I want to live my life so that my nights are not full of regrets.

D.H. Lawrence

17 April 2023

• 7:05-7:15 Suwanokawara station to Toyama station tram
• Alpine Route ticket office, luggage service, 7/11…
• 8:10-9:20 Dentetsu-Toyama station to Tateyama station train, 9:30-9:38 cable car to Bijodiara, 9:45-10:35 bus to Murodo
• Murodo viewpoint and Snow Corridor (1.5h)
• 12:15-12:22 trolley car to Daikanbo
• Daikanbo viewpoint (20m)
• 12:55-13:00 cable car to Kurobedaira
• Kurobedaira viewpoint + o-yaki (1h)
• 14:20 cable car to Kurobe Dam
• Kurobe Dam (1.5h)
• 16:05-16:15 electric bus to Ogizawa, 16:35-17:05 bus to Shinano Omachi, 18:10-18:50 train to Matsumoto station

Today I woke at 5:40, almost an hour before my alarm.

I tried to doze off, to no avail. At 7:00, I checked out, and took the tram to the station. It was my first day since early March of wearing my winter coat.

Dentesu-Toyama was already full of tourists lining up for same-day tickets. I paid for a luggage service for my medium-sized suitcase, and took my newly-gifted carry-on with me. Sending one was already costly enough.

“SNOW WALL CLOSED TODAY DUE TO BAD WEATHER,” a sign read.

Great. The Snow Wall was the Alpine Route’s focal point before summer, and the reason I’d resolved to spend 15,000 yen in a single day.

Hiking was impossible as well. It was just as the staff at the ticket office had warned. Today was not a good day.

I stocked up at 7/11 (not many food opportunities up the Route) and waited for the first train. I felt too anxious and upset to eat anything. I tried to make conversation with two Israelis my age, but they ignored me.

Tateyama-Kurobe Alpine Route

The Route started with a pack of sardines cable car. I was the only one carrying a luggage. At least it was small and light.

The bus to Murodo went through narrow and winding mountain roads, with spectacular views of valleys and snowy alps. Driving through a forest of cypress trees blanketed in white gave me major Shiretoko vibes. I’d done a snowshoe trek through a forest to a frozen waterfall there on February 12.

Almost as if I was back in Hokkaido. I grew so nostalgic, that I longed to return there in winter.

When the snow became taller than the bus, I recalled Tohoku and the digital detox ryokan, where the bus got stuck on a hill for two hours and I spent half a day with the Japanese guy. February 9-21, 2023 was a magical time in my life. It had its bad moments, but they were all worth it for the things I’d done.

As the bus went uphill and I chatted to an old Japanese woman from Hiroshima, the fog grew so dense, that it was hard to tell where the snow ended and the sky began. Everything was pure white.

It was snowing heavily, but the flakes were tiny. Powdery, like Hokkaido’s.

A TV screen at the front of the bus was showing the exact same road we were crossing in summer. All green, no white. The video explained that the hell valley was closed due to volcanic activity.

Walls of snow heralded our arrival at Murodo, altitude 2,150 metres. The highest hotel in Japan. A blizzard was in full swing, flinging flakes at such a ferocity that made everyone struggle to wander and look around. Nothing was visible, apart from white.

I braved this weather and dragged my luggage up to the Snow Corridor, a shorter alternative to the Snow Wall’s 13-metre high walls. The corridor was nonetheless tall enough, that I forgot my anger at today’s weather.

Rock-hard ice walls and a snowstorm. So magical, that I spent a full hour at this small place, soaking up the atmosphere and taking pictures.

This morning, I was disappointed by the closures along the Route and the fact that I’d paid a heinous amount of money for nothing. Some people would balk at the weather I found myself in, but the truth was, I enjoyed the pure white fog. I enjoyed snowflakes hitting my face. I enjoyed dragging my suitcase on ice. I enjoyed doing snow angels and my butt freezing on the ground, taking a risk by removing a glove for the sake of a photo, only for my fingers to turn red and painful. This was the climate for me – and it would be my last day experiencing it, perhaps for years to come, perhaps forever, if I couldn’t find a way to earn money and leave Israel again. Summer was fast approaching, and even in the East everything would be hot and humid.

