite my qualms, my trip hadn’t peaked with the Japanese guest from the digital detox ryokan. I was trying new things and reaching new heights. At twenty-eight, in a land where no one knew me, I was finally free: to explore, to date, and to be me. I yearned to see the world, meet people, and experience every good and bad thing one could get out of life.
An impromptu visit to Shodoshima, a small island I knew nothing about, involved a hike to abandoned cave temples on a foggy day at sunset. The temples’ harmony of nature, spiritualism, and art awed me so much, that I suddenly admired humans. They could do great things – but instead oppressed each other with money, prejudice, and visas.
Fervid, I crashed my bike.
I was alone on a mountain in a tiny island with no tourists, no visibility, and no cell reception. The sun was sinking; fog was engulfing me. A snake almost bit me, while a monkey ran away from my cries of pain. I cycled past abandoned houses with a bleeding knee, terrified of not returning to the civilization that had killed my dreams (“If That Didn’t Sum Up What Life was, I Didn’t Know What Did | ?????????????????????????????????“).
Once I did, I continued to cycle around more islands and venture into nature. Naoshima’s contemporary art transported me to other worlds, while Hiroshima’s atomic sights shook me to my core. Cherry blossoms reached full bloom (“A Different World | ???).
Miyajima, Okunoshima, and Shimanami Kaido made it official: Japan’s islands, with peak blossoms, pastoral cycling roads, sparkling sea, and exquisite food, were slices of heaven. Life literally became a wild ride, whether on a ferry or a bike. Nothing could stop me from chasing more adventures, not even a cycling injury (“Life is Grand | ??????).
I started to share my diaries from school, which chronicled my coming out story. Peer pressure, fake friends, and homophobia in Israel had led to depression in middle school and self-harm in high school. I’d felt so lonely and misunderstood, that I’d suppressed all my emotions, given up on the idea of intimacy, and focused instead on studying and writing. Yet I’d never met someone who believed in my art (“Coming Out, Synopsis | ??????????“).
Then the thrilling escapades to nature crashed in Iya Valley, Japan’s most remote countryside. I failed to camp for the first time, alone by a river with more monkeys than humans. I explored an abandoned scarecrow village, and got rescued by an old couple in a miniature village. Crossing vine bridges and hitchhiking on dangerous roads, I realized my life never unfolded the way I wanted. I had failed to fulfill my dreams and find people who stuck by my side. And now, I was pouring my heart out every day to a website (“Not What I Had in Mind | ?????????“).
Peak blossoms in Himeji Castle withered in Kyoto. I vowed to never let anyone hurt me again (“Bloom, Then Rot | ???????“). I found solace in Yoshino Mountain, the best place in Japan for cherry blossoms (“The Pink Paradise | ???????“). A new friend from Ukraine understood me more than every failed friendship (“The Best Two Months of My Life | ??????2??“).
Yet Kyoto in sakura season vexed me, with its hordes of tourists, xenophobia, and overrated temples. Only Fushimi Inari and Uji proved worthy. I realized I’d learned to live in the present, at the cost of rejecting reality for what it was – a playground ravished by humans. My denial of reality meant that I would never grow up (“The More I Matured, the More I Felt Like a Child | ????????????????“).
More temporary friendships at Takayama Festival showed how traveling led you to marvelous places, only to pull the rug from under you. The world was wonderful – but he moment you reached for its delicacies, they recoiled (“Travel was a Double-Edged Sword | ??????“).
Back to winter wonderland in Tateyama Kurobe Alpine Route, I couldn’t stop thinking about the Japanese guy. I continued to Tokyo after two and a half months in Japan. On my first day there, I visited Ghibli Museum in his hometown, and searched for him again. Failure made it clear: I couldn’t control even my own story (“A Writer With No Pen | ?????????“).
A spontaneous escape from Tokyo reunited me with a Japanese grandma from the digital detox ryokan. She and her husband took me on a two-day road trip around Ashikaga and Nikko: temples, flower festivals, and the oldest school in Japan. I glimpsed my last sakura, after enjoying peak blossoms every day for a month (“The Thinking Monkey | ????“).
Back in Tokyo, I went clubbing for the first time, and met a British expat at a gay club. We grew close in an instant, and attended my first Pride together. He was the first person who liked my writing (“High on Life | ???????“).
He changed everything. But my visa was almost up, and I refused to languish again in Israel. With tears over my (lack of a) future, I decided to blow all my life’s savings on travels, in the hope that my blog would take off.
No more hotels or hopping from one place to another. Instead, I began couch-surfing. A guy my age hosted me and turned out to be my Japanese equivalent. We resembled each other so much, that we shared secrets from day one. Then he introduced me to the dark side of Japan (“Like a Scene From a Movie | ????????“).
My last days in this country were rife with harrowing encounters. I made plans to reunite with the British date and Japanese friend three months from now, after a stint in South Korea. They made me miss human beings for the first time (“The Dark Side of Japan | ??????“).
Finally, I bid my favorite place in the world farewell at a cemetery, and left it as a changed individual. I cried more and more now, wrote poems and partied every night till dawn, hiked for days, and opened up to new friends in a flash. I tried bizarre dishes and changed my plans on a whim, exposed my private life on the internet, and endured my first big regret.
I had no guarantee that I would be alive a year from now, nor be able to afford life (“Sayonara | ?????“).