I hadn’t had a single bite of food since last night, hadn’t drank more than a few sips of water since waking up, and slept less than six hours. At that moment, I was neither hungry nor exhausted.

Three middle-aged Israelis were happy to take my photo and chat inside the corridor. I wondered what made the couple from this morning blatantly turn their back on my face.

After the corridor, I could’ve walked fifteen minutes to the highest onsen in Japan, but it was all indoor baths. I only cared about rotenburos.

Instead, I continued to the cable car to Daikanbo, which went through a tunnel. The viewpoint was even higher than Murodo – 2,316 metres altitude – but the blizzard made it impossible to see anything.

I ran into a family from Singapore who had witnessed the rainbow with me yesterday at Namerikawa station. Funny how the last few days had included chance encounters like this.  

From Daikanbo, I took the ropeway down into a white abyss, smiling like a kid in a candy shop. This was the the longest one-span ropeway in Japan. Comprised of a single span line, it lacked any support towers between the lower and upper stations.

Nothing felt more exciting to me than penetrating the thickest fog without knowing how deep the abyss underneath this precarious ropeway was.

It led to an observation deck with a clear view of the surrounding mountains. What a marvel! What a sight! The Hokkaido déjà vu was out-roaring the blizzard. I didn’t need the Snow Wall and a clear sky to warrant this expensive day. I was on cloud nine.

I asked a solo traveller to take my photo, and before long, realised we were both from Israel. She was in her early twenties, fresh off the army. I’d chatted with several visitors today, from Japan, Hong Kong, Europe, etc., but somehow, ended up partnering with her.

“I met in Kyoto another Israeli guy,” she said. “He’s gonna do the Route tomorrow.”

I asked if he was the same guy from the onsen, who’d told me of the same intention.

“That’s the one,” she said.

We went inside the building for a light meal. This was 14:00, my first bite since last night’s dinner. I bought a vegetables and azuki o-yaki (the same bun I’d had in Takayama – a prefectural specialty – yet not as good).

“Yesterday I went to an onsen and talked to a girl from Amsterdam,” the Israeli tourist said. “She told me she’d met an Israeli guy on this trip.”

I showed her a picture of the Dutch girl I’d hung out with on Yoshino Mountain and in Takayama.

“That’s the one,” the Israeli tourist said.

I could not believe it. After visiting the onsen with the Israeli guy, I recommended it to the Dutch girl, who went there the next day. The Israeli guy recommended it to the Israeli girl, who also went there the next day. Then, the Israeli and Dutch girls met.

After recovering from this coincidence, we took the cable car to Kurobe dam, the Route’s second most famous attraction.

“Wow,” we both exclaimed, not unlike the European tourists and me in Kumano Kodo.

A green river; trees with blankets of white. No fog was there to obstruct the snowy alps.

It was so cold and windy, that pain overtook my face for the first time since Tohoku. Even moving my mouth to speak hurt. But the dam offered the most beautiful scenery I’d seen since Hokkaido.

We entered a warmed rest area with a view of dam before climbing the stairs to an observation deck. Everything was even better up here.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m in Japan and seeing all this,” the Israeli girl said. “If I start thinking about it, I’ll cry. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over it.”

I was thinking the same thing, yet uttering it aloud would’ve hurt.

This was the last attraction on the Route, and a proper finale. From here, we took the electric bus to Ogizawa, where the mountains were barely covered in snow.

Slightly disappointed with this view, the sight of four monkeys in the parking lot soon changed our minds.

After a long bus ride to Shinano-Omachi station, in which we almost dozed off, we boarded the train, when I realised I’d forgotten to pick up my luggage. The train would depart in a few minutes. She didn’t get off it. So that was farewell.

As I returned to the station with my two suitcases and waited for the next train, I realised how, despite enjoying my time with the four or five Israelis I’d travelled with, none of our farewells had left a bittersweet taste in my mouth.

My phone battery was 4% by this point. No power sockets, nor a working power adaptor to charge it. I rode the slow, local train to Matsumoto, reminiscing over the people from this trip I did miss. The windows grew dark, and so did my mood.

That was when I heard it.

“MA-tsumotoooo! MA-tsumotooooo! MA-tsumotooooo!”

Matsumoto

I had visited many a city in Japan over the past nine weeks. Matsumoto was the only one whose name was sang, rather than announced, at the station. I was about to tear up, when the sea of passengers on the platform forced me to watch my step.

From there, I walked a straight line for 10 minutes to my hostel, my phone battery at 1%. A lot of déjà vu in that moment, both in freaking out for the umpteenth time in attempt to find my accommodation before my battery died, and in recognising the city of Matsumoto. Warm and fuzzy: like reuniting with a fellow tourist.

I made it safe and sound to my accommodation. It was nice, but yesterday’s was really special. The handful of guests didn’t really seem interested in talking, apart from an Austrian guy who shared my habit of journalling. Everyone went to bed early, and after this long yet unforgettable day, so did I.

Today’s highlights: the foggy forest road up to Murodo; the blizzard at the snow corridor; the ropway into the white abyss; chancing upon a tourist who had met the same tourists I had by pure chance; the view from Kurobe Dam; and returning to my favourite city in Japan.

18 April 2023

• Nakamchi and Frog streets (~30m)
• Matsumoto castle (~30m)
• Ishii Miso brewery (~20m)
• 15:20-18:50 Matsumoto bus terminal to Shinjuku station bus

Matsumoto was cold and dreary today. I needed my big coat, but didn’t mind the strong wind.

The staff member at the hostel who checked me in and out was a Japanese girl in her early twenties. Last night, she’d complimented my Slytherin beanie and Luigi bag: “you have a lot of cute stuff.”

Today, before I left, we talked a little about Matsumoto.

“I want to live here,” I said. “It’s my favourite city.”

“In that case, if you return here, let’s be friends.”

Now I really did not feel like leaving Matsumoto, after she said that. Also because of the free soba tea I’d drunk at the hostel during dinner and breakfast. Matsumoto was the only place where I’d come across soba tea – my favorite kind.

I hadn’t made any plans for today. I considered going to Kamikochi – a beautiful national park and popular day trip from Matsumoto. Today was its grand opening, since fall, and the Dutch tourist was going. But the way there was too expensive for me; I’d been to enough national parks like this one; I worried it was too early and cold for flowers to emerge; and it would be almost impossible to go there and still arrive at Tokyo by night.

Nakamachi and Frog Streets

Besides, I wanted to enjoy Matsumoto. So I visited attractions I’d missed on my last time here: Nakamachi street, where I tried on geta sandals – pricey and uncomfortable – and frog street, where tiny shops sold frog merch, traditional porcelain, and boho clothing. I passed one that sold handmade pottery for crazy cheap.

I turned off airplane mode to navigate, and noticed I’d received a voicemail. I had an inkling of who it was from. The Japanese woman from the Aoni Onsen (digital detox ryokan).

Back in February, we’d made plans to reunite at her city in the Kanto region, famous for its spring flower festival. I’d intended to call her this evening, after making it to Tokyo, but she’d beat me to it. Almost like she’d had a radar pointing at my return to the Kanto region.

I hung out with a Filipino expat for a short while at the mall, and then returned to frog street on my way to the castle. The cheap, handmade soy sauce bowls winked at me. I got three for 440 yen.

Matsumoto Castle

The castle looked dreary in today’s overcast weather. Like in February, there were tourists around, but no one was loud and annoying. A crowd similar to the one in Uji.  I even heard two groups of Israeli tourists, who weren’t as boisterous like the ones in Takayama and Kyoto.

As I sat down on a bench just like I had on February 27^th, I recalled all the things that had happened to me on this one day, equal parts good and bad. It was one of the best and worst days of my trip, all at once.

Matsumoto enjoyed a special place in my heart, just like Hokkaido and Uji. All were places I not only liked more than others, but where I also experienced bittersweet, unforgettable moments. If I had it my way, I would divide my time between the three.

So it was fun to again lounge on a bench in front of the castle and simply look at it. My second favorite castle, after Himeji.

Crows and pigeons were flying around. The people were relatively quiet and few. The castle remained dark.

I told myself to remember this moment: the last time I would be cold, the last time I would enjoy a serene city, the last time I would not be surrounded by a mob. For all its differences, I hoped I would enjoy Tokyo as much. I thought about the Japanese guy and the end of this trip and my happiness. I tried to imagine my life afterwards, and once again came up with a blank page. The inability to fill it to my heart’s desire terrified me more than the possibilities it offered, because they all felt out of reach.

All I wanted from life was to sit alone on a bench, behold a black castle, and feel my fingers freeze as I wrote about this. I hated the fact that I’d come into a world that wouldn’t allow me to do that, and longed to re-immerse myself in the contemporary exhibitions I’d experienced in places like Naoshima and Osaka. If I could have it my way, I would have changed everything about my circumstances of birth – where, when, how, why. I couldn’t find a silver lining about my background, and yearned to rewrite my history. But laws and money had other plans for me. When it came to my story, I couldn’t get a hold of the pen.

Miso Brewery

After half an hour or so, I walked to a small, family-run miso brewery near my hostel that manufactured Shinshu miso, the leading brand in Japan. They offered free, ten-minute tours, guided by a sixth-generation member of the family. He explained in English how the enormous barrels in front of us contained 4.5 tons of miso, which was transferred once a year from one barrel to another using shovels (no machinery).

Miso was made from three raw ingredients: soybean, rice malt, and salt. The traditional manufacturing method was to store it in cedar barrels for 1-3 years. The longer the soybeans fermented, the darker the color became. Moving them from one barrel to another provided oxygen for bacteria to ferment.

In comparison, nowadays, more than 90% of miso in Japan was mass-produced. Stainless steel tanks and heat applied to them from the outside quickened fermentation, from 3 years to 3-4 months.

Miso was a key ingredient in the Japanese healthy diet. Everyday intake lowered incidents of gastric and breast cancer.

Instead of buying miso paste, however, I got a miso ice cream. It tasted a bit like caramel.

Arriving in Tokyo

I returned to my hostel to pick up my luggage (shame I hadn’t stayed here in February, the rental bikes were free, I could’ve taken one to the wasabi farm) and walked to the bus terminal, sad once more about leaving this city. There, I took a direct bus to Tokyo’s Shinjuku.

Arriving at Shinjuku station at night – the world’s busiest transport hub – made me feel like Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada, when she took a taxi to Paris and beheld the city at night. I grew excited at the prospect of exploring the world’s largest metropolis, and hoped I’d like it better than Kyoto.

I promptly entered the tourist information centre, and instead of receiving several pamphlets, got a book. Tokyo was that big. But they didn’t really give me any un-touristy recommendations. Only one old-school neighborhood where locals hung out.

After walking fifteen minutes to my hotel in front of Shinjuku Gyoen national garden, I was given a key to a room on the 13^th floor, the highest in the hotel. I had a full view of skyscrapers, the garden, and city lights.

I stuffed some konbini food into my mouth, wrote a bunch, and then called the Japanese woman. My plan to stop at her city along the way at the end of the month, on my way from Tokyo back to Tohoku, was out of the question; the flowers would wilt by then. This meant going to her city as a day trip, which wouldn’t be as effective, time- and money-wise.

But I couldn’t let the opportunity to visit another local go to waste. Especially not after meeting her at a place with such a special meaning to me. So I scheduled this day trip for later this week, and resolved to stop on the way in another city, which I’d doubted I’d be able to visit on this trip. 

It was interesting how, even though I was the one who’d called her at 22:30 and apologised for the late hour, she ended the call by saying “失礼します”.

Today’s highlights: returning to Matsumoto castle; miso ice cream; at arriving at Shinjuku station at night.

19 April 2023

• 10:05-10:25 Shinjuku station to Mitaka station train
• Ghibli museum (2h)
• Stopping at police boxes
• 14:22-14:38 Mitaka station to Shinjuku station train
• Picnic at Shinjuku Gyoen national park (2.5h)
• Tokyo Metropolitan Government building observation deck (1.5h)
• 19:51-19:53 Shinjuku station to Shinjuku Gyoen-mae station metro

Ghibli Museum

Last night, I’d made plans with the Aussies from Takayama to catch them in Tokyo before their flight. They’d been staying near Disney, on the east side.

Then I checked the calendar on my phone. I’d completely forgotten I’d booked Ghibli Museum for this morning. In Mitaka, on the western outskirts of Tokyo.

The date and time couldn’t be changed.

Bummed and not at all excited by the prospect of going to such a hard-to-visit museum, I headed to Mitaka.

Even at Mitaka’s tourist information centre, I received a book, instead of some pamphlets.

The line at the entrance to Ghibli Musem was so long (despite all tickets being timed entries), that I couldn’t see where it started. But like my arrival yesterday at Shinjuku, I went from disappointment to excitement.

Stained glass paintings of Ghibli characters greeted me inside. No photos were allowed. So I would describe it instead: it was like entering a Ghibli movie.

Cute and magical, but not overdone or in your face. Soft, cheerful piano music that felt restrained. Wood panels and stairs and white walls.

First exhibition: “The Beginning of Movement”. Old film cameras and record players with old-school effects – moving images and slideshow-style displays. No explanations in English.

“Saturn Theatre”: a short, silent movie about a girl who leat the city with a huge freaking bag to explore nature. Her trials and tribulations alone in the wilderness. Every hurdle, such as a monstrous fish or forest spirits who sent gales at her, she overcame by offering them an apple, and bowing. This pacified nature.

She took refuge in an abandoned cabin infested with bugs, all curious yet gentle. Cooked ramen for dinner and slept on a futon. In the morning, a mysterious monster woke her up. She offered it an apple and left the cabin.

“またね,” she said. (“See you.”) End of movie.

Moral of the story: always carry dozens of apples with you in nature.

The striking thing about this film was the sound and animation, which were the opposite of realistic. Everything made a loud and distinctive sound – cars, animals, trees, wind, water – with onomatopoeia katana filling the screen all the while.

Next to me, a young mom was sitting with a baby who would not stop staring at me with huge eyes. Kawaii to the max. I waved at the baby until the movie began. The mom said my samue was very unusual, but in a good way.

Moving on the second floor.

“Where a Film is Born”: exhibition about the process in which inspiration gave birth to a film. Sketches being brought to life through the magic of animation. A replica of what I believed was Miyazaki’s office, with oak desks, drawings, plastic cigarettes and black coffee, and even a can full of fake trash.

There was even an archive with storyboards of Ghibli films, hand drawn and painted. I could actually touch the pages, feel the pencils, and leaf through the books.

Next, a temporary exhibition about some movie, that I did not find worthwhile.

I climbed a tower to a roof with a robot from Laputa (a film I’d seen in Japanese class in middle school).  Then, down to the third floor. Cat Bus Room, where children played on a giant fluffy cat bus; Reading Room, with children’s literature; and the shop.

It was worth mentioning that there was no Wi-Fi inside the museum. The use of smartphones was frowned upon.

The museum was charming and delightful, and after two hours, I’d explored its every nook and cranny.

Searching for a Crush in Police Boxes

I walked through the park to the nearest police box. I’d been wanting to do that for almost two months now. The officer and I talked for a long time, but in the end, he said it would be impossible to find the local guy I’d been looking for. I offered to give the officer my phone number, yet he didn’t take it.

He was excited by my Japanese and coming to Japan from Israel for three months, though. “You have a strong interest in Japanese culture, right?” he said. “You should go to Asakusa wearing this samue. But please be careful not drop your valuables from the front pocket.”

“I will,” I said. “I’ve just arrived at Tokyo, haven’t had the time yet. I’m staying in Shinjuku for almost two weeks.”

“Shinjuku? Be wary of going to Kabukicho. Lots of shady people around.”

“In that case, I won’t go there.”

“Please be careful in your trip.”

I left the station feeling forlorn. But I didn’t give up. I went to another police box. The officer said the same.

So that was it.

How was I supposed to find someone in the largest metropolitan in the world? Why couldn’t the ryokan find his contact details? Why was it that the only time in my life when I felt something reciprocal – let alone something at all – ended in failure?

Mitaka had a bunch of thrift stores a cool mall, recommended to me by a friend. Neither spoke to me.

Shinjuku Gyoen National Park

I returned to Shinjuku and bought a ticket to Gyoen national park. Flowers, trees, quiet, and a picnic: just what I needed.

Azaleas, redwoods, roses, cedars… the park was huge, and I found a spot in the Japanese garden, under a Sakura tree whose petals had all fallen on the ground. A fitting companion for my state of mind.

“Where are you?” I thought. “How can I find one person, among forty million?”

I had a konbini picnic and for dessert, the Japanese guy’s two favorite snacks, which he had gifted me on February 21. I’d been eating them on a regular basis ever since.

“I’m sorry,” I wanted to say. “I apologise both to you and to myself, because I am the one responsible for my sadness.”

My life felt like the opposite of an impressionist painting. Instead of appearing fuzzy from up close and making sense from afar, I’d accumulated some magical moments here and there; visual details, friends, and travelling days that couldn’t have been better. But the big picture felt chaotic, lackluster, senseless. Somehow, both busy and empty at once. I tried to think of a painting that had depicted this idea on a canvas, yet couldn’t come up with any. I wanted to pick up a brush and paint it myself.

I almost started drawing in my journal. Yet like writing, it seemed like a pursuit I shouldn’t enter; a passion that would go to waste.

It was all a waste of time, I thought, everything I did, my insistence on chasing my dreams, on looking for a certain person, who might not care about finding me. Maybe people shouldn’t waste their time on me – I’d been having conversations with them in my mind, with the friends I’d made on this trip, whose presence I’d lost – they had already become voices in my head.

But these were all drowned by noises from the city: drilling sounds, and airplanes flying right above the park. If I couldn’t escape the urban jungle here, where could I?

Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building

After two and a half hours, I walked to the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building’s Observation Room for twenty minutes. In front of it, under a bridge, I saw homeless people in Japan for the first time.

Like in Kyoto’s imperial palace, a security check was conducted at the entry. The elevator shot up to the 45^th floor so fast, my ears became clogged. But there was no line leading up to it, even though the observation deck was free, and it would soon be sunset. Shocker.

The view of the city was unbelievable. I’d grown used to low traditional homes, not skyscrapers. Shinjuku Gyoen, Tokyo’s Imperial Palace, Tokyo Tower, Roppongi Hills….

I watched the sun set over the city, painting the sky orange and red. Windows lit up one by one. Tokyo tower, the tallest building in Japan, shined in colorful, changing hues. It was mesmerizing.

Afterwards, I decided to walked for thirty minutes back to my hotel. Yet I got lost at Shinjuku station on the way. Major Osaka vibes.

For twenty whole minutes, I tried to go from the west exit to the east inside the monstrous complex. Finally, I gave up and went downstairs, to the metro.

It was pandemonium. So many people – so many train lines – so big and confusing. I managed to find my way to the correct platform and make it to Shinjuku Gyoen-mae. A smaller station, where I also got lost.

At the hotel, a Japanese guy complimented my samue. I answered in Japanese.

“How many years have you been living in Japan?” he asked. Lately, I’d been hearing this question more and more.

It was interesting how, during my 24-hours in Tokyo, locals had addressed me half the time in English, and the other half in Japanese.

I went to bed happy by my decision to leave Tokyo tomorrow and reunite with the Japanese lady at a place not as formidable and touristy. Being alone in the Japanese countryside felt lonely sometimes, yet after today’s disappointment, paled in comparison to the most populated urban area in the world.

Today’s highlights: Ghibli museum; picnic at Shinjuku Gyoen; and the view of Tokyo at sunset.